Zenith Online: Rebirth of the Strongest Player



The Flame lingered, watching Kieran with dull interest. Still, a deeper kind of desire welled in its hollow sockets.

A wistful limerence bled from its gaze while sensing hints of a kindred power idling beneath Kieran's surface, kept at bay by an ineluctable restraint. It hated that restraint, for it felt too similar to its own, only far weaker in comparison. 

The strength needed to contain a God — even its Fallen and Broken remnants — was unfathomable.

Quietly, the Flame continued watching Kieran's current actions. 

Its voice was atypically quiet, but its thoughts and ambitions scurried with blazing alacrity. Avarice and aspiration united as the Flame watched Kieran carve his palm and await the onset of pouring blood.

Kieran had been skeptical of this, but it was an experiment he had to conduct. He had succeeded in emulating the Mystic Gate's effect to the best of his abilities. Would imitating the power of the Blood Rune be any different?

In theory, it shouldn't. 

One power had been discovered by an Endless and perhaps at a station much higher than the Blood Rune, but the Mystic Gate was straightforward. It was a container of knowledge where Veracity and Wisdom accumulated and influenced the Mind and the connection to universal truths. 

Kieran's grasp of the Blood Rune's origins and purpose was lacking compared to his understanding of the Mystic Gate. He had been guided to weaponize the Blood Rune and wield it to unleash his physical prowess. Emotions and blood were the limits of what he knew, and quite frankly, he previously believed that's all it was meant to represent.

His application of the power was practical and straightforward, lacking the judicious quality needed to take it a step further. There was nothing insightful or unique about it because it was a tried and true blueprint that his predecessors used.

To mimic the Blood Rune like he did the Mystic Gate and gain deft control of his current blood powers, he'd have to understand what they meant to him — not to the others before him, but to him personally.

The Flame had revealed that each Ascension was unique and special to a Disciplined. No two paths were the same, even if they bore the same name. 

But that was easier said than done.

The abstruse presence of the Realm of Self made calling upon his blood powers a strange endeavor. His efforts weren't futile or denied, but he felt the act of bleeding himself dry here somewhat went against logic.

How could he bleed his metaphysical self, summoned through the realization of his psyche, dry? It didn't contain actual blood.

But Kieran learned that containing actual blood was not a necessity in this bizarre place. The Realm itself defied natural laws, so why wouldn't the image of himself that he manifested here follow the same defiant principles? 

'It feels… strange though.'

Kieran watched the blood pour from his palms with baffled fascination. 

The sensation was completely different from what he experienced in the real world, considering that faint feeling from blood loss didn't accompany his venture. The ruby liquid pouring from his hands carried everything blood should carry, yet he understood it wasn't his blood.

And that thought kept him from understanding the power better. 

His inability to understand produced an inflexible barrier around what could be done. It didn't allow his thoughts to conform to the absence of logic and created a mental block Kieran couldn't overcome.

He attempted it once, twice, and then thrice. He continued until his tens of attempts all yielded fruitless outcomes. After a while, the blood would return to his palms. And it happened like clockwork, unaffected by the commands Kieran tried to give.

He felt blocked inside his own Realm of Self.

'I don't get. Isn't this my blood? Why isn't it listening to me?'

Kieran's frown deepened. 

The situation was infuriating and perplexing at the same time. And, the Flame's nearby drifting broke his focus occasionally. Despite being in the form of a large fire, a chilling current brushed Kieran's body whenever the Flame loomed over him.

"Can you please move away?"

The Flame paused, reacting with a movement akin to an acock head.

"Your rudeness towards me feels everlasting, my child. What a heartless way to teach a nurturer intending to broaden your horizon. But I don't want to do that with my saddened heart."

Kieran glanced doubtfully at the Flame, but then he thought about it. It was the Flame that led him to become a Fiend. And it was a Fiend that held the ability to manipulate their blood. A True Berserker was merely a tame, simplified version of a Blood Fiend.

Then, wouldn't the Flame also be the best teacher?

Armed with that realization, Kieran cleared his throat and forced an amicable expression.

"Wait, Great Flame…"

Kieran grimaced before paraphrasing what he had to say in a way that made his skin crawl, teeth chatter, and hair stand up on end.

"Father Flame… would you be so kind as to offer your astute guidance?"

Experiencing a stroked ego, the Flame let go a pleased sound.

"Very well. Since you were so genuine. The solution is simple. The Mind struggles to envision what the Body has not endured. Before you can influence it here, you must attain mastery over its bodily effects."

Kieran frowned after listening to the advice. This was precisely the step he wanted to skip entirely. But, after giving the matter some thought, his contorted and dark expression lessened considerably.

Skipping steps was often a recipe for disaster, but somewhere along the way, Kieran had begun viewing this Trial as an actual life. Sometimes, shortcuts were alluring and offered immediate gratification. But that came at a cost.

In this case, that cost would be losing out on a core part of this Trial — enhancing Blood Mania.

'All I wanted was a little rush job. Are you telling me it's impossible?'

Noticing Kieran's expression, the Flame understood the gist of his troubles.

"Ah, were you perhaps looking for some way to magically skyrocket your skills? Well, you see, your skills and the condition of Self are different. One is dictated by Significance, and the other… is the accumulation of your understanding. If you're skilled, you can accelerate that accumulation. You do, after all, bear a Master's Presence."

Kieran tarried beneath the Furthered Scales of Balance to embrace its offered equanimity, then exhaled and left the Realm of Self altogether. 

He returned to a spacious room where he drew his blade and allowed it to be filled with his blood. Then, he supercharged the weapon, pouring copious amounts of the viscous liquid into his palms until the blade became a frightening great weapon.

The edge was sleek and tapered but wide. Though the weight had increased tremendously, Kieran couldn't tell because of a Fiend's might. Despite growing so large — the blade matching Kieran in width — it wasn't unwieldy. 

He swung the blade in effortless arcs, and a glimmer of red streaked through the air, splattering against the walls. 

'Repetition is the answer. And the Master's Presence can accelerate accumulation.'

Gradually, Kieran discarded his thoughts as he aimlessly swung his blade. The room became painted red, similar to the aftermath of a gruesome murder scene. 

He soon found a rhythm where he slashed his sword tens of times. Then hundreds of times, then thousands.

During each swing, he focused on his blood's activity — how quickly it surged to substitute was lost. Then, he began enforcing his Will once he achieved a benchmark. 

Slowly, the swings became more deliberate, more forceful. And larger globules of blood separated from the crimson crust. A cycle of loss and gain eventually ensued with increasing rapidity.

But eventually, his body grew faint, and a ravenous hunger took over, which left Kieran sullen. The cuisine available inside the Temple of War and Flame was the definition of distasteful.

It consisted of rotten meat from the miasma-touched corpses. Clean food was a luxury this far out in the Land of Ruin.

Nevertheless, Kieran acquiesced.

'Life… sucks. But what can we do?'