[BOOK THREE START] Chapter 83: Departure

[BOOK THREE START] Chapter 83: Departure

The moon above the realm hung silent, trailing its eternal orbit unabated. In the coldest, deepest, darkest corner of this celestial body, three archdemons sat in a circle.

Among them, the one donning robes of void, Shadow of Death, sharply inhaled.

The other two instantly perked up. Such a violent reaction from the one named the Silent One meant catastrophe.

Shadow of Destruction spoke in a cheap imitation of a man’s voice and asked, "What happened?"

Shadow of Death responded in a distressed whisper, "Impossible. The Archnemesis has brought his cub to this realm. Hosolar the Starflailer has appeared on the Xinkummar continent."

The many eyes on Destruction's head focused, and its pupils shrunk, "That is... truly impossible."

"Indeed,” Shadow of Death nodded. “Trickery is involved. I speculate it is a temporary avatar. It is not powerful enough to face either one of us. Yet... why?"

Blood squirted through the cracks in the dried bandages of Shadow of Calamity as its bones crackled. "Master... should... be... alerted..."

Few things could make an archdemon hesitate. Yet, Shadow of Destruction found itself frozen. Its spikes shivered, and its eyes darted around. It took much to harm an archdemon. But out of the Three Great Servants, Destruction was the only one that could withstand being in their master’s presence.

It wasn’t long until the massive archdemon got up. It turned around and hesitantly disappeared from the others' presence.

It traversed over the moon’s mountains and valleys, shifting past the endless, barren expanse of grey stone. Eventually, the cold, uncaring mountains... started to morph without a single sign of changing their shape. But Destruction felt it.

Suddenly, the sharp peaks felt like claws. The sky wept, and the stone bled beneath its feet.

It reached the entrance, the mouth of a cave. Destruction took a single step inside and promptly killed itself—no, it stopped its claws just as they were about to tear its own throat out.

It swallowed, eyes shifting, scouting every shadow with utmost paranoia.

So it took another step and cut its head—barely resisted the urge to do so.

Each inch forward imbued it with more terror than a continent’s worth of mortals experience in their entire puny life, and even it couldn’t fully withstand it.

But as it passed the twentieth step, the intensity suddenly vanished, and it could finally breathe again—but not for long.

Images of demon children with their eyes gouged out and their fingers severed at their tips shambled toward it, and it did all it could to not succumb to the temptation to embrace them.

As it dodged forward, eventually, the cubs vanished. All that stood before it was darkness, an impenetrable veil of void that nothing could peer through. Destruction sank its fingers into the dark, and they entered what felt like a viscous liquid. Eventually, its entire body pushed through.

It couldn’t see or feel anything but the cascading decay of its body. Blood seeped through every pore, bones crumbled to dust, and its skin peeled like layers of soft fruit—and then, it finally pushed through, completely unharmed.

Before it stood not darkness but a patch of non-perception, the unholy view of something not to be gazed upon. The sound of its crackling bones turning, the weight of its gaze landing, and the pain of its attention being directed at it overwhelmed Destruction.

Suddenly, the curious voice of a little girl spoke through the veil, “Speak, vermin. What excuse do you have for bothering me?”

***

Neave gave everyone a few minutes to mentally prepare themselves for the departure.

There was a quick debate on whether they should take some of the cores on the ground, but he advised against it. "Nothing stops you from picking after you’re out, and believe me, you will be quite a bit wiser by then."

Harel was the first to put the core she held down, and the others didn’t take long to make the same choice.

As the time of the departure approached, he walked up to Dukean and placed a hand on his shoulder. The young master tensed up and averted his gaze.

There were faint tremors beneath his hand and a dampness on the robes. He wasn’t good with emotions, and he rarely empathized with someone. Yet, looking at the boy's shivering form, he knew precisely how he felt.

Dukean had remained relatively brave throughout their month in the nightmare realm. That didn’t mean he had a good time.

Neave squeezed his shoulder to get his attention. "You don’t have to come. I barely have any connection to you, and it would be easy for you to pretend that you were just deceived by my disguise."

Dukean shook his head. "The messenger isn’t my enemy, true," he said as he gritted his teeth, "but against those who are... you are my only ally."

After giving him a brief nod in response, he moved on to the others.

Fear and anxiety dominated the mood, but the slightest of hints of excitement was present. Unsurprising. At the end of the day, they were still cultivators. Sacrifices for benefits was pretty much the way they did everything.

But the sacrifices waiting for them here... Neave shook his head. It was too late to think of that. He told them what awaited them. Regret was their burden to carry. "Gather around me, everyone,” he said as he disappeared and reappeared between them. "Place a hand somewhere on my body."

They all got up.

Harel walked up to Neave, placing her hand on his back.

Gabrias approached, reluctantly placing a hand on Neave’s right arm.

Hunter awkwardly scooted over and touched Neave’s shoulder.

Dukean placed a hand on Neave’s other shoulder.

And finally, Marven walked up and placed a hand on Neave’s head.

Neave squinted at his father, scoffed, and closed his eyes.

Everyone around him tensed up as they felt the foreign influence invade their body. None of them, however, looked nearly as bad as Neave did. Enveloping so many people of differing strengths was pretty damn tough. After much sweating and struggling, he was done, and without a reason to wait any longer, he knocked himself out.

ÞÞÞÞÞÞ

The nightmare realm, as always, was thoroughly silent. The only semblance of noise was in distant echoes, lazy winds crawling across the surface, and deep underground movements, only standing out in contrast to the eerie, absolute quiet.

The sky was cloudy and almost entirely dark. A few vague hints of grey lit the outlines, barely producing enough light to show their path.

"Dukey boy,” he snapped his fingers as if trying to be annoying. “Stone bowl, if you please.”

With some hesitation, the young master obeyed and created a stone bowl with his earth manipulation powers.

Neave placed the piece of ice into the makeshift container and placed his palm over it. A tiny tendril of spirit floated toward it and sank into the spiritual construct. With a good deal of focus and several colorful pulses through the string of spirit, the ice flickered and morphed into water.

He couldn’t maintain the transformation for long, and the water disappeared when his grip slipped. "Do it again."

After several more attempts, he managed to maintain the water form for a few minutes. Judging that to be enough time, he lifted his other hand and brought it over the water. A zap of red sank into it, creating a layer of faint white mist. And then again. And again.

When he felt it was enough, he used a different alchemy technique that rounded the water into a ball so he could release his spirit tendril. Moments later, it started flickering, and Neave sent an unstable, golden zap that stabilized it again.

The ball managed to maintain its integrity far longer this time around. And when it happened again, he adjusted its form with another technique. He allowed the water to flow into the bowl and promptly chained several alchemy techniques. By the end of the process, Neave felt mentally exhausted, but the small earthen bowl was filled with water.

Marven furrowed his brows. "That is a mighty impressive thing you’ve just done... I’ve never seen someone stabilize matter manifested by a spirit power before. But, Neave, that’s still just—"

"This is indeed an imitation of water, but it can serve its function just fine, at least for a while. It doesn’t have the same properties, so consuming it won’t be the best for your health, but it's a superior option to death by dehydration. I’ve modified its properties slightly, and I’m certain I can produce much better fake water in the future."

"But it's still just an imitation," Marven implored. “It will eventually disappear.”

"Yup,” Neave confirmed. “But it will last around a year. So if you drink it, it won’t just vanish from inside your body."

"What about food?" Dukean asked.

Neave grinned.

***

"Ta-dah! This is where I’m conducting most of my experiments!"

Harel looked at Neave incredulously. "Freakin’ hell, Neave. You expect us to eat that?"

Holding a wiggling abominid in his arms, he cocked his head at her with the innocence of a curious child. "What else are you going to eat? This ashy dirt? Beggars can’t be choosers, Harel."

Marven sighed, "Didn’t you...?"

"Didn’t I what?"

The old sect master pinched his forehead. "According to what you’ve told us,” he started cautiously, but frustration overwhelmed him, “you fed that thing your own body! It is more or less the equivalent of human flesh! You can’t possibly expect us to be alright with eating that!"

Neave paused.

Dukean stared at the monster. While extremely reluctant about eating the gross, fleshy abominid, he was far more averse to starvation.

The others, however... well... they looked ready to starve to death.

Rather than seeming even vaguely apologetic, Neave shot them a flat look, "I told you this would suck. What did you expect, a fun vacation? Why do you think I dubbed this place ‘the nightmare realm!?’ For the pleasant sights and warm sunshine?"

Marven looked hesitant, "Living in these conditions... I can not help but think we won’t leave this place as the same people, and I’m not just talking about power."

"Oh, alright then,” Neave said with a cheerful grin. “Feel free to kill yourself."

"Neave, this is serious."

"I’m not kidding,” he said, all humor vanishing from his expression. “That’s literally the only option you have. I mean, I can do it for you if you want."

Marven paused. He glanced at the others. Nobody looked comfortable to be here, and it was clear that the weight of the realization that this was where they would likely spend untold years was crushing them.

Brave? These kids had been courageous. They had been ignorant, the same as he had. When Neave told them about this place, he didn’t paint it as being this bad. And it probably wasn’t intentional. A pang of sickness flashed through his gut as he realized that his son was simply comfortable living like this.

There was no solution now, not really. Killing oneself... even in a place like this, it wasn’t an act to be taken lightly. But he also couldn’t bear seeing his son be the executioner.

"Fuck!" Marven yelled and gripped his head in frustration.

Why did he constantly keep making such dumb mistakes? It was almost better back when he lived without a shred of responsibility.

Neave raised an eyebrow, "What’s wrong? It’s pretty simple, really. Just like, poof, and I can kick you out. I don’t really plan on keeping anyone here against their will."

Marven froze. Did Neave seriously not understand the implications of this situation? Was the act of killing them, even in this realm, so nonchalant for him that he took no issue with doing it? Biting his lower lip, he drew blood. This place would be hellish, but if anything, they had time. He couldn’t afford to escape. He didn’t want to leave his son alone.

However... what about the others? He scoured his mind for any options, any possibility of solving this problem. He could think of only one.

"If any of you wish to leave this place, I have a suggestion. Whoever chooses to should lower their defenses while everyone else attacks them at the same time."

When sects executed important members, they used such a method to ensure that no one individual had to bear the sin of being the executioner.

Neave, on the other hand, stared, utterly bewildered as to why his father was making this so complicated.

But even after the suggestion, nobody stepped forth.

Marven continued, "This is your last chance to volunteer. I won’t be giving this chance twice."

That made them jolt slightly. The offer being on the table would provide ease of mind, at least, and without it... Another several-minute-long staredown happened, yet once more, nobody volunteered.

"That’s it then,” he declared. “You better get used to living here as soon as possible." With a glance at his son and then the squirming abominid he held the way a little child held a stuffed animal, he asked. "Do you know how to process monster meat?"

Neave grinned, "I might actually be the best at it."

Their hellish life in the nightmare realm had officially begun.