Desolate era, most of the ergen verse. Cultivator vs hero society. I don't remember names i read most of them as a teenagers.
DODGE THE WHEEL
- Thread starter BrunofanofK
- Start date
- Crossover
- Location
- washington
In fairness most cultivator settings are actually incredibly shit at esoterics . Cause they can't think better than hit hard or fast or with fire or some shit. Like they have conceptual affects but it's usually like burn things that can't be burned, faster than light techniques, sword good enough to slash not conceptual shit not like fate but like things that can't be cut like primordial chaos fire or some other bullshit. Most powers are just bigger ons or getting numbers so high until you achieve what is damn near omnipotence but with the skillset of a hammer. Compartively virtuous sons seems high octane conceptual bullshit. While most even universe creators often have trouble with weird spatial laws where the end goal for them is basically speed up, cutting with time, slow down, and reverse.
- Location
- washington
Also most cultivator settings just aren't that creative in power sets it's pretty much all biggatons, illusions aren't very well thought out on cultivators parts, you don't see shit like hitting from multiple times or cutting out past effects in almost any xianxia, just number bigger by comprehending shit.
- Location
- Brazil
I don't know. First Age ancient solars had some stupid world-ending charms, plus they gained access to perfect effects right out of the gate. While on the other hand cultivators are guided by the 'five thousand years of Chinese methodology' madness. People don't get smarter or generally better as they ascend, in general they just gain power levels. And if these stories taught me anything is that studying cultivation is for losers, true protagonist lot their techniques from tombs, their enemies, or pocket grampa. This umga bumga mindset put them seriously behind exalted due to sheer quality of life improvement as they take normal skills and refine them to maddening heights, something it shares with cultivation of virtue.
All in all, it make me feel cultivation is something that you have, while cultivation of virtue is something you ARE! This limitation is not a limitation at all.
- Pronouns
- TheSilverStar
Great, now I want to see Zagreus go to Highschool DxD and break the Masquerade there.
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Dunno man, this seems like copium. Cultivators do get smarter, or at least told us they get smarter and it is often shown by their massive preceptional abilties. They can literally know entire planets with their spirit sense and know every person there.
It really doesn't matter where their techniques come from. They are often perfect for them and gives them abilties to fight upto a few realms above their powerlevel. Like its efficacious im achiveing their desires.
And cultivators very often also have supernal skill, look at any sword cultivators or cultivators that are focused on making things or those cultivators that use spirit beasts. They are all very very good at their tasks.
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- Brazil
No, like, I really mean it when I said this. It had been some years since I last read cultivation comics so I went after popular stories in SB and SV. I also brought some popular and more recent books and even went after some old stories. Just look at Battle Through the Heavens, they have like 12 cultivator realms and they all look the same. At best we get a prettied up after cleansing oneself from impurities. Sure, this Gerverse has guys capable to destroy galaxies, but even this FEELS like a copout because they soft reboot the setting by having the main character ascend to a 'superior world'. Ultimately it feels like they failed to power scaling properly.
Then again, this is the reason VSons caught my attention in the first place. Ripper cut the realms down to size and focused on giving them substance. I don't know the difference between a saint, earth emperor, and jade emperor, but the gulf between a philosopher, hero, and tyrant is self evident. And the world too is shaped by those figures, Socrates is the philosopher the tyrants of the Coast could not kill, he was capable to intimidating a party of heroes and fight in a battle between tyrants. Xianxia main characters often fight people one realm above them and it is supposed to be impressive, but his adversary have the word 'punching bag' written all over their faces. An character might find a technique that makes him smarter but cultivating virtue managed to neatly sidestep this problem by restricting cultivators to a single captain virtue. There isn't a 'meta' to be a successful cultivator and cultivator resources are nothing like 'pills' created by those privy of real life cheat code.
Oh thats Because most cultivator novels are trash. But there are some really good ones as well. Just as an example on SB Sect by ruygi makes the difference between realms stark and yet it is very reconstruction of the genre i think. Or threads of destiney over on SV.
I also haven't read many cultivation novels in nigh on a decade so take this with a grain of salt.
- Location
- Brazil
I don't know if you've read lord of mysteries, but it reads a lot like a xianxia while being very close of performative virtue. You have paths people follow and as long as they act their role they can advance in it, with their role changing in each step of their path. They basically eat the remains of eldritch beings to become an eldritch being themselves, using faith people have in them as a means of retaining humanity (sanity).
WRATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS 4
- Location
- Brazil
"Well, what do you think?" I say to my old friends and family members while showering them with gifts; figuring out the dream transportation trick was a shore!
"That you had been a busy little bee as always, Zagreus-sensei," Geto said in his usual diplomatic yet casually disrespectful tone of voice. Even then there is a deep appreciation of what he saw, "These new enlightenment books completely outclass everything you had produced so far. Perks of your new standing and a muse's favor, I presume…"
"Yet we can't help but worry why you are dropping everything on our lap now," Megumi says while examining me up and down. It was less an accusatory tone for what I did last time we saw each other in person and more one of acceptance of the kind of person I was. This kid can read me way too well, it seems.
I lift my latest book, 'definitive guide to the Philosopher's Stone'. After all the hassle it took me to figure it out it would be a shame to leave this knowledge to rot, especially the way I have been risking my life lately. The same goes for all Numerian science, only philosophers would be able to read these but it paid off. Philosophers are meant to be bastions of knowledge in the first place.
"There isn't much to say. Deskari's fight might have been unexpected but it was also as close to ideal as possible. With him dead then his first general, the balor lord Khorramzadeh, The Storm King, is sure to have stepped up to take the Rasping Rift for himself. This will not only elevate him to nascent demon lord status but also confer him dominion over Deskari's forces."
"And he is coming for your head, to prove himself the new head honcho." Gojo cut straight to the point, as someone familiar with how the pecking order works since birth. "You said that Deskari was arrogant and proud to the point of madness. But this Storm Lord never had the resurrection trick available in the first place, and the sense of invincibility derived from it either. He will bring out everyone, which are?"
"Four Balor slaves, another general called Darrazand, and an army of between hundreds to thousands of demons cajoled to serve in exchange for mythical power," I say as succinctly as I can manage.
A spy informant from behind enemy lines contacted Panaka a while ago, considering she was the one that informed Desna's church about Kenabres invasion her intel is solid. Areelu Vorlesh and her apprentice Xanthir Vang perfected their 'transformation' ritual and were working overtime to make up for the death of their master with quantity.
"At the risk of going out like Fëanor, getting run over by a train of balors, you decided to get your affairs in order in case the worst came to pass." Gojo casually accuses me while perusing my 'Treats on the Arcana', geared to teach philosophers how to perform arcane spell casting. Much like alchemy, wizardry is firmly set on a foundation of Logos, making it a worthwhile endeavor to pass on.
"A crass way to put it, as always. But yes, this is the most decisive battle of the 5th crusade. Drezen was the frontline of the crusade and now it is once more so, but for the demonic legions this time around. Conquering Drezen will give me a foothold to retake Sarkoris."
"Well, we certainly can't tell you to walk out of this one. Ever since we met you have been nothing if not nosy." Geto interjected while sighing in fond exasperation. "It's one of your greatest traits, after all. The reason you changed our lives for the better. But we can't help but wish you weren't so cavalier with your life." To drive the point home, he looked at Tsumiki cradling a crate full of bottles filled with nectar and yet staring at them like they were cheap replacements for the real thing.
I sighed in exasperation. I didn't want to deliver these kingly gifts in such a dour mood, but it is what it is. They were all closer to divinity than most souls would ever be yet they were still powerless in this matter. They had no means to help me, and it was eating away at them. Heroes are not meant to sit on the sideline. Maybe Geto was right, I have to be more considerate of their Ego.
I had ideas to mitigate this, of course. The [astral projection] spell offered great inspiration on this matter, but some things can't be brute forced and I wasn't in the mood to gamble with the souls of my loved ones. The severing of the silver cord teetering soul and body results in instant death. No questions asked. It is too big of an Achille's heel for my taste… I am an idiot, aren't I?
"My worthless student!" I say with a shit-eating grin on my face, a fact perked up instantly at my term of endearment really pissed him off in that special way I have been doing to him since he was a teenager. Yet the way I was looking at his collarbone, where he kept his necklace pass instantly perked his attention right the fuck up. "Drag my worthless student's worthless student down here right now. I, your master, will see to it that you no longer have to sulk on the sidelines!"
"You really know how to push my buttons, don't you? Luck for you, I have long since owed to beat Yuji's head straight anyway." Gojo answered with a feral smile. And he wasn't the only one. The rest of the presents were overtaken by enthusiasm and hope.
It seems they all had felt stifled by my coddling. Well, to my defense, Gojo was supposed to be the strongest one of the lot and my first impression of him was as the victim of a scene crime.
Our mysterious informant was dead on the money too. I could see with the acute senses of a hero that the city was teeming with hordes of demons. I had delivered the first true defeat to the war for the Worldwound since Aroden himself walked among men. And now is the counter-offensive.
Only my stellar performance in this campaign has kept the morale of my troops in check when they saw Drezen. This will be the biggest battle of the 5th Crusade, defeat meant another chance like this wouldn't happen again for a hundred years, probably more if it even at all. But victory? Men feel that if they triumph here, they might live to see the end of the Worldwound.
Despite the challenge ahead, most men find themselves excited and terrified in equal measure. The head feeling of overwhelming presence enveloping them like a blanket and whispering promises of victory, the fraternal sense of belonging they feel for the strangers they fight side-by-side without hesitation, and the sense of purpose and victory. Drezen will be the crucible from where the new leaders of Sarkoris will rise. The last thing on their minds is to return home.
"So how are you feeling, Panaka?" I ask my new apprentice.
As things stand the battlefield is both the best and worst classroom. Fortunately for him, I always believed that when a truth is expressed correctly it's self-evident to the point of being plainly understood even by a fool. Every lesson was eminently applicable to the task at hand. The skills taught were concrete and readily contextualized, and though they weren't all easily learned, the reason they needed to be known was always clear.
He already had the foundation to be a great warrior, not that it is a rare thing. Golarion is an unspeakable dangerous world, and weakness has been bred out of them by countless troubles. Panaka was elegant like a dancer and as strong as a bull and cultivation elevated these traits, but mythical power brought to the surface an almost forgotten mischief streak.
"Like I walked for days without sleep or bathroom breaks while bathing from head to toe into demon blood and guts. You know, the typical crusader experience." He confined to me while we reviewed the maps of the city's layout.
"Don't forget the blood loss." I shimmed in good humor.
"And how could I forget? The only thing keeping me going is the comedy found among the ruins. Are you really going to dispose of the Zacharius guy?"
"And you want me to spare him?"
"He pulled a magnificent trick, being worshiped as a great hero, a saint really while going behind everyone's back to seize eternal life for himself."
"I owe to check that head of yours, maybe you hit it too hard back in your fall during Deskari's battle."
"Don't be like that, Zac. That world itself has gone crazy. We are just following along. Especially with that suicide mission, you tossed on my lap." Panaka answered with a mischievous grin. What the hell was someone so unruly doing in a crusade city?
"Don't let the men hear you speak like this, would you? I will start to pass command of the crusade to you once we take Drezen-
"Wasn't I supposed to be leading this crusade in the first place?" Panaka asked a question that wasn't a question. I obviously stepped over Queen Galfrey's toes to get the crusade to go my way. She had no room to talk back then since most conscripts came here for me in one way or another, but as soon as Drezen is secured she is going to start to stir trouble.
I whacked Panaka upside the head for his cheek and moved on. "Since you are so worked up, remember your part. I will engage the most powerful demons on my own while directing our forces. You are to infiltrate Drezen and secure Iomedae's banner, the Sword of Valor. If it works as it is intended then it will turn the battle in our favor."
"And that is why you gave me this wicked sword, right? Love the gift but the skull crossguard is a bit tacky though." Panaka says while brandishing Rebellion like it was a toy. They instantly bonded, as expected.
"You can always give it back if you dislike it." I say while stretching my hand into a 'gime' gesture.
"Yet your sense of style is impeccable, and the sword fits with my new drip," Panaka says while addressing his new reinforced leather armor and pulling the sword away from my reach. I gave him the Dante dress code because I knew he would love it too.
Not only that but both his new armor and weapons were augmented with Numerian more analogic super-science and magic. I also gave myself the liberty to do the same for his companions. Because they will need it, the demons are not going to take it lying down. This is their chance to revert things back in their favor. But I have no intention to let them.
"Remember, this sword is your lifeline, a fetish and spiritual shield. When you set your life aflame to correct the situation of the Wardstone angelic host, you got infused by the power of the artifact. This granted you mythical powers from Iomedae but you also inherited the Wardstone's scar and lingering corruption." I lied. While his mythical powers were triggered in the Wardstone, their source is traced to his wound. However this knowledge can have adverse effects, so I will keep it to myself for now.
"Yeah, you told me I am supposed to be more susceptible to the Worldwound corrupting influence, right? You protected me in the march here but it is time for me to earn my keep and stand on my own legs." Panaka says resolutely, and the side of the man that earned my respect shined through once more. He could do it. He might die trying, but he could make the difference today as he did back on Kenabres.
"That is the spirit. I expect great things from you. Even if your jokes are lame."
"The hell they are!"
The mere idea that mortal men could fight the storm was madness. Fortunately, the men under my banner were now cultivators, true sons and daughters of Raging Heaven. And the Father has no use for men afraid of the dark. Facing the storm was our singular privilege and manifest destiny.
As the cruel bolts descended over our heads, virtuous men lifted their sword arms in defiance, guided by my firm hand, and struck back at the storm like a mortal man would a sword blow. They wouldn't succumb quietly to the storm, even as their limbs were charred black by the storm. And they wouldn't let their formation be broken by might alone.
Of course, the brunt of the storm was aimed my way. Khorramzadeh was unlike anything I have ever faced yet he reminisced me of Tribulation Lightning – it hungered, and it tried to break me down uncaring of standing or disposition. It could hurt me where ordinary thunder would be harmless and he wielded it like it was any other weapon.
Unfortunately for him, I have been preparing myself to face raging heaven on my lonesome for over twenty years, and I am not the kind to play defensive either. I swing my sword in an ascending arc with the support of the thousands of men under my banner backing me. A darker-than-black arc of light crowned with stars flew up and severed the storm in two, revealing the afternoon sun.
Sparagmos – the act of renting into pieces. Something I adapted from Sukuna's cookbook. By backing it with mythical power augment its motion, expanding it to target the very pneuma of the Storm, disrupting it. If Khorramzadeh could mimic the Storm that Never Ceases to some extent using mythical power, then there is no reason for me not to do the same. Even then it was a stop-gap solution. It was clear to the naked eye how the storm stitched itself together and the discerning eyes of a hero could even see the guiding will holding the reins of the storm.
Alas, it would have to be enough. With the temporary respite from the storm, I gathered my influence, sacrificing hundreds of years to the flames of my virtuous spirit at the altar of my fourth labor. My shadow expanded and linked to my entire legion and countless black arrows flung themselves from it, blotting out the reemerging sun once more and falling into Drezen like a biblical plague.
The black bolts of unkindness cut a screaming arc through the sky elegantly like flying birds. Like the storm, they were guided by a directing will, deftly avoiding obstacles to closing in on their mark and delivering tribulation from their beaks and talons. The poison of despair that killed Deskari. That is because the ink bolts were not arrows, but ravens.
They peeked and harassed the demonic legions. No amount of mythical power could mitigate the Abyss' quintessential nature and the demons, loose canons one and all, fell into each other in their panic and chaos. Their retaliatory attacks turned into friendly fire and small wounds festered as cruel beaks tore at tender flesh and eyes.
My counter was as successful as it was short-lived, the storm thrummed back to life and the skies were sealed off once again. Yet they fulfilled their purpose, in the short window, my troops reached the walls of Drezen. I kicked down its walls and created stone bridges out of shadow and ivory for my forces to cross. We penetrated Drezen, now we just had to take it.
Even as lightning fell in my head I smiled as the second part of my plan started to gain motion. During the brief raven assault, I gained a bird's eye view of the battlefield. With said intel, I guided my crusaders where they needed to be. As the demons gave their back to the mangled cadavers of my unkindness, I pulled the rug from under their feet once more.
I threw centuries of my life into the flames once more, making a circuit between my first and fourth labor. Hypnos is just a prelude to Thanatos, slumber is just a small death. Those baptized by me into wine-dark faith, bearing the underworld pass made from the treasure of my soul, the habitants of my personal Orphic House. My dreaming ravens. I beckoned them using my Dream to neatly sidestep the infinity that separated us.
Time for some jolly cooperation. Praise the Underworld motherfucker!
I pulled a Hades and filled Drezen with dark expects in midnight raven veils. The hundreds of people I saved back in Shibuya Incident now return the favor by answering my call. Holy shit! This really drives home how big Tsumiki's Raging Heaven cult has become, they were all deep in the sophic realm. I didn't doubt Tsumiki's potential, cultivation is the work of a lifetime but the Raging Heaven Cult started out as a multibillionaire institution due to my early investment in bitcoin. What surprised me was the enthusiasm all these people had to have to reach so high in such a short span of time. The trauma of Mahito's violation certainly would be a great enough motivation, but that they didn't burn themselves out and crash is to Tsumiki's credit as a Kyrioi.
This is only viable thanks to Yuji though. Astral Projection is considered the pinnacle of necromancy but the risks involved made it unviable for me, yet his experience with cursed objects and cohabitation of souls without integration turned out to be essential. To amend that I had to use the underworld pass necklace and my monument to Ego as a Dream Realm and safe rub to my dreamers's souls. It's kind of how the Hunter's Dream works in Bloodborne.
And as they had all been tempered by the same founding mystery too, bringing them into the fold under the mantle of my influence was easy. I had manifested my heroic unities right in front of the balors while my crusaders and ravens ground down the demonic force in a pincer formation. Fortunately, 3rd realm cultivators can't fuel their heart flame with their own heart blood while in astral form, needing to tap into the stocks of their summoner so even these rebellious souls under my care are one hundred percent safe. Even then their raw power comprises hundreds of men put together while sophic cultivators are in the dozens, more than enough to hold the Balor slaves until I take care of Khorramzadeh.
While I charge toward the Balor Lord I direct Panaka and his friends toward the Sword of Valor. This battle is far from won just yet and from what I saw so far Khorramzadeh and I are on even footing with one another. Khorramzadeh is in that sweet spot where most of his power is concentrated on his person, kind of like the heroic realm of demons. He also has battlefield superiority. It isn't worth it to attack the storm when I can simply force him to focus it on me.
I cut my way through Drezen, busting stone walls like they were made of cardboard. Despite the disorientation derided from the storm, I could feel he doing much the same. He channeled the storm toward himself like a lightning rod as he advanced toward me until all his concentrated power was discharged in our sword clash.
I was burning at full throttle as well, so the impact of our swords tore the tiles from all rooftops across the city and pushed both of our armies away from our battle. This would be a one-on-one death match with everything on the line.
"It's been long since any brave fool challenged me, the great Khorramzadeh! After I tear you to shreds, I will grind your pathetic followers to dust!" The balor lord declared to the heavens, his voice like thunder and despite my heroic stature, he still dwarfed me by more than double my size. In hand be wielded a cruel kopis blade serrated like lightning.
"That is why you don't let the help speak, Deskari had far better battle banter. Not that it helped him any in the end." I say with a cruel smile of mine own like he is no better than dirty in my boot.
My provocation worked as intended and Khorramzadeh screamed a hoar in outrage and his storm followed suit. He released a powerful discharge of profane power from his body and I answered in kind, manifesting my [star rage] to scorch his body and soul. Instead of rebuffing each other our attacks pierced throw each other, forcing us to disengage simultaneously.
Well, that turned out more complicated than I thought it would be. I was in full regalia and despite the penumbra of the storm my light still shone defiantly, scorching and blinding the demonic army opposing my allies while fortifying and supporting my subordinates. Despite Khorramzadeh's overwhelming firepower, he had no means to counter my healing factor from my dharma star pneumatic chamber. And yet Khorramzadeh is not without resort either, the very storm revitalizes him where it would hurt any other and he proved himself impervious to my smiting light. This will be a battle of attrition.
We dance through the air like bolts of light, clashing again and again, leaving a trail of destruction in our frenzied battle. He somehow knows about the poison of despair of my blade, making a point to favor his whip of lightning over his blade due to its reach and flooding himself with lightning after each glancing blow and shallow cut to shake off its torpor. It was as I feared, there is none of the inflated ego in Khorramzadeh. He was taking this seriously and the outcome of this battle is yet uncertain. We were hurting each other faster than we could heal ourselves but the balance was too tenuous to last. Eventually one of us would get the upper hand and neither of us was up to leaving it to lady luck.
How long has it been since I had one of those fights? Despite the grim stakes, I found myself smiling. It seems I have become a thrill junkie. So be it. Time to reach into my old bag of tricks and see what I can pull off.
One raven only tells the truth, and the other only lies. We trade sword blows through the air like something out of an anime fever dream, clashing again and again in a frenzied tempo, our blows outpassing the wind like a unique uninterrupted blow. Suddenly the battlefield melody goes out of tune, Khorramzadeh's sword passes right through me as I break into a shower of black feathers and ravens, clouding my presence.
It was for just a fraction of a second but the balor lost track of me. Or rather, he was led to believe so. In truth, I was the ravens circling him and I reconstituted myself while cutting his back open and severing his spine. Khorramzadeh howled in answer and exploded in a profane lightning conflagration once more, pushing me back despite my best effort.
Despite his injuries, lightning holds his spine together and he raises his hand toward the storm, concentrating its power on his hands. He then swings it around like a giant lightning whip and drives it violently in a vertical slash. And the city of Drezen is cleaved in two.
He probably intended for me to block it to protect my troops but my hold over them meant I could command them like any other limb. Ordering them to get the hell out of dodge was a no-brainer. His attack might have healed him some but the storm has been temporarily spent by his attack.
I close in while creating probability clones, something I couldn't risk before due to extra exposure, and Khorramzadeh bolts back, understanding his compromised position. Five starry midnight streaks of light pursue a lightning bolt across storm skies. Khorramzadeh kept me at by through judicious use of [chain lightning], forcing us to keep a certain distance but he was still being kited, shallow blows were infecting him with despair.
He somewhat understood how it worked and tried to counter by shocking himself into a frenzy, exploiting the animatic power of lightning to shake off the stone-like inertia of my poison. But even with four eyes, he didn't have what it took to keep all of myself in range, flying sparagmos slashes were mounting up. He was a mangled mess from head to toe. They slowed him down until we closed in for the kill, Khorramzadeh raised his blade in a final hail Mary but he could at best ward off one of me as mem myself, and I turned him into a pincushion.
And the five of us proceeded to do just that… wait-
Too little too late I realized that Khorramzadeh wasn't warding any of us but aiming his blade at the storm, like a lightning rod! He either suspected all five of me were real or had given up on sorting through and finding the real me. So he either decided to gambit I wouldn't immediately kill him or opted to take me down with him, the crazy bastard! That was my style!
The result was the same, I ran my sword through him five times over and was immediately electrocuted by the concentrated power of the storm five times for my trouble. The world was consumed by light and I blacked out from the pain.
The next thing I noticed was the yellow setting sun on my face. Everything hurt and I had been seared like a well-done stake but I was alive, my desperate gambit paid off. Something I took from Hakari's balancebook, the boy overcommits in fights due to his pseudo immortality often landing him in hot water against technical enemies, so to counter it he uses a binding vow sacrificing a limb to reinforce his body. Now my black armor blew apart to ward off some of the power of the storm like a lizard severing its tail. Considering that the first chakra was related to survival it was a super effective strategy.
All my limbs are numb and non-responding but I can still fight, so I lift myself with difficulty. Then when I looked once more toward the horizon, I saw the silhouette of Khorramzadeh, and with no small amount of satisfaction, I assessed he had seen better days.
The final lightning bolt reenergized him but only just. He was bleeding heavily from the five decisive blows I landed on him and the wound was necrosing fast. He even broke one of his wings when he fell. More telling of all, the storm had dissipated. He was in his last leg, the same as me.
I couldn't help it, I started laughing. Apparently, Khorramzadeh felt much the same because he joined me. In the end, we were both foreigners in these lands carving a place for ourselves. The death of the other was needed to solidify the hold over these lands but I can't say it was unpleasant dance the one we had. Things were about to come to a close though so there is no sin in enjoying the afterglow while it lasts.
My starlight marrow burned through all the nectar in my blood mending me into fighting form while Khorramzadeh circulated as much lightning as he had to shake off the inertia of despair flooding his body in the short time I had given him but that was it.
I reached into the deepest recesses of my tormented soul for the animalistic fury and tenacity. My blood boiled so hot I was steaming and I gathered the dregs of my influence to manifest my Carrion intention. A ribcage made of ghost flame growing arms and muscles, until it became a grinning flayed apparition about as big as Khorramzadeh himself.
He screamed in defiance as we charged each other. Our first punch brushed against each other without reverting their course and the resonance alone was enough for me to spit blood while Khorramzadeh spat his front teeth. We whaled at each other in a savage exchange, even the sound of his bones breaking was like thunder.
We had abandoned all semblance of form to savage each other like rabid animals, falling back to the primal pull of inspired violence, the oldest and deepest art form known to men since before we had more thoughts in our heads than fingers to count them. We bit and clawed and raked whatever we could reach. Until my manifested intention gave out yet we fought regardless. I punched him in the throat just to get a knee to the groin in retaliation, I ate a knuckle sandwich to seize his arm into a judo arm lock overthrowing him across a building even as his lightning aura touched me alive. We locked ourselves into an arms struggle where we dragged every bit of mythical power remaining to pitch against the other, carving a chasm between each other that broke city blocks like they were porcelain plates.
We were two ruins stubbornly tearing at each other. Both two stubborn to break down before the other did, battling in our private little world. Is there any wonder then that an outside force broke out the stalemate?
A pillar of light pierced the heavens as far as the eyes could see and a holy aura fell on the ruins of Drezen like a aurora. Panaka had seized the Sword of Valor, the sacred banner once belonging to Iomedae. Its effects were instantaneous and unmistakable, it was like Khorramzadeh had suddenly found himself bound by a straightjacket, every limb moved like it had been attached to a lead weight. The victory was mine, he couldn't even teleport away now. And it tasted bitter in my mouth.
He knew it as well, he turned to me and a new glint had entered his eyes. I couldn't help but laugh. "That is right, mighty Khorramzadeh! Show it to me! The ending chapter of the storm lord and know that I will take your Last Breath for myself. Because I am your better!" I threw in a last challenge toward my foe, a closing statement of our battle.
Balor are notoriously feared not only for their cruel hulking power in life but also for their deadly death throes. A blinding explosion of unholy fire against everything in one hundred feet range, turning the slaying of balors into harrowing business. And now I just said I will grab said bull by the horns, how could he turn his back now?
Khorramzadeh shouted toward the heavens in defiance, the dying storm in his eyes returned accompanied by a cruel smile, his frame bulking to the point of bursting, and a second pillar of lightning shot toward the heavens in defiance. The Storm King charged me with everything he had, the culmination of his existence distilled into a single moment. I saw his history through my sophic sense.
Like most demons, his mortal life had been almost forgotten at this point, safe his reign of terror as a warlord. He thrived in the Abyss, becoming a balor general under Pazuzu, Deskari's father. During a potent storm in the Abyssal Realm of Verakivhan, where he was waging war against the troll legions of the demon lord Urxehl, the Balor ascended to the status of lord among its kind. After taking the head of a mythic marilith known as the Typhoon of Blades and absorbing the heart of the violent storm she controlled, he made the lightning his own and became known thereafter as the Storm King.
Khorramzadeh charged me and I knew it would be his last. He no longer had any way to revert the process, if I dodged beyond the boundaries of space and time like I did against Kenjaku, victory would be mine… but that is how losers think!
Nah, I would win this fair and square, leaving no room for doubt who was the superior between the two of us.
My pneuma ignited from my body like a supernova and I charged Khorramzadeh, time to catch tribulation with my teeth, literally. This time he was the one caught flat-footed as I slammed into him, piercing his body with a blade of rhetoric coated hand and grasped his beating heart, the Eye of the Hurricane. I pulled it free from his chest and bit it down, sinking the fangs of my influence into it, triggering the conflagration of the Storm King's death throes.
It was just as bad as last time but fortunately for me, what doesn't kill me only makes me stronger. The principle of my soul backed by the essence of the [latent] soul, which excels through outside stimulus, set in the foundation of a [tormented] soul capable of finding strength in adversity, made me more than capable of overcoming any trial. I had been preparing myself for it, directing my starlight marrow and remaining nectar to fortify my body against the power of Khorramzadeh's profane lightning.
That is why when the Storm King detonated, I held on for long enough to pitch the Hunger of the Abyss against his torment. Sinking my teeth into the bounty of his soul and consuming it all for myself. It blinded me and the earth was shocked by the resulting earthquake, all my nerves were set ablaze, and yet the more I ate the more the storm became part of me, the more it invigorated me where before it would hurt. It was a race to see if the storm could destroy me before I made it mine. All the while I burned, throwing thousands of years to the frames to buy me seconds in the future as lightning scorched me inside and out.
Part of me wonders if this is what trying to take off a piece of a tyrant's influence feels like. I was consuming the storm and yet it was not settling inside my body at all. It was just causing havoc, wrestling control, and stirring disorder. Unfortunately for it, I know myself all too well. The boundaries of my soul might as well have been adamant wrought, untransmutable, and absolute. I had long since chipped away all weaknesses and flawed spots. My body had become a snare coiling around the storm until finally, I seized it in hand.
The storm was subjugated, and incorporated in my own flesh. Khorramzadeh's distilled quintessence settled on my throat chakra, something that I had already expected – as the Father was the Thunderer the son was the Bromius (noisy, roaring, boisterous); a Greek soul's influence is manifested through rhetoric, the advantage of being the loudest voice in the agora can't be understated.
Yet this was not the end of it, much like Dionysus's starlight marrow, the subjugated storm settling in my body reshaped me and expanded my substance, deepening my existence as it integrated with my mythical power. The power once held by the Typhoon of Blades that was later seized by the Storm King now exists within me. A lesser mystery as much as such boons can even be called such compared to the gods themselves. It exists in the same category as the Six Eyes, even if particular in nature.
I looked up, there was no lightning bolt coming down on my head yet as lightning danced between my fingers, I felt like I never would have to fear it again.
So yeah, no ascension this time. Part of me was tempted to count Khorramzadeh as a labor, but if I did so then Zagreus would be a tyrant by the end of Wrath of Righteous. It is the most epic adventure module in Pathfinder after all. Instead, I gave him this neat power-up, which replaced the problematic Unstoppable (Ex) and Immortal (Su). It even got retconned out of the game due to how it influenced the stakes. Instead, Zagreus got an appropriate power for a son of raging heaven.
The next chapter will be more about the kingmaker aspect of Wrath of Righteous and character development. Hope you enjoy it!
"That you had been a busy little bee as always, Zagreus-sensei," Geto said in his usual diplomatic yet casually disrespectful tone of voice. Even then there is a deep appreciation of what he saw, "These new enlightenment books completely outclass everything you had produced so far. Perks of your new standing and a muse's favor, I presume…"
"Yet we can't help but worry why you are dropping everything on our lap now," Megumi says while examining me up and down. It was less an accusatory tone for what I did last time we saw each other in person and more one of acceptance of the kind of person I was. This kid can read me way too well, it seems.
I lift my latest book, 'definitive guide to the Philosopher's Stone'. After all the hassle it took me to figure it out it would be a shame to leave this knowledge to rot, especially the way I have been risking my life lately. The same goes for all Numerian science, only philosophers would be able to read these but it paid off. Philosophers are meant to be bastions of knowledge in the first place.
"There isn't much to say. Deskari's fight might have been unexpected but it was also as close to ideal as possible. With him dead then his first general, the balor lord Khorramzadeh, The Storm King, is sure to have stepped up to take the Rasping Rift for himself. This will not only elevate him to nascent demon lord status but also confer him dominion over Deskari's forces."
"And he is coming for your head, to prove himself the new head honcho." Gojo cut straight to the point, as someone familiar with how the pecking order works since birth. "You said that Deskari was arrogant and proud to the point of madness. But this Storm Lord never had the resurrection trick available in the first place, and the sense of invincibility derived from it either. He will bring out everyone, which are?"
"Four Balor slaves, another general called Darrazand, and an army of between hundreds to thousands of demons cajoled to serve in exchange for mythical power," I say as succinctly as I can manage.
A spy informant from behind enemy lines contacted Panaka a while ago, considering she was the one that informed Desna's church about Kenabres invasion her intel is solid. Areelu Vorlesh and her apprentice Xanthir Vang perfected their 'transformation' ritual and were working overtime to make up for the death of their master with quantity.
"At the risk of going out like Fëanor, getting run over by a train of balors, you decided to get your affairs in order in case the worst came to pass." Gojo casually accuses me while perusing my 'Treats on the Arcana', geared to teach philosophers how to perform arcane spell casting. Much like alchemy, wizardry is firmly set on a foundation of Logos, making it a worthwhile endeavor to pass on.
"A crass way to put it, as always. But yes, this is the most decisive battle of the 5th crusade. Drezen was the frontline of the crusade and now it is once more so, but for the demonic legions this time around. Conquering Drezen will give me a foothold to retake Sarkoris."
"Well, we certainly can't tell you to walk out of this one. Ever since we met you have been nothing if not nosy." Geto interjected while sighing in fond exasperation. "It's one of your greatest traits, after all. The reason you changed our lives for the better. But we can't help but wish you weren't so cavalier with your life." To drive the point home, he looked at Tsumiki cradling a crate full of bottles filled with nectar and yet staring at them like they were cheap replacements for the real thing.
I sighed in exasperation. I didn't want to deliver these kingly gifts in such a dour mood, but it is what it is. They were all closer to divinity than most souls would ever be yet they were still powerless in this matter. They had no means to help me, and it was eating away at them. Heroes are not meant to sit on the sideline. Maybe Geto was right, I have to be more considerate of their Ego.
I had ideas to mitigate this, of course. The [astral projection] spell offered great inspiration on this matter, but some things can't be brute forced and I wasn't in the mood to gamble with the souls of my loved ones. The severing of the silver cord teetering soul and body results in instant death. No questions asked. It is too big of an Achille's heel for my taste… I am an idiot, aren't I?
"My worthless student!" I say with a shit-eating grin on my face, a fact perked up instantly at my term of endearment really pissed him off in that special way I have been doing to him since he was a teenager. Yet the way I was looking at his collarbone, where he kept his necklace pass instantly perked his attention right the fuck up. "Drag my worthless student's worthless student down here right now. I, your master, will see to it that you no longer have to sulk on the sidelines!"
"You really know how to push my buttons, don't you? Luck for you, I have long since owed to beat Yuji's head straight anyway." Gojo answered with a feral smile. And he wasn't the only one. The rest of the presents were overtaken by enthusiasm and hope.
It seems they all had felt stifled by my coddling. Well, to my defense, Gojo was supposed to be the strongest one of the lot and my first impression of him was as the victim of a scene crime.
-//-
The walls of Drezen loomed on the horizon. Not that a normal person would be able to see through the storm crown blanketing the fortified city with a foreboding black curtain of thunderclouds.
Our mysterious informant was dead on the money too. I could see with the acute senses of a hero that the city was teeming with hordes of demons. I had delivered the first true defeat to the war for the Worldwound since Aroden himself walked among men. And now is the counter-offensive.
Only my stellar performance in this campaign has kept the morale of my troops in check when they saw Drezen. This will be the biggest battle of the 5th Crusade, defeat meant another chance like this wouldn't happen again for a hundred years, probably more if it even at all. But victory? Men feel that if they triumph here, they might live to see the end of the Worldwound.
Despite the challenge ahead, most men find themselves excited and terrified in equal measure. The head feeling of overwhelming presence enveloping them like a blanket and whispering promises of victory, the fraternal sense of belonging they feel for the strangers they fight side-by-side without hesitation, and the sense of purpose and victory. Drezen will be the crucible from where the new leaders of Sarkoris will rise. The last thing on their minds is to return home.
"So how are you feeling, Panaka?" I ask my new apprentice.
As things stand the battlefield is both the best and worst classroom. Fortunately for him, I always believed that when a truth is expressed correctly it's self-evident to the point of being plainly understood even by a fool. Every lesson was eminently applicable to the task at hand. The skills taught were concrete and readily contextualized, and though they weren't all easily learned, the reason they needed to be known was always clear.
He already had the foundation to be a great warrior, not that it is a rare thing. Golarion is an unspeakable dangerous world, and weakness has been bred out of them by countless troubles. Panaka was elegant like a dancer and as strong as a bull and cultivation elevated these traits, but mythical power brought to the surface an almost forgotten mischief streak.
"Like I walked for days without sleep or bathroom breaks while bathing from head to toe into demon blood and guts. You know, the typical crusader experience." He confined to me while we reviewed the maps of the city's layout.
"Don't forget the blood loss." I shimmed in good humor.
"And how could I forget? The only thing keeping me going is the comedy found among the ruins. Are you really going to dispose of the Zacharius guy?"
"And you want me to spare him?"
"He pulled a magnificent trick, being worshiped as a great hero, a saint really while going behind everyone's back to seize eternal life for himself."
"I owe to check that head of yours, maybe you hit it too hard back in your fall during Deskari's battle."
"Don't be like that, Zac. That world itself has gone crazy. We are just following along. Especially with that suicide mission, you tossed on my lap." Panaka answered with a mischievous grin. What the hell was someone so unruly doing in a crusade city?
"Don't let the men hear you speak like this, would you? I will start to pass command of the crusade to you once we take Drezen-
"Wasn't I supposed to be leading this crusade in the first place?" Panaka asked a question that wasn't a question. I obviously stepped over Queen Galfrey's toes to get the crusade to go my way. She had no room to talk back then since most conscripts came here for me in one way or another, but as soon as Drezen is secured she is going to start to stir trouble.
I whacked Panaka upside the head for his cheek and moved on. "Since you are so worked up, remember your part. I will engage the most powerful demons on my own while directing our forces. You are to infiltrate Drezen and secure Iomedae's banner, the Sword of Valor. If it works as it is intended then it will turn the battle in our favor."
"And that is why you gave me this wicked sword, right? Love the gift but the skull crossguard is a bit tacky though." Panaka says while brandishing Rebellion like it was a toy. They instantly bonded, as expected.
"You can always give it back if you dislike it." I say while stretching my hand into a 'gime' gesture.
"Yet your sense of style is impeccable, and the sword fits with my new drip," Panaka says while addressing his new reinforced leather armor and pulling the sword away from my reach. I gave him the Dante dress code because I knew he would love it too.
Not only that but both his new armor and weapons were augmented with Numerian more analogic super-science and magic. I also gave myself the liberty to do the same for his companions. Because they will need it, the demons are not going to take it lying down. This is their chance to revert things back in their favor. But I have no intention to let them.
"Remember, this sword is your lifeline, a fetish and spiritual shield. When you set your life aflame to correct the situation of the Wardstone angelic host, you got infused by the power of the artifact. This granted you mythical powers from Iomedae but you also inherited the Wardstone's scar and lingering corruption." I lied. While his mythical powers were triggered in the Wardstone, their source is traced to his wound. However this knowledge can have adverse effects, so I will keep it to myself for now.
"Yeah, you told me I am supposed to be more susceptible to the Worldwound corrupting influence, right? You protected me in the march here but it is time for me to earn my keep and stand on my own legs." Panaka says resolutely, and the side of the man that earned my respect shined through once more. He could do it. He might die trying, but he could make the difference today as he did back on Kenabres.
"That is the spirit. I expect great things from you. Even if your jokes are lame."
"The hell they are!"
-//-
The once proud crusader city has become a den of evil. Khorramzadeh lived up to his reputation as the Storm King, as soon as my marching forces entered Drezen's range we were assaulted by a volley of lightning bolts. The storm raged turbulent winds capable of rebutting advancement and sealing the skies, water curtain hitting like a shower of ice needles, whaling thunder deafening ears, and flashes leaving after spots in the retina.
The mere idea that mortal men could fight the storm was madness. Fortunately, the men under my banner were now cultivators, true sons and daughters of Raging Heaven. And the Father has no use for men afraid of the dark. Facing the storm was our singular privilege and manifest destiny.
As the cruel bolts descended over our heads, virtuous men lifted their sword arms in defiance, guided by my firm hand, and struck back at the storm like a mortal man would a sword blow. They wouldn't succumb quietly to the storm, even as their limbs were charred black by the storm. And they wouldn't let their formation be broken by might alone.
Of course, the brunt of the storm was aimed my way. Khorramzadeh was unlike anything I have ever faced yet he reminisced me of Tribulation Lightning – it hungered, and it tried to break me down uncaring of standing or disposition. It could hurt me where ordinary thunder would be harmless and he wielded it like it was any other weapon.
Unfortunately for him, I have been preparing myself to face raging heaven on my lonesome for over twenty years, and I am not the kind to play defensive either. I swing my sword in an ascending arc with the support of the thousands of men under my banner backing me. A darker-than-black arc of light crowned with stars flew up and severed the storm in two, revealing the afternoon sun.
Sparagmos – the act of renting into pieces. Something I adapted from Sukuna's cookbook. By backing it with mythical power augment its motion, expanding it to target the very pneuma of the Storm, disrupting it. If Khorramzadeh could mimic the Storm that Never Ceases to some extent using mythical power, then there is no reason for me not to do the same. Even then it was a stop-gap solution. It was clear to the naked eye how the storm stitched itself together and the discerning eyes of a hero could even see the guiding will holding the reins of the storm.
Alas, it would have to be enough. With the temporary respite from the storm, I gathered my influence, sacrificing hundreds of years to the flames of my virtuous spirit at the altar of my fourth labor. My shadow expanded and linked to my entire legion and countless black arrows flung themselves from it, blotting out the reemerging sun once more and falling into Drezen like a biblical plague.
The black bolts of unkindness cut a screaming arc through the sky elegantly like flying birds. Like the storm, they were guided by a directing will, deftly avoiding obstacles to closing in on their mark and delivering tribulation from their beaks and talons. The poison of despair that killed Deskari. That is because the ink bolts were not arrows, but ravens.
They peeked and harassed the demonic legions. No amount of mythical power could mitigate the Abyss' quintessential nature and the demons, loose canons one and all, fell into each other in their panic and chaos. Their retaliatory attacks turned into friendly fire and small wounds festered as cruel beaks tore at tender flesh and eyes.
My counter was as successful as it was short-lived, the storm thrummed back to life and the skies were sealed off once again. Yet they fulfilled their purpose, in the short window, my troops reached the walls of Drezen. I kicked down its walls and created stone bridges out of shadow and ivory for my forces to cross. We penetrated Drezen, now we just had to take it.
Even as lightning fell in my head I smiled as the second part of my plan started to gain motion. During the brief raven assault, I gained a bird's eye view of the battlefield. With said intel, I guided my crusaders where they needed to be. As the demons gave their back to the mangled cadavers of my unkindness, I pulled the rug from under their feet once more.
I threw centuries of my life into the flames once more, making a circuit between my first and fourth labor. Hypnos is just a prelude to Thanatos, slumber is just a small death. Those baptized by me into wine-dark faith, bearing the underworld pass made from the treasure of my soul, the habitants of my personal Orphic House. My dreaming ravens. I beckoned them using my Dream to neatly sidestep the infinity that separated us.
Time for some jolly cooperation. Praise the Underworld motherfucker!
I pulled a Hades and filled Drezen with dark expects in midnight raven veils. The hundreds of people I saved back in Shibuya Incident now return the favor by answering my call. Holy shit! This really drives home how big Tsumiki's Raging Heaven cult has become, they were all deep in the sophic realm. I didn't doubt Tsumiki's potential, cultivation is the work of a lifetime but the Raging Heaven Cult started out as a multibillionaire institution due to my early investment in bitcoin. What surprised me was the enthusiasm all these people had to have to reach so high in such a short span of time. The trauma of Mahito's violation certainly would be a great enough motivation, but that they didn't burn themselves out and crash is to Tsumiki's credit as a Kyrioi.
This is only viable thanks to Yuji though. Astral Projection is considered the pinnacle of necromancy but the risks involved made it unviable for me, yet his experience with cursed objects and cohabitation of souls without integration turned out to be essential. To amend that I had to use the underworld pass necklace and my monument to Ego as a Dream Realm and safe rub to my dreamers's souls. It's kind of how the Hunter's Dream works in Bloodborne.
And as they had all been tempered by the same founding mystery too, bringing them into the fold under the mantle of my influence was easy. I had manifested my heroic unities right in front of the balors while my crusaders and ravens ground down the demonic force in a pincer formation. Fortunately, 3rd realm cultivators can't fuel their heart flame with their own heart blood while in astral form, needing to tap into the stocks of their summoner so even these rebellious souls under my care are one hundred percent safe. Even then their raw power comprises hundreds of men put together while sophic cultivators are in the dozens, more than enough to hold the Balor slaves until I take care of Khorramzadeh.
While I charge toward the Balor Lord I direct Panaka and his friends toward the Sword of Valor. This battle is far from won just yet and from what I saw so far Khorramzadeh and I are on even footing with one another. Khorramzadeh is in that sweet spot where most of his power is concentrated on his person, kind of like the heroic realm of demons. He also has battlefield superiority. It isn't worth it to attack the storm when I can simply force him to focus it on me.
I cut my way through Drezen, busting stone walls like they were made of cardboard. Despite the disorientation derided from the storm, I could feel he doing much the same. He channeled the storm toward himself like a lightning rod as he advanced toward me until all his concentrated power was discharged in our sword clash.
I was burning at full throttle as well, so the impact of our swords tore the tiles from all rooftops across the city and pushed both of our armies away from our battle. This would be a one-on-one death match with everything on the line.
"It's been long since any brave fool challenged me, the great Khorramzadeh! After I tear you to shreds, I will grind your pathetic followers to dust!" The balor lord declared to the heavens, his voice like thunder and despite my heroic stature, he still dwarfed me by more than double my size. In hand be wielded a cruel kopis blade serrated like lightning.
"That is why you don't let the help speak, Deskari had far better battle banter. Not that it helped him any in the end." I say with a cruel smile of mine own like he is no better than dirty in my boot.
My provocation worked as intended and Khorramzadeh screamed a hoar in outrage and his storm followed suit. He released a powerful discharge of profane power from his body and I answered in kind, manifesting my [star rage] to scorch his body and soul. Instead of rebuffing each other our attacks pierced throw each other, forcing us to disengage simultaneously.
Well, that turned out more complicated than I thought it would be. I was in full regalia and despite the penumbra of the storm my light still shone defiantly, scorching and blinding the demonic army opposing my allies while fortifying and supporting my subordinates. Despite Khorramzadeh's overwhelming firepower, he had no means to counter my healing factor from my dharma star pneumatic chamber. And yet Khorramzadeh is not without resort either, the very storm revitalizes him where it would hurt any other and he proved himself impervious to my smiting light. This will be a battle of attrition.
We dance through the air like bolts of light, clashing again and again, leaving a trail of destruction in our frenzied battle. He somehow knows about the poison of despair of my blade, making a point to favor his whip of lightning over his blade due to its reach and flooding himself with lightning after each glancing blow and shallow cut to shake off its torpor. It was as I feared, there is none of the inflated ego in Khorramzadeh. He was taking this seriously and the outcome of this battle is yet uncertain. We were hurting each other faster than we could heal ourselves but the balance was too tenuous to last. Eventually one of us would get the upper hand and neither of us was up to leaving it to lady luck.
How long has it been since I had one of those fights? Despite the grim stakes, I found myself smiling. It seems I have become a thrill junkie. So be it. Time to reach into my old bag of tricks and see what I can pull off.
One raven only tells the truth, and the other only lies. We trade sword blows through the air like something out of an anime fever dream, clashing again and again in a frenzied tempo, our blows outpassing the wind like a unique uninterrupted blow. Suddenly the battlefield melody goes out of tune, Khorramzadeh's sword passes right through me as I break into a shower of black feathers and ravens, clouding my presence.
It was for just a fraction of a second but the balor lost track of me. Or rather, he was led to believe so. In truth, I was the ravens circling him and I reconstituted myself while cutting his back open and severing his spine. Khorramzadeh howled in answer and exploded in a profane lightning conflagration once more, pushing me back despite my best effort.
Despite his injuries, lightning holds his spine together and he raises his hand toward the storm, concentrating its power on his hands. He then swings it around like a giant lightning whip and drives it violently in a vertical slash. And the city of Drezen is cleaved in two.
He probably intended for me to block it to protect my troops but my hold over them meant I could command them like any other limb. Ordering them to get the hell out of dodge was a no-brainer. His attack might have healed him some but the storm has been temporarily spent by his attack.
I close in while creating probability clones, something I couldn't risk before due to extra exposure, and Khorramzadeh bolts back, understanding his compromised position. Five starry midnight streaks of light pursue a lightning bolt across storm skies. Khorramzadeh kept me at by through judicious use of [chain lightning], forcing us to keep a certain distance but he was still being kited, shallow blows were infecting him with despair.
He somewhat understood how it worked and tried to counter by shocking himself into a frenzy, exploiting the animatic power of lightning to shake off the stone-like inertia of my poison. But even with four eyes, he didn't have what it took to keep all of myself in range, flying sparagmos slashes were mounting up. He was a mangled mess from head to toe. They slowed him down until we closed in for the kill, Khorramzadeh raised his blade in a final hail Mary but he could at best ward off one of me as mem myself, and I turned him into a pincushion.
And the five of us proceeded to do just that… wait-
Too little too late I realized that Khorramzadeh wasn't warding any of us but aiming his blade at the storm, like a lightning rod! He either suspected all five of me were real or had given up on sorting through and finding the real me. So he either decided to gambit I wouldn't immediately kill him or opted to take me down with him, the crazy bastard! That was my style!
The result was the same, I ran my sword through him five times over and was immediately electrocuted by the concentrated power of the storm five times for my trouble. The world was consumed by light and I blacked out from the pain.
The next thing I noticed was the yellow setting sun on my face. Everything hurt and I had been seared like a well-done stake but I was alive, my desperate gambit paid off. Something I took from Hakari's balancebook, the boy overcommits in fights due to his pseudo immortality often landing him in hot water against technical enemies, so to counter it he uses a binding vow sacrificing a limb to reinforce his body. Now my black armor blew apart to ward off some of the power of the storm like a lizard severing its tail. Considering that the first chakra was related to survival it was a super effective strategy.
All my limbs are numb and non-responding but I can still fight, so I lift myself with difficulty. Then when I looked once more toward the horizon, I saw the silhouette of Khorramzadeh, and with no small amount of satisfaction, I assessed he had seen better days.
The final lightning bolt reenergized him but only just. He was bleeding heavily from the five decisive blows I landed on him and the wound was necrosing fast. He even broke one of his wings when he fell. More telling of all, the storm had dissipated. He was in his last leg, the same as me.
I couldn't help it, I started laughing. Apparently, Khorramzadeh felt much the same because he joined me. In the end, we were both foreigners in these lands carving a place for ourselves. The death of the other was needed to solidify the hold over these lands but I can't say it was unpleasant dance the one we had. Things were about to come to a close though so there is no sin in enjoying the afterglow while it lasts.
My starlight marrow burned through all the nectar in my blood mending me into fighting form while Khorramzadeh circulated as much lightning as he had to shake off the inertia of despair flooding his body in the short time I had given him but that was it.
I reached into the deepest recesses of my tormented soul for the animalistic fury and tenacity. My blood boiled so hot I was steaming and I gathered the dregs of my influence to manifest my Carrion intention. A ribcage made of ghost flame growing arms and muscles, until it became a grinning flayed apparition about as big as Khorramzadeh himself.
He screamed in defiance as we charged each other. Our first punch brushed against each other without reverting their course and the resonance alone was enough for me to spit blood while Khorramzadeh spat his front teeth. We whaled at each other in a savage exchange, even the sound of his bones breaking was like thunder.
We had abandoned all semblance of form to savage each other like rabid animals, falling back to the primal pull of inspired violence, the oldest and deepest art form known to men since before we had more thoughts in our heads than fingers to count them. We bit and clawed and raked whatever we could reach. Until my manifested intention gave out yet we fought regardless. I punched him in the throat just to get a knee to the groin in retaliation, I ate a knuckle sandwich to seize his arm into a judo arm lock overthrowing him across a building even as his lightning aura touched me alive. We locked ourselves into an arms struggle where we dragged every bit of mythical power remaining to pitch against the other, carving a chasm between each other that broke city blocks like they were porcelain plates.
We were two ruins stubbornly tearing at each other. Both two stubborn to break down before the other did, battling in our private little world. Is there any wonder then that an outside force broke out the stalemate?
A pillar of light pierced the heavens as far as the eyes could see and a holy aura fell on the ruins of Drezen like a aurora. Panaka had seized the Sword of Valor, the sacred banner once belonging to Iomedae. Its effects were instantaneous and unmistakable, it was like Khorramzadeh had suddenly found himself bound by a straightjacket, every limb moved like it had been attached to a lead weight. The victory was mine, he couldn't even teleport away now. And it tasted bitter in my mouth.
He knew it as well, he turned to me and a new glint had entered his eyes. I couldn't help but laugh. "That is right, mighty Khorramzadeh! Show it to me! The ending chapter of the storm lord and know that I will take your Last Breath for myself. Because I am your better!" I threw in a last challenge toward my foe, a closing statement of our battle.
Balor are notoriously feared not only for their cruel hulking power in life but also for their deadly death throes. A blinding explosion of unholy fire against everything in one hundred feet range, turning the slaying of balors into harrowing business. And now I just said I will grab said bull by the horns, how could he turn his back now?
Khorramzadeh shouted toward the heavens in defiance, the dying storm in his eyes returned accompanied by a cruel smile, his frame bulking to the point of bursting, and a second pillar of lightning shot toward the heavens in defiance. The Storm King charged me with everything he had, the culmination of his existence distilled into a single moment. I saw his history through my sophic sense.
Like most demons, his mortal life had been almost forgotten at this point, safe his reign of terror as a warlord. He thrived in the Abyss, becoming a balor general under Pazuzu, Deskari's father. During a potent storm in the Abyssal Realm of Verakivhan, where he was waging war against the troll legions of the demon lord Urxehl, the Balor ascended to the status of lord among its kind. After taking the head of a mythic marilith known as the Typhoon of Blades and absorbing the heart of the violent storm she controlled, he made the lightning his own and became known thereafter as the Storm King.
Khorramzadeh charged me and I knew it would be his last. He no longer had any way to revert the process, if I dodged beyond the boundaries of space and time like I did against Kenjaku, victory would be mine… but that is how losers think!
Nah, I would win this fair and square, leaving no room for doubt who was the superior between the two of us.
My pneuma ignited from my body like a supernova and I charged Khorramzadeh, time to catch tribulation with my teeth, literally. This time he was the one caught flat-footed as I slammed into him, piercing his body with a blade of rhetoric coated hand and grasped his beating heart, the Eye of the Hurricane. I pulled it free from his chest and bit it down, sinking the fangs of my influence into it, triggering the conflagration of the Storm King's death throes.
It was just as bad as last time but fortunately for me, what doesn't kill me only makes me stronger. The principle of my soul backed by the essence of the [latent] soul, which excels through outside stimulus, set in the foundation of a [tormented] soul capable of finding strength in adversity, made me more than capable of overcoming any trial. I had been preparing myself for it, directing my starlight marrow and remaining nectar to fortify my body against the power of Khorramzadeh's profane lightning.
That is why when the Storm King detonated, I held on for long enough to pitch the Hunger of the Abyss against his torment. Sinking my teeth into the bounty of his soul and consuming it all for myself. It blinded me and the earth was shocked by the resulting earthquake, all my nerves were set ablaze, and yet the more I ate the more the storm became part of me, the more it invigorated me where before it would hurt. It was a race to see if the storm could destroy me before I made it mine. All the while I burned, throwing thousands of years to the frames to buy me seconds in the future as lightning scorched me inside and out.
Part of me wonders if this is what trying to take off a piece of a tyrant's influence feels like. I was consuming the storm and yet it was not settling inside my body at all. It was just causing havoc, wrestling control, and stirring disorder. Unfortunately for it, I know myself all too well. The boundaries of my soul might as well have been adamant wrought, untransmutable, and absolute. I had long since chipped away all weaknesses and flawed spots. My body had become a snare coiling around the storm until finally, I seized it in hand.
The storm was subjugated, and incorporated in my own flesh. Khorramzadeh's distilled quintessence settled on my throat chakra, something that I had already expected – as the Father was the Thunderer the son was the Bromius (noisy, roaring, boisterous); a Greek soul's influence is manifested through rhetoric, the advantage of being the loudest voice in the agora can't be understated.
Yet this was not the end of it, much like Dionysus's starlight marrow, the subjugated storm settling in my body reshaped me and expanded my substance, deepening my existence as it integrated with my mythical power. The power once held by the Typhoon of Blades that was later seized by the Storm King now exists within me. A lesser mystery as much as such boons can even be called such compared to the gods themselves. It exists in the same category as the Six Eyes, even if particular in nature.
I looked up, there was no lightning bolt coming down on my head yet as lightning danced between my fingers, I felt like I never would have to fear it again.
-//-
[AUTHOR'S ROOM]
So yeah, no ascension this time. Part of me was tempted to count Khorramzadeh as a labor, but if I did so then Zagreus would be a tyrant by the end of Wrath of Righteous. It is the most epic adventure module in Pathfinder after all. Instead, I gave him this neat power-up, which replaced the problematic Unstoppable (Ex) and Immortal (Su). It even got retconned out of the game due to how it influenced the stakes. Instead, Zagreus got an appropriate power for a son of raging heaven.
The next chapter will be more about the kingmaker aspect of Wrath of Righteous and character development. Hope you enjoy it!
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That is the thing about Ryugi's Sect, he took all the most asinine cultivation troops and wrote them into a murderously accurate and grounded world filled with real people with human behavior. But even then the first three realms before a cultivator becomes a proper immortal just make them punch hard, qi is something cultivators have but it isn't influenced by their lifestyle or disposition and it doesn't start to reshape them until they become immortal. He also used the time travel and upper realms cliche in a creative way, making ascended cultivators into patrons and making time travel into a conspiracy and whatnot. But even then it falls into the problem of being an overly complicated and counter-intuitive power system. All his talk about SHEN was making my brain leak out of my ears. In comparison, Prometheus's flame has life-altering long-reaching effects right from the civic realm and they simply build up from what came before. Even the twist of the greek study of greater mysteries starts out simple enough. And believe me I have some experience writing complex power systems myself, Age of Will and Poison. At a certain point, they start to slow down the story.
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Lord of the mysteries is a sort of exception where they do esoteric bullshit rather well. Whereas most cultivation has greater and greater biggatons and while shit sounds esoteric most abilities amount to hit harder, hit faster, regen better, trap shit, escape shit, etc etc. we don't get shit like attack from multiple dimensions, cut possibilities, we get time bullshit that speeds shit up or fire that burns stuff fire doesn't burn but it's not really conceptual so much as this fire can burn this list or this ice can freeze souls.
Thats just because they have more realms. And philosophically they are all different. It cleanses the body and forming the foundation and so on. It doesn't change their power but it is more of a preparatory stages. It is an alchemical transformation of the body and soul and the first few realms are equivalent of cleaing your bottles and pouring in your base material.
I think this might be issue of cultural backgrounds or something. It made perfect sense to me, i guess it is just different people having different understanding. Kind of like a different cultivation system. Also maybe try threads of destiny and that is more about self transformation.
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Okay but even powers wise cultivation doesn't compare to nasuverse in conceptual abilities it's fire that can burn a list, ice than can freeze a list, time stuff is used in like three ways if that, and everything is basically can hit at a certain levels and not past that and cultivators aren't usually unique existences so much as comprehending facets of the universe and using them to hit harder. We don't see the law of destruction used for much esoteric stuff besides rupture things, law of time does 3 things, law of life can make life but it's not very unique life or temper bodies. What xianxia has going for it is dakka dakka so huge that a multiverse in some xianxia would be the equivalent of one atom in our universe and the amount out there is as many if not more as the atoms in ours. Also shit like conditions to cure malaties like this fire, plus this skill, plus these herbs cure this weird ass disease.
Thats an absurd argument. Lack of power has never been a problem for xianxia. Like i don't even know how to adress that. Its not an arguments i have ever seen.
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That's not what I'm saying I'm saying conceptual stuff isn't very complex like other settings. It doesn't do stuff like nasuverse conceptual stuff.
I dunno what to tell you. According to what i know conceptual stuff in nasu seldom works. It almost always solved with power of friendship/sword beams. No villian has been oneshot with a conceptual move or something. So whats the point of such conceptual things.
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I don't give a shit about the effectiveness I'm saying said things don't exist in most xianxia. Zagreus has shown plenty of conceptual shit here but it doesn't really exist in most xianxia. You won't see much philosophy powers in xianxia other than that they sit down to contemplate what they're aiming for to achieve higher rank powers. You wouldn't see a cultivator use Zagreus dick logic to bypass illusions and stuff of similar nature, you won't see a cultivator use the concept of infinity to do what gojo does, fire bullshit isn't used to burn off conceptual decay or create life most of the time it's used against specific instances of other elements and sometimes in medical shit with rare ingredients. Xianxia isn't lacking power xianxia is lacking the conceptual bullshit plenty of other settings like nasuverse or shinza bansho have. It's still very very high fantasy but you aren't gonna see many unique powers unless you find something at lower ranks most of the time cultivators have the same end points the higher they get in cultivation. This isn't a vs battle debate.
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- TheSilverStar
I dunno, he kind of has a point.
Perception =/= Intellect or Wisdom. Knowing shit means nothing if you can't leverage it. More often than not, Cultivators solve their problems with brawn more than they do their brain. Like the only MC, whom I can recall off the top of my head, that uses their brain more than their brawn is the one from "I Am The Fated Villian".
That's the not the problem, the problem is that they fall victim to the Dragon Ball Effect of escalation.
Most of their fights boils down to, whose explosion is bigger, who hits harder, who is faster, who is more durable, and the Dao doing everything in it's power to suck the MC's dick. Like, where's the strategy? Where's the tactic? Where's the creative usage of their abilities.
The majority of Xianxia MC are failed underdog characters who's success can all be attributed to Luck and Inheritance.
When you compare them to series like Nasuverse and Jujutsu Kaisen, the only thing they have going for them is raw power. In terms of efficiency, creativity, and versatility their technique fall short.
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You are just wrong here. Sword cultivators have cut everything from space to peoples relationships to cutting someones soul. Poision cultivators have reality eating poisions.
Like i wilk give you a proper example. In cultivators vs superhero society, dude paints a painting and then brings it to life. An enitre world created for a test
Like they do have conceptual powers. Maybe you haven't read them.
Yeah i already said they are trash novels, hence why i don't read them. That doesn't say anything about the power systems. Sect or cradle or threads of destiny are examples of better written ones, they have those things you are asking about.
I don't think you have read many of them.
The power system has never been the issue with xianxia. Its everything else from plot to chracter.
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Yeah they've got pretty good creation powers, also I say usually most of the time it's more cutting higher and higher tier bullshit, also that's not exactly what I meant by conceptual power. That just seems a really high tier creation power it's somewhat conceptual but I'm thinking philosophy based bullshit like Zagreus pulls. In desolate era people just make bigger and bigger things essentially by comprehending stuff but fights usually boil down to who hits harder with their concepts at high levels. They have plenty of powers but most of them boil down to a few categories. Also you know cultivation stages needing one to do certain things. Also in most xianxia settings realities boil down to the same set of rules with maybe a hand full of differences. Also you know higher tier worlds with their own higher tier rules but all the worlds boil down to the same list of things they can do.
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For the world issue, they aren't crossovers so the world will have the same rules.
I am just genuinely not understanding your definition of a conceptual stuff. Can you give me an example.
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For world I know it's the same setting I'm saying if given 10 to the eightieth worlds they'll all operate in the same exact shit with basically no variance in cultivation for most settings. That's not true for say comic books or nasuverse babble bullshit.
For conceptual stuff keep in mind I'm phone posting. But, don Quixote can make the world more mundane, uh a lot of causality hit even when you haven't thrown or you threw and so it must have hit the heart stuff, given the latter does exist in xianxia just often it doesn't. There's stuff like waters that can revert someone's species to primordial ooze, shinza bansho has characters whose ego is so powerful it converts people around them. Like Khvar will have the very universen it's in emanate greater and greater beauty with no actual limits to the point it'll let one make more curve on what's possible to the point where every inhabitant will become greater and greater and greater godlike beings with no actual limit. Then there's abilities like a thing that lets one wield whatever their given on a conceptually perfect level no matter what it is or almost any power of dream manipulation doesn't much exist in xianxia like azathoth style.
Or a sky gods power to use anything that is conceptually below them or operate on infinite based logic. Or Schrödinger powers.
Now xianxia sorta has stuff that can relate to these but they usually boil down to making bigger things, stronger things, more potent things, but their not very complex things.
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So they exist but don't work like you would want them to. I am not seeing why you are debating this with me then. You agree that stuff like that exist it just isn't used to its potential because they are trash. I already said this.