409 Bloodied and Barbaric
Bathed in the gargantuan, incandescent crimson light of his bolstered aura, ferocious and smoldering, evidently enhanced by the latent effects of his Imprint of Might, Kieran barreled towards the ranks of the incoming Fallen Gladiators.
The Dread Circlet, odious and ominous, defended Kieran's rear with baffling success. The circlet rippled when met with a strike from the Fallen Gladiators' weapons, releasing a dreadful arc of energy in response. This potent energy exacerbated the damage already riddling the weapons of this accursed battlefield.
Nevertheless, Kieran sometimes swept his gaze toward his back, understanding something about the current state of the Dread Circlet.
When employed defensively, the ability to empower his attacks with Dread Rush was negated. With that, if he wanted to go on the offensive, he'd have to change the orientation of the Dread Circlet.
However, doing so in this situation wasn't ideal.
Aside from learning that he'd have to change the orientation of the Dread Circlet, Kieran also discovered that it lost some of its vibrant yet barbarous strength with each challenge.
It didn't compare to the amount of energy lost when striving to use Dread Rush. Still, the countless attacks he suffered would doubtlessly accumulate to a similar level of consumption.
All in all, using the Dread Circlet in this fashion was somewhat unthinkable. A skill meant to create fearful devastation was now being used to destroy everything that approached Kieran from behind.
'Every attack has the potential to become versatile once its key components are broken down and reassessed. A striking, relentless, and indefatigable offense can become a resilient and impregnable defense given the right conditions. Of course, the opposite also applies.'
Kieran's former renown in his original time was the result of this understanding and view of combat.
Many attempted to break through his defense, only to realize they were truly up against an offense that seemed inexhaustible. Many even questioned if his actions were sanctioned by Zenith Online.
After all, what was his Stamina like to continue fighting in a bruised, battered, and bloodied state?
Generally, after a fight, Kieran would always emerge looking like a creature that had ascended from the depths of hell.
Though, that was not because he failed to conquer a single opponent. Instead, it was because he challenged thousands and lived to tell the tale, putting the survival and continuity of his guild on his shoulders.
For a moment, Kieran considered doing the same for Sanguis Requiem, but the dynamics of his current situation were much different.
There was an unspoken and passionately expressed bond between the core members.
Kieran wasn't sure if this bond would remain unbroken or it would be challenged in the future, tested by hellish tribulations, but for now… Altair and the others were a support system he was at least willing to somewhat confide in.
As these thoughts flowed through Kieran's mind, Crimson Ashrune never once stopped moving. Coated in an additional viscous, sharpened layer of blood thanks to Sanguine Slashes, Crimson Ashrune tore through the bodies of these Fallen Gladiators, separating limbs and lacerating their sturdy armors.
Throughout his movements, Kieran's brow furrowed, forming deep creases on his forehead. He didn't understand why his Flawed Soul didn't activate, allowing him to acquire stacks of Hunt. If he were just a bit faster, he could reduce the torment his Dread Circlet endured.
It was true that these beings were tangible existences, something peculiar conjured by this minacious enigma of an environment, but they were enemies nonetheless. As per the description of his trait, anything Kieran deemed as an enemy should register as a stack of Hunt once challenged, approached or defeated.
Yet this didn't occur. The nature of it all was inexplicable to Kieran and thus, he desired an answer… if he could obtain it, that was. Not all questions warranted an answer.
That's why mysteries existed, after all.
Which, after giving it some thought, led Kieran to briefly think about Eni.
According to Hekaina, Hecate was the Endless of Fate, who dictated, oversaw and tampered with what was woven in fate—if it was within their abilities.
Conversely, Eni was known as the Endless of Mysteries, who existed to identify, seek, and unravel mysteries, exerting knowledge as undeniable power.
In other words, Eni derived his power from mystery—the unknown. Or, to be more specific, the novel conversion process of weaponizing the unknown.
With that understanding, Kieran began to question another matter altogether—the Archaic Verity Compendium and its mentions of the Great Truths.
Could they be something that not even Eni could decrypt or, better yet, locate himself? If that were true, then their meeting was much more fateful than Kieran could fathom.
What would happen once Kieran's very existence… was understood?
Perhaps he would no longer be Flawed? It was possible. A Flaw was no longer a flaw to an individual once understood and implemented to their advantage. It was simply… a gift.
Suddenly, Kieran was sent flying back as his focus split between the battle at hand and the future philosophies that plagued his mind.
Right before his very eyes, two of the Fallen Commanders had leapt over the sea of Fallen Gladiators, causing Kieran's recoil through their joint efforts.
Though he defended successfully, being lanced by the combined force of two lances was not something Kieran could withstand and do so unscathed. Flying back like a ragdoll, Kieran crashed into several Fallen Gladiators in his rear, his weight flattening them into the brittle grounds.
When he recovered, Kieran stared at the two Fallen Commanders, who brandished their lances, imposing and imperious. Unshaken, Kieran commanded the Dread Circlet to move, shifting from his back that now faced the bleak, desolate landscape of the War Phantasmagoria, bereft of any Fallen Gladiators.
The onset of all his attackers would now have to happen from his front.
Enveloped in the flickering wisps of dreadful energy, Kieran made the Vampiric Blood Encrustation seethe, giving birth to a scary, yet mesmerizing blood blade. It looked no different from the majestic blood sword that led to thunderous explosions!
Upon sensing the change in Kieran's blade, the two lance-wielding Fallen Commanders moved with cold-blooded abandon, their lightning-fast lunges closing the distance at mind-boggling speeds.
Yet, Kieran did not falter, nor did he cower. With an unyielding fire set aflame in his eyes, the Dread Rush saturated his weapon. He, too, rushed in, each of his confident steps battering the earth.
Impetuous and unstoppable in his eyes, Kieran foresaw the defeat of those that challenged him. After all, allowing his confidence to waver would spell his doom. Believing that one could succeed was half the battle to actual triumph. Broken confidence was not conducive to any kind of result.
Then, in that moment of understanding that he could not be stopped, could not be bogged down by the weight of someone else's convictions, the Dread Rush enveloping Crimson Ashrune flourished again, irrespective of the consumption of the circlet's energy.
A tide of red hinted with blackness split open the War Phantasmagoria, seemingly, attempting to devour, raze and condemn all that stood in its path. Their eyes flashing with morbid understanding, the Fallen Commanders reacted, mustering an impressive challenge of their own.
For a few seconds, the advance of this dreadful tide, infinitely more macabre and menacing than a Crimson Current, was stopped. This momentary impasse perhaps gave these Fallen Ones a false sense of solace, security and superiority. That was because their eyes burned with renewed emotions of fury, a clear depiction of their supreme confidence in their commanders.
Yet, Kieran revealed no cowardice.
"Misplaced jubilance," Kieran muttered, his hand closing into a painstaking fist.
Following this action, the previous gargantuan tide condensed, then exploded outward, as if intending to sweep to the ends of this landscape.
The Fallen Gladiators could not contend against the forceful incursion of this attack. However, the Fallen Commanders each breached diminutive and weak areas found in the outward blanket of dark and bloody energy.
The onset of weakness Kieran felt was not small. In fact, he was nearly inconvenienced by it. However, he couldn't allow himself to be inconvenienced. Even if it caused the exhaustion to be compounded, Kieran barged through what he felt.
In the distance, he could see a cadaverous body leaking with sinister intent being armored and fortified. If he wasn't quicker in his attempts to defeat the commanders, he'd have to face them, as well as something of unprecedented and incalculable power.
The Dread Circlet thinned, becoming noticeably translucent in some areas. Enduring the throes of countless attacks and being used to unleash his previous attack, Kieran wouldn't be surprised if the Dread Circlet simply gave out on him.
The amount of energy left inside the circlet was roughly half of what was consumed with each strike.
Deep and shrill cries reverberated and shook the skies, notifying the Fallen Commanders to converge on their approaching enemies.
In seconds, Kieran's torso was skewered by a curved blade. Though, ignoring the pain radiating from the wound, he ripped it out of his body. The wound spilled blood for an instant before Kieran's gaze grew a tad sadistic.
"Vim Restoration!"
A surge of crimson vitality erupted from Kieran's body, some leaking from the wound. It was beyond his control so he couldn't fret. Instead, with his freehand reinforced by the Maddened Claw, he grabbed a commander's helm and stabbed Crimson Ashrune through another.
There was no time to activate any skills in this condition, so Kieran could only rely upon his available options—Death Avoidance and Vim Restoration—to moderate and delay the issues of the damage he continued to accrue.
Embroiled in a barbaric battle, Kieran exchanged damage for damage, crushing and mauling his competition whenever he could. Dents, fractures and contusions appeared in the commanders' armor.
One's helmet even shattered, revealing a morbid reddish-gray skull.
'What are they?'
The question circled in Kieran's mind, but obtaining an answer was probably not going to happen.
By the time the last Fallen Commander was crushed as a result of Kieran's brutal way of fighting, his body was riddled with wounds that poured warm, vibrant and sparsely prismatic blood.
Yet, Kieran's harrowing challenge was far from over.
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