Daion sat at his desk, staring into nothingness. The teacher kept droning on about who-knows-what nonsense, and Daion just wanted to escape—to do literally anything more entertaining. Play basketball, maybe. Or just go outside and watch girls pass by.
He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair—kept annoyingly short by the school's rules—and cursed inwardly at how that cut ruined his "true charm." He opened his notebook to check his notes, but as he half-expected, the name on the first page was blurred beyond recognition. Clearly, it wouldn't be that easy.
Then he looked up, just as the teacher removed his glasses and said something that, without knowing it, would be burned into Daion's subconscious forever:
"When you're absolutely certain of something, when there's not a single doubt left in what you believe… that's when you must—" The old man paused. "—doubt. Absolute certainty means you haven't thought hard enough. You can't believe without questioning—not in science, not in life, not in morality. Take a Nazi, for example: the moment he begins to question what he was taught, he understands what he's doing. But if you always think you're right…" He gave a bitter smile. "Then you must also believe you can't be wrong."
Daion blinked. Suddenly, he was back in reality. He focused on his surroundings: the membrane—it was the most stable point, the very center of everything. But… why didn't the corrupted look afraid? He turned his head and spotted one wearing a kind of ceremonial robe, while the others began forming weapons of ice with alarming speed.
Quick, Daion thought, analyzing the area. There has to be something that confirms I'm right. His instincts—those honed in his previous life—kicked in. He lowered his gaze and saw it at once: the cold air emanated from a single point. The temperature was fluctuating, rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He followed that pulse until his eyes locked on the center of the corrupted crowd.
There, a creature larger than the rest crawled along the floor. A slab of flesh pierced through it, rooting itself into the stone—a grotesque fusion of muscle, ice, and pulsing lumps ready to burst. Each eruption expelled a bluish vapor that solidified into frost; it was like a living rock vomiting winter itself.
Daion twisted midair, planting his feet against the membrane, his gaze fixed on the creature. The corrupted understood his intent instantly—but too late. With a burst of motion, Daion shot forward; arrows and spears sliced through the air behind him, missing by inches.
The creature opened its mouth in a roar of fear.
"Stop him!" shouted the one in robes—their leader, clearly.
The others lunged, half a second too slow.
Daion slashed through the air and rolled across the ground upon landing, his body burning from the excess energy Loryn had forced into him. He struggled to stand and raised his head.
The corrupted froze in horror as the creature that had given them their cold split cleanly in two with a dry, final crack.
For a few seconds, everything went still. Daion felt as though it were over—as if the minds of the corrupted had died all at once. Clearly, he wasn't that lucky.
The creatures began to move again, filled with rage, turning toward him with eyes burning with hatred—as if they were trying to comprehend what kind of fool dared profane their source of life. Daion watched them from the corner of his eye, silent.
"Who are you, Invoked?" asked the robed corrupted.
Daion realized immediately there would be no escape this time. It was a fight to the death—and he was on his own. Loryn and Aelith were still holding off the guardian.
The corrupted charged one after another. Daion reacted as fast as his body would allow—he split one in half midair, blocked the strike of another attacking from the flank, and looked up just in time to see a dozen more descending on him, launching ice projectiles that barely missed his head. Then began the dance of sparks: blow after blow, each clash left a wound on him—and another corpse among them.
The only good thing—if it could even be called that—was that he could feel the temperature rising. The air was no longer so bitterly cold, and the corrupted were growing weaker by the second.
A strike hit him square in the face, knocking him down. He crashed onto his back, gasping for air, just as another enemy raised an axe to finish him. Daion forced his arm up—lightning burst from his gauntlet and vaporized the nearest foes. He exhaled in relief—only for the leader's direct blow to hurl him into the wall.
He felt his ribs crack. Blood filled his throat as a warm liquid flooded his lungs.
"This is what reckless Invoked get," the corrupted said with scorn. "Because of you, we'll now have to attack the fortress to gather enough Omega energy, revive our source of frost, and bring back our lord."
Attack the fortress? Daion thought in disbelief.
For an instant, his mind filled with faces—those at the fortress, most of them hopeless idiots… but still, there was Ken, who wanted to believe they could change; Yair, who still didn't know what kind of man he wanted to be.
He spat blood on the ground, resigned. There's not much worth saving in this world, is there? he thought. He remembered Selka, probably still trying to rebuild SteelWall from the ruins. A good woman can't do it all alone…
He remembered Jack's group, and how they'd abandoned dozens out of fear. Cowards. He thought of Aelith—her pain, her fight for others. And of Thero—the kindest being he'd ever known.
Daion let out a strangled sound and forced himself to his feet.
The corrupted leader gestured, and two more lunged at him. Daion dodged their attacks with instinctive precision, then in one clean motion drove his sword straight into one of their abdomens.
The other one tried to strike him from behind, but Daion pulled back his sword in a wide slash, tearing through the man's leg. As the enemy fell, Daion grabbed his face and drained his energy until nothing but ash remained. The other Corrupted took a step back, shaken.
"So much effort just to protect the place where you'll die," said the robed Corrupted. Daion immediately noticed the fatigue in his voice, brought on by the rising heat.
He recalled that idiot Primordial and Seraphine—the two who irritated him most, yet whom he also understood. He knew both had done what they could… but that didn't make them any less of a pair of complete idiots.
He sighed, resolute, and lifted his gaze toward the ice Corrupted, who shuddered when he met his eyes. Daion took a step forward, once again letting sentiment get the better of him. He remembered Thaloren, waiting for his return, convinced that he'd prove why he was the frontier's last hope.
From hidden tunnels in the walls, new ice Corrupted began to emerge, ready to kill him. Daion only looked up and cursed them with his gaze.
Then he raised his arm, and abruptly, the Omega energy from the fallen Corrupted was absorbed into his body. The Freezer drew cold from corrupt energy, and this place was saturated with it. In theory, there was a direct transfer channel.
"You're mistaken about one thing," Daion said. His body became wrapped in Omega energy that enveloped him entirely. If he allowed himself to fall here, they would go after Loryn and Aelith next. He wouldn't let that happen. A sign appeared before him with a message:
"This isn't my grave…" he whispered with a tired smile. "It's yours."
Loryn fired a burst, forcing his powers. Three bullets shot out without recoil, moving at impossible speeds, striking the Corrupted's legs and shoulder, shattering parts of his body. But he stood back up again. Aelith lunged from the side; the enemy reacted in time and threw a punch, but Loryn stopped it for just a few milliseconds—the exact window she needed to dodge a blow that, from sheer pressure alone, shattered the ground behind her. She countered with a double strike to the abdomen, followed by a sharp crack.
Aelith lifted her head; her body had taken several hits and was starting to come apart, exposing her organs beneath. One more blow would finish her. The Corrupted clenched his teeth and swung his hand through the air, lifting her with an invisible wave of pressure until she was suspended several meters up—right in line for his next attack.
Loryn strained his vision again, but this time, a thin line of blood trickled from his eye. His power faltered; he only managed to slightly reduce the impact's inertia to keep it from being fatal. Aelith was hurled against the ceiling, smashing part of the cavern before crashing to the ground, eyes blank.
Loryn dropped to one knee, exhausted. The Corrupted smiled—victorious—a sight that made Loryn's blood boil. He tried to grab one of the emergency healing orbs, but the moment he reached into his pouch, the Corrupted appeared behind him and grabbed his arm. The pressure was so intense it snapped his wrist. Loryn let out a choked cry of pain.
"What a shame… I thought a high-ranked Invoked—" he glanced at Loryn's gauntlet, its glow fading from overuse "—would put up a better fight."
Loryn glared sideways, full of spite, and spun around to fire. This time, he couldn't control the recoil; the blast shook him violently, his body trembling from the force as the bullet struck the Corrupted.
It fell to the ground without leaving a single mark.
Damn it, Loryn thought, watching the enemy raise his arm to finish him off. Guess I'll have to do that… shit. It was good while it lasted. He focused, and a strange light began to radiate from his body.
"What are you—?" the Corrupted started to say, but stopped as the stones beneath his feet began to tremble. Aelith was rising from the ground, her arms bruised purple and her whole body trembling.
"It can't be… I hit her directly," muttered the Corrupted in disbelief.
Aelith raised her head and planted her hands and feet firmly against the ground, aiming straight at her enemy. It's time for this… release all my aura in one final strike, she told herself with resolve. This time, she wouldn't hesitate. If she died here, Thero would die with her… and so would Daion.
Her eyes snapped open, and space itself seemed to bend around her. The air thickened, as if time warped with her movement. The Corrupted barely had time to react—Aelith was already beneath him, feet off the ground, arms and legs broken from the force of her leap. The wind swirled around her as she tilted her head back… and delivered a brutal headbutt that rang like a bell throughout the chamber.
The ice around his abdomen shattered. The rest of his body began to crack apart, like a sculpture breaking from within. Corrupted blood burst through the fissures in his frozen skin.
Aelith crashed to the ground, drained. The Corrupted, staggering, lifted his hand to finish her off—but before he could, Loryn aimed with surgical precision at the weak point Aelith had opened and pulled the trigger.
The bullet tore through the Corrupted's body in a straight line, ripping everything in its path until it pierced his skull and exited the other side with a metallic echo.
The body collapsed, dead instantly.
Loryn gasped, chest burning. His arms felt shredded from the recoil he couldn't suppress. He wiped the blood from his face, struggling to open his eye. Aelith hit the ground with a dull thud, and when the adrenaline faded, pain finally caught up to her. She let out a raw, broken scream; she tried to move, but her bones simply wouldn't respond.
Daion hurried to give her an orb to seal the internal bleeding. Aelith screamed as her body convulsed from the sudden surge of energy. Loryn, wasting no time, tore open his pack and bound her arms and legs with improvised bandages, praying she hadn't suffered a skull fracture. Then he gave her the strongest potion he had, hoping it would stabilize what was left of her body.
Aelith screamed for several minutes without pause while Loryn struggled to splint his own wrist with clumsy movements. He looked up, his face contorted in pain.
I hate this body… why does it hurt so much? he thought, watching as Aelith began to calm little by little.
They had to get her back to the fortress as soon as possible. Loryn tried to stand, but Aelith growled weakly the moment she opened her eyes. The Invoked stared at her in silence. She murmured in a hoarse voice, "Go… help him." She spat a bit of blood.
Loryn quickly pulled out a few needles and drove them into her lungs and throat. Blood began to flow more freely, allowing her to breathe—barely. Still, he knew that if she lost too much, she'd die anyway.
He waited a few minutes, the only sound being the steady drip of water echoing through the cavern. If Daion died, the Corrupted would reach them—and they'd both be slaughtered. There was nothing else he could do but wait… and pray that Aelith would hold on.
Hours passed. Loryn began to regain feeling in his wrist. Aelith still lay on the ground, breathing harshly as she fought to stay awake. Bit by bit, her fingers twitched, then her legs, and her breathing grew steadier.
The Invoked looked toward the door, wondering if Daion had made it. There had been no sound for a long while—he couldn't tell if that was good or bad.
Beside him lay the corpse of the high-ranked Corrupted who had nearly killed them. If a noble showed up now, it would be a massacre. They had no hope here. Maybe they should run… though he knew Daion never would. He remembered the promise he'd made, sighed in frustration, and before he realized it, collapsed onto his side, sinking into unconsciousness.
In the darkness, fragmented dreams tormented him. He remembered things he'd rather have buried. Even within the dream, he felt the gaze of the Primordial of Gravity upon him, judging him.
He's insane if he thinks I'm going to rescue Daion from dozens of Corrupted, he thought, before sinking into a deep sleep.
He awoke with a start at the sound of metal clattering. Aelith was removing the splints from her body and forcing herself upright.
She's healed that much already? How long was I out? Loryn thought, alarmed. If he'd slept too long, the limit might have passed. Aelith didn't wait for him to speak—she stumbled down the hallway with unsteady steps.
Loryn staggered to his feet, his eye feeling a little better, though he knew he wouldn't be able to use inertia again for a while. He moved forward clumsily, watching as the corpses of two Corrupted decomposed and evaporated, dissolving back into the air like a frozen mist.
He had been asleep for at least an entire day.
They followed the passage until they reached a ledge beside Aelith. The place was blindingly bright, as if the ice itself were burning with light—but the air reeked of iron, ozone, and blood.
Loryn looked around. No one was left alive. Corrupted bodies lay dismembered across the floor—some cut apart with surgical precision, others reduced to dust. The walls were carved with deep slashes, and shattered rocks had crushed frozen corpses beneath them.
Then they saw it.
The leader of the Corrupted floated suspended in midair. Weaker than the Guardian, yes, but still terrifying. Now, however, he looked like a broken puppet. His arms and legs were gone, and a black, glass-like blade—sharp as obsidian—pierced through his chest. His body was being consumed from within, devoured by the same energy that drained his life away.
Loryn froze. The Omega energy flowed toward the Invoked's gem like a raging torrent, flooding it with an unnatural glow. Around him, the remaining Corrupted collapsed and disintegrated into bluish dust.
Aelith watched in a mix of horror and awe. And then—they saw him clearly.
Daion.
Sitting atop a mountain of corpses, breathing heavily. His face was smeared with blue blood, though none of it was his. His body—bare beneath the torn remains of his uniform—was tense, battle-worn, every muscle defined. His armor lay shattered around him, broken to pieces. On his arm, the gauntlet had expanded, now covering half his forearm—sleek and sharp, its surface pulsing with glowing runes. His sword had changed as well: the hilt longer, the blade darker, the weapon itself seeming to pulse with a heartbeat of its own.
The air around him trembled.
Daion slowly raised his head. His eyes carried a new light—wild, yet calm. He finished absorbing the Corrupted leader, whose body dissolved into the air like ashes swept away by the wind. Then he exhaled and, in a faint but resolute voice, offered them a weary smile.
"We… did it."
Silence filled the cavern.
"How strong…?" Aelith murmured, her voice trembling.
Loryn's eyes widened as the pressure of Omega energy pushed against him. His voice cracked when he answered:
"He didn't just reach Rank D…" he said, incredulous. "He's on the verge of Rank C."
The echo of his words carried through the frozen chamber as Daion, still breathing heavily, remained seated atop the corpses of his enemies.
"He's about to become… the fastest-ascending Invoked in recorded history."
End of Chapter 38.