[Voidknight Ascension] Chapter 233 – Humbling

“You gotta win that sword, man!” Komachi said, pawing at his cheek. “I wanna nap on it.”

“That’s all?” Sam asked with a chuckle.

“...Yis. Maybe surf too.”

“I still can’t believe you thought I was demanding you save my Empire without any assistance.” Zarishna shut her eyes. Over one of her closed eyelids was a runic tattoo. “Are you so used to heaping everything on your shoulders?”

“Well…yeah.”

“Too much like my Emperor.”

“Aren’t you going to open your eyes?”

“No need.”

Sam stared. “Are you kidding me?”

“I can sense you with lamia essence easily enough.”

There was a sense of pressure rolling out from Zarishna as color blending magic roiled around her form. It made him feel like he was facing a monster again. One that was far stronger than anything he ever faced.

Stronger even than the ogre.

Considering what she called the power, he supposed that made sense.

He found himself wondering if she was beyond Tin Rank.

The shifting energy turned from icy blue to ruddy orange until it settled on silvery white. Translucent half-cubes billowed up all around her form, disappearing once they floated past her head.

For a moment, he could see a geometrical creature superimposed over her form. Something made of harsh angles and fragmented chip-like pieces.

The longer he concentrated on the monster’s power she was drawing on, the quicker the image faded away.

Sam wrung the harsh metal grip of his sword in his hand, eager to win his prize. “You ready?”

“Always.”

Without further preamble, Sam rushed in, bringing all his force to bear. The gargantuan weapon blurred with speed and came down with all the force of a guillotine the size of an airplane wing.

The ring of steel stole Sam’s breath away, but not as much as the simple image of this tall stately woman wielding a tiny, curved sword holding his monstrously large blade back with just one hand.

At least she didn’t mime yawning into her hand to further the humiliation.

Sam pressed with all of his might, gaining perhaps an inch or two, but no more. The Empress firmed her grip and stood her ground. Waves of radiating pressure rolled out from her with such force that Sam felt his hair blowing back from the pressure.

He stood his ground as best he could, but before long, his arms tired and his legs weakened. Fighting both the Empress’ physical strength and this strange wind was doubly exhausting.

Meanwhile, the Empress stood still as a statue, not sweating a single drop. She held back Sam’s most aggressive attack like it was nothing.

Humbling didn’t begin to describe the experience.

Reaching into himself, Sam found another font of power, but before he could even bring it to bear, the Empress clicked her tongue at him. “No Void mana. Strictly your physical prowess.”

“I don’t see you restricting yourself!” Sam grunted.

“Oh, but I am, dear boy. I am.”

“Then what’s this wind pushing me back? I have to spend half my energy fighting it and the other pushing against your blade.”

“Yeah!” Komachi said, because she clearly felt like this was a time for her to chime in.

“Wind…?” the Empress asked. “Do you mean my aura?”

“What’s that? Like from DBZ?” Sam asked.

The Empress snapped open her eyes and with a dramatic increase in pressure that made Sam’s ears pop and his teeth ache, she twisted her sword and batted away his colossal greatsword with ease.

Zarishna stalked toward him until they were face-to-face. “Do you mean to tell me that what you were doing just now…that was entirely physical? You weren’t tapping your aura at all?” Sam didn’t get why she sounded so shaken.

“You said—!”

“Convilio!” she cursed. “I thought it was obvious.”

Sam dropped the tip of his blade to the ground and pointed at himself. “Came from a world without magic, remember? What’s all this aura business?”

The Empress took a deep, calming breath and sheathed her sword at her hip. “This is going to take much more work than I thought. Yet…to come so far without knowing how to manipulate your aura? I would be impressed if it wasn’t so idiotic.”

“Okay, ouch.”

“My critique is not of you as a person, but of your strengths and style of combat. Do not conflate the two like a lesser man.”

“Duly noted,” Sam said, sheathing his own sword. “So what now?”

“Fundamentals,” the Empress said. “I can see now why you attack the way you do. Instinct and intuition, however, will only get you so far. You need to train until your body knows the movements before your mind does. Only then can you combine instinct with skill.”

“And I’ll do that…how, precisely?”

“By learning to control your aura,” Zarishna told him. “It is the first fundamental skill all children of the Empire learn. From the lowliest clerk to the Will of Zarak themselves.” She caught his confused look and added, “The highest-ranking Immortal in the Empire.”

“That’s all very well and good,” Sam told her, “but how precisely do I do that?”

“Do you know how to meditate?”

“I was a beach bum most of my adult life. Of course I know how to meditate.”

“Then assume the position,” she told him, sinking into a meditative pose not too dissimilar from what he learned.

“Can I do this too?” Komachi asked sheepishly, fussing with her paws.

The Empress cracked an eye open. “Of course, you are free to learn as well. Just be warned, your aura will be different than that of Samuel’s.”

“Why is that? Cause I’m not Tin Rank yet?”

“That is one reason,” Zarishna said calmly. “Another is that you are, I suspect, a soul aeder.”

“I’m a cat.”

“A soul aeder cat?”

“Yis!”

And that was the end of that conversation.

Sam adjusted his position as best he could, given the difference in their anatomy. Beside him, Komachi did the same. With the Empress’ guiding voice, he took deep calming breaths.

Just above his navel, something began to churn and stir.

***

Darren was royally fucked. Not your normal kind of fucked, but super fucked.

“You’re going to get strung up by your short and curlies, pissboy,” the imp said, hounding him. “Why don’t you just yeet yourself off the Skyshard so I can claim your soul? I mean, it’s not like you’ve got any friends here. The rulers are onto you, the Skyshard is a quarter the size it was when you first arrived, and half of the commoners think it’s your fault. Really, what’s a little light ball torture among friends? I mean, really. Some people pay for that stuff, bucko.”

Darren, disheveled and filthy, looked around the small copse of trees where he had taken refuge. Few people came out here anymore. It was too near the edge of the Skyshard.

The howls of the Maelstrom sounded like the souls of the damned to Darren’s ears. He huddled on the leeward side of a stony outcropping to block some of the wind and warm himself by briskly rubbing his hands together.

It didn’t do much.

Darren’s imp fluttered over his head, looking down at him. High above, the trees shook violently, their dark green leaves rustling in the high winds.

“I don’t want to be tortured at all!” Darren screamed shrilly.

“Then looks like you’re going to need my help after all,” the imp sneered.

“I don’t need your help! I can do this on my own.”

“Look where that’s gotten you! I’ve been here the entire time ready to jump in, but do you take advantage of our bond? No! You spit in my face every time. You and me, we could do a lot. Your soul is already mine if you die, but if you accept my help a final time, at least you’ll get something out of it!”

“My soul isn’t yours!”

“Not with that attitude, it isn’t,” the imp told him. He fluttered down to his shoulder. The smelly, fat, and furry creature leered suggestively at him. “Listen, just between us guys? I’ll take the ol’ [Penis Flattener] out of the mix, okay? As a favor. Just accept my help. That’s all you gotta do. You’re just suffering at this point.”

“I don’t want to be tortured. I don’t want to die at all!” Darren cried, and continued to whine. “I don’t deserve to be cursed!”

The demon lidded its illuminated gaze. “Really? Really. You’re going with the ‘oh, woe is me, I’m just an innocent little boy’ routine? Jeezums. You know, I don’t say this often: but you really do make me want to vomit out all seven of my testicles.”

Darren hugged his knees to his chest and rocked back and forth as the imp continued to tempt and berate him in turn. He hadn’t been getting much sleep since the imp appeared, and after Sila started asking questions, he tried to make some alibis with his Dark Deceiver Profession, but he didn’t count on the loyalty between these people.

They listened like they were fully under his spell, then immediately ratted him out!

Before the guards could take him in, he had done a few…rash things, sure, but it wasn’t his fault the mess hall exploded. Nobody died, so was it even that big a deal?

No, no, of course not, he rationalized. They’re just looking for a scapegoat. Just a bit of bad luck that the Maelstrom happened at the same time.

The guards of Relagia had more important matters on their hands than to catch a fugitive like Darren. Monsters prowled the outer reaches of Relagia’s once-fine streets.

Darren thought furiously, trying to figure a way out of this mess. Scapegoating was his thing. He wouldn’t be accused of it, and if he was, he would just find some other group to take him in.

That was it, really.

It was Sam’s fault. If that stupid stock boy didn’t up and die like a hero, none of this would have happened. He would have been in charge right beneath Matt, only to slowly erode his power and replace him in a few years’ time.

It had all gone wrong when Sam died. Matt was an unfortunate casualty, sure, but he wasn’t the catalyst.

The imp fluttered down right in front of Darren’s face. “I can help you get revenge on Sam,” he said soothingly. “With my help? You’ll crush him like the ant he is. Just accept my aid, Darren. You don’t need your soul while you’re alive, anyway! Do you know how many nasty attacks can afflict your soul? Why, without it you’ll be practically invincible!”

Darren didn’t believe a word of it, but the imp’s incessant chatter was wearing away at his stalwart resolve. He didn’t know how much longer he would be able to stand firm to his morals.

From what the imp let slip every now and again, Darren understood that there was a way to dispel the imp and reverse the whole process. He just didn’t know how.

So long as he didn’t openly accept the imp’s offered aid three times, he would be safe. He could still reverse the process and keep his soul.

Of course…the other two times the imp had gotten him out of some very tight jams. That whole business with the mess hall wouldn’t have been possible without the imp, for example. And if he died before he could undo the process, the imp would take his soul anyway, even if he didn’t accept a third time.

At least if he offered it up willingly, he would get something for it.

Or so he thought.

Darren turned to the imp. “How can you help me get revenge on Sam?”

The imp put a furry paw to the side of his snout and whispered conspiratorially, “I’m not really supposed to be sharing this, y’understand? The Demon Lords would have all twelve of my furry balls roasting over a spit if they so much as caught a whiff of what I’m about to tell you, so listen up because I won’t be repeating myself…”

As Darren listened, he found his fears evaporating like morning mist. His eyes grew wide at the promise of so much power. The power to right things. To make things proper once more.

It was too tempting.