Bro, I'm not an Undead!

Ashema had spent the better part of a day flying across the skies, behind thick, misshapen pillows cloud. As boring as it quickly became, it was far better than waiting along with the Herald for their Deity to finally surface.

He wasn't quite sure all of what would happen when Lord Boron rose, but he was certain that he wouldn't be able to move as he pleased. Perhaps their Lord's first order of business would be to destroy this world.

That seemed likely.

The Herald of their Lord had for so long preached about the tale of Lord Boron's banishment from the beauty of the surface, from the glow of the sun.

That three of his old friends, pretentious saints all, had thought him malicious, and imprisoned him below the world called Aigas; it all in order to make great names for themselves when they told an alternate tale of the whole ordeal among their own creations.

They would paint themselves as symbols of justice and goodness.

The tale filled every denizen of the Under with rage and hate.

Ashema was different though.

He wasn't particularly inclined to be hostile towards the race that lived on the surface – the humans – as those of his race were.

He had attempted to converse with humans but they were either so feeble they exploded into a bloody mess when he spoke, or they were hostile and wouldn't hear a word of what he intended to say.

He tried to be reasonable, even going as far as to use magical means to break the language barrier, but no.

Sword, sword, sword. Die, die, die. That was all the so-called strong among these humans thought about.

It was pathetic.

Thus, it was with a clear conscious that Ashema had begun tasting the innards of the humans only to find them particularly sweet.

At least there was some good to these humans.

Of course, there were enemies among these humans that gave him a bit of a hard time at some point.

After all, these creatures had strange powers that he had never seen before.

Yet, they were all narrow-minded.

The same was true for the ones that were far below him, sailing on seven ships that were headed towards another land east of where he had spawned.

A little cautious eavesdropping had netted him a bit of useful information about them.

Apparently, these people – quite a lot of them in number – were going to a place called Opungale.

From their tones, it didn't sound like they were going for a picnic. There was a lot of hostile intent in their every movement and word.

Every single one of these humans had a sharp presence quite different from the humans Ashema had seen so far. Worse yet, there were a handful among them that had controlled, heavy pressures that made Ashema believe that in a one on one, in a contest of physical power alone, he would likely lose.

Besides that, these humans had odd powers.

Perhaps they couldn't match his own, but his evaluation of these creatures soared.

These findings of his where why Ashema was tailing these people – as he had been given permission to by the Herald – from a distance. He had almost been caught by an ancient-looking human the last time he wasn't too careful.

He didn't want to alert them just yet.

Despite all these factors, Ashema had hopeful prospects.

He endured the long, slow journey because he had a feeling he was going to witness something truly exciting a day or so from now.

Hopefully, Lord Boron wouldn't rise before then.

Ashema had his fingers crossed.

Not too long after indulging in fantasies about what was to come, the image of an enormous, lively verdant continent peeked from the far distance.

Soon. So, very soon.

***

Twitch. Twitch.

Darwel had a complicated look on her face.

"It's strange to see you still commit after..." Sevill said hesitantly.

"I've already accepted it, Sevill. There's no need to tiptoe around the subject. It is what it is," Darwel shrugged as the two walked down the long corridor leading to the secluded room up ahead. In her hands was a large basket full of clean clothes.

Twitch. Twitch. Twitch.

Sevill looked at the basket the El Sif was carrying from behind her veil.

"Are all these... really necessary, Lady Darwel?" she asked.

Darwel took a glance at the pile.

"That man, Elton, said he might wake up any day now. He burnt his clothes when he... Well, I know a thing or two about how uncomfortable it is to wake up naked."

"Does that apply to him?" Sevill asked, unsure.

"...Maybe. He's had a human body for a while now."

Twitch. Twitch.

['Just Light' affinity has been promoted to C rank]

['Just Light' affinity has been promoted to B rank]

['Just Light' affinity has been promoted to A rank]

Darwel and Sevill smiled both humorously and sullenly.

"You've really held on to the fact that he's a true Luminant, haven't you, Lady Darwel?"

Darwel smiled.

"I have. Erlton said he is still the same person, didn't he? I didn't want to believe it after all he said, but... I suppose my hopes are stronger than my doubts."

[The remnants of Fulgardt within you gush with heavy applause]

[You have inherited the <WILL OF THE CHOSEN>]

[You have inherited the <WILL OF ISOLATION>]

Sevill smiled as the two approached the double doors which were partly hidden by thick, royal blue tree branches.

"I believe he's still the same as well. Perhaps he will be relieved to hear we won't chase him out as an undead. I couldn't imagine how he would have explained to us about his body on his own."

[You have inherited the <WILL OF UNFEELING>]

[You have inherited the <WILL OF ABANDON>]

Darwel laughed in a true ladylike fashion.

"Yeah. Maybe this is our chance to get closer to him and preserve the legacy of our people."

[You have inherited the <WILL OF THE WANDERER>]

[The Insurgent Magnus grows...]

As the two stood before the double doors, the branches sank into the floor. Sevill then pushed the doors open, revealing the depth of the mostly unused dark room.

The fourfold barrier Erlton had set up around the large, broken bed in the centre of the room could be seen vaguely obscuring what was nested within.

However...

Darwel dropped the basket in her hands and Sevill froze.

Behind the layers of potent prison, a human figure stood, his back to them.

He was naked, but that was hardly an object of concern at the moment.

The pulsing energy that blazed from him was monstrous, vast like the sea and sweeping like a desert sandstorm.

It was unseen, yet real.

It staggered even Sevill, who couldn't imagine how... how...

"Festos... Festos, are you... alright?" Darwel asked timidly.

She hadn't known what to say.

She wasn't sure she had wanted to say anything.

This presence was so unlike the one she knew from Festos, that the cheery dialogue she had planned fizzled into... whatever had sprang out of her mouth just now.

Slowly, the figure before the two, behind the barrier – his hair clearly auburn with orange at its ends, though with new hints of pitch black; his clear, ivory skin, and slightly muscular frame – turned.

As he did, a long robe of darkness so solid it fed into the shadows around him appeared over his body, its ends lined with a gorgeous, golden texture and clover pattern that enticed the eyes.

Festos grabbed the opposite ends of it covering the X-shaped tattoo on his chest – the Binds of Fukal – and pulled lightly, straightening them.

Then a cold, greedy and sickening grin appeared on his face, as he spoke:

"Yeah, I'm fine. Very much so."