Chapter 170: Salvation in Death

Chapter 170: Salvation in Death

Chapter 170

Salvation in Death

Sylas crossed the border between the worldsa well-illuminated canyon separating a dead forest spanning the horizon and the city made of black obsidian and infernal chains. It had been a while, Sylas recalled, since he last was here. A few years, at least, if not more. It was becoming all but impossible to keep the track of time. If Asha didnt occasionally give him a rundown, hed have likely already lost even the general count.

The city did look familiar, for he had seen it before. The tall, looming towers, the chains etching into the sky, the spires, the oily appearance of it allit was the city of the dead, and the dead knew that the living had come. He took but a few steps forward before he was greeted by the invisible assault. Easily repelling it, he stopped and waitedwaited for the Knight to appear, the very same one that used to give him so much trouble. Now? It took but one, effortless slice of the blade to decapitate the being and engulf it in the fires of permanent decay. With that, the silence cameand he could soon feel the energy encroaching.

It reflected the chains holding the skies, as though the energy was trying to tie him down and bind him. It was likely what happened the last time he was here, too, but he hadnt felt it. Not in the slightest. However, the energy was incapable of tying him downit melted at the touch, without him doing anything. Further attempts were made by the invisible commander, though to no availhe stood still in place, topless and barefoot, a singular blade in his right hand pointing downward.

From within the shadows came a figurea torrid figure, a womanly figure draped in the ghastly gases of death. She was a bit different from what he recalled, though his memory was admittedly murky. Tall and lean and draped in a rather revealing dress, she seemed more human than before, though still sporting deathly pale skin and lips as blue as a cornflower. Her silvery eyes inspected him from head to toe, a torrent of confusion and uncertainty dancing within them.

Who are you? she spoke in a ghostly, choral voice, a tactic used often to scare and terrify, he learned. Though he hardly cared. Hed heard many distorted voices in his life, so much so that they sounded comical to him.

We met once, in another lifetime, Sylas replied. Back then, you wove lies to my face and sent me off with some wine. Fancy wine, but all the same. But it never stops, Ive learned. Every time she asks, you deliver the dead unto my home.

Oh. You must be from the castle, the woman said, forming a seductive smile. Your anger is misplaced, I am afraid. WeVisit no(v)eLb(i)n.com for the best novel reading experience

"There is no anger," Sylas interrupted crudely and shook his head. "Only tiredness. You see, I often have to leave the castle, and venture elsewhere. But, more often than not, if I ever do return, all I find is a castle covered in fire and death. And, well, I'm tired."

Some four-five minutes later, she finally stopped and the fog dispersed. There was a grin on her face, wide and boastful, as her already tall self seemed incomparably small beneath the behemoth that was the gate. It was at least a hundred feet tall, silver-cast unlike most other things in the dreadful city, and was standing ajar. Framed within the black, obsidian walls that went on to form a pentagonal shape, forks erecting even taller towers, it looked to be the citys central citadel.

From beyond the gates, he could feel the exhausts of energylarge, torrential, even dangerous. She led him to the heart of her home and stood perched at the front as the shadows began emerging from the ajar gate, shaping into figures one by one. Some stood by her side, some turned to flank him, and some yet shaped themselves in the rear, occupying the nearby low and high rises. He was soon surrounded on all sides by all manner of armored and armed figures.

All humans are truly, deeply moronic, the woman spoke. Blind to the most obvious things.

Are all the dead as cowardly and meek as you? If so, this should be rather easy, Sylas fired back with a faint grin.

Sharp tongue never wins battles, you horrid thing, she said. You have made a grave mistake coming here.

"Have I?" Sylas mumbled, looking up. What gave him the greatest sensation of danger was the child seated on top of the citadel, its centermost tower, looking down at him. It was a girl, he reckoned, aged somewhere in her early teens. It was all very reminiscent of when he first discovered the village and the boy who greeted them. "Must be a fetish at this point," he shuddered. "Disguising themselves as kids."

He could feel the energy slowly building up, all centralizing toward him. His eyes, though, remained glued to the girl and, in turn, she remained silent and still, observing him back. He couldn't be certain, but she gave him a similar feeling to the other Shadows. Perhaps she was not exactly the same, but his gut was telling him that she has roots in those times. She would likely remain perched up there, watching and observing his limits. Though he was confident in the battle of attrition more than anything, even he would struggle to kill so many dead and then fight a Shadow, to top it off. It was not a favorable position to be in, but it was irrelevant.

He had forgotten what fear and trepidation felt like. How the body responded to anxiety, uncertainty, and unwillingness. He was but a machine simply experiencing everything and compiling results. At least, that's how he'd begun to feel recently. As for how true it was, he couldn't know. Not yet, anyway.

Seeing that the girl remained still, he figured he may as well show off a bit. He didnt know the depths of the city of the deadbut these these werent it. These were the shallow waters, he knew, and he was merely stepping into the first few feet of the ocean. If he wanted to realize what lurked in its depths, hed have to wade his way through it all.

Sylas was more than confident in being able to achieve exactly that; for him, it wasn't a matter of certainty, but a matter of time. There was nothing here, so far, that could kill him, not unless he let them hack him for ten minutes straight. As such, he could subscribe to the base recklessness of fightingabandoning defenses in lieu of a continuous, unrelenting offense. He preferred it that way, anyway. Much more fun to go in headfirst than to dance on the fringe, uncertain and afraid.