Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion-Chapter 117: The Descent

He turned back toward the field, where the wind was rising and the banners had begun to flutter.

The Trial of the Reach was about to begin.

And Ian was ready to see who bled first.

–——

The wind howled across the expanse, whispering of blood— of ruin.

The trial wasn’t far from starting.

Everyone knew the gist—the ground will open, descend into the maw and find the relics. Withing the Maw there are no rules but to survive.

Well, there is one—you may not kill a human until twenty minutes after the trial begins.

Ian stood near the edge of the descent ridge, where loose stone gave way to a black pit that exhaled cold, repulsive air.

Around him, figures gathered—factions, House Subjugators, church zealots.

There were hundreds of them now, armored and armed, faces twisted with greed and holy purpose.

Most didn’t look at the labyrinth below.

Most looked at him.

He didn’t need to guess why.

Caelen stepped beside him, scanning the growing crowd. "There’s more of them than I thought," he muttered, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. "And too many eyes on you."

Ian said nothing.

"They’ll wait. Bide their time until the twenty minutes are up, then close in."

Ian exhaled slowly. "I’m aware."

Caelen nodded, and his voice was quieter then. "If you want... you can move with us. Might make it harder for them to come at you all at once."

Ian glanced sideways, then chuckled under his breath.

"I don’t need help killing the lot of them."

Caelen raised a brow.

"But," Ian continued, "I could use help finding the relics. So if you’re offering to help me waste less time... I have no problem moving with you."

Lyra gave a soft, delighted hum behind them.

"Look at that, teamwork. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we were growing fond of each other."

Before Caelen could respond, something changed.

The wind snapped. Magic rippled like a ripple through space.

A soft crack echoed in the air—then, in every hand, a scroll appeared, tied in dark red thread.

Ian unfurled his.

Ink moved across the parchment like a living thing, shapes shifting and forming into coordinates, riddles, and twisted verses.

Symbols that described places long buried, and clues to relics locked within cursed chambers.

Each scroll was different. No two were alike.

Ian’s gaze narrowed.

One of his clues read:

"Where light once fell upon the mirrorless gate, now only hunger resides. The vault opens only to the one who leaves part of themselves behind."

Another simply listed numbers—coordinates deep in the Maw.

He folded the scroll away, and then the voice came.

It boomed over the entire plain, not from a mana speaker, but from the air itself.

A voice older than any of them.

"The Trial of Descent begins."

"No human blood shall be spilled until twenty minutes have passed."

"Find the relics or die."

"Survive. Or don’t."

Then silence.

No countdown.

No grand procession.

The field exploded into motion.

Like shattered glass, the crowd dispersed—teams and factions darting into the dark like predators unleashed.

Some summoned mounts, others conjured flight or vanished with spellcraft.

Their sights were set on the Maw, the vast black descent at the center of the ridge, where the ground split like a wound into the earth.

The ancient levels.

The forgotten arenas.

The hell of Hellscape.

The Maw.

Ian stepped forward slightly and stared down into the abyss. Even now, even after all he had seen, the place rustled something in him.

It wasn’t fear, he’d long lost that.

Not awe.

Recognition??

He’d read the forbidden scrolls. The Maw wasn’t made. It was found. A depth carved not by man nor god, but by something else.

He was about to move when he felt it.

Stillness.

All around them, while the majority scattered, a small ring of warriors remained.

Not going for relics.

Not even pretending to.

Just waiting.

Watching.

Every one of them wore the symbols of church Subjugators, or bore sigils linked to blood-bound vendettas.

Faces Ian recognized from bounty posters and heretic trials. Men and women who had pledged in full view of the city to see him destroyed.

They stood in a loose circle now, just far enough to respect the rules—but close enough to move the moment the twenty minutes were up.

Lyra clicked her tongue. "They’re not even subtle."

Caelen shook his head. "They’ll try to tail us. Wait ’til they can strike."

Ian’s eyes narrowed. "I have no issue with letting them."

"No need," Lyra said.

She reached into her pouch and rolled a small metallic orb between her fingers, glowing faintly blue.

"Little trick I picked up in the Southern Wastes," she whispered, and then, without warning—

She slammed it into the ground.

Boom.

Smoke surged like a wave, expanding in a massive radius with a roar that stole the breath from the air.

The hunters reacted instantly—charging forward to stop them from slipping away.

But it was already too late.

When the smoke cleared, the space where Ian, Caelen, and Lyra had stood was empty.

---

Somewhere deep within the Maw, where the light above was no more than a fading memory, Ian crouched beneath an archway carved with runes older than language.

His pulse was steady. His blades were already drawn.

"Nice trick," he said, glancing at Lyra.

She beamed. "Told you. Very flashy. Very effective."

Caelen peered around a corner, surveying their path. "One lead takes us down that tunnel. Runes on the wall match the scroll." He held up his own parchment, where faded symbols glowed softly against the dark.

Ian nodded. "Then we move."

Behind them, the smoke was likely already clearing, and the predators would be hunting again.

He had twenty minutes of law to keep them at bay. freёnovelkiss.com

After that?

He’d stop running.

But now the trial had begun—and the Maw welcomed him.

He felt it in his bones. In the air.

The pleasant chill that came just before a slaughter.