Chapter Seventy-Two – Requiem – Part Two

In the softest breeze, love can be heard.

- Carving on the Grail of Goddess Apreta -

My eyes take in a swirling of starlight that obstructs time and space around me. Memories play before me in a flash of chaotic movement. Feelings dipped in despair, drenched in sorrow. Then beneath it all… a longing to be reunited with them. The memories push me back to a time of solace, a time of happiness.

I see him as he was, a man made of more than just bone and runes carved by an uncaring god. It is Adaraic as he was before he knew despair intimately. My body shivers, and I can't press the memories from me, they are too strong to fight.

The images shape into more clear pictures, they feel so real… like I was there for them. I see his entire life playing before me. Set upon a medieval world, free from industrial smog. It is a peaceful life, one filled with fulfillment.

In a field that stretches to the horizon, much like the one I just slew him upon, he stands with his daughter as he harvests the crops of his field. A simple farmer, one without a destiny to burn worlds or carve love from hearts. I hear her voice first, Adaraic's daughter, Adala, named after his grandmother.

"Father, why do you grow so much?" Adala asks, a curious girl, no more than eight in the memory, "Mommy says that you work too much."

He heaves the scythe across the wheat in even strokes, with expert precision, with hands that were melded from a lifetime of farming. The trade of his father and his father's father. Passed down through time, like a torch.

"If a man can do more, he should," Adaraic says, wiping his sweat-laden brow. It is strange to hear his voice, to see flesh upon his bones.

The memory stirs forward. Three years have passed in a flash. Then it happens, I see his system interface show up in front of him. He was given the class of Flamemancer, a powerful fire-based class. His stats are near perfect for it as well, he takes to it quickly, learning to harness it to level up faster. His goal is clear, make sure his family survives at any cost. He is a force of nature, much like my own father was. At level twenty his subclass surprises me, Flame Warden. His powers increase dramatically after he gets it, no longer needing incantations he sweeps low gates by himself. Taking the donations of people's mana compressed into stones he is able to defend his village for a time, though they eventually flee to the coastline, grouping with other survivors in a nomadic way, moving from difficult gates.

Everything is moving so fast, their world was not fit for the Sarlenac games. A peaceful people who were burned. Creatures overrun many areas of the mainland, and people hide in the hovels underground. There are no heroes to save them, their Goddess Apreta is deaf to their cries. It is hopeless… yet Adaraic does not break, he adapts. Even when his world is in cinders, he manages to defend those close to him.

On the eleventh year of their games, his wife is taken by the Culling. Their world was not advanced enough to sustain those in the system-induced coma. Even still, he held her until her body withered and died.

The loss of Yuma nearly broke him. She was a woman he loved even when he was a young man, one that he never strayed from. She was his only love. It was a beautiful love that they had, even in the collapsing of their world there was happiness in each other's embrace. My own heart burns seeing his loss. The system does not care about love… it does not care at all.

The need to protect his daughter Adala is what drives him to continue, it is all that keeps him sane.

More years pass, and Adala has grown to be a formidable fighter, an elemental blade dancer, weaving magic into spinning blades. It is beautiful to watch her, she is like a hero from a fable, I feel the pride in Adaraic's chest.

Time slips and another three years are gone in a flash. They have established themselves on a chain of islands far from the mainland, with a colony of thousands that grows by the day. The place known as the holy isles, littered with temples made in reverence to their Goddess thousands of years ago.

His daughter is becoming the beacon of hope that their people rally behind, her subclass is a legendary one, Elemental Saint. Able to wield various elements and craft them into weapons. She is a force to be reckoned with. She even received a blessing from Goddess Apreta when she kneeled before her altar.

There is so much joy as he holds his first granddaughter, named after his wife Yuma.

He watches her grow for the next seven years, reminded of Adala from when she was a girl, sharing her curious nature, he tells her stories of her namesake.

There is hope in him, hope that the future might be brighter.

It is slow at first, the change in the tide of belief. A hero sainted by the system, worshiped by thousands. The prayers no longer go to their Goddess Apreta, they go to his daughter Adala. Her power increases, so much so that she gains the ire of their old Goddess. Receiving a curse… anger… rage… they do not begin to describe what he feels. Nor do I blame him, she is the last beacon of hope for a world that their Goddess has failed, yet she has the gall to curse her. It is despicable… unforgivable.

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The curse causes her to have a major debuff on her agility and wisdom. Making it hard for her to fight as she once did, she can't even cast most of her spells anymore. The hope begins to fade… until it is taken entirely.

Priests of Apreta tell the people that Adala is a false prophet, saying that she has fallen from grace, turning them against her. Forcing them to leave the sacred isles.

They wander the broken mainland for another year, and then the yearly system message appears, telling them they have failed to meet the quota.

Despair clings to his soul like a perfume when he sees his granddaughter fall in the culling. His daughter in a fit of madness charges into a red gate alone. Adaraic follows her, forced to watch her die as she overloads her own mana, turning to dust in his arms. He curses the Goddess Apreta with the very marrow of his bones. He wanders the gate seeking death, but instead he finds the altar of it. Azeroc's altar, it is here that he makes the pact. There is so much hate in him as he kneels before the cursed stone of the Undying Flame.

I hear the words of Azeroc slither into his mind, whispering promises to a hollow man, spurring hope into his chest. Telling him that if he brings him a hundred worlds, he shall resurrect his loved ones. That he shall give him the strength to overcome death itself. It is here that he remakes him… here that the Adaraic I know takes his first breath.

His first task is to burn his own world to the ground. Left hollow he does as he is bid, given legendary items to improve his mana capacity, he travels back to the holy isles and decimates every man, woman… and child. Each killing darkens the rot in his soul.

It takes him sixty years to reach level eighty, but when he does, he receives something strange, a third class. Necromancer, chosen directly by Azeroc somehow. Once he becomes a necromancer, his armies swell in size, becoming thousands. His world is turned to ash before it even reaches the end of the Sarlenac Game's cycle of one hundred years of failure.

He does not stop, for hundreds upon hundreds of years, he burns worlds, reset to level one at the start of each cycle. Until he becomes a High Apostate in the Order of the Undying Flame. One of five leaders in a Pantheon of Death Gods allied to the Orlan Empire and their Pantheon.

His memories move until he stands across from me on the field. Then to his final moments, regrets, everything he ever did was all for… nothing. The reason he kept going… the reason he became a monster… the promise of love.

Time slips forward slowly, and the sound of reality bites at my ear.

"You finally with me?" Greymore asks, standing at my side, his lieutenants and Sergeants are creating a wall around me.

I look down at my hands, no longer covered by Aegis. I must have released it when I went into the memory.

My eyes blink, I don't feel any Wither Charges near me. None. The foxes are gone, how long was I out? They must have drained all my charges. I look around for Gaspers frantically.

"Where is he, where is Gaspers?"

"He died, an hour ago," Greymore says, giving me a strained look, "Went up in blue flames."

All of my Wither Charges… an hour… the stack. It has to be redone every five minutes otherwise it…

It's gone. The stack is gone. Looking at the gate it's still red, though nothing else has come through, yet. Shit. What was that? Why did his memories overpower me? I need more charges, there might be some in the field, but it won't be enough. If something else came through right now, we'd be dead.

"I need you to take me to…" my words catch in my throat as my eyes widen. The shimmering red portal of the gate begins to ripple. Thunder booms after lightning strikes the gate over and over again. The ground tremors and the air vibrates as a black flicker rolls from the center of the gate… the color darkening until it envelopes the entire gate.

A black gate.

I pull it up in my interface.

[ Gate Classification: Black – S ]

[ Threat Level: Divine ]

[ Temporal Instability: Error ]

[ Clear Quest: Survive ]

[ Reward grade: Divine ]

Sage's voice finds my mind.

Meatsack… remember when I tried to warn you? Though in truth, I did not think Red would have the balls to break the rules to such an extent. Summoning a black gate against a phase one quest team is a most egregious rule break. My condolences, our time together was… interesting. If you have words to say to those you hold dear, now would be the time.

Greymore takes off his hat, "Never seen that before."

I'd wager no one on Earth has, except maybe Mira. Even then, there's no telling if she's seen one before.

"Sage, what does a black gate mean?"

Demigods are allowed to pass the threshold into this world now, once it opens fully. The level of Gate acts as a cap for level and power, preventing underdeveloped worlds from being destroyed unfairly. Right now, you have approximately one hour before that gate opens both ways.

"It's partially open already?"

Yes, not that you'd want to find out what's on the other side. More than likely a horde of hundreds of thousands, if not millions of high-level creatures and undead. I really shouldn't be telling you this, but since you'll be dead soon, well, why not? This gate connects to Red's Prime World. All of their greatest assets can be summoned to it immediately if needed.

"Is there anything we can do to stop them from coming to this side?"

No, you are decidedly fucked, meatsack. Again, my condolences.

"Sage says we're fucked."

"Alright, I'd be willing to bet this change will warrant quarantine protocol on Earth's side."

Makes sense.

Your world's quarantine protocol will not stop what is coming. Nuclear weapons may destroy most of the forces, but demigods… they're not held to the same rubric of power measurement, nor would they stand there and wait for it to detonate. Even with the extreme percentage increase you managed earlier, it would likely not be enough. Your base power before amplification is simply not strong enough to deal with all of them. Know that you have lost, but know that you lost with pride. It is extremely rare that a god breaks the rules and summons a black gate. Unheard of for a phase one world team. This may be the first time it has happened in fact. Go to your death with that pride, meatsack.

I turn to Greymore, "How long do we have before they send in a nuke?"

"Seeing as this gate appeared on base, with rapid deployment, which I'm sure this will merit, probably less than an hour. Not even enough time to run, not with this terrain."

He sighs, pulling out his chewing tobacco can and putting in a lip.

"This is where the story ends for us."

My weary legs push me to stand, I'm not ready to give up yet.

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