"Enough."
Orak stood before the barely-breathing Jessica, blood oozing from wounds on either side of his neck.
Appearing in person within his own trial realm broke tradition, but no one would object.
Every ancestor could control their realm completely—failing to do so would be laughable.
But choosing to intervene meant forfeiting the chance to select another heir.
The Sacred Mountain would no longer guide them to a fitting recruit.
This was because such an act typically confirmed an ancestor's chosen heir, a decision that held even if the heir later died.
For Orak, it was different.
An heir's death would tarnish his honor.
But Orak didn't care. He'd always believed he didn't need an heir to carry on his legend—following his heart mattered more.
Even losing the mountain's guidance for heirs didn't faze him.
Barbarians no longer needed a war god to turn the tide, of that he was certain.
The barbarian's darkest days were long past.
Orak's era was before Volusk became the Immortal King. After Orak and Banar fell, Volusk rose, leading the barbarians to a second peak.
Since then, barbarians had stood firm in the Sanctuary, no longer teetering on extinction from demons.
"Hrrgh."
Jessica's ravaged body wheezed, her eyes straining wide. The still-animated walker clawed away half her face.
The throat-pierced walker managed one effective attack before Orak. Its faint undead resilience made it a tough foe.
"Have you made your choice?"
Orak ignored the walker, staring at Jessica, who seemed to grin through her pain.
His beard, severed by Banar, left him looking disheveled, though still better off than Jessica with only half a shoulder.
After clashing with Banar, Orak's views shifted slightly. Two millennia with Banar, despite disliking his chatter, earned his friend some respect.
"Hrk."
Jessica's throat gurgled as if clogged with phlegm, emitting a sickening sound.
She might have lost consciousness, responding to Orak on instinct alone.
With barely half a lung, even breathing was a struggle.
"I don't like you. Your hands are stained with innocent blood."
Orak sat on the corpse-strewn ground, glancing at Jessica's eyes before speaking.
The walker attacked again, but Jessica bit its arm, clamping down.
Foul pus burst from the limb, coating her face, some flowing down her throat and spilling onto the ground.
"I've never liked redemption arcs. They ignore the victims' voices."
Orak spoke slowly, watching Jessica bite the walker's arm.
"Why should the kind forgive their tormentors? Why should someone else forgive in their place after they're gone?"
"Why did Bulkathos pity you, giving me reason to offer you a chance?"
"Why do you get opportunities the virtuous never had in death?"
"Can you tell me?"
Orak's tone was flat, but his voice grew louder, until his final question shook the maze, widening its fine cracks.
Jessica let out muffled sobs, unable to open her mouth to avoid another attack.
Tears welled in her uncovered eye, diluting the foul pus.
Tears were perhaps her only weapon now—what could she do with half a body?
"I can end your suffering anytime. I just want to know why Banar fought me to defend you."
Orak spoke with confusion, understanding Banar's care but not why Jessica sparked their conflict.
Jessica's strength faded, the walker's arm slipping from her teeth.
"I want to eat your cooking again. That beef leg was tainted with walker pus. I don't even want to recall the taste."
Jessica, regaining some awareness, forced out a long sentence. She sounded nonchalant, but her tearful eye betrayed a living hope.
The walker's sharp claw, now free, slashed her face, piercing her eye socket and bursting her eyeball.
"Tell me why."
Orak, unmoved by her plea or her ruined eye, spoke coldly.
He wanted a reason, not her earlier answer.
"I want to live. I want to live like a person!"
Jessica's voice grew faint, like a mosquito's buzz.
"Then remember every innocent you killed. They wanted to live too!"
Orak's wave crushed the walker, grabbing Jessica's mangled form and returning to Harrogath's Sacred Mountain.
He appeared before Luke, tossing the near-dead girl into his arms.
"Feed her a potion. When she recovers, bring her to me."
Orak vanished from Luke's sight.
Luke fumbled for a potion bottle, pouring it into Jessica's mouth.
The liquor-flavored potion, recently swapped, spilled from her broken esophagus to the ground.
"Plug her esophagus, Luke."
Maddock glanced at them, speaking casually but slightly faster.
Luke quickly pressed a hand to the base of her esophagus, trapping the potion to work its magic.
The act felt deeply unsettling—he wasn't used to such brutal healing.
Though he'd seen Bulkathos heal Mamon this way, Luke remained tense.
In moments, Jessica's body began to mend, regeneration reaching Luke's hand.
"Don't let go, Luke. If you want to save her, wait until she's fully restored, then pour another potion."
Maddock left after those words.
Orak didn't like Jessica Jones, and neither did Maddock.
For Luke's sake, Maddock offered the healing method.
But he didn't want to watch what followed.
Jessica hadn't passed Orak's trial on her own strength. Even as his heir, she wouldn't earn the ancestors' respect.
She survived only by Orak's mercy, not through redemption.
The ancestors wouldn't view her like they did Rumlow.
…
"I didn't expect such a mess. Got plans for that skull-head?"
Hellboy spoke to his father, Professor Broom, polishing his broken horns with a buffer.
The jagged stubs didn't look heroic.
"After testing, he'll likely be your new teammate."
Broom flipped through a book, answering Hellboy's question offhand.
"But Britain's crawling with vampires. Fancy a trip?"
"No way, Dad. I'm an urban legend. You want me in the spotlight?"
Hellboy scoffed at Broom's suggestion.
A trip was just talk.
Required to stay hidden, he'd never traveled far alone.
"Why not? The world's full of superhumans and monsters. It can handle one urban legend."
Broom spoke casually.
"By the way, checked on Abe? How's he doing?"
"Nick Fury didn't let me into the med bay, but S.H.I.E.L.D.'s looking rough."
Hellboy set down the buffer, grabbing a chocolate bar, unwrapping it, and stuffing it in his mouth.
"Go to Britain. I feel something big's brewing there."
Broom closed his book, speaking seriously to Hellboy.
"When your skull buddy's tests are done, I'll send him to join you."
"Be careful with your research. I don't trust that Kroenen guy."
Hellboy grumbled, though it was likely just his way of showing care for his dad.
"Kroenen's body isn't human anymore. I'm only worried his appearance hides some plot."
Broom looked at Hellboy, his gaze softening.
His greatest achievement might be guiding Hellboy to the right path.
Raising a child of hell to be human was no small feat, thanks to Broom's teachings.
"Also, S.H.I.E.L.D. contacted us. They need help investigating Hydra. I feel there's a connection."
…
"What are you talking about!?"
Rorschach still struggled under the Hammer of Judgment, but his movements softened.
Perhaps Bulkathos's words stirred him.
As a normal human, Rorschach, even masked, could be felled by a few thugs.
His fighting skills worked most times but had limits.
His height and slight build capped his combat prowess.
"Looks like you found a solid heir? Just, his height doesn't quite fit your standards?"
Ancient One, watching, relaxed and even joked, though it wasn't the best jab, even if Rorschach didn't mind his stature.
His physical limits cost him in fights, but his unique techniques kept him effective.
"He's got my approval. Convincing him might take time?"
Bulkathos lifted the Hammer of Judgment from Rorschach. Tyrael's lingering power had merged with him. As a barbarian, that power would accelerate his growth.
Grabbing Rorschach's shoulder, Bulkathos opened a portal to the Sacred Mountain.
Finding a worthy heir was cause for celebration.
A pure hero, steadfast.
Rorschach suited being a barbarian more than Steve.
As Rorschach was lifted, a brown notebook fell to the ground. Bulkathos paused.
"What's this?"
He picked it up, eyeing the silent Rorschach.
"My diary. I'm just a man, could die anytime. It lets the world know what I did and what they face."
Rorschach shrugged, speaking offhand.
"Normal people don't keep diaries. You write one?"
Bulkathos asked Ancient One.
"Nope. Diaries aren't for recalling what you did—they're for others to see what 'I' did."
Ancient One smirked at Rorschach, answering Bulkathos.
"True. Written words aren't heartfelt."
Bulkathos tossed the diary to Rorschach's chest, then brought him to Harrogath's Sacred Mountain.
Finding a prime candidate, he wanted training to start soon.
A man who made his principles an obsession needed only an upward path, no further prodding.
Rorschach could grow fast. When Tyrael appeared, he'd be a key asset.
Rorschach, clutching his diary, stayed silent as Bulkathos brought him to the mountain.
Bulkathos forgot about dealing with Kingpin. The joy of finding a fitting heir erased the thought of that easily crushed villain.
(Chapter End)
-------------------------------
I've posted the latest chapters on Patreon!
If you like this story, please come and support me.
Here is the link: [pat*eon*com/DaoistRoeoNQ]
Thank you for always supporting me!!