Apostolos was pacing from his viewpoint of the battle, peeking in but avoiding ever setting foot into the boss monster’s domain.

  “Blood weave is absolute bullshit,” Apostolos muttered as he watched the battle ensue. At first, nothing had happened. He’d watched his master make the uneventful journey to the cavern’s center before entering a strange building. He’d never seen anything like it before, but then there were many things Apostolos had never seen before.

  Shortly after his master entered the strange building, Apostolos felt a tremor pass through the ground as something massive rose out of the dunes from the ash and dust. It seemed to look at the building before it began to build up a winding swing, using its own head and body like an oversized flail as it demolished the stone structure in a single earth-shattering strike.

  Worried for his master for only a moment, it vanished as his master sprung out, moving faster than he’d ever seen him move before. He was like a living ghost, there one moment, gone the next.

  Blood weave is so unfair.

  The way his master seemed to almost teleport across the sandy battlefield was beyond anything a tier-five focused on crafting should be capable of.

  Of course, that was entirely due to the aforementioned blood weave. Ordinarily, the blood weave made him faster and stronger. The enhanced -albeit unstable- blood weave dialed that up to twelve.

  Even the damage his arrows were inflicting boggled Apostolos’s mind. He’d seen what a maxed-out Blood Legacy arrow could do from his old bow. Now, every arrow was hit with a similar force, perhaps marginally weaker than a truly maxed-out Blood Legacy.

  Yet for all that power displayed by his master and the potent gear he was using, the monster, apparently called an Ashworm, proved precisely why it was a tier-six. Tanking dozens of explosive arrows, the Ashworm continued its struggle until, at last, it seemed to grow tired of his master, or perhaps it was a move born of desperation. It reared up, and his master, not being a total idiot, saw the moment to slam several arrows directly into its face.

  Yet the Ashworm remained undeterred, charging up before releasing a ray of potent magic, an affinity within the pneuma that Apostolos could sense even from as far away as he was. So much raw, condensed pneuma would have vaporized Apostolos if he attempted to block it, leaving nothing behind, not even the hint of a whisper.

  Apostolos could only watch in horror from where he was, everything moving in slow motion. It was simply too fast, fired from too close, and even massively boosted as his master was, there was no chance to dodge.

  Rather than witness the total annihilation of his master, though, what Apostolos instead witnessed was several barriers springing into existence between his master and the giant worm, just in time for the erosion ray to strike it head-on. Only a few seconds passed, yet they felt like they contained hours. The barriers were destroyed one by one until Apostolos thought all hope was lost. That was, until the ashworm ran out of steam, and the magic beam ended.

  Get ‘em!

  Just as Apostolos realized the opportunity, so too did his master. Arrow after arrow exploded against the monster until, at last, its gigantic head fell free, the arrows striking with enough precision to saw through its thick neck.

  Unable to help, Apostolos jumped excitedly, pumping his fist and cheering.

  “He did it!” Apostolos was excited, his blood pumping as if he were the one in the battle. In fairness, it had been the most intense battle Apostolos had ever seen. The Ashworm would have easily squashed the Gator of the Feathered Depths, yet his master had prevailed.

  Some time passed as Apostolos waited for some notification to appear, such as a notice of the clearing of the second floor of the Maw or something.

  When no such thing appeared, Apostolos began to feel nervous.

  This feeling was validated when countless things appeared out of the sand. As far away as he was, Apostolos couldn’t make them out other than there was something.

  For nearly a minute straight, his master fought the mysterious things that had appeared. His master seemed to be whipping something around to defend himself. Just as Apostolos was allowing himself to feel hope once more, one of the things exploded in front of his master, throwing him off balance.

  Then he was buried under a pile of the things, and an instant later, an explosion rocked the area, easily visible from his spot hundreds of meters away.

  Holding his breath, Apostolos once more watched with bated breath as the debris cleared, revealing his master. He wasn’t missing any appendages, so as best as Apostolos could figure, his master had managed to withstand the explosion somehow.

  Probably those gems again.

  As the battle with the unknown assailants raged, Apostolos noticed the carcass of the Ashworm breaking down, revealing what looked like a dark grey egg-like structure within the remains.

  After surviving the explosion, his master approached it, drawing his bow. Again and again, his master fired the mighty arrows within the egg thing. At the same time, Apostolos was sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him; the cocoon seemed immune to damage.

  Wait, is that it? Is it formed of a Spiritual Body like I am?

  If that were the case, all his master needed to do was continue the bombardment until it was depleted of anima, at which time-

  Apostolos’s train of thought was halted as the cocoon suddenly ripped apart, and his master was thrown down the ashy sand dune. Floating where the cocoon had been previously, there appeared a man-sized moth. Even from this distance, Apostolos could feel the pressure emanating from the monster.

  Run away, master!

  While Apostolos knew nothing about the mysterious moth, the sheer pressure radiating from the thing told him it was far more dangerous than the Ashworm -a glorified meat tank- had been.

  Apostolos saw his master attempt to fire an arrow at the monster. Yet, it never even got close, burning into cinders once it got within thirty meters.

  Seriously, run away!

  Apostolos was confident that his master was outclassed at this point. Sure, the unstable blood weave had pushed the physical attributes of his master far higher than a tier-five human should be capable of, maybe even more than a tier-six human could manage, but that wasn’t without cost. Each time his master had utilized blood weave for any extended period in the past, he’d complain for days afterward about how it always made him sore and his body ache like hell.

  And that was when he was running around with probably less than half the speed and strength he was currently drawing upon.

  His master continued to zip around the landscape, doing his best to wound the monster, but his arrows couldn’t pierce the divide. The closest any got was reaching roughly fifteen meters of the total thirty before burning away like an ember extinguished by a cold wind.

  At that point, Apostolos was sure his master would abandon ship. He was, for the most part, practical and logical, with a sense of pride that was largely untethered by any sense of machoism and a sense of general humility that sometimes bordered on self-mocking.

  So, why hasn’t he run away yet?

  He’d seen him duck behind a piece of rubble of what remained of the odd building.

  He must be planning to flee now.

  A sinking feeling suddenly set into Apostolo’s gut as he continued to fail to see his master abandon the mission.

  Sure, he wasn’t a prideful man in the arrogant sense, nor was he overly self-indulgent or too sure of himself.

  But if there was one thing his master could be at times, it was stubborn and short-sighted over the stupidest things.

  “Oh, by Eon, he’s planning to stay, isn’t he?” Apostolos groaned.

  And sure enough, when he finally saw his master dash out from his hiding spot, it was toward the monster, firing an arrow and racing around the oversized moth. Faster and faster, he circled the creature as it dawned upon Apostolos what he was about to do.

  Palming his face, Apostolos groaned.

  “He wants to shoot the stupid ass arrow from inside its range.”

  Apostolos could understand the logic; it was relatively straightforward and, in a sense, made sense.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  That was precisely why Apostolos could only watch in increasing terror, knowing that nothing would save his master from his stupid stubbornness.

  Stupid is as stupid does.

  Taking the plunge, his master entered the area of effect around the moth, and instantly, Apostolos could tell things were worse than he ever could have assumed from where he was. Armor and flesh alike began to be swept away in shimmering heat and eroding wind. Pushing on, he got close to ten meters from the monster before planting himself in place, and it appeared as if the effect of the monster’s aura suddenly lessened, if only marginally. Close enough, his master shot an arrow into the backside of the oversized moth, resulting in a rather painful-looking internal explosion of the monster.

  Surely?

  The monster moth turned on his master, bombarding him with its wingbeats. Again, Apostolos’s terror redoubled as his master was destroyed en masse, scoured out of existence by the monster’s aura and magic.

  Shit, I’ve got to move now!

  There was no more time to delay, no more seeing how things would pan out. His master was going to die, win or lose. Sprinting with all his might, Apostolos watched as his master, now little more than a hunk of meat vaguely resembling a person, managed to fire several more arrows into the moth.

  With one final arrow, the moth finally dropped. The sheer power of each arrow was too much for a monster that had been leached of so much of its raw life force even before it had emerged from its cocoon.

  That wasn’t what Apostolos honestly cared about, in truth. What he was more focused on was his master, still positioned on one knee with an arm pulled back as if he were holding a bow.

  Except the bow and armor were gone; the only thing that had somehow survived was his helmet. His body was horrifying to look at, flayed damn near to the bone, blood, and organs freely sagging out of his desecrated body. Swallowing back a surge of bile at the sheer state of his master, Apostolos was there only seconds later. Without concern for a monster attacking out of nowhere, Apostolos could sprint several hundred meters up and down an ash dune in only a little over fifteen seconds.

  “No, no, no.” Apostolos couldn’t help himself, the words spilling free as he observed the state his master was in from up close. It was as if he had been bathed in acid until only an inch or so of meat remained on his bones. Even worse was the putrid smell of burnt flesh.

  There is no way he can come back from this, is there?

  Apostolos shook his head, galvanizing himself. It wasn’t Apostolos’s job to question his master. Forcing the revulsion and horror of the scene to the back of his mind, Apostolos inwardly cringed as he removed the helmet from his master. As the only thing that hadn’t been directly exposed to the effect of the moth, his face was the only portion of his master that looked human.

  “Master!” Apostolos shouted, smacking his master across the face. He didn’t want to do so, but if his master was still there, he needed to snap to attention now.

  “Huh?” In what should have been impossible feet, his master suddenly stirred, his eyes fluttering.

  “You’re about one bad breeze away from death and-”

  “Save it.” His master responded with surprising lucidity. “Revival Gem. Now.”

  Apostolos scrambled for the gem, ready to hand it to his master.

  “Can’t do it myself,” Rory said, eyes swinging side to side since his neck couldn’t support any real movement.

  Understanding what he meant, Apostolos presented the marble-like gem to his master, who opened his mouth. Dropping it into his mouth, Apostolos watched his master attempt to swallow before coughing.

  “Can’t swallow. It’s fine.”

  Apostolos was about to ask if there was something he could do before Rory spoke once more.

  “Wish me luck.”

  Then, his eyes rolled back as he began to convulse.

  “Wish me luck.”

  Without another word, Rory smashed through the wall that separated himself from tier-six. He had known he must have been in terrible shape when he legitimately couldn’t feel anything.

  Also, the fact that it was apparent Apostolos was barely holding himself back from vomiting didn’t tell any prettier of a story.

  Probably good I couldn’t feel anything.

  Given that he must have been in a terrible state, how he was alive was beyond Rory, but that was also some of the literal magic of their universe.

  Revival Gem to the rescue… Maybe.

  He’d tried to swallow the gem, but it had been impossible. Still, just having the gem within himself with the intent to absorb it should have been enough.

  Now then, where- oh, there we go.

  Like a movie scene transition, Rory suddenly found himself in an endless void, with only a table to break up the darkness.

  That and the cosmic being seated at the table.

  “So, I take it the damage was pretty damn bad, based on how Apostolos reacted?” Rory said, pulling a chair out and seating himself across from Eon’s Avatar.

  “If not for the effects of your prior two ossified gems, you would have perished in the few seconds it took your apprentice to reach you. As it was, you were only five seconds from death before you broke through your ascension wall.”

  “So…. I’m not going to die, right?”

  “No, unless you, for whatever reason, were to decide not to expunge the excess energy gained from slaying a tier-six monster and use it toward healing and repairing your body.”

  “I won’t have a race change, will I?”

  “No,” Eon said. “As you have already understood, such occurred because the base essence required to bring your apprentice back from the verge was obtained from an external source, even if it had been aspected to match his essence. On the other hand, you utilized a revival gem composed solely of your personal concentrated essence.”

  “Figured,” Rory said before wincing. “Oh jeez, my physical body must be going through hell if I felt that from in here.”

  “Such an assessment would be accurate.”

  “Glad I’m not there for it.” Rory nodded, folding his arms. “So, why are you here? To check up on your creator?”

  Rory could have sworn the cosmic entity rolled its eyes momentarily. It must have been his strained mind playing tricks on him, though, as such a thing was impossible for the unfeeling existence.

  …Wasn’t it?

  “You accomplished your Ascension Challenge, if barely. Thus, you have been rewarded two selections at skill obtainment.”

  “Great.” Rory nodded, “So… why do you need to be here for that?”

  “Would you prefer the absence of this avatar?”

  “No, that’s fine,” Rory said with a shrug. “I’m just curious as to the real reason.”

  “Observant,” Eon said flatly. “It was deemed potentially necessary to have your mental well-being safeguarded after the near-death experience and mental aggravation you were placed through.”

  “Really?” Rory glanced upward as if thinking about it. “Eh, I think I’m okay. It probably helps that I can’t physically feel anything-” Rory winced, a sudden spike of pain. “-I almost can’t feel anything.”

  Rory tapped his finger on the table, thinking about the situation momentarily before keying in on something Eon had slipped in. “Wait, what do you mean ‘aggravation’ I was placed through? Why are you phrasing it as two separate incidents? Wouldn’t that be part of the entire ‘near-death experience’ thing?”

  When Eon remained silent, Rory knew he was on to something.

  It’s one of those things that it doesn’t care to explain unless you figure it out yourself.

  Thinking back on the recent events and ongoings, Rory carefully examined his memories for anything that stuck out as odd or out of place until he locked onto one thing in particular.

  “Why didn’t I just run away?” Rory frowned. Sure, he could get a stubborn streak going at times, but that was such a stupid thing to get stubborn over.

  I wasn’t thinking things through clearly at the time, was I?

  “This is about my decision to continue fighting the Reaping Ash Coscinocera, right?”

  Eon continued to say nothing, instead inclining its head to the tiniest degree.

  Bingo.

  Something about that moment was off, more so than any other moment in the past. It wasn’t as if Rory hadn’t been in life-or-death situations before.

  But maybe that’s why it’s odd. I wasn’t technically in a life-or-death situation yet. I could have easily run the hell away.

  What could have pushed Rory to such extremes? Altered his thinking to a small enough degree that it wasn’t noticeable with a casual observation? Nothing had drastically changed in his overall state. The main difference was-

  “The blood weave,” Rory said, eyes widening. “Or, rather, the unstable nature of it.”

  Eon finally nodded directly now that Rory had figured it out.

  “Why? How? I’ve used blood weave plenty of times, and I’ve never been mind controlled before or whatever.”

  “What you experienced was not any mind control effect. In a phrasing you’d understand, it was closer to a berserker effect.”

  “That still doesn’t explain it,” Rory countered. “Again, not my first time using blood weave. Was it just because of the unstable nature of the enhanced blood weave?”

  “Of sorts.” Eon half-confirmed. “Your ‘blood weave’ is made through the utilization of bloodwood trees.”

  “Yes, I’m aware, sort of the person who patented the concept.” Rory snorted, imagining some piece of paper declaring no one else could use his bloodwood tree concept. “So, what’s the deal?”

  Once more, Eon went silent, indicating to Rory that it was a matter of detective work.

  Right, because screw me.

  Furrowing his brow, Rory mulled the question over for several minutes before tapping a finger on the table, having come to a hypothesis.

  “Bloodwoods are made through tons of monster sacrifices; a lot of essence is squeezed into nourishing those trees. The bloodwood I used to make this set of blood weaves was from an extra-potent harvest. Suppose one categorizes essence as the ‘energy,’ the fingerprint of concepts given power. In that case, the essence of a monster will have some degree of their personality tied in, right?”

  Eon remained silent, prompting Rory to continue with his conjecture.

  “If you take that and consider that pneuma is a sort of ‘temporary’ energy of creation, then it wouldn’t be a stretch to say by overcharging an already potent set of blood weave with enough pneuma to destabilize the entire thing, there’s probably enough power there to reignite a spark of… sentience? Thought? Maybe it is instinct from within the essence that is contained by the blood weave. Thus, that essence could ‘sway’ my emotions in a key moment.”

  Rory finished, leaning forward and watching Eon to see how it would address his idea.

  “The Architect is not entirely correct, but the answer was close enough to the truth that explanation is allowable. There was no spark of sentience or instinct within the blood weave. Simply put, like calls to like, as essence calls to essence. The core derivative of most monsters is the pursuit of growth, of ascending higher and higher. It is the natural draw of strength. When distilled into pure essence, little of that remains. Except, in a moment of flight-or-fight, when your spirit sang for greater heights-”

  “Like called to like.” Rory interrupted, connecting the dots. “My essence spoke to the essence of the dead monsters, and it was just enough to sway me.”

  “Correct.”

  “And so, you came here to examine me directly for any potential lingering effects?”

  “Roughly.”

  “Hmm,” Rory muttered. He wasn’t a fan of being a guinea pig, but he was a fan of being emotionally manipulated even less. “So, your diagnosis, doc?”

  Eon tilted its head, apparently confused. “E.O.N, while being knowledge of medical practices and-”

  “It was a joke. A bad one, obviously,” Rory rumbled.

  Seriously. Even Eon is a critic.

  “Acknowledged. You are free of any potential influencing effects, as the blood weave that affected you has since degraded into the ether.”

  “Grand.” Rory snorted. “So, a clean bill of health. You take insurance?”

  Eon remained silent, not even bothering to humor his relatively poor attempt at cracking a joke.

  Why do I even try?

  “Is there anything else I should be aware of?” Rory finally asked after several seconds passed in silence.

  “No.”

  And then, just like that, the avatar was gone.

  “Wonderful,” Rory muttered from within the endless void.

  So, I was sort of but not really mind-controlled, and then I basically died. It sounds about par for what you’d expect from trying to challenge a tier-six monster as a tier-five with little in the way of actual combat skills.

  Rory wished he could feel more surprised, shocked, or even distressed, but he’d been at it for enough years now that even those feelings were short-lived.

  “Well, no point in moping my near death,” Rory finally said as he clapped his hands together.

  “It’s Ascension business time!”

  really drive home how cracked the unstable blood weave Rory was using really was.

  unlikely to pose a terrible danger to a prepared tier-five, but they can still massively harm one if not prepared

  mid-tier-five (55-57) is a challenging but doable threat for a prepared tier-five person or someone well equipped for fighting (Such as the Spear or Badger)

  high-tier-five (57-59) is considered solidly above the 'power curve' of tier five, and only exceptionally gifted fighters, a well-thought-out plan, or really good gear can make up the gap.

  When dealing with an Alpha Variant, each category moves up a level, so a mid-tier Alpha Variant is close in power to a high-tier regular monster. Lastly, Territory Alphas are, on average, two categories ahead so that a low-tier Territory Alpha could be viewed closer to a High-tier regular monster)

  especially once someone is outside the low tiers where they'd get all their attribute density at once.

  not combat-oriented, is benefitting from the unstable blood weave, allowing him to basically be performing on the level of a tier 6.5 (Which isn't a thing, its just my way of saying he's somewhere between tier 6 and tier 7 output with the unstable blood weave)