Zenith Online: Rebirth of the Strongest Player

Heart rent by Heartsbane, life bled from Kieran in an unending torrent as he lay on his side.

Despite the efflux of vitality, Kieran's eyes remained firm, and his fist clenched. This was all a foolhardy move on his part, seeming more moronic than anything else, but it was a daft stunt pulled with a possibly valuable payoff.

But everything banked on the resistance and adhesion of his blood.

An average person would be killed the moment their heart was eviscerated by an unfathomable blade or simply had a gaping wound in their solar plexus, but Kieran was far from an average person and had not died immediately.

His blood, carrying the properties of his obsession to defy, refused to pour out of him in the stream that it should. But that was a challenging endeavor. His blood sought to remain one, and a strange power sought to break that bond in equal measure, creating a constantly shifting impasse that left Kieran in a world of pain.

Kieran wasn't too keen on Heartsbane's enchantments, but he knew those sigils inspired a heartrending power. It was the bane of all those that dealt in blood, seeking to consume it. 

It felt like a cursed weapon more than anything else.

It reminded him of Blood Mania's Bloodletting ability… if it were enhanced to lunacy and attained a diabolical effect that not even the wielder could curtail. At least… not without first having the means to subdue the blade.

In that way, Heartsbane was similar to the Compendium. Unless it wished to be tamed or it felt it had been conquered by an overwhelming owner, it would remain ownerless. 

Simply put… Heartsbane was no mere weapon — it was a Relic! Which tracked in Kieran's opinion. Relics were created through exceptional circumstances and demanded an exorbitant price, which Kieran reckoned whatever Cardinal Weiss had sacrificed and imbued into the blade footed the bill.

The price of a Relic's creation was paid.

Now, it boiled down to whether he could hold on until the Flame cooked up whatever diabolical solution it would concoct or perish trying. 

Of course, Kieran expected a specific outcome and prayed it came true.

Dealing with the pain, Kieran's gaze shifted from the Flame that tarried above him to Altair, who walked amidst the Night outside the purview of the Flame. At least, he believed it to exist outside the jurisdiction the Flame had command over.

Altair's knowledge of the infernal apparition flickering above Kieran was… well, he had no knowledge of it. All he could do now was put faith in his leader's inane plan.

"You silly child. Look at your condition. And this blade here… I feel we should destroy it. Or, at least, cast it away somewhere out of reach. That'll be our first order of business once I get you nice and stitched up."

Kieran glanced at Heartsbane briefly, wondering why the Flame was shaken by its presence. It was certainly a dangerous weapon… provided it ended up in the right hands, but it didn't like a weapon capable of killing a God.

Or… did it actually have that capability?

Kieran pondered on the question before shaking his head. 

It seemed too absurd to have a weapon made of what he assumed was a mortal metal, found among lands far below the station the Gods had walked, to be capable of smiting one. 

The sigils on the blade, however, perhaps it was those primitive symbols that gave the Flame pause.

'Right, the Flame had always been averse to… theurgy as it called it. I believe that has something to do with mysticism. The power of words… that's a real thing. They bind!'

It wasn't any surprise the Flame feared being bound.

'No, maybe not fear. I haven't sensed fear from it ever. It's aversion… hatred and loathing.'

As Kieran lay in a slowly growing pool of his ichor, he felt a prickling sensation spread throughout. A reaction akin to emergency safety protocol occurred. He could feel precisely what was happening, and it was a product of pure grit.

His Body, falsely elevated to a level where a ruined cardiovascular system was not the end all be all, clung to a smidgen of vitality held in place by Significance.

While this change transpired, the Flame seemed puzzled, its hollow features contorting with infuriated bewilderment.

"This abominable blade! It's an absolute pest, eating most of what I'm supplying to heal my child."

Hearing the Flame's complaints, Kieran grew giddy, but his expression did not betray his emotions, remaining rigid with neutrality. Aside from the occasionally pain-spurred wince, he seemed awfully statuesque.

Though his face did not betray much, a glimpse into his Realm revealed a war zone. The darkened parts were illuminated with specks of spreading luminance, symbolizing the loss of the Flame's purchase herein. 

A loss of authority played into Kieran's desire. The more it lost, the less influence it could impose. 

Not entirely as bright as Kieran expected it to be considering the initial condition he found his Realm in, but it was a step in the right direction nonetheless. The specks expanded rapidly as Kieran listened to the Flame spew profanities, endlessly cursing the blade for its cleverly engineered use of sigils. 

Condemnation, which could usually defile all, could not corrupt Heartsbane. 

From that aspect, Kieran remembered something noteworthy about Cardinal Weiss. There was a part of the Cardinal that persisted despite all it endured, remaining intractable with an unyielding presence.

It was buried but could be unearthed for transient bursts. Well, it no longer was ephemeral, gaining permanence through sacrifice. 

During that sacrifice, though, it had gained a hunger likely derived from the Cardinal's fanatic drive to create something matchless. The hunger felt equally insatiable as it did hateful. 

It wasn't a hunger that sought destruction… but salvation.

As the Realm regained much of its muted luster, Kieran felt the internal struggle shift dramatically. Unhampered by Heartsbane's effect, his blood surged with impunity, converging on his damaged heart.

The eviscerated parts were woven back together, the stitches fabricated from the Flame's power until Kieran felt flush with power. A subtle tinge of pain flared occasionally, but not enough to hinder his movement or give him substantial pause.

Rising to his feet and steadying himself, Kieran grabbed Heartsbane and gave it a pointed gaze.

Sounding winded and enfeebled, the Flame shrieked into Kieran's ear. 

"Cast that foul weapon to the dark! It has no place here."

However, Kieran naturally refused, giving the Flame a crooked smile.

"No, thanks. I think I'll keep it. It's a nice weapon."

Suddenly, Kieran darted away from the Door, running with abandon. His frantic bolt down the coarse pathway seemed desperate, and Altair, not too far away, picked up on everything.

Darkness contorted paces ahead of Kieran, corrugated by Altair's touch. It became a smooth curtain that allowed one to transition from materiality to immateriality. However, the caveat of this ability was that it required physical contact with the Traveler of the Night.

Kieran reached out at the last moment and grabbed Altair's hand, accepting his pull into the Night. Though the Flame was inescapable, bound to Kieran through their connection, he needed to leave this place.

The Father of Resentment could source too much power from the embossed monoliths inside the Darkness Below.

A rumbling roar, closer to an indignant howl, shook Kieran's Realm and the Night. "…My defiant child!

Altair didn't look back, feeling the anger permeate the Night. 

"We should get a move on! That thing is likely frothing at the mouth."