Master of the Loop
Chapter 35: Calling of the Dead

Chapter 35

  Calling of the Dead

The group settled at the edge of the valley despite all three pushing to venture deeper into it and explore. Sylas, however, was adamant and stalwart, and others listened, however reluctantly. They set up camp and began dining, with Sylas glancing at the sky above quite frequently. He might have dreamt it up, he mused, as the final flash of the life, as to make it more interesting. Yet… it was unlikely. Those cloudy, gray skies opened up and spat out the dead like rain. He was certain of it.

“How long until the army shows up?” Valen asked, wincing slightly at the mention of the ‘army’.

“I’m not sure,” Sylas replied. “Might be a day might be a few.”

“… there really was a valley here,” Tenner said, sighing. “How is that possible?”

“We probably aren’t on the peninsula anymore,” Sylas said. “Or, if we are, we’re in some form of sub-space. Or, your mapmakers are utterly clueless and have completely misrepresented this part of the world. Anything’s possible, really. Ryne—could the two mountains act as talismans? Or at least conduits for talismans or such?”

“No, it’s unlikely,” Ryne replied. “Talismans are used for lower-tier magic, replicants, really, of the natural things. For something on this scale, just talismans would be far from enough.”

“What would be able to do it?”

“I’m… not sure,” Ryne replied honestly. “I am not of Rank to learn, according to my Master.”

“High-tiered Magi would be necessary, I imagine,” Valen said. “And not just one or two or three. Probably an entire Legion, if I’m being honest. Even my Father could only copy a fraction.”

“I never understood the mortals’ need of division in tiers,” once again, Sylas pulled the play from his favorite book—pretending to pose a philosophical question as means of getting a literal answer since he was utterly clueless about the topic at hand. “Magic… is magic,” he struck a pose of melancholy and lowered his voice. “In the end, world-ending or simply leaf-lifting… it all comes from the God.”

“Y-yes, it’s true,” Valen quickly said before the other two had a chance to speak. “But… we are extremely hierarchical, and that extends to our magic. Tiers… tiers are just means of us understanding God's miracles. Our own little titles and musings to ascribe to ourselves more worth than there is.” Shit, why are you giving me a philosophical answer, dude?! I just wanted to know about tiers!

"They're more than that," Ryne said with a determined expression. "They're a reflection of one's inner realization. It is not about which magic and its level can one use; it’s about how they got there.”

“Then what about my magic?” Sylas cracked a smile, noticing a path he could plunge down through. “How would you quantify it in that silly little tier list of yours? I cannot fashion fire with my fingertips, nor can I destroy an army all by myself. If faced with one of your three or four-tier Magi, I’d be a leaf in the stormy night. Ordinary. Beyond ordinary. And yet… when I close my eyes, I hear His voice. To me, that magic is worth far more than anything else in the world.”

“… we… we are unquantifiable,” Ryne said, her cheeks faintly flushed. “The Paragons exist outside those norms. But… you are right. Even we have our own ranks and tiers.” Hoh? I’m a Paragon? That’s a cool-ass title.

“It’s irrelevant,” Sylas said, turning toward the sky. “In the end, we all return to the same soil, adorned in gold or not, we rot in the same dirt. Kings, Queens, peasants, swordsmen, Princes, Magi, Blademasters, Exorcists, Prophets… titles are irrelevant beneath the might of Creation. All that matters is your heart.”

“…”

“…” Sylas merely prattled on as he wanted to temporarily end the conversation, but judging from the three’s widened expressions of shock, they believed he said something beyond profound.

He sighed inwardly, wondering how many of the common con lines he could use to earn respect from the people here. ‘We are all equal’ and many, many, many variants of it were hardly anything worthy of note on Earth, yet a spin on the idea here yielded such a result. He'd likely be able to get away with some truly insane claims if he spun them properly. With a bit of patience, I could probably develop the cult of personality… shit, I need to be careful with this Prophet business. I don’t wanna wake up one day to people going on a pilgrimage just to pray in front of my shitter…

Several days passed in peace and quiet. The moments of silence were broken by temporary conversations, most of which ended up being Valen or Ryne or even Tenner asking Sylas to share some more profundities and him trying his best to avoid doing just that. Sᴇaʀch* Thᴇ ɴ0velFɪre.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

Luckily, on the fourth day, it would all come to an end, Sylas realized. He'd seen them again, in the clouds, in the sky—the flashing lights. The strobing lights. The lights prophesized doom.

“It’s here,” his heavy tone drew others’ attention immediately. “Listen to me carefully now: you need to close your ears shut. And I mean shut. Stuff leaves in them, put your hands on top of them, and hold as though your life depends on it. You can’t let go. Not until I tell you. Also, avoid looking at the sky until you see me do it. You will feel pain. You will fall. But you can't give up. If it hurts, look at me, focus all that pain on me. And then look beyond me, at the sea. Close your ears, now!"

Sylas’ stern warning was enough for the three to heed it immediately, stuffing their ears with wet leaflets and even some dirt on top before clasping their hands with all their might, until it began to hurt and then some. Sylas wasn’t as rigid as they were since he already survived it once, merely clasping his hands over, looking at the sky, not wanting to miss it. Seconds ticked by yet it felt like hours. Once again, the lights grew more frequent, turning into tidal waves that washed through the clouds. All up until a single moment of change.

BOOM!!!!

Even with the preparations and the primitive protections, Valen, Ryne, and Tenner immediately screamed in abhorrent pain, falling down, shaking, their eyes rolling back into their skulls. Sylas, having experienced it once, was slightly better, but not by much. It felt as though his brain was being scrambled by a low-hum drill. It hurt, but he gritted his teeth and endured. The first one was the one that broke them. The subsequent ones would be easier.

Valen never felt so much pain in his life. Not even on the day he was banished and barely escaped with his life. Not on the day he watched everything he loved burn. Never. It was the kind of pain that ignored all barriers, all defenses, and went straight for the soul. He struggled mightily to look up from the ground. He wanted to see if others were okay. Only one figure was standing, he realized immediately. He was the shortest bar Ryne, the weakest. And yet, he stood tall, broad, immeasurable. His back was black underneath the flashing skies, his silhouette as mighty as the boundless lighting that lit up the world.

Tenner didn’t know how—how was it that he was on his knees, bleeding, crying, in so much agony he wanted to die… but the man he thought was a chick until just recently was standing. That tiny figure, the one that looked like it would shake and collapse in the wind, was standing tall, defiant, unbending. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Especially the sight that followed.

She hurt. She hurt abhorrently. But it wasn’t the pain itself that caused her to break—it was the memories it brought back, the memories she fought to bury for so long. Each inch of her skin scalped and scorched and burned, her limbs bent and broken, her heart disfigured. Memories superimposed on top of the current hell. She wanted to crawl out of her skin, to leave, to escape, to run away. Shaking, quivering, crying, weeping like a newborn babe without cause. Why? Why was it like this?

"It's fine," a touch of a calm and warm hand landed on her back suddenly, and a gentle voice trickled into her ears. "I'm right here. It's fine." Was she fine? She wasn't fine. Yet… why was that voice so reassuring? Why? She didn't know. "Look up. They're here." She followed the voice and its instructions, opening her weepy eyes and looking up. The sky was no longer cloudy—it was black, like the scorching night of the abyss. A locust swarm. It was true, she realized in horrification.

“H-h-how… how is this possible?!” Valen uttered through pain. The horrifying sight even dulled the hurt and the ache, seemingly firing up his brain anew and forcing it to focus elsewhere. “So… so many…”

“I told you,” Sylas said, sighing. “That they would rain.”

“The—the dead---the dead are raining…” Tenner mumbled, dropping his hands from his ears. Blood began flowing even more profusely than before, dyeing the sides of his face and his beard entirely crimson. Valen and Ryne weren’t better off either, both looking as though someone had drawn a gash with a knife on their temples.

"Do you see why I needed you to come with? Despite the pain I knew you'd experience?" Sylas added, walking forward and leaning onto the tree. By this point, the last go-around, he had died. But now he was alive. Witnessing it.

“Well of Souls,” Ryne mumbled in an almost robotic voice, clearly not her own, drawing Sylas’ attention immediately. “You have found it. I do not know which one of my many prodigies you are, but you must report to me immediately. Immediately.” Just as the last syllable left her lips, Ryne fell flat-faced and passed out. Luckily, she was still breathing.

“Shit, what the hell was that?” BOOM! Another fairly strong boom echoed out, causing Sylas to wince and cringe and even cry out in pain, instinctively covering his ears. Turning around, he saw the sky gape—a massive, black hole appeared dead-center, shaking the world around it. From within it, a singular figure began to descend, chains hoisting it down like a harness. Blood in Sylas’ veins froze and began flowing in reverse once he realized that the thing’s eyes locked with his.

“The living bear witness,” a voice spoke directly into Sylas’ mind, nearly shattering it. “And heed the warning. Those you have Condemned have returned. Van’ashi shall have their vengeance. It is our calling.”

…emergency Quest discovered!

You have witnessed ***********. Due to your increased tenacity, you have survived ********’s voice.

***** **** ***** **** *******

Quest ‘Beholder of the Condemned’ was started.

You are not strong enough to pursue the Quest.

You shall be teleported to safety.

‘Beholder of the Condemned’ has been paused.

…Discover and learn ‘**********’ to unpause the quest.

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