II-45 Praise

Ambient Mana Stability Threshold

Noun

The maximum amount of mana that a dimension or designated mana zone can stabilize and process before its localized environment collapses into a state of volatility and chaos.

Localized imbalances in Ambient Mana Stability usually result in mana storms or the creation of gates. The Ambient Mana Stability Threshold also determines the theoretical soft limit for an individual Pathbearer’s Tiers or a mana core’s categorical capacity.

Beings that exceed a designated mana zone’s Ambient Mana Stability Threshold will typically cause severe and drastic damage to their own skills and their local mana zone whenever they use a skill of excessive Tier. 

This will result in a rare instance of direct and extreme vulgar system intervention.

Advancing an Ambient Mana Stability Threshold requires years of accumulated conflict for a designated mana zone, or an incursion quest between multiple dimensions or worlds that will see the defeated side’s mana and history fully absorbed.

So far, Integrated Earth has prevailed in three separate Incursion Quests…

-Encyclopedia Apocalyptia

II-45

Praise

Valor shuddered as every piece of his fragmented being was spat all over the floor of the teleportation anchor. His skull flared with flame and Necromancy as he felt his limbs again. An outline of his original body flashed, and he rose, manifesting a corrosive blade that he intended to use against the one who ambushed him.

He had been painted into a book by the adversary—the Educator. Barely High Adept in power, he didn’t see the brush and the paint before he drowned, and then he found himself inscribed into a page—conscious but trapped in place. It wasn’t the most existentially uncomfortable he had ever been, but it wasn’t pleasant. It was like suffocating, but he didn’t even get to choke. 

While he was imprisoned, however, he deduced several things of his enemy.

The first was that he was fighting someone godlike. That was how potent the brush was, so absolute. The way the skill just ignored all his defenses and swallowed him mind, vitality, and soul was staggering. And the book that she brought with her—she was instantly bound to its pages, before he was infused upon a page, he saw hundreds of animated illustrations pass before him. Entire landscapes that looked as vivid as their real counterparts. The power needed to create such an artifact was Legendary at the very least.

And finally, there was the presence. A broken, diminished shadow of himself that he was, Valor could still sense the jagged presence of an Ascendant by way of his near-crippled Animancy Skill. Where the souls of the Composer and other true divines sang with a steady pitch and offered a sense of solidity and stability, an Ascendant’s soul felt like it was filled with jutting shrapnel that constantly clashed together.

That was mainly because an Ascendant wasn’t a true god. Most of them weren’t even Legendary, before their so-called apotheosis. And this Ascendant was especially damaged. A shell of herself, much like Valor was. 

But for the undeath of him, Valor couldn’t fully recall a goddess that painted and drew among the Ascendants. If it was because the information was lost with his other soul fragments, or if the Ascendants had committed another act of mutilation on history, he couldn’t tell. The part he did know was how dire the trouble they faced was, and that his disciples faced a hopeless struggle before them.

They were Masters and Heroes. System-favored. But gods existed beyond the bound of a system and invested their powers upon champions for a reason. Gods—and sufficiently powerful beings in general—were disruptive for places that had lower mana stability thresholds. If one were to fully manifest, sections of reality would likely collapse when a god used one of their skills, and the system itself would intervene by quest or vulgar incident to ensure the god was driven away.

This very well might be the reason as to why the Great One lay slumbering in perpetual half-death.

But even without unleashing their full power, a god could channel portions of their divine might through artifacts and individuals that bear their favor. And a portion of even a Legendary-Tier Skill was quite the potent thing.

But as Valor scanned his surroundings to discover just why his great adversary had released him, he was shocked to find himself still in the teleportation anchor. And that the Educator was a smoking pile of flesh at his feet. The woman’s flesh cooked and crackled, with only the white of her teeth still showing. Her robes were drenched in paint, and her brush and pencil were both cracked. The badge on her shoulder had shattered as well.

Less than a meter away, the great tome she carried was ablaze. That tome projected an entire dimensions based on the illustrations made within. More, its pages held Valor, held Siggy, and Can Hu as well. So how was it burning now? How did it get destroyed?

The answer came to Valor intuitively. And he didn’t like his conclusion at all. Shiv. He must have deliberately or accidentally come into contact with Necromantic mana. But to output so much energy that it destroys a Legendary artifact and incinerates the champion of god…

But where was Shiv?

Uva was seated on the ground, her eyes wide. Dried blood marred half her face, but there was also a copious amount of paint spilled over her. Behind, her shield drifted, its twitching movements resembling that of a nervous man. Adam had a Veilpiercer nocked as he breathed hard and fast. His eyes were flaring, and Can Hu let out a mechanical groan against the wall beside the anchor’s exit. Siggy, meanwhile, had curled into a ball in the corner, muttering to herself.

But—

And then Valor sensed him. He saw the faintest shimmer of a person’s outline, but even that was fading fast. What’s more, there was a deep, corrosive scar that ridged Shiv’s Vitae.

“Shiv?” Uva cried out, recovering from her confusion. She looked around for a moment, and her strands immediately shot toward where Shiv’s Revenant was. Her other strands shot out to most other members of their group. Can Hu, she simply called out to. As she knelt where Shiv was, her expression twisted from focus, to worry, to open terror.

“His mind is present but unresponsive,” Uva said. She directed a strand of mana inward as she began modifying her own mental state—to enforce more control of her spiking dread. Adam looked at her with an equally worried look.

“What does that mean?” Adam asked. He reached out where Shiv supposed was but grasped only open air. “Just control him and have him drain our vitalities a bit.” Adam paused. “That… won’t be permanent, will it, Valor?”

“No,” Valor said, willing to offer something of himself as well. “Vitality… it will recover in time. But why isn’t he responding? Uva?”

The Umbral’s expression hardened into one of pure focus. She sank several strands more into Shiv and pushed them deeper and deeper—

A wail tore out from her lungs. Uva’s eyes widened as she bit back a torturous shriek of pain.

“Uva!” Adam reached out, but she pushed his hand aside.

Out of desperation or raw tenacity, the girl pushed herself further into the maelstrom of suffering. Valor could read the anguish on her face, but she kept going. Her fists were clenched so hard, blood was spilling out between the cracks of her fingers.

“Uva…” Adam said again. “Is he still—”

“He’s there! He’s just not responding!” The Psychomancer. “I just… need…” And she bit her lip. “I don’t know what to do.”

Valor approached them, and he drew on what little of his Animancy he could. Once, he was capable of rebuilding souls. Once, he could create new entities with enough focus and dedication. Once, he was feared by gods and titans alike.

Once.

Now, as he cast a sliver of pale mana into his favored disciple, he poured it into the corroded soul-scar and felt it practically do nothing.

“Great Valor,” Uva gasped. “What do we do? He is fading. I can feel him fading. I cannot—I cannot reach him through the pain.”

Valor stared at the place where the Deathless was. The once translucent shroud of Shiv Revenant was almost transparent now. And the Legendary Pathbearer felt more impotent than ever.

“I… I don’t know,” Valor said.

***

Existence was pain.

Pain. Every part of Shiv was consumed by pain. His body was a husk and nest of pain. His mind drowned in pain. His soul was lined with pain. At some point, he was beyond silent screaming. He considered going mad from the searing agony, but that didn’t help with the hurt, so he turned sane again. Through it all, a single thing kept him grounded, even as he felt himself grow colder. 

Rose was crying. Crying from the pain. Crying from all she suffered. Crying from the stress of being here in this place—banished from the world and bound to the child who was the cause of her and her unborn daughter’s deaths in the first place.

Every time he tried to comfort her, his focus broke. He warred against the hurt as best he could, but this was beyond anything he could imagine. He was at the point where he was looking forward to true death and nonexistence if only—

NO!

Something combusted inside Shiv. He fed rage into his Revenant Skill for the first time, and the pace of his coldness slowed. If the system wanted him to go away for good, then it needed to inflict more than torture on him, because he was going to fight it here too.

Come on, Rose, Shiv said. Get up. We just… We need to…

The pain… she gasped. So much… Why…

Because the system’s a bastard and likes it when we writhe. But I can be a harder bastard still. And you too. Get up. Get—

“Shiv! Please! Please reach back! Please! I’m right here—don’t… don’t fade—don’t leave—you made me a promise.”

Uva’s voice sounded in his mind. And she sounded more terrified than Shiv could ever remember her being. And that was enough. Just enough to give him another push.

He felt… through the ocean of suffering, he sensed Adam and the others. They were all there, gathered around him. He tried reaching out, but even with him fighting through the hurt, it felt like part of his body wouldn’t respond, that he just could move. He fought to reach them, to drain vitality from one of them, but he couldn’t even tell where his hands were.

And the flame of his life dwindled. And a hollow coldness touched his very core. And Shiv realized it might have been too late. Even with his Feat, even with all his skills, it might have been too late.

He thought about his life as he struggled, as true death closed in. He thought about everyone that hurt him. The War Priest. Tran. The people of Blackedge. Roland. And he thought of Georges, who was the closest thing he had to an actual parent. He thought of Adam, who went from someone that despised him to whatever the hell they were now. He thought of Uva, of her mind, her touch, her focus. He followed the strands of her Psychomancy still, even as he wondered if it was all for naught.

“It’s okay,” he managed to send to her. “I’ll try but… It was… I enjoyed it… All of it…”

And he felt her pain. The pain she felt when her mother died. Like something inside her was being torn out slowly, despite her best attempts to stay composed, to endure the hurt. And it wasn’t just her pain, but Adam’s too. He blamed himself. Adam always blamed himself. And now he would never forgive himself if Shiv perished. From Valor came the flavor of bitter impotence, of a man who remembered mending souls in far worse condition than his, but was now broken himself.

There was no loss like losing oneself, and broken Legend had a long way to fall from the heights of who they were.

“Pathbearer,” Can Hu said. “Endure. Persist. Climb.”

Selfishly, Shiv found himself proud. He didn’t realize him dying could ever hurt someone so bad. And that just made him try harder. He reached—

And someone took his hand. But it wasn’t Uva’s vitality he felt. Nor was it Adam’s presence, or Valor. Or Can Hu.

This hand was strong, and the vitality that flooded Shiv was an inferno the likes of which he couldn’t imagine. Shiv cried out as the hand closed tight around his entire body—his entire soul. The left side of Shiv’s entire being radiated with hurt, but Shiv forced himself to focus.

Stronger yet, he could feel the hand tightening so much that even time itself briefly halted its flow.

He focused on the dense, thick hand that clutched all of him, that allowed him to drain its vitality. As Shiv looked up, he stared. He stared across dimensions. He stared beyond the veil of his world, his reality, to somewhere else entirely, at something else entirely. The being that held him was no person. For a moment, Shiv's heart dropped, as he thought that 811 had found him, even beyond the grave. 

But this wasn't 811. 811 was positively tiny compared to the Titan that currently clutched Shiv. And 811 was an insect next to this being's vitality, this being's power. Its body consisted of fire, constant, blooming, bursting fire. 

The fire of Pyromancy, the fire of war, the fire of burning bodies. Beyond the pyre that composed the great beast's insides, its skin was a river of scars. The tissue was snaked across its flesh, painting mass graves and brutal wounds that co-mingled into a grand canvas. The grand canvas had composed an orc unlike any other. Its eyes, however, were bright. They were like gems in the sky. So pure that Shiv couldn't even look away.

The Challenger wishes to offer you their congratulations.

And the great orc smiled upon him. And then the orc smiled as it looked down upon him.

“Come on, DEATHLESS. IT’S JUST A LITTLE BURN. Nothing to be writhing around about. Besides. You owe one of mine a war. An eternal war. You owe me a lot more than just a war. You owe me more struggle. You owe me more defiance. You owe me more entertainment. Whom else am I supposed to watch, if not you, for someone to spite death so deeply, so cruelly?"

"You're the challenger," Shiv managed, forcing the words through his agonized being.

"That I am," the orc said, "the challenger of all things, myself, my people, other people, even you. And I especially look forward to challenging you. That little trick you do—the acausality skill you have… I look forward to being hit by that. Over and over." And with each exchange, Shiv felt more of the beast's vitality flood into him. It was more vitality than he'd ever drank in before, and it combusted inside him, and boiled inside him, and settled somewhere deep.

"I'm not one to really offer Blessings, but why not. Why not a blessing in the form of a curse? How about it, bruiser?"

Shiv grunted with annoyance. "Didn’t you already give me a curse?”

The Challenger snorted. “That’s just something to keep you motivated in life.”

"I think I'm already plenty motivated," Shiv laughed darkly. “And frankly, I hope I never see another orc again.”

“Ah. His casual killing bothered you that much, did it?”

"He tore a child right out of my hands and murdered him in front of me," Shiv said, his tone hard, "he butchered the weak for fun. And if 812 makes to me, I’ll send him back to you in half the time.”

“And that’s the only way a Pathbearer should be,” the Challenger grinned. “Spiteful. Defiant. Even in the face of a god.” He squeezed Shiv a bit tighter, and the Deathless roared with pain as the Challenger rubbed at his soul-wounds.

“Godsdammit,” Shiv wheezed, battling to keep his pain under control. “I’m gonna… Someday, I’m going to break you in half for doing that.”

The orc  god regarded him for a moment. "Is that what you really believe?" Shiv expected the orc to go on about some kind of cruel, might-makes-right philosophy. But the challenger just shrugged. "Well, if that is what you think, then enforce it. Make that the way of the world, if you can. Come find me, and we’ll have our bloody moment, good and proper.”

Shiv eyed the orc god, and something inside him tremored. He could hear Rose speaking somewhere in the backdrop, saying that a resonant bound now connected him to the Challenger. “Sure. Give me a bit. But I’ll come looking for you. Especially if you keep sending orcs after me.”

“Right. 

The orc began to laugh, but then his smile faded, and a mouthful of jagged, hardened teeth showed. "Stay hard, then, little bruiser. Now. Would you like to hear what I’m going to give you?"

Shiv shrugged—and nearly doubled over from the pain.

"I curse you," the orc said, and he leaned close, "with the ability to curse another."

Shiv paused. "What?"

"You heard me. I give you my privilege of Orcish Bestowal, and you can spread my skills, my power, among those you despise, but only those you feel worthy."

He considered the orc and blinked. "Is this going to give me another orcish skill?"

The orc shook his head. "No, I will not make things so easy for you. You've already overcome one skill. You've broken it and reforged yourself anew. You might grow a little too fast and take the struggle out of things. So, I want you to fling my blessing, my one true blessing, upon all other beings that you deem troublesome or worthy."

"And what's the catch? You want me to recruit a certain number of orcs for you? You want me to infect a certain number of people?"

And the Challenger laughed. "Just use it as you will or don't. Whatever you decide, I'm sure it will be interesting, bruiser. You get into too many bloody messes for things not to be.”

"Why do you call me that?" Shiv said. “Bruiser.”

"Because that's what you are. You are practically one of my orcs, except you won't give yourself fully to the delights of pain, of cruelty, and violence. You endure as much as you deal. It is such a strange way you live." He rubbed Shiv's face with a finger. Nudging at the left side of his body, Shiv snarled, and his eyes rolled from how bad it hurt. He cursed at the Challenger. The damned orc god was just like his children. He saved Shiv, but just had to torture him. He couldn’t help it. The cruelty was in his nature.

Slowly, the Challenger pulled his finger away.

"I'm going to get you for that when we have our moment too," Shiv growled, vicious anger burning his eyes.

And the Challenger simply sighed. "And that's why you're the bruiser. Because you get hit, and your only response is to hit the damn thing back. What a righteous way to live. What a precious way to be. What a beautiful way to burn."

Shiv laughed. He was about to tell the orc to go pound sand, but then he paused. He paused, and he considered something. They were still going to have to deal with Gate Lord Confriga before this was over, and Confriga was already out of control normally. With an Orcish Skill…

“Ah, and there it is. He’s thinking. He sees it. The comedy. I knew you would get there.”

“Why?” Shiv coughed. “Why do you want me to use it on Confriga.”

“Because I have a vision of things. A vision of you beating other hard bastards fists to fist, blade to blade.” The Challenger snorted. “That fake excuse of a god you sent running just now was pathetic. Pathetic for not taking power for herself. Pathetic for running when she could have stayed and fought. Pathetic because a little pain bothered her. She’s not like us. I would have gone down to the bone with you. I would have stayed and burned, just like you were willing to gouge your soul.”

The Challenger drew in a deep breath and sighed. “Because the system demands strife, and absolutely love my life. I love the bad odds, desperate gambits, and vicious plays. I love the mighty challengers and nasty brawls. It’s all wonderful to me. I love every day that I’m alive to fight and rage and war. Because what’s the point if there’s no tension. No struggle. Why change if you’re not being pushed to the limit? Why even be?”

“Some people just want to live quiet lives,” Shiv said. “Might not be me, but some. They should get to do that without being forced into suffering or getting butchered.”

“Why?” the Challenger snorted. “The system doesn’t respect the soft. It doesn’t care for the weak. Why is anything up to them.”

“I didn’t say anything about it being up to them, I’m just saying this is how I see things. I’m not a philosopher, either. But I will fight for the ones who can’t. Because there’s a lot of damned difference between liking the struggle and being a bastard. Like you. Like the other orcs. I’ve seen enough of your kind. It might make Confriga lose control, but I don’t need him sloppy to beat him. I’ll break him whatever his state, however many deaths it takes, whatever he has. You can keep your bestowal, because I’m going to tell you right now, I intend to kill orcs. Not make more of them.”

The challenger threw its head back and laughed. It was louder, by far, than anything Shiv had ever endured. Marikos was practically a newborn kitten beside the orc. But Shiv didn’t flinch. He didn’t shake from whatever was about to come. If he was a concrete pillar on the inside before, all his tribulations and triumphs made his will adamantine as well. He just got done dealing with one god’s bullshit, he wasn’t about to be made into the idiot aide to another.

“You know what, I’ve changed my mind as well.” The Challenger lowered his huge face and smiled sweetly at Shiv. “True bruisers like you should get something even more special than just a curse-bestowal Blessing. Something suited to them. Well. I got just the thing. What you did with the Jealousy was inspired. And think more people should enjoy the pain and damage you drink up so willingly. So, here. Give them a taste.”

And then the Challenger pressed his massive thumb into Shiv’s chest. The Deathless cried out as something was branded upon him. But he wasn’t the only one who burned. The Challenger’s chest seared as well, and the orc laughed as Shiv fought with all his might not to scream. The pain he suffered before became unspeakable. It was so much greater than before, and the effect felt like it lasted a lifetime. But slowly, Shiv fought his way out through that haze of torment as well. By the end, he coughed and gasped, but was more annoyed at the Challenger than anything.

“What was that supposed to—”

Blessing Gained: Icon of the Paindrinker - Allows the Pathbearer to manifest from their body. The icon will magnify the damage and pain Pathbearer and all nearby enemies and objects suffer.

“Here,” the Challenger breathed. Shiv looked down at his chest, and he saw a glowing mark there. A glowing mark that resembled an orc’s claw reaching into an open flame. “Suits you more, bruiser. I really look forward to seeing you use it on me.”

Shiv chuckled. “You’re a real masochist, aren’t you?”

“Just someone that likes to cultivate a proper challenge in time. Keep fighting. Keep defying. Keep surviving.” Then, the Challenger paused as he got close. “And watch out for the Ascendant rats. All of them. They’re not probably gods. They’re barely proper Pathbearers, and they’ll do anything to avoid a real war. But you can break them. They’re afraid to lose. They’re afraid to die and to hurt. So keep going. Use yourself as kindling. Make yourself a bomb. Go where they refuse to go and drag their fucking mongrel hides to the deep waters and watch them drown.”

The orc god had so much passion in his voice that Shiv was taken back. He had also stopped squeezing Shiv, which was a welcome change. “What do you know about them?” Shiv asked. Despite everything, the Challenger was pretty aware of things, and Shiv thought—

“I’ll let you discover that for yourself,” the Challenger grunted. “I’m not going to take your struggle away from you. But here’s something that might give you a taste of things. Twelve of the shits are about to go to war with one of their own, and the Starhawk’s going to need a godsdamned miracle if he wants to achieve his little noble crusade.”

The Challenger paused for emphasis. “Or maybe just a hard kid who doesn’t stay dead. But you watch out for the coward you just fought. She is weak now. Just weak enough that she can descend upon existence without cracking the fragile little egg that is your world, and she’ll be coming at you again from directions you won’t even be able to imagine. And the same trick won’t work twice.”

“Then I’ll figure out new ones,” Shiv replied. “Or maybe I’ll just get powerful enough to break her for good.”

The icon on his chest faded, and the Challenger nodded approvingly. “Maybe you will. And maybe I’ll be watching. Now. Resurrect. Get out there and rip this gate apart. Break everyone in your way, and make the survivors wake howling your name, forsaking sleep evermore just to avoid the presence of you even in their minds. And most of all… have fun, and remember that you are loved.”

“Yeah, about that,” Shiv said with a scowl. “You and 812 are going to regret ever doing that?”

“Loving you? Not unless you go soft on us, Bruiser. I’ll be leaving for now, but I’ll be here, watching. Can’t wait to see whatever you do next.”

With a detonation of immense force, the Challenger faded out of sight, and Shiv could hear Uva screaming into his mind. Shiv could feel his vitality surging through him, but still need a bit more to recompose. He reached out and took Uva’s hand—took Adam’s hand—and with a final cry, he rose out from death and broke free of his resurrective cocoon.

As he tore free from the embrace of death, however, a blast of white and crimson came with him as his Outside Context Problem Skill tremored inside him. Just before his soul stabilized, the distorted shape of a woman emerged. Rose Van Erren extended out from Shiv to reach for her son.

“ADAM!” She cried, drowning the room with her wail. “MY CHILD! MY HEART! I—”

And then she crashed back into Shiv’s Vitae with a cry of despair.

But tragically, only Shiv could sense her presence. Uva couldn’t see her. Adam didn’t even react. Valor tilted his head slightly, but aside from that, he didn’t do anything.

Inside Shiv, he heard Rose begin to weep, and he felt bad for her in a way he never knew he could for another person.

Why… Why… What did I do to suffer this. He was right there. I couldn’t touch him. I couldn’t even hold him. Why… She alone sobbed inside Shiv, his very existence her prison.

At the same time, her suffering was juxtaposed with Uva desperately wrapping her arms tight around Shiv’s neck and planting a quick kiss on his lips. Meanwhile, Adam awkwardly reached out and placed a hand on the Deathless’s shoulder, while Can Hu nudged him with a few rocks.

It was good to be among people who loved you. Who truly, desperately wanted you to stay with them. And Shiv realized just then what kind of hell it would be if he were to be banished from these people, if he were forced to watch them through a layer of separation as if a specter. As if he was Rose Van Erren.

Rose, listen, I’ll do what I can to get you out, Shiv promised. And I’ll tell Adam. I’ll show him my memories as soon as I can.

It will not work, she sniffled. So long as I remain within you, they will not be able to sense me. I am beyond the context of outer reality, and I am fused to this skill. We will need an Animancer to have any hope at all. One without peer.

And just then, Shiv’s attention turned to Valor. But before he could do that, he hissed and nearly doubled over from agony. The left side of his body felt seared and flayed. As he looked down at his flesh, he groaned in disgust. He was badly burned—the skin so corroded it was beyond the point of disfigurement. Pulses of intense pain washed through his entire left side, and Shiv fought not to double over.

Uva cupped the right side of his face, and he saw the concern in her eyes. “Composer, Shiv, you…” She looked at his burns and looked away in horror.

“Yeah, so,” Shiv swallowed, trying not to reveal just how bad he felt in that moment. “I did a Necromancy field test on myself.” He stared at the Educator’s great tome, still burning nearby. “The blast was pretty big, and I got a useful piece of data. When I touch a Necromancy spell, I can blow up hard enough to burn a god.”

“A god,” Adam said, breathing quickly. “Was that what we just fought? Was that who that was? And how did she know so much about us? Why was she talking about my mother? And Shiv’s parents?”

Valor walked over to the tome and, with a mutter of effort, picked it up. As he held the badly charred book in his hands, he turned to look at Shiv’s mutilated state as he flipped through the pages. Then, Valor paused, and suddenly flipped to a specific page. “I… Well. This is… I recognize some of these people… The Starhawk here too…”

“What?” Adam asked, stepping closer to Valor, apprehension straining his body language. “Valor. What is happening?”

“I think our enemy left us a ruined Legendary item,” Valor said. “A ruined Legendary item that belonged to an Ascendant that should no longer exist.” Slowly, he turned the book, and showed the others an illustration. He showed them a picture of twenty people standing before the great Abyssal Chasm at Lost Angeles, and one among them looked familiar.

One among them wore the robes of a certain scholar.

“Shiv,” Valor breathed. “You might have just recovered a piece of true history relating to the Ascendants.”

“Yeah,” Shiv winced. “And all I needed to do was destroy half my soul to get it.”