Chapter 462: The Fourth Gate
If Priam had to describe the difference between wave ninety-five and those that came before, he would have spoken of atmosphere. Just as an urban park lacks the ancient weight of the Amazon rainforest, a lake the savagery of the ocean, and his childhood home the mystique of a sacred site, the bare arena was devoid of glory and majesty. All of that changed when Keltan’h arrived.
The Juggernaut felt like an ancient gladiator ready to face a lion as the gate creaked open to admit the boss. His mentor’s phantom.
With graceful bearing and measured steps, the phoenix crossed the sand with the deceptive languor of a predator. Clad in black trousers, a gilded belt, and a jacket embroidered with some historical scene, the prince cut a studied figure. One some might have called vain. After so many encounters, Priam had come to see him as a pampered child too often told he was unique.
Which, to be fair, was not untrue. The phoenix had been flashed as a phantom at puberty.
The boss appraised his opponent, then sighed. “If only I could kill you four times…”
The first time Priam had heard those words, he had answered with irony. It earned him a fight. The following week, he had asked for clarification.
Because I challenge him. Because I usurp his bloodline and his Concept. And because—
“Most people cannot see through flames,” Priam said aloud.
“Most phoenixes can. The sight of your near-naked form offends me.”
The Champion partially dispersed his toga of fire, revealing a pair of 2die4 boxers. “Ever since Administrator Thaal launched his line of underwear, it has become fashionable to show them.”
At least Jasmine did that a lot.
Keltan’h frowned, two brows the color of smoke knitting as he inspected the Tier 6 fibers. “It would seem that even fashion is not immutable.”
“Your Highness has occupied this wave for so long, it was bound to happen,” Priam replied like a sycophant. A cheap but effective way to flatter the vain. Then he delivered the final blow. “I have an extra pair, if it interests you.”
“...”
Five minutes later, Keltan’h was wearing a toga of flames, his former garments discarded in a corner of the arena. A good thing, because the Tier 5 fabric was more durable than the Juggernaut’s skin, as Priam had learned the hard way in earlier battles. It had taken the gladiator four encounters to discover how to maneuver the phoenix into shedding his armor.
Lvl Up: [Deception] lvl 3
VIVA +1MEM +1CHAR +1
“It is… agreeable,” the prince conceded, lowering himself into a measured squat.
“Still want to kill me four times?” Priam asked with a smile.
“Thrice shall suffice.”
“For Pyro, right?” Priam adopted a wounded expression. “I cannot imagine my benefactor killing me over gifts he himself bestowed.”
A raised brow. “My future self conferred upon you Pyro… and thereby a phoenix bloodline?”
“Indeed,” Priam said, smiling as the ichor in his veins remained calm. As he had learned during their weekly meetings, a low phoenix could not lie to a noble without his blood rebelling. A matter of respect.
“…Does my clan no longer disdain the mingling of bloodlines?”
As the fae had demonstrated, truth possessed many facets.
“Your Mother made an exception for me.”
A flicker passed through Keltan’h’s gaze.
Lvl up: [Ciphered Record] lvl 21MEM +6META (Affinity) +6META (Authority) +15
“Her Immortal essence courses strongly through your veins. Mine also.” He paused, then released a quiet breath. “The clan must stand upon the brink, for the elders to have sanctioned such a concession.”
Priam remained silent. Intelligent men loved arriving at conclusions on their own. Sometimes, their theories assembled themselves into a plausible narrative—one they would convince themselves was truth.
After a minute, the phantom raised his head. “The Depths?”
Priam had to fight not to smile.
“Certain information suggests the Hope Sector will fall within a few decades.”
Source: my son.
The prince’s jaw tightened. “For my Mother to refuse retreat… Primordial Thaal must have set before her the promise of a reward beyond reckoning.”
Priam opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. The very embodiment of reluctance.
“You possess knowledge.”
“… I know that with each generation, the purity of your blood declines. In the Hope Sector, the Phoenix clan is dying.”
Another piece offered. True, yet destined to form a false puzzle in the prince’s mind. It had taken Priam six weeks to reach this moment.
Keltan’h trembled, then closed his eyes. “I see. If it is the System, then hope yet remains. The Champions are its chosen. Everything aligns,” he murmured.
Priam did not see what aligned, yet held his tongue.
“Mother weaves a design, of which you are a piece… and I no less,” Keltan’h sighed. “Would you have me yield, that you might claim the reward of the ninety-fifth wave?”
A tension lay coiled beneath his words. Though his clan was his weakness, the phantom should never have made such an offer. He knew his challengers had as many attempts as they wished, centuries to refine a speech capable of unraveling him. No password, no anecdote could be trusted. Trapped in an endless loop, he could believe no one, remember nothing.
Yet the mingling of his blood with that of his Mother within Priam’s veins was an irrefutable proof. One even an Immortal could not counterfeit it. Only a Primordial possessed such power… and who would imagine Administrator Thaal could be so bored?
“… I hope to defeat you by my own strength,” Priam said after a few seconds. “Five thousand years of dominance should not end in something so unworthy.”
For the first time since the wave began, Keltan’h smiled in earnest. A flicker of respect lit his eyes.
“So be it. Yet I doubt my Mother’s designs shall leave me untroubled. You have a request to make.”
Priam raised his hand, revealing the core he held. “I would appreciate Your Highness’s assistance in tempering my body.”
The phoenix recoiled. “That a prince should stoop to the labors of a smith… Scandalous.” He exhaled sharply. “Now I perceive why the clan selected you. You Champions remain unshaped by the strictures of society. The most outlandish notions take root within your minds, and you do not dismiss them as folly.”
“They did not know it was impossible, so they did it.”
“They knew not their limits, and thus they perished,” Keltan’h retorted. “This tempering… Does it spring from your own will, or from my Mother’s command?”
“A suggestion from your original. My mentor. It would fit well within my Story.”
After so many half-truths, this statement broke the pattern for it was pure truth.
The phantom inclined his head toward the ground. “Be seated. Let me behold the worth of my disciple.”
Lvl Up: [Deception] lvl 4
VIVA +1MEM +1CHAR +1
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“This is not the first gate you have opened,” Keltan’h observed, watching Priam focus upon his meridians.
“It is the fourth,” the Champion answered, eyes closed, mind fixed upon the flow of his aether. “Of seven.”
“A mythic body tempering method! If you are not an exhibitionist, then you are assuredly a masochist.”
It had been meant as an insult; Priam took it as praise. And it's a seraphical method, not a mythical one.
“Your Highness possesses a method of equal quality.”
One should not be deceived by the phantom’s jade skin; in truth, it was harder than the scales of the previous boss.
“I am a noble phoenix, reborn from my own ashes, and thus singularly suited to the tempering of the flesh,” Keltan’h declared. “Legends speak at length of our vitality, yet neglect our constitution. You should be aware that I possess an ideal legendary resistance.”
“Impressive,” Priam coughed lightly. He himself had three, and the System awaited only his approval to upgrade another. Only the limit of five legendary skills at Tier 0 prevented him from accepting. He was looking for another… “Which one?”
“What else but fire resistance?”
“Ah, the very resistance I am about to temper.” Priam frowned. “Are phoenixes not naturally immune to flame?”
At least, that was the impression he had formed in their previous clashes. Watching his opponent bathe in Pyro had been… disheartening.
“Near immunity,” the phantom corrected. “Yet not such as would permit one to plunge unscathed into a star, a supernova, or the deepest reaches of the Fire Realm.”
“That is quite the ambition for Titles,” Priam said with a grin. “I like it.”
The phoenix cast Priam a sidelong glance. “There is more to it… You shall inquire of my Mother.”
Priam had no intention of asking the Queen of the phoenixes anything, but he could form an educated guess from two elements: she was attempting to obtain [Radiation Resistance] to bathe within the heart of a nova, and the corpse of Pyro’s creator was one of Elysium’s three suns. Only a fool would miss the connection between the Concept and the stars. A prerequisite to upgrade Pyro, perhaps?
The beginning of the ritual demanded his full attention, and Priam began guiding the aether through his body, and more precisely, toward his sternum.
“Where do you intend to situate your gate?”
“My human heart.”
“How… singular. For what reason?” inquired the phantom.
“It’s the organ that pumps my blood—”
“Your ichor. We may as well name things properly.”
Priam shrugged. “Very well—my ichor. A vital fluid capable of turning into scorching flames and conducting my aether,” he highlighted while arranging his energy along a runic pattern recorded in the Heavenly Dragon method. “Seems like a good place for an Energy gate.”
“You possess two hearts.”
“The other will serve later.” Priam was reluctant to reveal his plans. “Did you use another organ?”
An plain attempt to steer the conversation away, which the phoenix nonetheless accepted.
“My stomach,” Keltan’h replied. “For it receives matter and transmutes it into energy. Should I attain World Body, I aspire to surpass mere immunity to flame and achieve absorption—such that a star would not merely fail to burn me, but would restore me.”
“That sounds cool as fuck,” Priam admitted. Had he possessed [Radiation Resistance] of ideal quality, he might have followed that path. Unfortunately, his skill was only high-grade, and improving it would not be easy. Perhaps on Earth, with laboratories and nuclear power plants…
“But I have another plan for my stomach, and my instinct tells me my path is viable,” Priam continued.
“It is so; if only because your gate shall align with your fourth chakra.”
Priam grimaced. Without quite knowing what to make of it, his first three gates had corresponded to the first three chakras—brain, eye, throat—without any conscious intent.
“Why is that good?”
“A convergence of bodily symmetry, energetic alignment, and Myth… Chakras are great stabilizer—”
Priam groaned as the final drop of energy slipped into place within a channel finer than a blood capillary. A feat for others; trivially easy for the Champion.
All his aether now concentrated within the pathways of his left heart, a three-dimensional rune manifested. The draconic array pulsed, heralding the ritual’s beginning.
The aether condensed, gaseous, then liquid, then solid. A microscopic crystal formed, swelling until it reached the size of a grain of rice. Left too long within the heart, it could obstruct an artery like a clot. Better to hurry.
Priam pressed his chosen trophy against his pectoral. The core of the sun wyrm was as hot as expected, and the hiss of ember against flesh echoed through the arena. The branding pain made him grimace until Micro suppressed it.
The phantom’s nostrils flared at the scent of seared meat, but a flicker of respect appeared in his eyes when the Juggernaut made no sound.
As though oblivious to pain, Priam pressed harder, destroying muscle and flesh. With his high constitution, it took time, but the crystal finally slipped between his ribs and pierced his heart to become the gate’s foundation. A perfect base.
Indeed, the sun wyrm’s core was an ideal trophy, both draconic in origin and deeply tied to Priam’s Story. Sunny had been the first reward of a quest in which the Juggernaut had finished second. Though he cherished Moonie, he had obtained the moon wyrm by losing to Esmée. A failure he later avenged by slaying the sun wyrm.
“A draconic relic… for one who bears a phoenix bloodline?”
“Mmh,” Priam grunted as waves of pain surged, sometimes overwhelming Micro.
The phantom narrowed his eyes. “How?”
“[Chimera].”
“…Were my Mother’s blood not present within you, I would take you for an agent of the Depths.”
Priam did not respond, too focused on the ritual binding the trophy to the center of his human heart. The core exploded into a cloud of energy—destroying part of the vital organ—before the draconic rune activated. The nebula collapsed, fusing with the solid aether seed to form a nova. The embryo of the future gate.
With a pulse, the Heavenly Dragon formation awakened the wyrm’s ego imprint, which judged Priam. Recognizing its true slayer, it vanished after a final roar, leaving the pseudo-gate floating within the ruins of his ribcage.
“It is time,” murmured the phoenix. “To forge.”