Re: Timeless Apocalypse-Chapter 95: Delirious

One of the most shocking abilities that had bloomed from Uriel’s talent in aether mastery was his capacity to resonate with aether so deeply that he could, somehow, control other people’s natal aether, and, to an extent, their cores.

But he never took advantage of this ability.

Partly because his control over aether wasn’t refined enough yet to truly exploit it, but mainly because it was extremely dangerous.

All he could truly do was blow up cores, which would create explosions that would most likely kill him as well.

Before he’d gotten his shell, that is.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

Three Peak F-Ranker cores exploded.

The damage was ridiculous, absurd beyond reason, the blast instantly killing the hundreds of Flon-Mens in the crater, while simultaneously deepening and widening it, transforming it from a pit of a couple hundred meters deep and a kilometre across, into a chasm dozens of kilometres deep and hundreds across.

The earth shook violently, the tremor sending all those battling across the expanse off their feet, while a violent and potent shockwave peeled across their bodies, rattling their cores and minds alike.

In the darkness of the ruined settlement, a flash of azure and emerald blinded them all for a brief instant.

...

Uriel survived.

Barely.

The entire reason he’d chosen the Twilight Sky Terracrule Sovereign as his first evolution subject was to increase his chances of survival, due to its ridiculous defense.

That, atop his scholar set, which bore an enchantment capable of offsetting part of all damage he was dealt, gave him more than enough to survive.

Barely, though. Only barely.

In the depths of the crater, so deep that the skies above seemed like a hazy dot of distant light, he slowly forced himself to his feet.

His scholar set was torn open, revealing his flesh beneath, covered in deep gashes and lacerations. Yet none of them bled. His organs remained seemingly intact, held together by his shell.

From his lower lip to the rest of his jaw, all there was was blood, trailing down to stain his chest. Weakly, he coughed, just as his body swayed, nearly shutting down beneath its own strain.

His core was still malfunctioning, entirely out of his grasp, but not only that, it was nearly empty, making him delirious once again, just like when Lirik had captured him.

’The layers are mutating my aether.’

Given a small moment of respite, despite his budding insanity, Uriel almost instantly identified the issue with his core.

It wasn’t that it wasn’t responding to him.

Rather, it was mutating in a way he didn’t know how to interact with.

The layers that had formed over his core during his path creation were mutating his natal aether itself, turning it into something alien, something he couldn’t understand or command.

Realising this, he chuckled dryly.

"Of all times this could’ve happened. Truly, I must be favoured by those above."

"How kind of them." He shook his head weakly. "Not only are my beautiful little circles now useless, now my entire core is useless."

"No, truly... how kind."

His head tilted upward, and he caught sight of the falling flood of Flon-Mens, each bloodlusted as they dropped down toward him, eager to maim, tear, and devour.

He almost felt like laughing.

But he didn’t.

The kaleidoscopic resonance runes on his belly shone, and his access grade bloomed once more, but not binding his core and the world as it usually did.

Instead, it bound his mind and the world.

His mind and the ambient fabric of atmospheric aether resonated, and then, through Resonant Dominance, the latter fell under his control, no different from what would once have been his natal aether.

Who said mages needed cores? He could do without it.

"I won’t die so easily!" he screamed out to the falling beasts, just as his spell sentry took shape behind him once more.

He didn’t realise it, but a smile crept up his face, a bloody and toothy grin, full of savage resolve, the delirious effects of his depleted core creating an itch in his heart.

An itch for battle.

"Come!"

...

Bloody. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

The battles that ensued were long, bloody, and violent, unlike anything Uriel had ever witnessed, let alone taken part in.

All he saw were the gates of the underworld, the reaper’s scythe resting on his neck, and all he delivered in return was death.

No matter how many Flon-Men he cut down and killed, more would come, numerous as falling drops of rain, the depths of the gigantic crater rapidly filling with pools of blood.

Mangled corpses stacked and formed miniature mountains as the seconds stretched by, bodies collapsing atop bodies, flesh atop flesh.

While only relying on sensory and augmentation spells, Uriel moved like Ayah would in her chimeric form, his power overwhelming, his seemingly unbreakable body tearing through the blue men with brutal ease.

The potent poison they spat from their maws was ineffective, unable to pierce through his flesh to reach his bloodstream, yet still toxic enough to leave burns and aggravate already existing wounds and gashes.

His state only worsened, pus bubbling from his wounds, skin cracking and reforming again and again.

Though he lacked true battle experience, he bridged the gap through his uniqueness. The battlefield moved in slow motion, his mind given the time to analyse each option and consider the most efficient paths. Like Enoch, he was precise and fluid, as efficient as he was deadly.

Imperfect, that he was, but his scholar set made up for mistakes even his ridiculous boons couldn’t cover, dampening the effects of blows landed upon him and allowing him to move with an almost unnatural grace.

And as the minutes trickled and dragged into hours, he began to change.

Fundamentally.

The more he fought, killing and tearing apart his enemies, pain flooding his senses as his wounds worsened and accumulated, the more he lost himself, falling into a trance fueled by his delirious, aether-depleted state.

The metallic smell of blood flooded his nostrils. Echoes of slaughter rang endlessly in his ears, overwhelming him as minced flesh and spilled marrow soaked his body and corpses gave way beneath his steps.

The sound of breaking bones beneath his weight and squelching flesh under his metallic boots sent tremors down his spine, of both horror and delight.

The seconds passed, and his core continued to mutate, the aether within it changing at its root, peeling away its former mix of white and deep red, turning instead into a radiant swirl of light gold and dark amethyst, followed by sparks of yellow and emerald.

Each of his striking palms came with sharp, flowing arcs of light, and each of his punches echoed with waves of foggy darkness that swallowed all things.

His retreats were facilitated by spontaneously formed dunes of sand upon which he glided effortlessly, and his explosive lunges were fueled by platforms of vines that hurled him forward with savage force.

His mind was lost.

He didn’t even realise when a long and heavy glaive, entirely made of light, appeared in his grasp, sharp and fast, nor did he realise when tendrils of darkness wrapped around his body, forming complex armor, majestic and regal in equal measure.

Vines snaked and wound around his limbs, acting as an exoskeleton, and all his feet touched turned to sand, a shifting platform upon which he was master.

His power exploded.