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Chapter 548 Bad Feelings

As quickly as Kieran had pushed back the first set, a new surge of enemies came at him, but that wasn\'t seen as a nuisance. His attention was spread amidst the battle, allowing Kieran to perceive with senses similar to enhanced synesthesia. 

He retreated a step, which cleared meters instantly. 

\'Drink, Heartsbane.\'

The thirsty weapon Heartsbane traveled in a beautiful arc as Kieran swung his blade. He paid no attention to their vital area or Blood Core, allowing Heartsbane to sweep through their hearts unimpeded.

Its sigils flashed with carmine light, forming barbed needles seemingly made of blood or some other nefarious power. Like the fangs of the Nosferatu, the attack bit into their hearts, ripping them to shreds.

A dismal fate so abrupt they dropped where they stood, never to move again. His attack had swept out in a tide, borrowing from the swordsmanship of Rhaenys and Adeia, more the former than the latter.

It was much fresher on his mind and easier to emulate. 

His sword continued to flash, claiming the lives of the Nosferatu before him… but also drinking its fill of their blood. The sword\'s bloodthirstiness outmatched all of the Fiends Kieran had interacted with thus far.

The fallen Fiends, whose resentments poured into the Ravaged Plains, formed a cloud of primarily imperceptible energy. 

Though the resentments could not be seen by most, its effects could be felt. A strange, torrid heat permeated the air, or depending on the Fiend\'s disposition, a gelid chill frosted the battlefield.

From Kieran\'s experiences, resentments were known to idle unless influenced by something with an affinity. But the Fiend\'s resentments acted differently — acted with purpose. 

Eerily reminiscent of his dream, the resentment burrowed into the blood spilled across the Ravaged Plains rather than entering a more suitable medium such as himself.

Many had died near his current position, yet they purposely avoided him. And when Kieran attempted to absorb the blood, he was met with resistance. 

He tried to overpower the influence over the blood, but he was met with impassable antipathy. It was the product of something far superior.

The Flame.

It was denying him for his defiance. 

Even now, he could hear the Flame admonish him from the Realm, making threats without erupting in actionable outrage. That in itself seemed all too curious. 

Why was the Flame avoiding bringing ruin to the Realm? Was it his value? Perhaps, but that seemed like too much of a basic answer for the cunning Flame.

He continued mulling over the Flame\'s words, his sword flashing with bloodthirsty fidelity. Kieran extended his free hand when his weapon was in transit, unleashing a puissant blood beam. The destruction wrought by the blood beam was more dreadful than he could previously muster.

That change emerged from the synergy between Aspect and Realm, nearly doubling the power Kieran could bring to bear. It was all super strange, though. In all this, he still could not place the energy he was operating on. It wasn\'t Mana; the Land of Ruin had none of that. 

Yet he could still unleash devastating attacks.

Was he operating purely on the strength of his vitality then? 

It seemed possible, but equally far-fetched. Then again, it wasn\'t… wrong. Kieran had skills that depleted his Stamina but did not spend a drop of Mana. But he also had skills that exhausted both resources.

\'Hmm… now that I think about it. This body has never once come in contact with Mana. And because of that, I can\'t use any skills that require Mana.\'

Primitive explosions of blood and physical attacks were all Kieran had at his disposal. 

However, did that need to remain a concrete limit? No, it didn\'t. He could confide in someone else for that power.

Withdrawing from the battle with a powerful bound, Kieran searched for the Sacred Inheritor before finding her near a small woman dressed in priestess robes.

From her attire, Kieran assumed she was an oracle of sorts, further solidified by the corona of light atop her head crested by an eye insignia.

\'I need them.\'

Kieran cut across the battlefield, coming to an abrupt stop before the scandalous woman.

"What in the motherfucking hell?!"

Holding her gown down with her hands, the Sacred Inheritor screamed at the gale winds Kieran\'s movement created. Staring at the hulking Fiend looming over gave her a fright, but the Sacred Inheritor sighed in relief when he felt Kieran\'s message come through.

But she also grimaced. 

"You\'re… you\'re going to have to wait if you want that to happen. She\'s struggling to connect to the Heart of the World and draw in its Pure Mana."

Kieran looked at the oracle with a corona of worldly power surrounding her. He could sense her intent flowing downward, exacerbated by the mudra she used to focus it all and pierce downward.

Again, Kieran found himself fascinated by the abilities each Myth held. However, he was equally frustrated. 

The battlefield not too far away was growing gruesome, but at least he found some reprieve when noting the other Inheritors banded together to unleash hell upon the dark forces spilling out of the Ruined Bastion.

Stepping back and watching the Inheritors gave him insight into their abilities. Daedric, for example, had become a frightening titan. A literal one.

The Colossal Inheritor had come to represent the meaning of his title. Though not unfathomably large, he had become the most prominent presence on the battlefield, silver and enormous, radiating an argent and almost formless bulwark.

His aegis could spread as wide as his presence could be felt. But that coverage came at the expense of solidity. It gave Kieran pause to see Daedric mount a defense against a threat, but it wasn\'t entirely selfless.

Kieran noticed Daedric look toward him, a smug expression worn. It caused his sterling features to crinkle with insufferable gloating.

\'This guy! He thinks he has me bested because he\'s mounting a defense. But all he can do is defend. The bitch is a shield and nothing else. Whereas…\'

Kieran\'s gaze shifted to the archer, releasing a cloudburst of absurd amounts of strange arrows, a fighter with arms of lightning behind him, enhancing his every thunderous attack, and a shadowy figure moving with deadly lethality.

Compared to them… Daedric was a bonafide babysitter, and that enthused Kieran, leading to his eerie smile that the Cardinal had judged harshly.

He wasn\'t wrong in his opinion, however. A Fiend should never smile, for it was disturbing.

Ignoring the archer with bizarre symbols crawling over his face and arms, the lightning asura rampaging across the battlefield, and the silver tonnage blocking countless bombardments, Kieran moved over to the Followers of War.

They had fought much longer than the rest and were growing weary.

Draegerys lacked his earlier vigor but still attacked as if on a bloody warpath.

Aerys\' blood spears had reduced in size and number, a sign of a waning Mana Pool, but he kept on with his magic, feebly raising his arm and stave. 

Rhaenys was riddled with wounds, but her scimitars continued to reave lives and move blood, welcoming death. 

There was majesty in how the events on the battlefield unfolded. And that grandeur seared itself into Kieran\'s mind, inspiring him. Kieran was a student of blood, death, and destruction… and everyone on this battlefield was his teacher.

But that\'s when he realized.

Those teachers were fast approaching their end, and of them all… Adeia was missing.

And her disappearance alarmed Kieran.

Had she died? No, Kieran knew she hadn\'t. His eyes and identity as the Child of Resentment allowed him to sense the former owner of each resentment. Hers was not there, meaning she still lived.

Another distressing development was the Flame\'s silence. At some point, it had stopped wasting its breath, but he could feel its rancor. 

A voice whispered into his mind, perhaps Heartsbane or someone else, but it urged him to return to the Darkness Below to stop what was about to happen.

A bad feeling took hold in the pit of Kieran\'s belly.