Chapter 63: Under currents (2)
Kaelen was silent for a moment.
"Fine. This is a matter of principle. No one is allowed to challenge the authority of the great families. I will send Joric and my other disciples to assist you. They are more than enough to crush a single rogue."
"You are not coming yourself?" Daemon asked, unable to hide his surprise.
"Why would I?" Kaelen’s voice was filled with genuine disbelief.
"Do you expect me, Kaelen Ashton II, to personally dirty my hands with a nameless stray? My time is far too valuable. My disciples will handle it. Do not disappoint me, Daemon. Crushing this insect should be a simple matter for you."
The connection ended. Daemon was left standing in the ruins, an alliance of two and a half families at his command.
It was not the overwhelming force he had hoped for, but it would have to be enough. He sent out the coordinates for the rendezvous point, his mind already formulating a plan of attack.
Miles away, in a secluded alcove carved into the side of a floating island, Kaelen Ashton II opened his eyes.
He sat cross-legged, the air around him still and heavy. He had dismissed Daemon with casual contempt, but the conversation had planted a seed of intrigue in his mind.
He was not a fool. He knew Prince Daemon Azure. The prince was shrewd, cautious, and deeply proud. He would never admit to fear, nor would he form an alliance unless he felt genuinely threatened.
And for Anya Sterling, a woman whose intellect was as sharp as a razor, to outright refuse a confrontation...
’This nobody,’ Kaelen thought, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face, ’must be quite the monster.’
He felt the power humming within his own body, a deep, resonant thrum that came from his very blood. His Trait, [Bloodline Stalker], was a unique and terrifying power.
Unlike others who sought to avoid damage, Kaelen welcomed it. Every attack he suffered, every wound he endured, was not a loss.
It was an investment. The energy of the attack, the pain, and the very essence of the damage were absorbed, stored, and converted into raw power that circulated in his veins.
Over the years, he had subjected himself to countless trials. He had stood before raging waterfalls, allowing the crushing force to batter his body.
He had provoked powerful beasts, letting them tear at his flesh. He had even allowed his own family’s elders to strike him with their most powerful techniques.
Each injury had made him stronger. His blood was now a repository of immense, condensed power, a sleeping volcano waiting for the command to erupt.
He had no idea how strong he truly was because he had never met an opponent worthy of forcing him to unleash his full, stored might.
This was the source of his profound arrogance. Why should he fear any opponent when every blow they landed only served to fuel his own inevitable victory?
But this situation... it was different. It was interesting.
"A man who scares Daemon and Anya," he murmured to himself. "A man who acts with such blatant disregard for the great families."
Kaelen suddenly remembered his uncle. The same man who became his role model. The same man he looked up to in admiration.
He clenched his fists. The great Kaelen. The man of legends... and his dear teacher.
His father always told stories about how the heirs in his generation all trembled upon hearing the name Kaelen. How countless warriors would answer a single call from that man.
Albeit nothing special compared to his uncle, this strange man had successively elicited fear in the four heirs.
Interesting.
He stood up, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the soft light of the Sanctum. He had no intention of joining Daemon’s clumsy ambush.
Group tactics were for the weak. But he was curious. He wanted to see this anomaly for himself. He wanted to look this monster in the eye and see what kind of chaos it truly held.
He walked to the edge of his secluded alcove and looked out over the vast, starlit void of the Sanctum.
He saw a distant island where he knew Daemon’s group would be gathering. He turned in the opposite direction, towards the central island where the outsider had last been seen.
"Joric," he spoke into his own communication talisman. "You have your orders. Join Prince Daemon. Do not fail the Ashton name."
"Yes, Young Master!" a respectful voice replied instantly.
Kaelen deactivated the talisman and looked down from the bridge.
’I hope every one of you dies... Father’s face will be fun to see if all his talented disciples die...’
An excited smile appeared on his face as his red pupils glinted with an evil light.
’I hope the man will never disappoint me...’
He would not join the hunt. He would be the observer. And if this outsider proved to be as interesting as he hoped... perhaps he would finally find a reason to unleash the storm he held within his blood.
After all, he was the disciple of one who had once been great... and would be great again.
Far away from the disturbances of the world was a place devoid of light and sound, a pocket of nothingness that felt older than time itself.
In the centre of this oppressive silence, a figure stood. A woman with hair the colour of moonlight and skin as pale as fresh snow.
Behind her, nine magnificent tails, each a cascade of shimmering silver fur, danced and swayed with a life of their own, their movements the only disturbance in the dead air.
Her closed eyelids fluttered, then opened. A pair of glacial blue pupils blazed into the darkness, and the room was instantly transformed.
A wave of silver light erupted from her, and a frost that glittered like diamond dust spread across the unseen floor, walls, and ceiling, encasing the void in a cathedral of ice.
"So... it’s time for their final challenge," her lips curled up into a smile that was both beautiful and terrifyingly predatory.
If Rhys had been here, he would have recognised her appearance as almost identical to Yuki’s, but where Yuki’s face was an emotionless mask, this woman’s was alive with cruel amusement and ancient power.
She licked her lips, savouring a thought, when her brow twitched in annoyance. She turned her gaze to one of her nine tails, which was pulsing with a faint, agitated light.
"Who is the person you are saying is a ’juice box’?" she asked, her voice a silken melody laced with ice.
She reached back and pinched the offending tail between two perfect fingers, her grip deceptively strong.
"You know you have no bargaining voice now, not after losing your core to save a nobody and forming an Equal Transfer Contract with a Labyrinth-trapped mortal."
The tail flinched and fell limp, its light dimming into a sulky glow. The woman scoffed, releasing it.
"Honestly, your sentimentality is what led to this predicament. To sacrifice your very essence, the core of a Celestial Spirit Fox, for a mere human?
And for what? So he could stumble his way through this garden and become a slightly more interesting snack for the rest of them?"
She waved a hand, and the frosted wall in front of her rippled, shifting into a series of clear, scrying mirrors.
In one, she saw Prince Daemon and Aiden Thorne meeting with the Ashton disciples, their expressions a pathetic mix of bravado and fear.
"Insects plotting to fell a dragon," she sneered.
Another mirror shimmered, revealing Kaelen Ashton II, moving alone like a phantom, his eyes fixed on the central island.
The woman’s smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of genuine interest.
"Ah, the little Bloodline Stalker. The last disciple of the fallen one. He smells of ambition and pain. He might actually provide some entertainment."
Her gaze finally shifted to the largest mirror. It showed Rhys walking across a bridge of light, the small, silver-haired child perched happily on his shoulders.
The woman leaned closer, her blue eyes narrowing as she studied Sera. She saw the impossible fusion of Rhys’s human soul and her own tail’s life force.
"And this... this is the result of your sacrifice," she whispered, her voice a strange mix of disgust and fascination.
"An abomination. A new life born from a foolish bargain. And yet..." She watched as Rhys laughed at something the child did, his face open and unguarded for a fleeting moment.
A complex emotion she couldn’t name twisted in her gut. Jealousy? Anger? Interest?
Love!?
"Enjoy your little walk, ’Papa’," she purred, the sound dripping with venomous sweetness.
"The final stage is set. The other morsels are gathering. Let’s see just how much juice you have left when they all come for you.
After all, this Labyrinth isn’t a trial. It’s a harvest. And I am so very, very hungry."
’Oh, crap... My personality is changing to be more like yours every time I see him. How laughable.’