B2 Chapter 229: Thy Strength…, pt. 2

Porkchop took another step, grunting in discomfort as the weight increased again, joined by a baleful scream that stabbed into his ears.

Kaius’s constant attention flowed through their bond. His worry, and his pride. It was a muted thing though, easily pushed to the background. His bond-brother knew that he had made his choice, and respected it.

Porkchop was coming to the end of his second revolution, each step arduous as he kept his measured pace.

This was nowhere close to his limit—a little burn and a loud noise wouldn’t stop him. It was simple discomfort, minor and forgettable compared to the hurdles he had set for himself.

Life wasn’t an easy path—it was one of striving to reach the next meal, of slaying competitors and prey alike.

His heart pumped strong with the blood of greater beasts, his body was tough—his joints and bones hard and stable in the face of the growing pressure.

Corporus hadn’t even started to resonate yet—his lungs were calm, each breath slow and steady as he walked.

The mantle of the Jade Warden was his by right of conquest and victory, a hunt that had taken him through the Depths long before he should have been able.

A low growl rattled his chest, claws clinking on stone as he took another step.

This Trial would break his body, but it would not break his will. He knew that much—even if he had to crawl, shattered and broken, he would make his way forward until he could move no more.

Another step. More weight.

…..

The searing heat of the fire scorched his skin—turned his fur to ash and seared his flesh—no matter what he saw when he looked down. It was agony, an all consuming inferno that was joined by the weight of mountains bearing down on his back.

He ached—bowing as his legs quaked beneath him.

Porkchop snarled in defiance, calling out his rejection. This would not break him.

The screams of the damned heightened, overwhelming his senses—piercing his mind with directed malice as honed agony resounded through his skull.

He would not give up.

He did not care if it was stubborn pride, childish misconception, or foolish idealism—he would persevere.

His people were wrong. There was nothing to be found in rigid tradition. It was killing them—fracturing them as a people. The arguments over differences in song, art, and hunt. It was pointless. Young as he had been, he could see it. Why couldn’t they?

Was it hypocrisy, to judge them for their own unyielding attitude when he himself was just as stubborn?

Perhaps—he didn’t care. He didn’t know what the right way was, that was a task for people far wiser than him. He just knew that the old ways weren’t working. The Dens grew more divisive and insular every year, a disgrace to the founding tenets of their people.

The Grandfather would be ashamed.

He wouldn’t have it.

He’d show them their mistakes—the damage they were causing. By right of claw and blood, he would do it.

But first, he had to take another step.

Sucking in a deep breath, Porkchop steeled himself against the agonous heat, and took another, shaking, step.

The consuming fury of fire vanished, replaced by the bitter disgust of cold. Tendrils sunk their way into his flesh, petrifying all that crossed their path. Cutting crystals filled his flesh. He should have been a statue, his skin should have blackened and died—but he stood hale and hearty, quaking under the growing strain of the weight.

Rooted in place, he shook—bones threatening to splinter as judgement fell upon him.

He refused.

Hair’s breadth by hair’s breadth, his paw rose, quaking from the strain. With the same determination that led him to seek strength beyond the mountains that tradition had demanded he never cross, Porkchop placed his foot down.

And took another step.

The screaming contempt of his people slammed into his back, buckling his knees.

Losing his focus for the barest of moments in the face of burning fire and screaming hate, his knees crashed into the stone below—shattering.

The first drops of blood left his body, bone erupting from his flesh in lances of clarifying agony.

Health burned, gnawing at his flesh with the persistence of a thousand gnats as bone was pulled back in place—flesh sealing faster than even his brother could manage with his lesser skill.

**Ding! Primal Vigour has reached level 70!**

A deep echoing growl shook within his chest, fighting against the weight that threatened to crush the breath out from him.

He rebelled against the pain, the pressure, the heat, and the noise. Muscles screamed, engaging in a unity of purpose as he pressed against the earth, forcing himself upwards.

If he fell here, how would he ever have the strength to face his Den and say that they were wrong? How would he best his Patriarch when he came for his head?

How would he gain the might to grant the defeated mercy, in rejection of their ways?

How would he ever protect what he cared about? His friends? His people?

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Shaking like a leaf in a storm, Porkchop rose.

**Ding! Jade Bones, Earthen Blood has reached level 56!**

Standing once more, he breathed heavy and slow. He would need more than strength to change tradition—he would need to be enduring. Inviolate in the face of fearful rejection and hateful fang both.

He could not stop. Not here.

Porkchop took another step, and deep within his soul a pillar began to croon—soft and quiet.

….

The line was right in front of him.

A new torment, just another step away.

Corporus blazed within his soul, a scream of challenge and victory. It was coming—Porkchop could feel it.

His bones splintered, fracturing despite his best efforts to keep his stance square and stable. There was too much weight—the essence of a mountain, condensed onto him.

Yet with every echoing crack that resonated through his skull, his Health raced through, sealing the weakness shut. And endless cycle of agonising renewal, his very body rejecting the demands he had placed upon them.

The pain was immense, but it was a mere candle towards his determination. How could he fall now?

Would he step aside as the Dens died a slow death?