The Beginning After The End novel Chapter 430

A/N: It’s been four weeks Book 10 has finished and the first time I’ve taken a break for this long (not counting my health scare a few years back). While many of you expressed that I should keep my Patreon active despite my hiatus, and even told me to take a longer break, I chose not to for the sake of being able to feel less guilty during my break haha. Even so, I’m so thankful that my closest fans are so patient and considerate (even while I see you all having withdrawal symptoms in the discord chat) and I’m excited to be back.Enjoy the chapter and I hope to see you here throughout the rest of this journey that is TBATE.Love,

TurtleMe

SERIS VRITRA

It happened slowly at first. Wide, bloodshot eyes turning toward me, probing the gloom for the source of the aura they felt dulling their senses and seizing their hearts. As they saw me, their stunned gazes, one by one, were inevitably drawn downward to the gory artifact clutched in my right hand. Mouths opened in horror, but whatever words they might have said lodged in constricted throats. Tools slipped from limp fingers to clatter on the ground, forgotten, and a tremor ran through the collective consciousness of a people unequip to understand what they were seeing.

At the eye of this storm of attention, I moved with unrushed purpose, the rough path crunching beneath my feet, my flowing white robes glowing like a beacon in the industrial gloom.

Every miner, laborer, and wogart farmer I passed froze, before quickly parting before me. Those closest stepped back, instinctively putting distance between themselves and the palpable force emanating from me, while others were drawn to it like moths to flame, forgetting their mundane tasks as curiosity and awe overwhelmed their sense of self-preservation.

A heavyset woman with thin hair and gray dust dirtying her face let out a ragged cheer. When my eyes settled on her, those closest hurried to step back. I didn’t smile but allowed a second of eye contact, gazing deep into her, assuring her that she’d been seen.

Others couldn’t keep the hostility from their faces—those who were loyal to Agrona or who believed the ill-conceived propaganda that was broadcast about me—but none of them had the courage to give voice to their feelings or impede my progress.

A few, the smartest of them, ran.

By the time I reached the portals to the second level, they were already in chaos. Guards were scrambling to find their battle groups and maintain anything resembling a formation. They were shouting at each other, no one apparently willing to accept the responsibility of command. Relictombs officials—the clerks and attendants who were in charge of monitoring the portals—were standing off to the side, wringing their hands and looking on nervously.

As my intent washed over them, they all slowed to a standstill. Someone uttered a prayer to the Vritra.

Wanting them to hear and understand me, I reined in my aura and stepped up to within easy hearing distance. The thing in my hand twisted slightly, as I came to a stop, leering at the soldiers and guards. Half of them stared at me, their weapons held nervously before them, but half couldn’t wrench their eyes away from the artifact.

One of the attendants, an older man with a bald head and long, gray mustache and wearing the official robes of a Relictombs clerk, found his courage. He took a few shaking steps toward me and raised his chin, his eyes carefully avoiding my hand. “S-Scythe Seris Vritra.” He paused, swallowing heavily. “You are under a-arrest for crimes against Alacrya, by order of the High Sovereign!” He finished stronger, building confidence as he spoke.

When I smiled at him, that confidence shattered like teeth beneath a maul. He stepped back, trying to lose himself in the other officials, but they stepped back as well, sacrificing him to the pyre of my attention.

But I wasn’t there to bully or murder lowborn mages, even those too blind to see that I was on their side. “I have not come here for bloodshed. None of you will die here, unless you insist on it. Leave. Flee the Relictombs and return home to your blood.”

Still, I couldn’t feel righteous about the choice I was giving them. I’d been a Scythe too long not to see the trap in it. Really, it was a choice in how to die. Either they stay and fight me in a hopelessly one-sided contest or they flee and wait to be hunted down and executed by loyalist forces.

The non-combatants all broke and ran, scurrying away like insects suddenly and unexpectedly exposed to the light. The guards exchanged grim-faced looks, but they stayed. They understood the choice.

A tall man shouted, and the soldiers reformed into their battle groups. Shields, both magical and mundane, were raised against me. I held my position.

Another shout, and spells began to fly, lighting up the dim zone with bright blues, yellows, and reds. Bolts of fire and blades of wind impacted the barrier of mana cladding my skin and robes, deflecting harmlessly. My mana rippled with a dusky shadow, turning the outline of my body gray. The spellfire slowed, then stopped.

I let a heartbeat pass, then thrust my free hand forward. A black cloud poured from my palms, spilling over my attackers in an instant. It surged into and through them, my void magic burning away the mana inside them.

To a man, they collapsed, the backlash of suddenly expelling all their mana knocking most of them unconscious. A few stared up at me from the ground, whimpering or choking. Expecting to die.

I marched past them, leaving them where they lay. Giving them a choice only in how to die felt wrong. It was how Agrona operated. They had chosen to stand their ground. Perhaps they were blindly loyal to Agrona, but maybe they were just hopelessly trapped in a system that they had been born into and had lived every second of their lives inside of. Did they even know there was a world outside of the too-close walls pressing in on them? It occurred to me that they likely couldn’t see it.

But I could see. And I could choose, too.

Casting a quick look back at the field of fallen mages—fallen, but alive—I activated one of the portals to the second level and stepped through.

And I found the second level to be exactly as I expected it.

The courtyard containing the ascension and descension portals, which capped the end of the long boulevard that ran through the heart of the zone, was a rush of organized activity.

A hundred mages, perhaps more, encircled the courtyard, weapons drawn and spells active, cordoning off the portals. Another twenty were hurrying to set up a series of devices in an arc in front of the portals. Small pockets of people lingered around the edges of the courtyard, outside of the cordon, and in the shadows of the nearest buildings.

The devices were constructed of dull, blue-tinged metal housings containing large mana crystals that had been carefully carved into concave bowls. Heavy wiring ran from one to the next, chaining them all together, and finally to a glass tank full of bubbling blue liquid.

Several of the mages jumped at my appearance, turning weapons on me.

“Scythe Seris Vritra!” a mage with black hair and a well-trimmed beard barked, snapping a salute. The rest snapped to attention and followed suit.

I waved the formality away. “Sulla, things have gone to plan.”

The High Hage of the Cargidan Ascenders Hall nodded vigorously. “Yes, Scythe Seris. Resistance was limited.” He nodded to a few bodies laid out nearby. “Fighting has been worse elsewhere, I know, but our efforts to set up your…whatever this is…have been unimpeded, and it’s almost complete.”

Another man, who wore no armor or battlerobes and went bare chested, proudly displaying his bronze skin and chiseled form, jogged up and bowed quickly. “Perfect timing, as expected,” Djimon of Named Blood Gwede, High Mage in Itri, said with his customary sharpness. “All tempus warp platforms in the city have been destroyed, as you ordered, except for one currently being defended by Highblood Rynhorn. The fighting is fierce there, but they can’t hold out. Ten more minutes and their soldiers’ bodies will litter the Relictombs floor while my Casters see to the platform.”

“With the receiving platforms destroyed, that will be our only way in and out,” Sulla added, gesturing to the array of permanent portals that allowed transit between the first and second level. I could tell he was seeking assurance that the plan wouldn’t result in us being trapped or overrun.

“Not the only way,” I said instead of attempting to placate the man. My gaze followed the line of the central boulevard to where I could see the distant glow of the primary ascension portal even from here.

The sound of approaching armored footsteps brought my head around, mostly due to the slight hitch in every other step. Cylrit bowed slightly and the two ascenders took a step back, giving us space, their eyes on the ground. My retainer had blood spattered over his face and armor.

“Would you like me to take that, Scythe Seris?” he asked, his tone even. I was certain only I would notice the pinched stiffness in both his voice and posture.

I held out the item I’d carried through the first level of the Relictombs: a severed head, jaw frozen open by rigor mortis, tongue black and shriveled as a salted slug.

Cylrit showed no squeamishness as he accepted the proffered appendage. He lifted it up to look into the dead, staring eyes, then made his way to the mana battery that would power the artifacts I had designed.

The rest of the mages moved back, their work done. Everything was ready.

Cylrit lowered the head into the liquid, which immediately began to glow, then quickly removed himself from the array.

The carved crystals of each device began to emit a resonant hum, then to glow a matching hue to the blue liquid, and finally to project visible waves of mana through the air, bombarding the portals with raw energy.

The effect was immediate. The shimmering portals jumped and jerked, their subtly shifting surfaces suddenly alive with shockwaves and multi-colored striations. Ripples and waves rolled away from the portal frame, collided, and rebounded in every direction at once across all of the portals.

“And you’re sure that—” Djimon cut himself off mid-question.

I knew we wouldn’t have to wait long to see proof that the artifacts were working. The encircling ascenders turned their gazes inward, watching. I was joined by a few other high-ranking individuals—Anvald of Named Blood Torpor, Harlow of Highblood Edevane, who were both High Mages of their respective Ascenders Association factions in Aedegard and Nirmala, as well as Highlord Frost and his granddaughter Enola—but they stayed silent, simply watching, waiting.

Within a few minutes, one of the portals changed. It stretched, smoothing momentarily, the ripples melting away, and a figure appeared within it.

Dragoth, his broad form filling the entire portal, glowered, his face strained, out from the bombardment of mana, but he was gone again almost as soon as he had appeared. A minute passed, and he appeared again, flickering into and out of another portal so fast that to blink would have meant missing it.

He repeated his futile attempts with each portal in turn, but the portals were destabilized by the bombardment of mana and were not maintaining a strong enough connection to complete the transition. As soon as he arrived on the second level, he was already being drawn back to the first.

There was no way through the portals as long as my artifacts remained in place, empowered by Orlaeth’s remaining mana.

Others began to appear as well, several at a time in every portal frame. After only a minute, a rippling running across the surface of one of the portals crossed over a man just as he appeared, flaying the skin from the right side of his face. He was gone again in an instant, and the attempts to breach the portals ceased abruptly.

A cheer went up, led by Enola of Highblood Frost.

I stayed by the portals for some time after, congratulating all who came to report in and giving orders where necessary. A slow procession of Highlords from my Highblood allies arrived when they were certain the fighting was done and the portals were deactivated, seeking to express their gratitude with the same handful of platitudes while wheedling for assurances that I did in fact know what I was doing.

Eventually, news came that the last of the receiving platforms had been destroyed, which made it impossible for anyone to use a tempus warp or dedicated portal to reach us. My plan had been a success.

I turned my face to the sunless sky, enjoying the warmth it projected onto my skin. So much of these last months had been spent underground in laboratories or bunkers, it felt good to stand beneath open sky, even if it was a construct of magic.

A handful of Imbuers remained with the equipment, as well as ten battle groups to ensure no one attempted any manner of sabotage. Eventually, it was only these guards, myself, and a patient Cylrit left in the courtyard, the ascenders and highbloods having gone about other duties or retired to their estates and inns to celebrate and rest.

Cylrit shuffled on his aching leg, clearly uncomfortable. I waited for him to break the silence between us. “Are you certain about this?” he finally asked, his voice low.

I began walking and motioned for him to follow. We moved down the wide central avenue that continued uninterrupted all the way to the primary ascension portal into the rest of the Relictombs. People watched us go by from shop windows and inn balconies, unsure what was happening.

We hadn’t been able to ensure that only my supporters were within the zone, of course. My people had done the best they could, with the Ascenders Association purposefully slowing the flow of traffic while the highbloods spread rumors encouraging those not affiliated with us to leave, even if temporarily, but many of the people who lived within the zone, those who served in the economy that had grown up around the ascents, were neutral to or even ignorant of our efforts against Agrona.

Some would eventually prove outright hostile to us., I knew.

“There is too much here outside of our control,” Cylrit continued, his attention constantly shifting as he, out of habit, watched for any potential threats. “Ways this can go wrong that we haven’t even considered yet.”

“I know,” I answered. If this argument came from anyone else, I would have assured them that every variable had been accounted for, every layer of the plan designed to be infallible, but Cylrit understood what we were facing just as well as I. “Perhaps, with ten more years to plan, we could have perfected this gambit. But this is war, Cylrit. And when you’re fighting gods, time is not on your side.”

“It all comes down to that, doesn’t it? Time…” Cylrit paused, and I stopped to look at him. “How long can we power the disruption artifact? When will Caera return with Arthur? Can we hold out longer than it will take Agrona to figure out a way in?”

I didn’t remind him of what we’d already accomplished—taken over half of Sehz-Clar, evading Agrona’s armies, embarrassed his pet Legacy, slain one of his Vritra Clan Sovereigns, and now blocked him from the Relictombs itself—and instead let him vent his fears.

CECILIA