B3 Chapter 380: Temperance, pt. 2
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A wave of confusion, disorientation, and isolation washed over him, like he had been translocated out of time and space. His very body and mind ripped from one place to the next — twisted into something unrecognizable.
Who was he?
Where was he?
When was he?
An attosecond later, the feeling passed and Gesren furrowed his brow in confusion.
Flexing his quintessence with a flicker of his Authority, he sealed himself from the void around him, and watched his surroundings. Great shards of mana condensate the size of planets whirled through a shimmering space of white. The mana here was turbulent; dense. Every affinity he could name ran in streams and tributaries, like threads woven into some great fabric.
It was an awe-inspiring sight — like someone had taken an asteroid belt and recreated it with only the purest energy.
That was right — the reality shard, the one he’d stumbled across half a millennium ago by pure coincidence. Resource-rich and bountiful, it could mean the difference between a new rise and a foregone desolation for him and his House.
His brow furrowed in confusion. How could he forget that, on the eve of his greatest triumph?
Perhaps it was some lingering curse or war-wound left over from when this mortal realm had screamed its final breath, compressing into an infinitely dense moment before it shattered. Those echoes could affect one of his station.
He swept his attention through his centre, searching for any signs of tampering. Everything was as it should. His soul gleamed, and the wellspring of power within him was as rich and pure as it had always been.
No matter, he would simply visit master Ino when he finished here — his attendants would do the same — it wasn’t as if wealth would be an issue anymore. They could afford to supply the head of their healing sect with proper materials.
Gesren grinned. His harvest stretched boundlessly in front of him. It was everything he had hoped for, after the desolation his clan had suffered all those millennia ago. Almost wiped out to the last, they were forced into hiding — terrified that the enemy would come for them again. Their holds had been plundered, their strongholds shattered, their people killed or stolen.
Yet despite it all, Gesren had shouldered his burden as the final bearer of his lineage. He had hidden himself as he searched for strength and answers, and he had risen — tall and strong.
When he found what he had been looking for, he returned.
Returned to new blessings.
Returned to find his house still lived. Some of their allies had remembered their bonds — and had hidden shattered remnants beneath their wings. Of what little remained, his bondsmen had remained true: his father’s most trusted men, now risen ascendent.
And he had come bearing a secret that might save them utterly— a shattered realm.
Not just any realm, no. It was the still beating mana-heart of a dying universe, discovered too late by the system.
It was temporary, at least as far as the System was concerned. Its remaining lifetime — a mere guttering candle of what it had once been — would be measured in the births and deaths of stars.
That was more than long enough for his needs. It was a rare and precious gift.
Even at their peak, his House had never dreamed of holding something like this in their grasp. It should have been a prized treasure of emperors — a sacred foundation for ancient dynasties.
Staring out into its radiance, Gesren grinned at the potential held within desolation. Woven knots of primaeval mana whispered secrets of great runes and true names; colossal crystals of condensated mysticism reflected truth and mystery, and in their cosmic dance, natural essence flowed like water.
With this at their disposal, he would forge them into a House worthy of bearing it. An empire.
He had found it by chance, when a storm of annihilation had thrown his vessel from the current he rode. At the time, he’d been little more than an island adrift in the boundless sea of reality.
Even among the many thousands of inheritances and lost secrets he had uncovered in his travels, this was among the greatest. Most importantly, now that he knew where it was, he could return whenever he wished.
With this their wealth would be nigh-infinite. Their every need would be provided for as they rebuilt. Perhaps even more importantly, the natural conditions of this place were perfect — both for raising the next generation, and for him and his attendants’ progression.
It was exactly what he needed to reach the next step: to undergo his next metamorphosis; to help others in his clan walk the path and leap through the gate to eternity.
A little more scouting, and they’d be ready to leave. Ready to bring back news of their success! It would mean a month of celebration — of feasting and parades — and the beginning of a new period of preparation: planning infrastructure, gathering manpower, and moving their most trusted into position.
There was much work to do, but it would be done. He would see to it. Finally it was their time.
The astral space beside him folded, tumultuous and fragmented. Gesren snapped to the distortion.
It bucked, rebelling for a moment as a shattered fractal of clashing mana affinities bloomed — before being forcefully stabilized by the man who had wrapped it in his grip. He relaxed as he recognised the aura.
A moment later, his visitor arrived.
Dressed in the simple red robes of service, a tall and thin man with a noble complexion of brushed copper stepped through the crack. His face was weathered, speaking to aeons of loyalty. Service that Gesren fully intended to reward. Urmos.
Under Gesren’s father, he had been sworn to the red — a trusted notary. When the Fall had come, Urmesh had proved stalwart. Many were his peers who had turned coat, or vanished when the resources of their station dried up. He had not. Steadfast and dutiful, Urmesh had kept a network of a dozen estates hidden — and, more importantly, stable and productive.
In the time that Gesren had been absent, he’d built himself tall and strong.
Now, he was a pillar. One that Gesren leaned on often — one of his few Ascendants.
Urmesh stood behind his right shoulder, spine ramrod-straight, palms clasped before his waist. He inclined his head.
“Truly, this bounty you’ve brought is beyond reckoning. I’ve scouted the eastern rimward segment. The essence there is rich — it bubbles forth from a confluence of life, creation, miasma, and undeath. The currents are strong and the power is great — too much, I think, for most of the unrisen we lead. But I believe it should be perfect as a sacred ground for those near the peak, and those beyond it. With care, we could even focus it to forward our own growth.”
Gesren grinned. That was exactly what he wanted to hear.
“Is it truly so great?” he asked. “Even beyond the wealth you see before me?”
He gestured toward where infinitesimal droplets of essence oozed from the broken fabric of reality — gathering into pools, boiling away, then splitting into countless mana streams. It was unstable, but that mattered little. It could be focused; it could be shaped; it could be bound.
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Besides — its very presence stimulated his own generation. He could feel it, surging within him like a typhoon, collecting in the shadow of his Icon.
“It is, my lord. Nearly triple the generation rate, perfect for accumulation and refinement. The affinities it’s generating from might cause some challenges — it will be more expensive to refine, and more difficult to work — but I think we can both agree: income will not be a problem anymore.”
Gesren nodded. It was true. While manually refining essence was a burden — even in a place like this — it was a valuable product. With a little work, they’d be able to afford more industrial solutions very soon.
Before he could ask another question, space folded again — this time violently, crackling like a solar storm. It was as if it were being shredded by the desperate claws of some wild voidbeast. The aura that flooded through was manic — tinged by desperation and fear. The very scent of it rose the scales on his cheeks.
He knew the signature — Nerial, his other subordinate.
But the strength — the speed with which he clawed a tunnel through reality. Something was wrong. He’d known the man to leave his claws unflexed ever since they were boys!
Gesren reacted as only someone born of war could.
He cloaked himself in bone and darkness, summoning the crushing weight of a star’s corpse to hand. Even reinforced by his intent and authority, the shard’s fabric shuddered around the head of his mace. Space buckled, threatening to fracture into monofilaments sharp enough to slice even him.
The quintessence within him howled — churned to fury by readiness and hunger — and his Icon coiled in his mind: A sky-viper, lurking in the clouds for the perfect moment to strike.
Ever-prepared, Urmesh did the same. His body vanished into screaming wind, replaced by a totem of violence: a crackling storm of plasma, shaped into tendrils and gnashing fangs.
Whatever had driven Nerial toward them in such desperation, they would be ready. Whether it was the shade of a dead world, a cloistered ascendant that survived the end, or a voidborn using this place as a hidden grotto — it wouldn’t matter.
They would fall before him.
Nerial appeared in a flash, reality screaming around him as he wielded his authority like a blunt instrument — desperately sealing the tunnel he had cut through the realm. His body was torn, chunks missing from golden flesh as blue ichor streamed over his scales in waves and crystalline bones were bared to the air. His robe was shredded, burnt, torn by some furious assault that had shattered his ribs and exposed his still-beating heart.
His eyes were wild with fear.
Gesren tensed. For a warborn Ascendant of Nerial’s calibre to still be injured? That meant quintessence. They were under a true assault.
That was when he felt it— a true dread that caught in his throat and ushered in an old fear: the lurking doom of a past he thought buried.
The signature coating Nerial was one he knew well; one seared into his bitterest memories.
Holcrest Corporation.




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