MM - Chapter 247 - A NEW HOPE, OR NOT…

Kesta Tafell, aka KakaruNeko

- Onderon, Western Phoenix Territory -

Kesta jerked awake with a bone-deep gasp. She shot up, ripping off her headset and throwing it across the room to shatter against the metallic wall. Her other hand clutched at her chest, where a gaping hole had been blown straight through her body. Her fingers found unbroken skin, yet her brain insisted she should be reaching straight through: such was ZionLine’s realism.

As terrible as it had been to die, the wound that ‘killed’ her only represented the surface injury. She delved deep, falling into the inner realm where her eighty long years of cultivation should reside. There, she found that only seventy years of amassed internal force remained. Tears leaked through tightly closed eyelids. Ten long years of agonizing sensory deprivation, wiped away in an instant by Alaric—a mere boy. And her domain avatar, the glorious Phoenix that had accompanied her for forty years, was utterly gone. It would take her at least a month to reconstruct a full replacement.

Her goal of reaching grandmaster in the next decade was now less than a dream; it was pure fantasy. Each Tempering required significantly more internal force, or mental strength, than the last. As the body grew more powerful and durable, so too must the forces that tear it apart to trigger cellular revolution. She would remain on the 24th Tempering for at least another eighteen years. So close to grandmaster, yet so, so far.

She’d lost too much to ever even remotely consider ZionLine a ‘game’ again. In that world, the consequences for failure were beyond brutal. And yet, despite her losses, a flickering flame of hope had been ignited.

Alaric: A boy. An actual child—no older than twenty-two. She’d read the dossier on Raine KongRu, and only now could she appreciate how vastly it had erred on his potential. 

Reaching Genesis by twenty-five would have marked him as an exceptional talent in any clan on Earth. Yet for KongRu, that couldn't even be considered the tip of the iceberg. Beyond Genesis lay the Quenching—a pseudo-Tempering that primed the body for utilizing vital nutrients. But the Quenching could not be entered into rashly, for it claimed the lives of three of every five who reached Genesis. The control over inner force needed to have a chance of survival required at least five years of practice post-Genesis. That was only for the most talented. Ten to fifteen was the standard.

Nothing about that boy makes a lick of sense. Each subsequent Tempering empowers the brain, allowing for the further growth of internal force. The only conceivable way he has the force and control necessary to create a domain avatar, and free it from the embryo, is if he is well into his temperings. But that's impossible… He is not even old enough to scratch the surface of Quenching, let alone Tempering!

Kesta pulled at her hair in frustration. Trying to understand the depths of the prodigy known as Alaric was breaking her brain.

Cultivation of his internal force aside, what the hell was that last move he used? I saw the flash of insight in his eyes. He had not realized until that very moment that avatars could unleash domain arts. Yet, in that fraction of a moment, he managed to activate one that completely overwhelmed my Talons of the Phoenix.

How does that make any sense for a child?! A child who only briefly unsealed their embryo long enough to form a pseudo-domain?! It does not matter how much the systems of ZionLine mimic the control of avatars and the activation of domain arts! I have been perfecting my art for decades. Decades! 

For KongRu to create an avatar on the fly that’s capable of using arts, then actually pull one off against me… when he didn’t even know such a thing was possible. And at his age? I… I don’t understand. How? How did he do it? Did he reach Genesis in the womb?! Who are his parents? How is he basically unknown when his talent is so unprecedented?

Kesta wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands, drying her tears. The more she considered how impossible what she’d seen was, the more emotional she became. She breathed deeply, desperate to hide her feelings. The other members of her wing could arrive at any moment. They could not be allowed to see her in such a state, or they would know something beyond even what they had witnessed occurred. At the moment, she was the only one who had seen his use of a domain art.

Unfortunately, they had witnessed the boy’s sloppy domain avatar. Its existence could possibly be explained as having an exceptional teacher. Likewise, his age could be faked. But Kesta knew the truth. The flash of insight at the end, and the bumbling way he controlled his avatar in the opening seconds were real. KongRu had used them, used the Halnugen of all people, to dive into the domain realms for the very first time.

There could be no doubt in her heart that Alaric was a child of pure, unimaginable potential the likes of which clans and governments would fight bitterly over for generations. More than that, to Kesta, he was the one she had been waiting for, dreaming for, beyond all rational hope. Finally, after nearly fifty years of searching, there was a chance for her desire to be made a reality.

Facing the loss of her most deeply cherished prayers, Kesta desperately constructed a new domain avatar. There was no time to flesh out its skeleton and musculature. Only its flaming feathers, down, and hide were fashioned. She had to conceal that her avatar had been killed, or they would know.

At the same time, Kesta began constructing an elaborate fabrication. She would lead them astray with half-truths and plausibilities. She had no choice. They could not be allowed to know the truth of the one known as Raine KongRu. No one could know. Otherwise, everything she had worked so hard to hide from the Phoenix Clan would slip between her fingers.

Raine KongRu

- Carter City -

Raine stepped through the shattered remains of his skyscraper’s front entrance. Glass crunched beneath his feet as stiff morning winds whipped at his loose sweatpants and snug t-shirt, the same clothes he’d been wearing before entering ZionLine. Morty’s warning that the tower was under attack had forced his urgency. The temperings he’d undergone, and taking the stairs an entire flight at a time, allowed him to arrive at the ground floor in under a minute.

A sea of faces shifted at his less-than-grand entrance. He paid little mind to the rank-and-file of CronGate and the Coalition of Masters. As per their agreement, Grandmaster Vought—leader of the Coalition—had sent his three hundred experts to Astra Infernum for training within ZionLine. The fact they arrived at precisely 6 AM, when Raine had anticipated Torune’s reprisal after the bloody defeat in the Central Silvergate Highlands, was ‘purely coincidental.’

His focus zeroed in on the important individuals. Front and center were three recognizable peak masters, each sporting a long history in the Coalition: Orenna Veyl, Pryce Korran, and Nero Thalren. Of the three, Nero was the highest in rank, second only to grandmaster Vought himself. For the man to have come in person spoke volumes to how seriously the Coalition was taking the situation. Orenna and Pryce commanded less renown in the current day, but Raine had seen them often enough in the past to know that would change.

The last man, ahead of even those three, was someone completely unexpected: Grandmaster Malakar Dross. He stood with a straight back, despite his age. Held aloft in his extended hand hung a limp Torune, looking for all the world like a scolded kitten. He did not dare to fight back against the grandmaster palming his skull like a basketball. Malakar was a near-legendary figure known across the globe. A direct descendant of an Old Monster—and one of the most ancient living grandmasters. He had personally trained the leaders of not only the Coalition of Masters, but two other peacekeeping forces on different continents.

What the hell is he doing here?! He wasn’t supposed to come out of retirement for another five years. Not good. No… this is perfect. The whole point of bringing in the Coalition was to gain a little protection against the Phoenix assassins without paying a billion a month for a grandmaster bodyguard.

Raine cupped a fist in greeting, bowing low over his extended hands. “Grandmaster, masters, it is my honor to invite you to our insignificant Carter City. My apologies for not meeting you at the airport. An urgent matter came up…” He trailed off, pointedly glancing at CronGate’s gathered experts. Unsurprisingly, they were shaking in their boots, sweat glistening in the early morning sun.

“Hmph!” Malakar snorted in displeasure. “You expect me to believe this rabble kept you holed up? Anyone who could force little Vought into a corner shouldn’t struggle with such fleas.” Casual as could be, he tossed Torune through the air. 

To his credit, the bastard reached out a hand, smacking the ground to spin and land solidly on his feet. He was bowing before his boots stopped sliding across the ground. “This humble one greets Great-Grandmaster Malakar. This one suggests caution. Lies escape KongRu’s lips as fluently as the drool he concocts them with.”

Orenna and Pryce glanced at each other so briefly that Raine almost missed it. The amusement pulling at their lips was unmistakable. Malakar barely moved. The finger of one hand lifted a bare millimeter, yet that was all it took to send a blast of force fifteen meters. It crashed into the distant Torune, who flew through his people, slamming into the wall and sliding down it. A wet crimson smear was left in his wake.

Raine’s diaphragm tightened against his will, the breath in his lungs trapped. He’d seen plenty of grandmasters use external force, but never so casually or with such extreme control. Not one other person around Torune had even felt a breeze of released force, yet what struck their master, standing only paces away, was enough to break half the bones in his body.

Malakar’s jaw clicked shut in annoyance. He’d been intending to admonish Torune for daring to give him advice, only to find the fool unconscious and unable to hear. Instead, his steely grey eyes swiveled back to Raine as though seeking a new outlet.

Shit shit shit. Think, Raine. Think!

As though nothing else in the world were important, Raine stepped aside and raised a palm toward the hole in his building. “If it pleases you, Grandmaster Malakar, we could retire and speak over a cup of tea. As per my agreement with Grandmaster Vought, I have prepared suites for your experts, and the dignified Masters, of course.”

Malakar narrowed his eyes, a slight pout to his lips at not finding anything wrong with Raine’s perfect level of politeness; neither obsequious, imposing, or insinuating. “Very well, child. My throat is parched. I do hope your tastes are up to my standards.”

“That cannot possibly be, Grandmaster Malakar. My palette can in no way compare to one with such bountiful experience.”

“Hmph.” Malakar snorted again, this time accompanied by a swipe at his long white beard. He strode toward Belehorn Tower’s ruined entrance, not bothering to glance back.

As Raine followed, Nero immediately took over the scene, barking orders. “Get this rabble booked and interrogated, now! Report to Master Pryce, then get settled in.” The Coalition experts burst into movement. Meanwhile, Nero and Orenna followed Raine inside, while Pryce stayed back to maintain order.

Belehorn's lobby was deserted, Morty having ushered the last curious onlookers out only seconds ago. His remaining drone buzzed nearby, dipping respectfully to the guests. “Refreshments are being prepared in your office, Expert KongRu.”

God damn, I love you, Morty.

The AI’s usual moniker for Raine, ‘master,’ Could have been a possible death sentence if spoken in the current company. He was, after all, not officially a master, and any admittance that he was could be used to force him into duels with people far above his current strength. 

Those processor upgrades you wanted are as good as yours, old buddy.

Raine quickly took his place as guide—two steps forward and to the left of Malakar. He led them to the elevators and up to the top floor. The ride was spent in silence, barely a drawn breath audible over the crushing presence of the grandmaster. Since they had agreed to speak over refreshments, it would be rude to break the composure with premature small talk. Raine suddenly found himself thankful to Torune. In the past, the bastard had drilled martial etiquette into him through continual, brutal beatings. 

The top suite was an absolute mess. Most of the furniture was stacked against the walls as additional barriers against external breaches. Morty’s drones were in the process of unburying a table when they arrived. After a short delay, Raine set his guests at the low table, ankles tucked beneath them on thin zabutons. He remained standing until the tea was served, then bowed again before sitting across from Malakar. 

The tea was the best of what Alyxson Qorren had left behind. While likely worth a thousand credits per pot, it was clearly insufficient. The old man took one sniff, then his lip curled in disgust. Orenna—with the aged skin and white hair of a doting grandmother—took a delicate sip, not allowing her disapproval to show. Nero—inching on a century old and still a hard-faced warrior to his bones—followed Malakar’s lead and did not touch his tea.

Malakar threaded a hand through the folds of his expensive suit jacket and withdrew a small pouch of white powder. He unsealed it without concern, flooding the room with the irresistible scent of vital nutrients. To Raine’s mounting horror, the grandmaster prepared to tap a few grains into his steaming cup of tea.

“Wait!” Raine blurted, eyes wide as they would go. His breath caught when Malakar paused to pin him with a look that promised death if the next words that came out of his mouth were found wanting.

“Apologies, Grandmaster Malakar. I do not wish to presume, but I have no choice. Suppose those are the vital nutrients promised to me by Grandmaster Vought. In that case, I must inform that if the delivery is not made in full, ZionLine will inevitably discover that fact upon scanning my memories at login. The contract between us will automatically be considered in breach.” Raine finished his heartfelt speech with a low, seated bow, fists cupped.

Thankfully, the old man was appeased by the explanation and didn't beat Raine senseless with a flick of his finger. However, he made no move to lower the bag of vital nutrients. “And why would such a simple matter be of concern to me?” His voice was saccharine-sweet. 

The blanch from Nero and pitying shake from Orenna perfectly relayed how close Raine was to being completely screwed. He was quick to explain. “The terms stipulate that a breach on Grandmaster Vought's end will make logging into ZionLine impossible for his people. The trip here will have been wasted, and all the plans we made will become impossible to enact… permanently. My sincerest apologies, Grandmaster Malakar, but when ZionLine accepts a contract, it is quite binding and impossible to circumvent.”

All Raine could do was hope that his sincerity bled through to the old man. Working with the Coalition was his best chance to correct the worst mistakes of the future and keep his people safe from the world's martials, who were far more powerful than his current self.

“So that's how it is. You really did take advantage of my precious disciple…” Malakar's voice grew light, almost airy. Raine didn't know him well enough to grasp what that meant. “Take it.” The last thing he expected was for the ancient martial to dutifully hand over the bag of vital nutrients. It flew through the small space between them, thrown gently in respect to the incredibly valuable substance within. 

The instant the bag landed in Raine's hand, the grandmaster grinned like an old cat whose prey had just walked straight into his wide-open maw. “Consider this as your delivery received in full.” Not a second after the bag's weight settled into Raine's extended palm, Malakar beckoned with a finger, and the bag promptly zipped back across the table into his waiting hand. “Such a gracious host you are, child, to share so openly with your elders.”

Raine's jaw dropped as Malakar upended the container over his cup, doling out a significantly larger portion of the precious nutrients than he would have initially. The bag was resealed and plopped onto the table between them, now much lighter. Raine stifled a groan by taking a deliberate sip from his own cup. When he spoke, his voice was most certainly not forced. “You are most welcome, Grandmaster Malakar.”

Whatever! It's an investment. An investment that better pay off!

With his brows rising in excitement, Nero made a move for the nutrients as well. Raine snatched them up in a blur, muscles overflowing with internal force. He promptly unsealed the bag and hocked a huge glob of spit in it, then held it out to the aghast peak master. “Help yourself.” His smile held not a trace of pleasantness.

Nero withdrew his hand, the disgusted curl of his lip at odds with the begrudging respect twinkling in his eyes. Malakar was not amused, though his disdain was abated somewhat by the now ‘acceptable’ tea. The silence stretched as he took slow, deliberate sips. Seconds turned to minutes before Pryce joined them. He didn’t take a seat, hovering near the exit elevator, dark shades failing to hide his alert senses.

Malakar naturally took the lead, steering the conversation in a new direction. “You are no doubt curious as to why I am here.” He let the statement hang, but Raine wasn’t fool enough to speak again without being asked a direct question; the first mistake cost him several million credits. The grandmaster’s eyes narrowed, his fingers drumming threateningly on the table. “What else is a doting master supposed to do but intervene directly when his dear disciple is bullied?”

Raine nearly spat out his tea. He thinks I bullied Vought?! Is he out of his damn mind? I almost died twenty times over and barely got a tenth of the concessions I wanted! Now, you stole what little I managed to wring from him! Bullied, my ass!

Since Malakar’s words formed an actual question, there was no choice but to answer. There was also no way to answer that wouldn’t make his situation worse. Denying that he’d bullied Vought would call Malakar a liar, and agreeing that a master should protect his disciple would be embracing whatever punishment the grandmaster deemed fit to dole out. Feigning ignorance was the worst possible response, and the cowardly act of deflecting not much better.

Raine drew up to his full height, chin rising. “Grandmaster Vought negotiated valiantly. Alas, as formidable as he is, surely more so than myself, was less prepared for our duel of wits. I eagerly anticipate our next match, where he will no doubt overwhelm me.”

There, you old bastard! Find a loophole in that load of crap. I dare you!

Grandmaster Malakar leaned forward subtly, fingers stilling their deadly drumbeat. His voice dropped low, rife with menace. “Good, good. It's been ages since an infant dared to play word games with me. Little Vought was right about you, KongRu. You really do have a death wish. Far be it from me to deny your heartfelt desire.”