The Beginning Of The End

The 10 clans were a source of fear, but at the same time hope for Iota. Although the Godly amount of power they held was terrifying, some found comfort behind the bulwark of their strength. For God only knows what kind of enemies lie beyond the sea. What a letdown though, Kingston was hoping to meet at least a few Highlords at the summit. Had Godfrey made the announcement a few more days in advance, the God Bloods' highest rankers would no doubt be clearing their schedules to meet the new Legacy. The conference grudgingly continued on despite the drama, still, it was quieter than it should've been, and everyone avoided their table like the plague. And even though this was the reaction they wanted, the King's Elite Mages were still sitting in terrified silence. It seemed like reality was finally setting in, from now on they would have no allies, they would be one of the most targeted mages in the continent, and everyone's eyes would be on them... and not in a good way. Gaius and Theodore both had calculated stares on their faces, the two men still a little rattled from what happened earlier. Perhaps it was because of the lack of initiative on their part when their friend's neck was grabbed. The amount of thoughts that raced through their heads in an instant, the submissive response to yield that was conditioned in their minds through years of tyranny that made them hesitate. They were probably questioning their own loyalty and mental state. 

As their apparent "Leader" Kingston wanted to give Gaius some more words of advice, but it felt too demeaning, as a younger person to counsel his seniors. Instead he suggested, "We should leave before the actual peace summit begins." His voice snapped them out of their thoughts. Slowly processing what he said they both nodded in agreement. They made their statement, there was no point staying any longer. Hearing this Rekken began to scarf down as much food as she could before they left. "Isholda, you hafen't even touched yur plate!" She said with her mouth half full of food. "Theesh are really gud." Rekken added as she ate another spoonful of baked beans. "I have eaten my fill. My sisters said if I ate anymore, the clothes they made for me would not fit." Isolda answered emptily. Her eyes gazed aimlessly at her friend but for some reason Rekken could feel herself being judged. "Ahem." She set down her spoon and wiped her mouth. Their relationship was quite curious, today was the first time he'd ever seen any type of reaction from the reticent priestess, and it happened because Rekken's safety was threatened. Their friendship made Isolda seem much more... human.

The room quieted down slightly when Kingston stood up, "Let's go." Wordlessly they obeyed, all eyes were on the Legacy as the five of them strolled past the tables and exited the palace. Behind them a rush of murmurs erupted, everything that the clans were too afraid to say while Kingston was still in the room. They would certainly have much to discuss with their highlords once they returned from the peace summit.

As they neared the gates Rekken inquired, "Hey, shouldn't we say goodbye to King Godfrey?"

"We should but Lance is most likely getting hounded by every single representative he sees, and I would rather not wait for their conversations to finish." Plus he doubted the King cared about such formalities. His eyes stayed ahead as he answered. Small bursts of magian essence in various colours propelled them forward, past Bordium's tar black walls.

They used runic magic to return to their Kingdom after much pleading from Rekken, along with the group's overall desire to just get home as quick as possible, they had a lot to think about after all. Once they were within Lambridge's walls, they said words of departure and went their own ways. Kingston headed towards the Royal Estate, where he was hopefully, only staying in temporarily. Calling back the essence from his rune, the swirls of black smoke dispelled around him, dark wisps curled off his body, evaporating into the air. It was well within the night, the moon was out, the insects trilled and the serene quietness made it so he could hear the leaves rustle in the wind. He ambled along the cold, stone pathway, his footsteps began to near the castle entrance, tapping against the marble flooring just outside the palatial gateway. He stopped momentarily, to examine a massive carriage that was stationed outside the building, its horses were already placed inside the Royal stables. A visitor at this hour? As he entered the palace he could hear a chiding voice coming from the throne room, "... need to go out there, and lead your people Rolandus!" A man responded in a familiarly meek tone, "Norvella, please you have to understand-"

"YOU, have to understand. I do not care who this man is, this is YOUR kingdom. The soldiers are no longer reporting to their generals, we are losing control-"

"My love there is nothing-"

"STOP THIS!" The feminine voice became more agitated. The arguing echoed throughout the corridor as Kingston made his way towards the Royal chambers. A small group of servants were huddled near the large doors, listening to the two people exchange words. Norvella... the maid this morning said that name... ah, of course, she was the Queen. He was wondering why she wasn't at the summit, so she had returned home instead. As he drew near, a younger maid squeaked in surprise before they all scattered at the sight of Kingston. "What was that?" The sound of light footsteps quickly approached the door, "Where is Melicent? Can we not even get the maids to obey us now?" Norvella clicked her tongue in annoyance. Before he could open the doors himself, a hand pulled them open from the other side. "Oh?" Her light grey eyes glinted curiously at him. Opening the door further she asked, "Engeram? Do you know this person?" Moving in for a closer look the old king paled at the recognition of the man. "Good evening my King." He bowed. "It has been a while." Kingston kept his head down and maintained a polite tone. Engeram was surprisingly in good shape, his beard was trimmed and his hair was combed, not nearly as disheveled as when he last saw him. He must have cleaned up when he heard that the Queen was on her way back. But the wrinkles on his face did slightly deepen. "Norvella... he is... the one." The old king lowered his head slightly out of shame.

"What?!" The Queen spat. "This boy is hardly older than our daughter! How-" She glared at him incredulously. Her gleaming eyes were such a bright shade of grey that they were almost white, her auburn hair was tied up in a high bun, with some strands falling on each side of her face. And not surprisingly, she was undoubtedly beautiful, her aura and the confidence she carried herself with was surely the attitude of a Queen, there was no question. "Listen boy. I am not sure how you've-"

"Engeram and I came to a mutual agreement." He interrupted. The Queen blinked, not sure if she should be angry that she was cut off or shocked at the audacity of this boy. "He willingly abdicated the throne to me." His voice was plain as usual. "I know you've heard the news. That the Eighth Legacy was to be introduced at the summit." She had, but they didn't stand a chance in recruiting him anyways, so she chose to return to Lambridge instead.

"I cannot see how that has any relevance as to why Rolandus gave the throne to a boy-"

"𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝙢𝙚." He added bluntly. 

She blinked, not entirely processing what he was telling her, partly out of denial. "I am the Legacy." He repeated monotonously. Her face was frozen, struggling to think of a response. His words were few but they bore enormous weight. If he truly was a Legacy then he could have taken this Kingdom with, or without the King's approval. Normally such an act could not be excused, one cannot simply seize a throne and not face consequences. Unless they were a Legacy. "That's enough isn't it? I'm especially tired today so if you don't mind-"

"Prove it." She held her head up, confidently calling his bluff.

"I defeated Ulric Amon of God Blood Cicero, is that not evidence enough." He sighed flatly. "My people told me that he retreated before you two actually clashed." She quipped. Her gaze was stern and unwavering, she clearly was not going to let him off easily. How stubborn, she was the complete opposite of Engeram in that regard. Though Norvella wasn't entirely wrong, she only knew of their initial clash here in Lambridge after all. And to be honest she 𝘸𝘢𝘴 the Queen and she 𝘥𝘪𝘥 deserve a proper explanation for what has happened to her Kingdom. But it was awfully late and the weariness was clear in his reply. "True, but that was the first encounter. I fought him again today." Norvella blinked. "You fought Cicero's Legacy in Bordium during the 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦 summit?" Kingston stared blankly at the Queen, not offering any words of reply, but the silence conveyed his answer clearly. 

The Queen turned towards Engeram and gave him an exasperated look, "You relinquished the throne over to an infant barbarian?" Engeram flinched slightly, "Dear- I... I had no choice. He told me that a war was coming, and that only he could-" Like a child the old man squeamishly looked at Kingston out of the corner of his eyes, "He showed me. He showed me that only he could protect our family." The Queen was growing increasingly frustrated with her Husband's uncharacteristic shyness. She was fuming, he could tell she wanted to jump right through the crystalline chandeliers above them, and destroy the palace's entire ceiling. "Oh not this again!" She threw her hands up in the air, "He did this, he did that, he's a Legacy, he defeated Cicero, I've heard much but I have seen little." Her ice cold stare caused Engeram to shrink. Had he known the former King for longer he might have been more surprised. Everyone in Lambridge has heard of Rolandus "Zen" Engeram, the King of Peace that led them into an Era of balance. Cleansing the land of its bloody history. But seeing him now, so chastely submitting before the Queen it was hard to believe. Maybe he just had an extremely, soft spot for his family. 

Diverting her glare back to Kingston she couldn't help but think aloud, "How truthful are these claims really?" Her tone was daring, she'd been doubting him with confidence this whole time. But he'd already given her a substantial amount of evidence, she simply did not want to believe him. Why was he bothering with convincing her anyways? It's not like he needed the support of the Royal family that much. It was clear now though, that words would not satisfy her. "Haaa..." He sighed impatiently. What's one more spectacle, just show her something that is undeniable, then off to bed you go. Calling forth his magian essence, the murky ink rushed into the runes that lit up along his forearm. Norvella's unbreakable confidence wavered ever so slightly, even a common Mage would be able to tell from first glance, that this amount of pressure could only be exerted by at the very least a High tier Primordial Sorcerer. 

The familiar void that filled the room pushed Engeram backwards, he had felt this all consuming power before. The same power that so easily convinced him. The King Of Peace was never known to be a pushover, in fact, during his days as a soldier, he was the most headstrong, and resilient man in his battalion. It wasn't cowardice that caused him to surrender, it was his experienced eyes that saw a man with unlimited potential. In his eyes, the God Bloods were no better than this stranger, the only thing that mattered to him right now, was the safety of his family. And if he could guarantee that, then nothing else was of any significance. 

𝘏𝘐𝘚𝘚𝘚𝘚𝘚𝘚𝘚𝘚

The runic essence flooded out from his markings in the form of black mist. The dark vapor disappointingly swirled around and dispersed into the air. A frown of confusion surfaced on his face, "What?" His evoking was denied again. Sequential cancellation, Sol' Ra's favorite entry gimmick. But, "Why." He thought aloud, almost as if he was directly asking the Angel why he was here again. A knowing smirk formed at the corner of the Queen's mouth, "As I thought, your theatrics could only hold out for so long. You sh- What?" Kingston was suddenly staring at her, puzzled as to why time hadn't been frozen yet. Where was the Auspex? His rune clearly misfired, and it wasn't his doing. Not only that, but it had gotten eerily quiet on the outside. The trilling of the insects had stopped, no sounds of nature, not even a breeze of wind, yet time went on. "What is the meaning-"

"Shh." He hushed the Queen, who reluctantly listened. One second passed. Nothing, two, three, four... all was completely still. Kingston remained where he was, focusing his mind on any type of magian feedback from outside the room he was in. But he could not find any. What was going on? Growing impatient Norvella complained,

"What-"

𝘾𝙍𝘼𝙆𝙊𝙊𝙊𝙊𝙊𝙊𝙈

A pale yellow beam of energy, thicker than a tree trunk suddenly tore through the castle. Chunks of marble were flung across the room as the blast, left a gaping hole in the throne room's palatial doors. The ray was aimed directly at the King's seat where Engeram was standing. He thought the old man was done for but underneath his noble robes, on his forearms were two silver bracers that seemingly absorbed the beam. Smoke curled off his quivering arms, "What-" Norvella's eyes bounced between Kingston and the destroyed double doors. "What was that?" Hell if he knew. Now, there was a complete absence of magian signatures other than those inside the throne room. This was impossible because quite literally everything has some type of essence, even the tiniest critter has some detectable presence. Did the assailants kill everyone else in the castle? No, he would have felt their lives disappear one by one. This was different, they all were flushed out in unison, instantly. Were his senses being altered? But how? By whom? The only being that could influence the flow of his essence to the point of failure was Angel Sol' Ra, other than Godkind itself who could possibly... that was when it hit him. 

He'd have no time to evaluate though, as a projectile shot towards Norvella, without a sound he suddenly appeared in front of the Queen, catching the dagger. "Wha..." Her hands were outstretched and glowing golden yellow. A barrier had formed around them, it was strong but she erected it too late. Her wide eyes looked at the tip of the blade in his hand, barely an inch away from her neck. 

𝗙𝗢𝗢𝗠𝗣

The dagger fell to the ground, a pillar of black smoke circulated in front of Norvella where Kingston was just standing. Her near death experience caused her heart to slam against her rib cages, but what's more was the speed of that boy. He was almost formless, leaving a trail of dark mist wherever he went, seemingly flowing with the air. And was it just her or was the room suddenly more dim? She shook her head, It was probably just from all the inky essence that poured out of his runes. 

Faster than the attacker could see, the Legacy zipped towards him, appearing before him in a rush of obsidian vapor. "Wh-" Kingston swung his arm, the back of his hand almost instantly turned the mage's head to dust as it touched him. The headless body crumpled to the floor. The color of his crimson red robes deepened with the thickness of his blood, staining the dark golden threads that lined the outskirts of the cloak. The symbol that was woven into the back of his cape, a disgusting reminder of what he once was. Kingston recognized it immediately, it was the emblem of 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐬. "Shit he's not supposed to be able to move that fast!" Cried out a voice.

"He killed Jinah!" 

"Godammit didn't we disable his runic flow?!"

Their confusion was understandable, because they did disrupt his magic flow. He couldn't evoke his runes, but innate magian abilities are immune to magic negation. Normally, a mage's passive skills wouldn't be enough to pose a threat. Even a Legacy would have trouble facing a band of Riftwalkers with just his innate ability. But much to their disadvantage, they didn't know that Kingston was more than a Legacy. He was one of the five celestial weapons planted by Godkind.

A runic orb flew towards him which he swiftly avoided. More came, along with the appearance of more crimson hooded Sorcerers. There were four of them that he could see, they all pressed forward quickly, simultaneously launching lethal projectiles at their target. The spell bombs exploded around him, black mist gushed out from his markings as he wove around the attacks. The frequency of the orbs grew frustratingly, they were hitting nothing but air and he was rapidly closing the distance between them. He seemed to shoot forward 20 paces with each step. The two mages in the back continued the assault, but the two in the front rushed forward to meet him head on. "Is this guy psychotic? He's just bullrushing a bunch of Riftwalkers!" One of them laughed.

"Do not underestimate him brother, our leader sent many of us for a reason. Quickly let's-"

"𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈." The Legacy blitzed past him, towards his brother, he couldn't even follow the man with his eyes. He wasn't even able to witness his siblings' final moments before a hand slammed his head into the ground. The sheer velocity mutilated his entire skull, everything inside of his head, pouring out onto the floor. With wide, furious eyes he planted his foot and turned around, "YOU BASTARD! YOU'LL DIE FOR THA- HRRK-'' Suddenly, he lost all strength in his legs. His torso folded forward and his stomach collapsed like slime. His body was still intact but all of its inner organs had been vaporized, even part of his spine was gone. He couldn't see it, but he could feel a fist sized hole in his gut. What just happened? He didn't even see him... The screams of his comrades echoed as he was barely able to remain conscious using the power of his runes. 

"He- he killed the twins!" One of them cried. Kingston was close enough to see their arms shaking in fear. Desperately they poured more essence into their runes, "SHUT UP AND KEEP FIRING-" A murky cloud passed between them, briefly cutting them off from each other. When it passed his fellow Riftwalker was no longer standing, actually he was... or half of him was. The top half was in a different place entirely. These guys were like paper, although they had immense offensive and defensive capabilities, most of their power relied on their ability to negate their opponents' runic flow. And in this case, their opponent, Kingston, was still able to move incredibly fast, and still had a tremendous amount of strength despite the restrictions. They were like sitting ducks to him. He dealt with them too easily, his hand sliced them up as if they were dough, and he did it in such a casual manner. This boy couldn't have been any older than 25 and yet he slaughtered three Riftwalkers in an instant. 

The final intruder peeled his eyes away from his dismembered friend and pointed his palm at Kingston. He needed to die, he was too dangerous, they underestimated him, nothing was going as planned and he needed to be killed here, he needed to die, die, "DIEE!" 

SLSH

Before his rune could even activate his arm was lopped off from its elbow. He stood there in shock as the severed limb plopped to the floor. Again, he didn't even see it coming, they never did, the fight was decided from the start, they never stood a chance. Dechall was right, they knew too little, trying to take him out early was a mistake. The apparent, Eighth Legacy, Kingston Samuels, "Background: Unknown, Family: Unknown, Powers: Unknown, Motives: Unknown, Relationships: Unknown, Res-" 

"That's enough." The Prophet sighed. "We have been scouting the Legacies for decades. They have always been just out of reach, always, 𝙨𝙤... close." The Riftwalkers in the room shifted nervously. The speaker turned, and faced his most trusted loyalists. "And to have such a miraculous opportunity appear before us... the heavens are surely on our side. Are they not my brothers and sisters?" The six Riftwalkers stood silently, the hesitation on their faces, hidden beneath their hoods. The situation among their kin has been bleak. Their morale was at an all time low since the death of Acampora, many defected and those that remained had very little faith in their leadership. The Prophet, who was once said to be the successor of the Ascendant One, seemed to be desperately searching for something his brethren could rally around. 

"What is it." He glowered. A woman raised her hand to speak, her voice was cautious and firm, "Prophet Dimos, while I do think that the appearance of the Eighth Legacy is advantageous, it would be unwise to attack him with such an insufficient amount of information. Perhaps we-"

"Are you doubting our power Sister Maro?" He lowered his head in her direction threateningly. "N- no, I just-"

"I don't appreciate you trying to intimidate our brethren, Dimos." Dechall warned. The Prophet lifted his head, "𝘐 do not remember giving you permission to use my name so lightly brother." 

"Are you giving me permission?" He snarled. "I thought we were all equal beneath the glory of our Ascendant One." Their faces were covered but everyone could feel the tense atmosphere that only grew heavier as they argued. The two eldest Riftwalkers of this age, Dimos and Dechall were nothing less than brothers. The very foundation of this collective of Riftwalkers was founded by these two. They were always on the same page, always, the reliable voices of encouragement, always. But Dimos changed, he became estranged, distant, cold. He was drawn in, and engrossed by the seductive temptations of power and recognition. He was tired of the once famed Riftwalkers, operating from the shadows. He wanted to resurrect their Legacy, by any means necessary. So now their kind was split in two. On one side were the Loyalists, those who held onto the bitterness of their banishment. They let the wrongful acts committed against them, send them on a campaign of vengeance. It was their doing that drove their people to this point. That's what the other side thought, ironically, there was no side that directly opposed the other. One chose peace, and the other chose retribution. After everything they've been through, they could never bring themselves to commit mutiny among each other. Their disagreements only ever went as far as verbal spouts. But all that changed when Dimos rose to the title of The Prophet. 

"Where are the rest of you?" Kingston stared blankly at the dying Mage. The intruder didn't hear him, the ringing in his ears and the shock from having an arm cut off stopped him from comprehending what he asked. Tiredly the Legacy sighed, "Why do they keep sending me these pathetic thugs." He kicked the assailant over, his body was still frozen in shock as he fell into the puddle of the blood of his comrades. 

WOOSH

Pairs of bodies flew overhead, with his fading eyesight he just barely caught a glimpse of his kin shooting past them. The flash of the silver medallion embossed onto their masks. The glow from their vibrant yellow eyes streaked by the Legacy that stood before him. If he had the strength he would be smiling right now, he did not regret being chosen. Although he and his team would die here, Dimos made sure that their sacrifice was not in vain. But who would have thought that he would send them. The Prophet must have been hellbent on capturing this man. 

Eight figures bolted over his head, but instead of attacking him, it looked like they were making a beeline for the throne room. There were two more coming, he could feel their essence zooming towards him. He shot into the air just as they reached his position, their expressions filled with utter shock as they met eyes with The Legacy. One of them was trying to say something under his mask, while the other tried to twist away from Kingston mid air. But it was too late, he grabbed the attacker's leg, and launched him into the wall, he didn't look to make sure but at least two thirds of his bones must have shattered. The mage that was flying alongside him stopped abruptly, he froze in the air for just an instant before diving back towards Kingston. The Legacy was suspended in the air, from what it looked like, he couldn't fly, he was just able to leap at great heights. He was nearly on him now, no matter how strong he was, someone who couldn't levitate couldn't possibly avoid an attack this fast while falling in the air. But just to make sure... he kept his speed up to the last second, but just before he reached the man, he pushed the air behind him away from his feet, granting him a burst of movement that was almost instantaneous. A technique known only to the Riftwalkers that was essentially an unavoidable attack at this range. He slashed his blade confidently only to have it cut the air, when his vision returned to him all he could see was the thin cloud of darkness that he dashed through. "What-" Then he felt the pressure above him, but he couldn't turn his neck in time to see the final blow that was about to disintegrate him. The fatal flaw of this attack was that he was physically still human, and therefore cannot process his surroundings when moving at such a velocity. That is why this technique should only be practiced if the user was completely certain that their target could not avoid it. If they were to ever fail this move then they would be exposed to a short, but absolute state of vulnerability. 

He made a mistake, but was it really naive of him to assume that a man should not be able to react to a near instantaneous strike? If he could then The Prophet should have informed them. That damned, arrogant brat, he overestimated the Riftwalkers and downplayed the Eighth Legacy's power too much. He just led their squad into a bloodbath. But he'd have no time to regret as Kingston reappeared above him. He could barely see through the darkness that surrounded him, the constant flood of inky mist filled the area. The eight intruders that were ahead of them turned just in time to see Kingston's form blink downwards, along with their comrade's. The fighters reappeared on the floor, The Legacy landing vertically, feet first with his legs buried into their brother's back. The weight of his landing crushed the mangled body several feet past the demolished stone floor. Cascades of blood sprayed upward from the mini crater that formed around them. This paired with the grisly sight of the other Riftwalker's corpse caused them to balk. 

They paused, all of them exchanging nervous glances at each other. This was completely unprecedented, the other mages sent before them failing was expected. It seemed like The Prophet's description of the man was inaccurate and heavily underestimating. This much didn't surprise them, but to have two of their own instantly get crushed? He was a Legacy but he was also still a child. 

FFOOOMP

A jet of obsidian vapor streamed towards them. They could only catch brief glimpses of his figure as he darted around them like a formless cloud of death. Feeling the magium coalesce in front of him, one of the Mages was able to anticipate the attack. But he was only fast enough to bring his arms up to block the blow. Even still, when Kingston's fist struck him, his body was sent flying backwards, nearly crashing right through the wall behind him. But what was this? This boy was relentless, he never stopped, not even for a second between his attacks. Fiercely he continued his onslaught, bolting towards the next unprepared Riftwalker. Again, his speed was unbelievable, but this time the assailant was able to encase his arm in a protective aura as he raised them to block the attack. It would have actually worked, only Kingston didn't punch him, instead he grabbed the raised arm, and swung him into the ceiling above. His body sailed helplessly upwards, impaling itself on the crystal chandelier that hung over them. "Three dead, one crippled." Kingston murmured, making a mental note of how many intruders remained. 

He softly landed back onto the ground, the six Riftwalkers that were still alive began to regain their bearings. Without having to communicate it, they knew exactly what they needed to do. They have absolutely zero leeway in dealing with this man, it was their grave mistake for trusting Dimos' judgement of the Legacy's power. Wordlessly they seemed to float into a formation, attempting to encircle him. Awfully ambitious considering the fact that they were completely overwhelmed by his speed just a moment ago. Kingston disappeared again, but this time nobody attempted to shield themselves, instead they chanted in unison, "𝑬𝒏𝒅𝒐." As the enchanted word left their mouths, their eyes blazed in a warm yellow glow. All of the hooded figures held their hands in front of their chests, fingers crossed. Not noticing any immediate changes, Kingston continued his attack. Whatever they had up their sleeves, he doubted that it would be enough to hold him back. A foolish decision he made in arrogance. 

He was inches away from his target when a piercing pain gripped his chest. The stream of runic essence pouring out of his arms sputtered. Choked bursts of smoke shot out of his now colorless markings as he uncontrollably crashed into the wall. Kingston jumped back onto his feet immediately, he strained, trying to summon his magian energy to no avail. His efforts were answered by tiny locks of dark gas. He could feel the resistance within his body, his power was still there, but it couldn't reach his runes. He could sense it screaming to get out, it seemed like the Riftwalkers created runic clots inside his body, preventing his Inverse or magian essence to flow. It was ignorant to assume that they had no way of subduing him, they were the most feared race of sorcerers after all. Apex, Primordial, Legacy, in a world controlled by classes of power, Riftwalkers were born as the Equalizers. Only they could stand a chance against these Godly warriors. Their ability to directly manipulate the source of all magic power essentially gave them the means to restrict, or even completely negate the magian essence of a Sorcerer. 

But now begs the question, for how long could even the world's most talented Riftwalkers trap the waters of the ocean for? And how much strength would it require to keep every single water mass, condensed in a small body? That is what they wondered, as they tried to restrain this man's power. "What... hrn... is this..." Their arms shook viciously, and their muscles were strained to the max trying to hold up the spell. Containing a Legacy's runic pool would have already been a tall order with the ten of them. But not only did they lose four Riftwalkers, this man was much more powerful than any Legacy they have ever faced. "We don't have enough time to fully complete the sealing." A calm voice spoke, the medallion embellished on the crown of his mask was a different color from the rest, it was kaleidoscopic white instead of plain silver. And he was the only one that didn't seem exhausted from maintaining the spell. With a strained grunt he closed his fist, then stuck out his pinky, still keeping his hand in front of his chest. "We will make up the difference by temporarily sacrificing our essence." The other intruders looked at him questionably. "Now." The low voice commanded. Hesitantly they all mimicked his hand movements, bright, amber lightning danced along their arms, he could see the obvious pressure this incantation put on them in their trembling hands. 

It was due to his arrogance and lack of experience that put him in this position. He underestimated the Riftwalkers' ability to close the enormous gap in their power. And now that he couldn't use his runes, there was no way he could reach them up there. The hostile yellow glow in their eyes amplified, the crackling energy in their hands pulsated dangerously, sporadic sparks shooting off their fingertips. Were they going to strike him with a lightning based attack? They should know by now that it wouldn't reach him fast enough. But they were Riftwalkers, these cunning God Killers should never be underestimated. Just when the spell reached a boiling point, they chanted simultaneously, "𝑬𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎." An unnaturally symmetrical and linear bolt of lightning shot out of their hands. Kingston braced his legs to dodge but it was... too late? 

𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗢𝗢𝗢𝗠

When the attack made contact with the Legacy it sounded like their ability had just hit a solid ceylicot wall. A pained frown stung his face, the sizzling essence inside his chest told him what just happened, but it was all too late. They didn't just fire a blast of lightning at him, what they did was akin to setting fire to lamp oil. The irregular lightning was just the physical manifestation of the Inverse's essence that the entire air was brimming with. And so automatically, there was already a stream of flammable oil that was connected directly to an ungodly large pool of magian energy that was Kingston. The connection was near instant, he felt the static before it even reached him. The lightning pulsed all over his body, paralyzing his muscles, the acidic pain burned him down to the bone. The only reason he wasn't a charred corpse was due to his innately high durability. But it was enough to render him immobile for a short time. 

Painfully he sank down to his knees, his head shook viciously as he tried to lift it, the veins in his neck were nearly bursting from the strain of trying to stand up. His fingernails dug so deep into his clenched fists that his hands began to bleed. And through sheer will alone the clots in his body began to disperse. But just as he started to recover, the six Riftwalkers recited the final part of the seal, "𝐄𝐱𝐨𝐦." Uncurling the rest of their fingers they opened their palms, releasing all that was inside of their internal reserve of magium. Kingston held his breath, preparing himself for what was to come, but nothing came out of their opened hands. Then he felt it, a rocky tumor formed inside his chest, the abscess grew and grew until he could see its edges poking out of his stomach. But he felt no pain, in fact, there was no damage being done to his body whatsoever. The yellow substance passed through his body flawlessly, as it enlargened it began to take the shape of a square. Its round edges turned into straight ones as his entire body was becoming encased inside the golden cube. Kingston resisted it to the very last second, the amber seal crawled up his neck, he lifted his head to look at his assailants. 

Then, darkness consumed his eyes, the indomitable mist that was becoming the symbol of his strength leaked out from his sockets. When they looked into them all they could see was nothingness, yet they could still feel the murderous intent in his glare. But the growth of the seal was unstoppable, the eery blackness in his eyes remained as the cube swallowed him whole. Terrified beads of sweat slinkered down their bodies, they had succeeded in completing the seal, but why did it feel like they had just signed a death warrant? Even the mighty Apostle's Warlock was... quivering? It was subtle but underneath his cloak, his arms shook ever so slightly. The Divine glow of his medallion lost its shimmer, the celestial gem that was powered by ones' faith in the Priesthood. What did he see, that caused him to tremble so? Shakily he whispered to his brethren, "We... we must leave. We must go now." He began to back away from the fossilized Legacy. The golden seal they placed on him showed no signs of breaking, so why was their strongest Apostle afraid? One of the others objected, "But we've successfully subdued him, we just need to transport him to-" 

"SILENCE!" The Riftwalker bearing the special gem flipped off his hood and glared at his comrade. The wild look in his exasperated eyes told them that this was serious. "We'll not leave empty-handed so do not fret. Our Prophet has prepared countermeasures for our pathetic failure. Let us go, now." They have done something terrible, a truly dreadful beast has been awoken and they were the catalysts. It would be an understatement to say that he felt like he'd just looked at death in the face. What was behind those eyes was infinitely more... 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫. He was sure that their existence would be erased if the Legacy broke out of the prison. And so frantically, the remaining Riftwalkers prepared to depart when a ripping 

THRMMMMM 

Tore past them. The deep red blast of magian essence crashed into the amber cube that encased Kingston. The beam, barely managing to crack the seal. "I told you it wouldn't work!" A familiar voice snarled. "It was better than anything you would have suggested you imbecile." Another voice shot back. All the assailants turned their heads towards the noise. They were so distracted while fighting Kingston that they didn't notice they were no longer sealed off from the outside. "The barrier..." The intruders flinched at the realization of their situation. This was bad, they needed to flee immediately. Now that the veil that was hiding their invasion from the outside had been dispersed, any more noise would bring much unwanted attention. They were certain that the barrier would last well over the time needed to complete the task. Unless... "How could they-" The Riftwalker let out a shaky breath, "Could it be-"

"You fools." The Warlock cut him off impatiently. "No matter how strong they are, no man that is not of the divine bloodline could disable a barrier casted by Riftwalkers." 

"Then how did..." The voices trailed off when they saw her. The girl who shared the same eyes, hair, and blood as they did, their brethren that stood on the other side of the battlefield. "The Lost child." One of them whispered. Isolda casually floated into the fray, stopping suddenly by the corpses of the slain attackers. Dully she commented, "We cannot defeat them." Appearing beside her was Theodore, his hair was a mess and two dark bags hung under his eyes. "Why not?" He asked genuinely. Then his gaze drifted to the bodies beneath her feet, upon comprehending who those bodies were, his sleepy eyes jolted to life. "Those aren't what I think they are... are they?" 

"Oh Gods." A low voice rumbled. "They're Apostles." Both Gaius and Theodore's eyes widened in unison. Immediately they steeled themselves after recognizing the opponent. They wanted to retreat as soon as they saw the bodies, Riftwalkers were enough to handle as is, but to battle against the Apostles? At their level it shouldn't even be a thought. During the Golden Age of Riftwalkers, when Hal Acampora was still alive, there were three Priesthoods that made up the body of the chosen race.The Priesthood of Prophecy, better known as the Prophets, the Priesthood of Apostles, and the Priesthood of Discipleship. The Apostles, before the death of the Ascendant One, were the harmonious peacekeepers. They were the greatest in number among the Priesthoods, carrying out the smaller tasks, helping the people, seeding the agriculture, curing disease, they were righteous men of the people. The silver pin on their headbands were badges of hope. The sight of that divine shimmer was enough to bring tears of joy to those in need. But after Hal Acampora's passing, and the great fall of the sacred race, they no longer represented peace. The silver medallion on their masks became a symbol of fear and death. The peacemakers twisted into a grisly clan of assassins that were the tip of the spear for the new body of Riftwalkers, post Acampora. Word of their ruthlessness was spread across the entire continent. The only man that could have possibly left these monsters in such a state, was, "Kingston..." Gaius's stormy blue eyes scanned the golden box that the Legacy was trapped in. "He's not dead. I can feel his essence trying to break free." Isolda began to hover over to his position. "I didn't know that restraining that maniac was possible." The runes on his arm were set ablaze, the Verdant energy screamed up his arm like a green fire. A conniving grin was plastered on Theodore's face as he spoke, "We're going to have to hold them off long enough for Isolda to free Kingston." Gaius tightened his grip around the abnormally large broadsword in his hands, "Aye." 

Vivid yellow essence spilled into his markings, the shades of their magian energy twirled and mixed together. It was an enormous amount, they were the King's Elite after all. The Apostles were drained from casting the seal, they still had some fighting power, but not much was left in the tank. And when it came to combat, they stood no chance against the golden children of Lambridge. 

CLANGG

The thrum of metal on metal reverberated throughout the palace. Even Norvella and Engeram had to shield their ears from inside the throne room. Gaius frowned when his sword was stopped so easily, but he wasn't that surprised. They were Apostles after all, after deflecting his blow the Riftwalker darted away. Immediately he gave chase, these guys were tired and worn down from fighting Kingston, he had to keep their backs against the wall. He was gaining on him before he saw a blinding light flash from his side. Looks like they still had a little something left in their reserves after all. But this much wasn't enough, in a swift twirl Gaius spun horizontally midair, using the momentum of his spin to launch his sword at the spellcaster. Taken aback by the large man's dexterity and nimbleness, the Apostle could only watch as the impossibly broadsword sailed towards him. The blade effortlessly cut through his attack and sank deep into his chest. The impact squeezed out a silent gasp as the force of the throw sent him flying into the wall, pinning him against the white stone. 

Feeling the disappearance of his comrade's magian signature the fleeing assailant turned around to see that Gaius was right on his heels "What? No-" He tried to grant himself a final burst of speed but it was too late. "𝗜𝗮𝗸𝗼𝘀." A fire blazed inside his eyes, turning Gaius's stormy blue irises into a wicked red. A sword of the same colour appeared in his right hand. The ethereal blade was made purely from his magian energy. Its translucent form flickered faintly as the sword took shape. It was almost the same size as his other weapon, but the structure was more intricately carved. It didn't look unwieldy or disproportionate, the blade almost looked like it wrapped around his hands as he held it. "Destroy; 𝑰𝒈𝒏𝒊𝒔." As if it were alive, the blade responded to its owner's call, glowing fiercely. The white hot edge was thirsting to consume its first victim. The unfortunate Apostle that couldn't quite flee fast enough, felt the searing blade sink into his leg. The burning sensation lasted only a second as the sword passed cleanly through his calf. Scorching pain shot up his legs, causing him to lose control and spiral towards the ground. The mage desperately squirmed around in the rubble, but the blood loss was inevitable. He tried casting healing magic on himself with no success. It was no regular injury after all, a severe wound inflicted by an enemy's "Iakos" was irreversible. 

That's two down he thought, he just killed two Apostles, though they were in an incredibly crippled state but they were Apostles nonetheless. He wouldn't have any time to relinquish in his victory, when a piercing cry rang in his ears. Two large beasts snaked overhead, their white, serpentine eyes cast a terrifying glow that caused the remaining Riftwalkers to scramble away, cowering in fear. Their silvery scales glinted brilliantly, the two giant vipers flowed over each other. Their approach was unstoppable as they slithered through the air. All attempts of damaging the serpents fell short, the screams of terror coming from the exhausted Apostles were cut off as the soul beast swallowed them whole. Argentum, Theodore's soul beast, a pair of horrifyingly large, twin serpents with indestructible plates made of essence for skin. He'd only ever seen their sleek grey scales once before, but they were truly awesome. His control over the serpents had improved since the last time, Gaius watched as Theodore strained his entire body to command the beasts. The summoned Leviathan, swam towards the Last two Apostles still standing. While all the mages they dealt with up to this point seemed drained and desperate to flee, the final two intruders didn't seem panicked at all. Especially the one with the unique pendant on the crown of his mask. "A Spirit Blade and a Soul Beast? I see... it looks like the new Legacy has quite the team supporting him." An ominous presence began to build up inside the Riftwalker. "At this rate we really might die. Especially if that demon over there breaks loose." Despite the giant snakes rapidly approaching him, his voice was eerily calm. 

He remained exactly where he stood, motionlessly watching the Soul Beasts storm towards him. Their eager jaws were agape, gnashing at the ground beneath their stomachs, their snaking bodies pulsed in anticipation for their most appetizing victim yet. A crazed smile stretched from ear to ear on Theodore's face, but just as the Serpents were about to devour the Apostle, they suddenly diverted their course, diving headfirst into the asphalt. They each let out a grating screech before burying themselves under large heaps of rubble. It all happened so fast that Gaius couldn't even tell how the Apostle managed to deflect the attack of a Soul Beast. The Riftwalker finally moved, lifting up his arm to point at Theodore who was in a state of utter shock. "Kill him." What? Who was he talking to? 

Gaius didn't know, but Theodore could feel exactly what was happening. The twin snakes began to thrash wildly, trying to free themselves from underneath the demolished stone. The entire building shook as they tore themselves loose. When the Soul Beasts reared their heads, their eyes were no longer white, but were now a polluted yellow. Theodore took a step back, his bewildered eyes didn't let him believe what he was seeing. Magian beasts made of his own essence, the same ones that he spent so many years trying to tame, were obeying someone else's commands. 

The fastly approaching danger shook him out of his stupor. Was this really all that it would take to break his confidence? No, these were still his Soul Beasts, his authority should overrule the Apostle's especially in his weakened state. With newfound determination Theodore brought up his arms, hands spread wide as he tried to steer the snakes away, and regain control over them. For just a second the yellow shimmer in their reptilian eyes flickered, the original white underneath briefly shining through. The beasts veered slightly off course and in that moment things seemed like they were back under control. But their opponent was the Apostle's Warlock, and once he felt his reign over the Serpents slip, he simply released more essence into his palm. The amount was enormous, but still, Theodore tried to fight back against the resistance. His entire body shook from the effort, "....Why.... does he.... still have so much..." With just one hand, the Apostle overpowered him. Theodore's arms, unable to bear the weight of the struggle, ruptured. He fell to his knees in defeat, bloodied and mangled bone protruded out of his joints. His chest convulsed violently.

Was this the extent of his power? After all those years of honing his control over the Soul Beasts, his enemy was able to rip away his authority and make the twin serpents his own with just one finger. What the hell? SHIT. Why were their powers so despairingly far apart? He was chosen to be one of the King's Elite Mages, yet he'd been reduced to such a state where he could not even lift up his arms to evoke a rune. 

But how could he ever raise his arms against his most prized possessions. His Leviathan were as beautiful as they were when they first met. They were like two wingless dragons, their luminous silver scales were as gleaming as the moonlight, two great beasts that any Mage would find much pride in calling them their Soul Beasts. Even as the Serpents hounded towards him, mouths thirsting for his blood, he couldn't help but admire his twins. What a bittersweet feeling. 

He had all but accepted his death when a hulking body threw themselves at him, launching both of them into a far wall. Gaius shielded the two of them from the falling rubble with one arm, while the other held onto his shoulder. "Have you lost your mind Theo? This is only our first battle and you've already accepted death?" Looking into his green eyes, he could see that they had lost some of its life. The cunning verdant shade was gone, the mischievous glow, disappeared. Restraining his anger he clenched his jaw and stood over Theodore. "We don't have time for this, heal yourself and get to safety." The boy didn't say anything in reply, but Gaius didn't have the chance to sit there and make sure his friend was okay. They had successfully avoided one attack, but those two serpents weren't going away at all. Despite their owner's destroyed physical and mental state, you would think that their existence would dwindle just a little. But the one special aspect of Soul Beasts as strong as Argentum, was that they had their own minds. They were sentient, much more complex than the average Iakos Summon. 

What was even more concerning, was that the Apostle was able to endure the massive penalty of hijacking another mage's Soul Beast. Evoking an Iakos was already consuming, but this man was able to seize and control Argentum like it was child's play. It was almost as if he hadn't used any of his power at all when they casted the seal. That must be it, the reason all the other Apostles were completely drained and these two were wholly unbothered. They intentionally withheld their power and forced the other Riftwalkers to make up the difference. That must be why they didn't use all their power making the seal. Speaking of that, "Isolda!" Gaius spun around, "Isolda where are you?" His eyes frantically scoped out his surroundings. He needed to find her and Kingston before the possessed Argentum attacked again. It's body was still squirming on the ground, the Apostle having a little trouble getting it back up. Then he spotted them, across the corridor on the other side of the serpents. Isolda's back was turned to him as she tried to disassemble the seal. His stomach dropped when he saw how undamaged the amber cube was. If they couldn't free Kingston, they would stand no chance in defeating the Apostles. 

Then, a brilliant white light illuminated the palace. The jagged, broken stone casted shadows around the entire mansion. Isolda's body, now a vibrant, vivid beacon of light continued to glow brighter and brighter. Her radiant luminescence grew until the light practically consumed her body to the point where he could only see the outline of her figure. Then, in a flash it disappeared, all at once, Isolda's head drooped, the priestess fell over face first onto the floor, unconscious. A baleful silence came with the dreadful darkness that swallowed the walls as the light retreated away.