Ashborn Primordial

Chapter Ashborn 401: The Gauntlet

Time was a strange thing in the Ash. It varied from place to place, yet even without that added complication, the lack of sun made the days and nights bleed together. A normal aspect of life for any demon, but for Vir, having grown up in the Human Realm, both the other realms were perpetually strange and alien to him.

At least the Demon Realm had the comforting presence of a familiar sun, even if it did never set. The Ash lacked even that, and the problem was made worse by Vir’s minimal sleep requirements. It was only by forcing disciplined sleep and meditation schedules that he maintained any semblance of a daily rhythm.

As such, it was only through record keeping that Vir noted a month had passed since his return to the Ash. He’d spent all of that deep inside the realm, overseeing his army’s progress, helping train his troops, and supervising the construction of several forward bases in the deepest depths, where the monsters were so numerous they blotted the sky, and where the ground more closely resembled a moving, writhing mass than any solid earth.

There was not a moment’s respite to be had in that infernal place, and his forces only maintained a continuous presence there by rotating troops out several times a day. It became known as Naraka—the hell world. The hours there were without rest or reprieve from the ever-present danger.

As he balanced on one foot upon the highest leaf of a great tree, Vir felt they had it easy. They could retreat through the Gate at any time. They had him and Cirayus watching over them, ready to intervene should the danger grow too great. And, most importantly, they didn’t have to endure this torturous existence for months on end, as Vir had.

He watched as a fresh group of veterans attempted the Gauntlet—the deathtrap of a course Cirayus had them set up. The course was made of horizontal logs, piled high to resemble walls, forming streets and alleys between them. All sized to mimic the width and layout of Samar Patag.

It was, of course, filled with Ash Biters, Shredders, and Phantomblades. One could imagine the mayhem battles within the course caused, and as a result, the Gauntlet had to be maintained continuously. It was part of why Naraka was so difficult on the troops. Not only did they have to fight, they had to build and rebuild defensive emplacements, all while fending off their enemies.

Just as they would when storming Samar Patag. It was the best training Vir could give them. The best chance they would have to thwart Greesha’s prophecy. If such a thing was even possible, they would seize it.

Vir observed the company of fifty dive into the narrow alley, lobbing a volley of offensive arts ranging from Aspect of the Inferno fireballs to Midwinter’s Embrace

As such, the magic barrage was mostly to throw the beasts into confusion, and the fog helped with that.

Jumping forth, Vir’s soldiers cornered each creature, splitting them off from the horde, and never taking them on with less than five-to-one odds.

Even then, they barely managed, defeating their foes as soon as they were injured.

“Who commands them?” Vir asked no one in particular.

A voice, raspy and grating, answered from the shadows. “That would be Nayan, one of Balagra’s new field commanders.”

“I see him,” Vir replied, surprised to find a muscular red demon barking orders to the troops in near-continuous succession.

“He’s Gargan?” Vir asked. “A resident of Samar Patag?”

“No. A freed slave. Or so these ears hear,” Ekat’Ma replied.

“Interesting…” Vir hadn’t thought his liberation efforts would have uncovered such a hidden gem.

Even so, spirit and enthusiasm only went so far. It didn’t take an expert to see that the demons were thoroughly outmatched, even five-to-one. These freshly anointed Warriors had months of training in the harshest conditions, yes, but there was no substitute for time. No replacement for the experience of years and decades. They were still new to the art of war.

And yet, not one squad had come close to requiring an intervention. Their commander seemed to possess and almost preternatural sense of danger, issuing order after order, predicting the tides of battle with near-perfect accuracy.

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Whoever this Nayan was, he showed great potential. Immense potential. If his Warriors were gifts of the Ash, commanders were a miracle. The ability to lead troops, to make sound tactical decisions, was something even Vir struggled with to this day. Even with Cirayus harping on it, Vir knew that Warriors who had those skills were a treasure, to be protected and nurtured at all cost.

The group of Ash Biters attacked in coordination—a rare feat for the hunger-driven monsters. Vir tensed, ready to Blink

Radha, it seemed, had predicted this, positioning several squads nearby. The moment the Biters attacked, they struck, rending and ripping the beasts before they even knew what hit them.

“Incredible,” Vir breathed, in awe of Nayan’s leadership. For him to not only have predicted such an eventuality, but conveyed his intent to his troops using only verbal instructions and demon runners, was nothing short of miraculous.

Vir decided then and there to have this demon put directly under Cirayus for tutelage. He was a diamond in the rough, and Vir would be a grakking chal not to nurture him to the best of his ability.

Unfortunately, power was absolute. Power was law, and no amount of leadership and clever tactics made for an adequate substitute.

Despite the deftest leadership—Vir felt like he ought to take notes—the demons were eventually pushed back as more and more Ash Beasts swarmed the streets of the simulated Samar Patag.

“Will you not intervene?” Ekat’Ma asked.

“Not yet,” Vir said, crouching atop his leaf. “I want to see what he will do. Will he panic? Will he deign to save himself? Anyone can perform well when the ebbs and swells flow their way. But when they don’t? When Fate itself defies them… That is when the true worth of a being, human or demon, may be measured. Failure and crisis has a way of bringing out the best—and worst—in a person. It reveals them for what they truly are.”

“I see…” Ekat’Ma said. Though Vir didn’t see it, the Iksana shivered at his words. For in the Iksana scripture, most sacred to the clan and nearly unknown to the broader world, those exact words had been written. Written and treasured, passed down through the millennia.

While he couldn’t know it, Vir’s words in that moment had impressed the Iksana beyond anything he could have imagined. Ekat’Ma’s reverence of the Akh Nara soared to untold heights at that very moment. At that moment, Fate was rewritten… and those who sought to control it were suddenly overcome with terror.@@novelbin@@

For here was one that defied the Fates. A being who existed outside their view.

The greatest existences in the world re-prioritized and shifted. They reorganized and abandoned plans centuries and millennia in the making, forming new one. The threat they’d always feared had come to pass.

All was lost.

Nayan watched in despair as his last squad faltered, inflicted with so many grievous injuries that they’d need healing of the Sorceress from Panav herself.

They were his best troops, and by rights, they ought to have been replaced minutes ago. Yet, the flow of fresh Warriors had run dry. They were his best—his final line—and they’d been run dry.

No, Nayan realized, this endeavor was lost. He’d reached too far, too fast. He’d underestimated the enemy… And now he would pay the ultimate price. Yes, the Akh Nara and the Ravagar always kept diligent watch. No doubt, one of them would swoop down to save the day. To rescue those beyond saving.

Even now, Nayan couldn’t fathom the depths of their power. The Ravager, he could understand. The ancient demon had centuries to perfect his craft—though how any demon devoted century upon century to battle, Nayan would never know.

The Akh Nara, however… If the rumors were to be believed, the savior was barely twenty years of age. An impossibility. One that only proved his divinity. The Akh Nara was millennia old. He was a living god. And why not? Gods kept the company of other gods, did they not? For the goddess Ashani to bless him, to treat him as an equal, proved it. The Akh Nara was not mortal. He was a living deity.

Nayan knew this. He knew they could not possibly lose with two deities on their side. And yet, he felt the need to strive. To reach beyond the realm of what was possible. To strive for the impossible.

He’d failed in that endeavor. He could see the future as plain as day. His forces would lose, defeated by the sheer power of the Ash Beasts Nayan had clearly underestimated.

Nayan blinked. That was it. Just that.

In that shortest span of time, their total and certain defeat had turned into an assured victory.

For the being who could not die had come to their aid. The Lord of Life and Death had descended, and Nayan felt only pity. Pity for their enemies, to have caught the eye of their gods.

And he also felt pity for his troops. For having such a lackluster, incompetent commander. One that was sure to fail them again.

Vir swept in, skewering a Phantomblade. Except, instead of halting once his prey’s heart had stopped beating, his beam of pure prana continued onward, lancing out of the dead beast’s body, splitting four ways to skewer four more beasts.

Without a single pause, Vir moved on to the next batch, decapitating, eviscerating, and otherwise annihilating beast after beast.

Vir was almost bored. These creatures hardly posed a threat to him. Barely even practice. In fact, unleashing the full might of his prana caused the majority to turn tail, their survival instincts overriding their hunger.

Vir watched them flee, sheathing his katar before turning to the army that cowered before him. His army.

One by one, they knelt before him. Vir ignored them all.

“You are their commander,” Vir said, black flames billowing off his skin.

The commander prostrated. “I am, my Akh Nara.”

“Good,” Vir replied in the most heavenly voice he could muster. “We need to talk.”