Chapter 85: Chapter 85: The Eclipse Falters
Chapter 85: The Eclipse Falters
Three hundred miles beneath the surface of the Wildlands, far beyond the reach of Vanguard sensory magic, lay the central cathedral of the Cult of the Eternal Eclipse.
It was a subterranean marvel of dark architecture.
Massive pillars of jagged obsidian held up a cavernous ceiling, illuminated only by the sickly, flickering glow of green soul-fire torches.
At the far end of the grand hall sat a throne carved from the skull of a true Abyssal Dragon.
Seated upon it was High Pontiff Malakor.
He was a terrifying figure. He wore heavy, midnight-purple robes draped over a frame that radiated a suffocating, Level 250 aura.
But his most defining feature was his face. The entire left side of his head, from his jawline to his scalp, was a melted, horrifying canvas of scar tissue.
It was a permanent reminder.
A brutal gift left by Lord Commander Helion Goldmane’s Valor of the Zenith Sun during the First Bastion War ten years ago.
Right now, that scar was burning with a vicious phantom pain.
Kneeling on the cold stone floor at the base of the throne was a bloodied, trembling Cult Scout.
The man’s robes were torn to shreds. He was the highest-ranking survivor to make it back from the siege of Bastion Seven.
"Say it again," Malakor commanded.
His voice was a raspy, echoing whisper that sent shivers down the spines of the dozen surviving Archbishops standing in the shadows of the hall.
The scout swallowed hard, pressing his forehead against the freezing stone.
"The Beast Wave was routed, High Pontiff," the scout whimpered.
"Elder Martha is dead. Elder Briggins is dead. Elder Mathews is dead. The Vanguard Knights held the line."
Malakor’s lone, unscarred eye narrowed into a slit of pure malice.
Losing a hundred thousand feral monsters was a minor setback. Feral beasts could be bred and corrupted again. But losing three Level 200+ Elders in a single night was a catastrophic blow to the Cult’s hierarchy.
"And the Corpse Titan?" Malakor asked softly.
The scout trembled so violently his teeth chattered.
"Destroyed, High Pontiff. Vaporized before it could take a single step toward the Great Wall."
CRACK.
The solid bone armrest of the Dragon skull throne shattered under Malakor’s grip.
"Goldmane," Malakor hissed, his aura flaring wildly, causing the green torches to roar toward the ceiling.
"Only that glowing bastard possesses the raw destructive output to instantly vaporize a Titan. He must have deployed himself to the gates."
"N-No, Your Holiness," the scout stammered, terrified to correct the Cult Leader.
Malakor froze. The crushing pressure in the room suddenly shifted.
"Explain," Malakor ordered.
"It wasn’t the Sun-Crowned Commander," the scout breathed, his voice laced with genuine, unfiltered terror.
"It was a single man. A man wearing a featureless white mask. He appeared out of thin air, standing on the pinnacle of the central spire."
The Archbishops in the shadows began to murmur in confusion. Bastion Seven only had one apex protector. Who was this?
"He hijacked the Vanguard’s public communication array," the scout continued, reliving the nightmare.
"He called himself... Zero. He claimed to represent an organization called the ’Embracing Hands’."
"The Embracing Hands?" Malakor repeated, tasting the unfamiliar name.
"A mercenary group? A hidden Vanguard black-ops division?"
"We don’t know, Your Holiness," the scout cried.
"But he didn’t use a spell circle. He didn’t chant. He just... snapped his fingers. The Titan imploded. The gravitational force was so intense it shattered the earth for miles. He killed Elder Martha without even looking at her."
Silence fell over the grand cathedral.
A new player had entered the board. A monster capable of casually erasing an apocalyptic threat with a snap of his fingers, hiding right under Goldmane’s nose.
Malakor leaned back in his ruined throne.
His mind, sharpened by decades of surviving the Vanguard’s purges, immediately shifted from rage to cold, calculated survival.
"Your Holiness," a tall Archbishop stepped out of the shadows, bowing respectfully.
"We must retaliate. District Four is vulnerable. We can deploy our sleeper agents into the slums and bleed the Bastion from the inside."
"Fools," Malakor spat, silencing the Archbishop instantly.
"We just lost three Elders and our ultimate siege weapon. If we move into the underworld now, we will be marching blind into the territory of a man who plays with gravity like a toy."
Malakor stood up. His towering frame cast a long, monstrous shadow across the cathedral floor.
"We are going entirely dark," Malakor decreed, his voice echoing with finality.
"Withdraw all sleeper agents from the outer sectors. Halt all sacrificial raids. We need time to rebuild our forces and let the Abyss grant us new strength."
He touched his burned face, his lone eye gleaming with dark intent.
"Let Bastion Seven think they have won. Let them celebrate," Malakor sneered.
"We will find out exactly who this ’Zero’ is. And when the true Eclipse arrives in one year, neither Goldmane nor the Embracing Hands will be able to stop the dark."
---
One week later. Bastion Seven.
The heavy rain had finally washed the last traces of monster blood from the Great Wall.
The massive engineering battalions had worked tirelessly, repairing the shattered gates and reinforcing the magical barriers.
Inside the Rank One Apex Villa, the tension of the war had slowly bled out of the Special Class.
The one-week suspension of classes was officially over.
Tomorrow morning, Headmaster Vane expected them back in the training halls. They had rested, recovered, and quietly dealt with their shared trauma.
In his dark bedroom, Draven Mordis sat perfectly still on his meditation mat.
His eyes were closed. His breathing was slow and entirely controlled.
He was actively cycling his mana, feeling the terrifyingly dense weight of his S-Rank Vector Manipulation settling into his core.
He had not been idle during this week of rest.
He had solidified his hold over the Hennessey Estate, checked in with Sirius, and allowed Neville to flawlessly integrate back into the Academy as the miraculously surviving "Golden Boy."
The board was set perfectly.
Draven opened his pitch-black eyes. He looked at the digital clock glowing on his nightstand.
11:59 PM
The month was ending.
’The training begins tomorrow,’ Draven thought pragmatically.
’Patriarch Hennessey and Sirius should already be moving the necessary bribes and forged documents. The Vanguard will force my squad into the Wildlands, and I will forge them into a weapon.’
12:00 AM
The digital numbers clicked over. A new month had officially begun.
Instantly, a familiar, blindingly bright golden screen materialized in the darkness of his room.
DING!
[System Update: A new calendar month has begun!]
[The Monthly Sign-In Reward is now available.]
Draven smiled. The daily sign-ins provided excellent stat boosts and minor skills, but the Monthly rewards were always world-breaking anomalies.
His previous monthly reward had been the Astral Server.
"System," Draven whispered into the quiet room.
"Initiate Monthly Sign-In."
[Processing... Requirement Met.]
[Initiating Mythic-Tier Reward Pull...]
The golden screen shifted, erupting into a dazzling array of cosmic light.
VWOOM!
[Congratulations! You have successfully signed in for the month.]
[Reward Acquired: The Omniscient Cartographer’s World Map (Mythic-Grade)]
A small, tightly rolled scroll of dark, starry parchment materialized in the air, slowly floating down into Draven’s waiting hand.
It didn’t look like a weapon. It didn’t radiate immense destructive power.
But as Draven read the system description hovering over the parchment, his smile widened into a terrifying, predatory grin.
[Item: The Omniscient Cartographer’s World Map]
[Details: A real-time, interactive projection of the entire planetary surface. It completely bypasses all magical cloaking, dungeon barriers, and Vanguard sensory grids.]
[Effect 1: Displays the exact location, level, and threat-tier of every living entity within a 500-mile radius.]
[Effect 2: Highlights all hidden, unrecorded, and unstable Dungeons.]
Draven gripped the starry parchment.
Knowledge was the greatest weapon in any war.
And the System had just handed him the ultimate cheat code for the Wildlands.
"Let the games begin," Draven murmured.
