Chapter 71 — Immortality • Blessing or Curse? (Paid Patrons)

A/N: I wake up this morning and two of my three birds are gone. They gnawed through the matt I used as roofing. Put the video of bird call to attract them the whole day, but no luck. What can you do, it’s life. I’m down to one lovebird and two cats now.

“You’d make me live in this kind of dump?” Serios would hesitate to call it a room, given how barren and devastated it is. The floor’s covered in a layer of dust so thick he can feel it through his expensive leather shoes, yet the air’s so humid he’s almost certain spores and mold have started to grow on and in him both. The hut’s not fit for a dog, let alone someone of his station—a Magus of great renown in the West!

... At least, that's how it is in his mind.

The truth is, neither he nor his House is at the top of any hierarchy.

It's a fairly unremarkable, medium-sized House operating under Animusphere, and Serios believes it's his responsibility to elevate it to fame and prosperity... Or so he hopes.

What Serios lacks in talent in comparison to others—mainly his brother, the Magus makes up for with a bottomless pit of ambitions.

For his Dream, there’s no low he won’t stoop, even if it means killing his entire Family and forsaking his Humanity outright.

If there were a competition about Magus-mindset, Serios might just take first place; third at the minimum.

“Please don’t be angry! I consulted a Master, and this is the only place where the Xian won’t find you.”

Initially, Serios was surprised the sniveling, cowardly sellout knew the Eastern equivalent of Magi, but it doesn’t seem too strange to him now—not after hearing the man’s rather ‘tragic backstory.’ The man was once a disciple to a Xian, albeit a lackluster one, and was kicked out by his Master for committing the grave sin of boasting about his 'Taoist Spells' to a group of commoners.

Though not nearly as strict as the Association, which suffered through decades of demonization and persecution—courtesy of the Holy Church’s splendid PR team and the ungrateful, shit-flinging ‘peasants’—neither the Spiral Manor nor the Summit Court wants commoners crowding their entrance, after all. How’d they ever get anything done that way? ‘Idiot…’

Serios mumbles at the thought, disgust oozing from his expression as he dismissively waves at the ‘failed’ Daoist.

“Have you at least gotten the slaves?”

“I’ve managed to secure over 100 workers for everything. They’ll arrive soon and start on the renovation, sir.”

Rubbing his hands together like a fly, the annoying guy chuckles weakly.

“Unfortunately, it's a bit of a hassle to find skilled workers this far from major hubs. They might not be exactly to your liking, but please bear with it for a while.”

Clicking his tongue, Serios rushes towards the dilapidated altar of the Buddha, casually tossing it asides in one smooth motion to reveal an underground cavern. “This place used to host one of the Xian before… Well, before the Age of Cultivation ended. It was the abode of a Xian who worshipped the Jade Emperor—the undisputed Ruler of the Three Realms.”

In the middle of the large cavern lies a dusty cauldron, its polished metallic surface still shining through layers of dust, grime, and mold. “That’s a Mystic Code…”

“W- Well, none of us have been able to open or move it. The thing’s welded shut, and the legs seem to have fused with the soil.”

Mesmerized by its beauty, the Astromancer walks towards the Mystic Code, as if staring at his predestined.

“It’s waiting for a worthy wielder.”

Confidently, Serios grips the Mystic Code, injecting his Od into it.

As anticipated, just a bit of Mana is needed to reveal its brilliance. Gradually, the dust and grime coating its exterior begin to peel away. Instead of the bronze finish they expected, it is made entirely of glimmering jade, pulsing with vein-like spiderwebs that spread from top to bottom. “Young Master, you did it—”

The words have barely left the official’s mouth when the radiant light from the Artifact throws the Magus twelve feet onto his back. Groaning, Serios bellows, “Bastard! Look what you did!”

Both know it’s the Artifact rejecting him, but too embarrassed by the ordeal, the Magus can only blame his cohort.

Having been in this game for decades, the official just smiles wryly and takes the blame. What can he do? Annoyed, Serios glares and kicks the Jade Cauldron, which sends a jolt of pain through his leg, something he can’t quite hide.

Barely containing a laugh, the official excuses himself and departs, muttering in Mandarin so the Astromancer won’t lose his marble, though the mocking tone is clear to the Magus.

“Just you see… Eternal servitude awaits.”

Days quickly turn to months, and before he knows it, Serios has been stuck in the dump for two months.

It was tough for him to adapt at first, but now the Magus even finds the Eastern decorations kind of nice.

They wouldn’t be his first choice, obviously, but when in Rome…

Yawning, Serios turns to the Communication Mystic Code he had set up before leaving Britain. The Magus might be many things, but careless isn't one of them. From the start, he anticipated his brother would eventually track him down, which is why he set up several obstacles for his dear brother.

The first is a commoner to whom he entrusted a grenade containing the blood mist of an Apostle he had hunted.

Serios never intended for this to kill Alexios. That was never the plan.

If anyone is to kill his brother, it should be him. The Magus merely wants to watch his brother bleed, to see the golden child his parents are so proud of be miserable.

Smirking, he chuckles and stretches.

Already, his mind-controlled servants have spread in every corner of the Province, whispering the news of a Western Magus who is making troubles in the Summit Court’s territory.

In fact, every single Province in the country currently circulates this rumor.

It’s not a big deal, since no real damage has been done as far as the Xian are aware, but if Alexios were to ask around, he would be led on one, if not several wild goosechases.

It really brings back his memory of when they were kids…

How innocent and happy they were then.

Shaking off the thoughts, the Astromancer descends further into the cavern, where a hundred formerly strong and healthy men—now mere husks who can barely form thoughts, let alone complete sentences—meander the place aimlessly. “Morning, my slaves! How’s progress?”

The last remaining cognizant commoner responds, voice raw and weak. “It—It’s almost done, sir.”

“I know. I just wanted to hear someone say it.” Grinning wickedly, the Magus bursts into laughter. “Immortality, I’m coming for you!”

First, immortality.

Next, Animusphere’s seat among the Great Lords, and ultimately, the Root itself.

Serios shall have it all.

Expression turning serious, he sits on a chair and observes—eyes round as saucers while the slaves, well, slave away. Time bleeds away while

Addresses the husks with an order. “Now, all of you… Kill yourselves.”

The way he delivers their sentence is so casual that one might think he’s discussing the weather rather than life and death. But for a ‘True’ Magus, such is the worth of human life—they are merely ingredients, their meager sentience aside. “Don’t look so awestruck, you knew you were never going to escape! You should be glad, your worthless lives will now contribute to a far, far greater cause!”

With a clap of his hands, the slaves raise their tools—some wielding pickaxes, others axes, and a few with hoes—and slit their throats open. Blood seeps into the soil, staining the ground red as a horrid stench mixes with the moldy, humid, sweaty air of the cavern.

While his brother can use Orion to invoke the power of either the Legendary Hunter, the Goddess of the Hunt herself, or both when the Moon and Orion are visible, Serios can never hope to perform such spectacular feats.

That’s his brother’s forte—flashy, explosive, and stunning Spells meant to awe everyone. Serios’s talents are more subtle, leaning towards the occult, which makes them less valued, for while their effects are permanent, his Rituals require a ridiculous amount of resources, many of which cannot be bought, and would require his Family to exchange themselves out of all their ancestral holdings.

It's for this reason that his education has been neglected.

There were even discussions about giving him up for adoption when he was young, talks that his brother Alexios ironically talked their parents out of when he really shouldn’t have. “Alex, you never thought you’d see the day, right?”

Weakly, he reaches for the blood, unable to contain his excitement.

“I finally succeeded.” With a sly smile, he begins to retreat.

Part of the Constellation Ascension Ritual was no longer feasible due to the weakening Mysteries, so he replaced it with the first half of another Xian Sacrificial Formation.

According to his calculations, the result should be something similar to an Apostle.

The Blood Sacrifice compensates for the diminished power of the original Ritual.

Smearing the blood over himself, he snaps, and Od floods the crimson pool.

The Sacrificial Formation is connected to the Leylines, allowing him to draw more lifeforce from the three nearest towns.

While arrogant and talented, Serios is not delusional.

Such a feat would be challenging even for a Magus from the Age of Gods, but due to the centralized nature of the Xian’s Philosophy Foundation, which connects large population centers, it’s now doable even for him.

“Thousands of lives to feed and strengthen me… Checkmate, brother. I win.”

Confident in his victory, Serios presses into the carving as lifeforce—the Od that exists within every human, even those who cannot harness it—flows into his through his body, penetrating his skin to etch squiggly lines he doesn't bother to notice.

Then the pain begins, as every atom of his being is torn apart, enhanced, and rearranged, yet no scream escapes Serios’ throat.

Instead, only manic giggles emerge as he feels his power grow.

“Yes… YES! AT LAST!”

That exact moment, an ominous gust of wind sweeps through, followed by a loud explosion that leaves his eardrums ringing.

“W-What the Hell’s going on out there?!”

He bites back a scream, stumbling like a drunken sailor to the entrance while the pool rises in tentacles of blood that continues to pour into his back. ‘Could he have…’

Serios dismisses the thought immediately.

Alex might be lucky, but not lucky enough to just randomly stumble upon his Workshop like this, and Serios is sure he covered his track. “Dammit…”

Changing his mind halfway, he stumbles deeper into the cavern, but a voice stops him in his tracks. “Brother!”

Growling, he quickens his pace.

“Stop this tantrum at once and shut down the Ritual, brother. It’s not too late! Father survived your attack. I will plead with them to spare you on account of our blood.”

“And get locked up in the dungeon? Do you take me for a fool?! I have everything I need,”

Pointing at the pool that has exponentially grown in quantity, Serios hisses. “Right here!”

The mere mention nearly drives Serios mad with rage

“That wasn’t the deal!” A second voice joins his brother’s—Alex’s helper most likely.

"Lord Hangman, please—"

Before he can finish, something large and sharp strikes the back of his head.

The last thing Serios hears is the anguished roar of his brother as his head explodes into countless chunks, "NOOO!"

Or at least, that should have been the last thing he heard. Instead, his Spirit Origin is preserved—his Soul bound to his body by tendrils of blood. "Wha—"

Even Serios is confused, let alone his brother and the helper.

Every Ritual needs time to activate and take effect, especially one of this magnitude, yet here he is, alive and whole despite having his head blown off just moments ago. "I did it… I DID IT!"

Whirling around with a deranged smile, he giggles, staring at his brother challengingly. "I succeeded!"

"Serios… What have you done to yourself?"

Tanned skin growing a shade paler, brown hair whipping violently as the Ritual intensifies, Alexios looks horrified at the transformation his brother has undergone.

Gone is the lighter shade of brown hair, along with the cold amber of his eyes—now replaced by a deep red wine that bleeds into the white of his sclera. "I got better. And who is your friend? Did he help you find me?”

“You succeeded.”

Serios flinches at the look in the stranger’s eyes—swirling pools of madness he can’t quite fathom. “There are quite a few ways to kill an Apostle, right? Holy Attribute, Od depletion, or the old weaknesses.”

“You think you can kill me? I have tens of thousands of lives feeding me! How long can you last?”

Serios asks, shrugging off the concern for the hatred oozing from the opposition’s every pore.

“There was nothing I could do to save her… But there are plenty of things I can do to you.”

He cups his hands, mumbling mantras under his breath—Buddhist in origin, from what the Rank IV Apostle can tell.

“Praying for your own wellbeing?”

Taunts the Apostle, his words coming out in mousey squeaks.

“Praying for you… I grew up with a lot of Buddhist and Taoist influences, you know? I figure whichever Gods listening in might lower my Karmic offenses. I know for a fact they will not approve.”

“Heh… Where did you find this clown, Alex?”

Having been with Serios for 21 years, Alexios knows his brother’s love for banter all too well.

Yet, the Heir to House Athanasiou doesn't seem to notice the taunt.

If anything, he looks genuinely concerned. “Jasper, he’s my—”

“I don’t care if he’s the reincarnation of a God—he dies today, end of discussion. And if you try to stop me…”

The Mystic Code that had earlier turned his skull to a meaty paste abruptly jumps in the Magus’ hand, slowly swinging to aim at Alex’s throat.

“Your parents will need to make a new Heir. You don’t want that, do you?”

“It’s just a human… child or not. Ours is a dangerous world, Hangman. Did you really think you could walk this path without losing anyone?”

The words seem difficult for his brother to voice, but he speaks them anyway.

Serios never understood why Alex would go to such lengths for him, though he suspects it stems from pity. 

“Even if it were a pest, it’d still be my pest. Now, get out of my way.”

“He’s right, brother, you should! Let the milk-drinker come. I’m curious to see what makes you so afraid of him.”

“Serios, I’m warning you.”

The stranger steps forward, pushing Alex aside in a gentle motion that ends with Alex flying at least a yard away before managing to regain his balance midair.

Contrary to their expectations, the Spearman doesn’t charge at Serios; instead, he walks slowly and deliberately, stopping just four feet away from the Dead Apostle.  “… What, are you trying to bore me to deat—?!”

Abruptly, everything goes black as pain radiates from his cheek. 

He hadn’t even seen when or how he was struck, but Serios knew he definitely had been, given the way his eyeballs have popped out from their sockets.

‘[Reinforcement]? Nothing special then.’

He’d have been more afraid against other Magi, but Apostlehood comes with many benefits: Near instantaneous regeneration, extreme speed and physical strength, and eternal life—everything needed to defeat a Magus whose niche is mainly physical.

There are downsides, of course, but the nearest source of running water is nearly 5 kilometers away; sunlight simply can’t reach them this deep in the cavern and neither Magi appear to have brought with them the Church’s Sacraments.

“YOU—!”

In less than three minutes, he’s ‘died’ three times.

At 03:01, he dies for the fourth time; his heart ripped out as the Spearman’s arm shatters his ribcage and pierces his chest.

In a nanosecond, the fifth occurs as the arm then tears straight through his shoulder and neck…

Then the sixth, the seventh, the eighth…

Serios can barely comprehend what’s happening as he’s pummeled into a bloody pulp, only to reform and brutally murdered over and over again.

Then, the barrage suddenly stops.

For a brief moment, he’s spared from death, stumbling backward as darkness swallows the room whole leaving only a solitary red dot where the deadly, toxic green pool once was, and from the surrounding darkness, countless arms seem to claw at him—limbs made of black tar which glow with a purple fire beneath.

It’s only thanks to said fire the Apostle can perceive them.

He’d have definitely felt them, though, with or without the Cursed Fire outlining their shapes.

Panic starts to set in as he turns tail and runs in the opposite direction, only to trip on something—a leg—his leg, to be precise.

“I must thank you for this opportunity. None of my previous victims have ever endured such punishment and survived—none except you. Try to make this fun at least.”

Whispered were the words in every direction, while the dot narrows in what Serios can only describe as delight.

As much as he hates to admit it, his brother's right... Again.

He'll survive; time’s on his side, and those who do are the real winners.

“The things I’m about to do to you, Serios, would lock me out of every Afterlife, and it’s all your fault.”

Until then, “I’m going to test out every method of murder I know on you… I’m curious—how long will you last?”