Chapter 35: The Initiate's Blade
The Rift-Veiled Labyrinth sprawled in ragged, cursed majesty to the north of the cathedral's ruins. Black stone spires, once proud sentinels of a forgotten order, now crumbled into jagged teeth jutting from a wasteland stitched with dread. Violet rifts pulsed in the distance like festering wounds torn through the fabric of reality, each breath of theirs exhaling shadow-thread into the sky—those gossamer strands writhed and hissed, humming a terrible rhythm that drummed inside Kael's skull like the chant of a mad god.
He trudged forward, each step measured, deliberate. Behind him, the ash of the Shadow-Vicar drifted in the wind, its once-holy scepter shattered and buried in dust. Kael's cloak hung in tatters, barely clinging to his shoulders, and blood crusted dark across his chest and left arm. The runes etched along his forearms pulsed faintly—exhausted echoes of the Weaver's Dominion he'd unleashed mere minutes before. His body ached; the strain was carved deep in his muscles, but there was no room for respite.
Alone. No team. No backup. Just a dagger in his grip, a flicker of magic still humming in his veins, and the unrelenting will of a hunter who had outlasted ruin.
The Tyrant's whisper slithered through his thoughts, sharper now, coiled and taut with a barely restrained hunger.
"Now…" it hissed.
Kael's eyes narrowed.
Not yet.
The terrain shifted beneath his boots—a warning. The land had always been treacherous, but now it grew meaner, more alive. A great crater yawned ahead, the very ground scorched black by rift-flame. Violet light poured up from its core like molten ether, flooding the sky with an unnatural hue. Rifts spiraled around its rim in tight, unstable curls, the threads weaving faster, hungrily.
Kael approached the edge. There, pulsing with a thrum that seemed to synchronize with his heartbeat, was the third rift-core.
Larger than the one beneath the cathedral. Fiercer. Its glow cast shadows that slithered, bending and twisting of their own volition. As the light touched him, the runes across Kael's body ignited in tandem—dull, then brighter, then pulsing to the same rhythm.
He stared down, breath shallow.
"Halfway," he muttered. His voice was hoarse.
His pack sagged light against his back: waterskin near-empty, dagger still warm with the Vicar's blood, and Lysa's coin. He heard it faintly—clink—as he shifted. That sound steadied him.
"No mercy," he whispered.
The Labyrinth answered. Its malice surged like a wave breaking against stone. Threads fluttered madly around him. Something stirred.
A roar tore through the crater. Not human. Not even remotely. It was the sound of ancient hunger, of things born in shadow and flame and left to fester in rift-deep darkness.
Kael stepped back, heart pounding.
It rose.
The Rift-Beast Alpha.
A towering monstrosity, spawned from the abyssal mouth of the rift. It stood easily thrice Kael's height, its hide a quilt of black muscle and shadow-thread, pulsing with sick violet flame. Claws longer than spears, scythe-like and glowing at the edges. Its maw was a furnace, jagged with rows of obsidian teeth, ash rising with every exhale.
The threads along its spine twitched—thick, dense cords of rift-energy, each one alive.
Its eyes locked onto him.
And then it spoke—not with words, but with the tremble of the ground, with the howl that tore through sky and marrow alike.
"Kael… break…"
The Tyrant's voice braided with the beast's, a cruel harmony.
A test. A gate. A trial.
Kael didn't flinch. He drew his dagger, its rune-line blade flaring with sudden life.
"King of beasts," he growled. His voice was steel. "Stronger than all I've faced… but I am not the same man who entered this hell."
The Alpha responded with a roar that shook the crater's walls. Then it charged.
Rift-Claw Tempest.
A storm of claws, thirty meters wide, carved toward him—a cyclone of violet fire and shadows, slashing with impossible speed.
"Too big—" Kael hissed.
He flickered.
Phantom Thread: Rift Dash!
Threads snapped underfoot, yanking him twenty meters to the left in a heartbeat. Mid-dash, he twisted, lashing out—
Shing!
His dagger sliced clean, a thin streak of shadow-blood trailing in the air.
Flame followed, exploding where he'd stood. A claw grazed his ribs—pain flared hot. He stumbled as he landed, teeth clenched.
"Damn it…"
No time.
Thread Dance: Tempest Cascade!
A dozen glowing strands whipped from his hands in a violent flurry, striking the Alpha's hide. The beast roared as shadow-blood gushed from new rents in its armor-like skin. Still, it barely slowed.
The Alpha reared back.
Shadow-Thread Maelstrom.
From its spine, a spiral of thick, violet threads exploded outward, twenty-five meters across, a whirlwind of death. The air howled. Stone cracked and lifted like paper in a storm.
Kael braced.
Thread Wall: Reflecting Tempest!
A circular barrier of weaving threads and runes flared to life, spinning rapidly. Half the Maelstrom hit it—light flared as threads collided—some snapped, some held. Shards of disrupted energy ricocheted back.
The Alpha staggered—some shards pierced its flank, threads unraveling.
"Back off, monster!" Kael shouted.
But tendrils slammed into his chest before he could recover, hurling him back. Blood soaked through his cloak. He landed hard, coughing.
"Too fierce…"
No time to rest.
The Alpha lunged again.
Rift-Ash Inferno!
A blast of shadow-ash and flame, twenty meters wide, surged toward him—hotter than anything the Vicar had cast, the heat alone blistering skin.
"Cut it!"
Kael clenched his fist.
Rune Reset: Blink Strike!
Time snapped—five seconds rewound.
He was back. Safe.
Then—
Rift Dash!
Twenty meters forward. Behind the beast now. His dagger flashed, slicing deep across its rear leg.
"Need more!" he muttered, breath ragged. The Inferno roared behind, the stone where he'd been now glowing red and melting.
No ordinary foe. A Gifted-tier apex. Almost Initiate. A tyrant among riftspawn.
Break it. Or die.
Kael drew deep.
Nightmare Weave: Soul Shatter!
Violet mist erupted in a wide circle, twenty meters across, trapping the Alpha in a dreamscape born of fear and memory. Images flared—Moonfall's destruction, Ashka's final cry, the Tyrant's claws raking flesh.
The Alpha staggered, its will faltering. Kael could feel it—its rage flickering, confusion setting in.
"Feel it, beast!" he snarled.
He surged forward.
Thread Dance: Razor Weave!
Glowing strands carved into its side, each a line of slicing pain. Shadow burst from the gashes like black geysers.
The Alpha thrashed wildly.
Shadow-Thread Maelstrom! Again. Stronger.
"Too strong!"
Kael flickered—
Rift Dash!
He dashed through the tendrils, his dagger a blur. Threads slashed its upper arm, blood trailing.
A tendril clipped his leg—he dropped to one knee, blood dripping.
"Damn it!"
He roared.
Rune Pulse: Weaver's Dominion!
His runes flared blindingly bright, threads tripling in speed and force for sixty seconds. A window.
Tempest Cascade!
The storm of threads struck the Alpha's chest in rapid waves, fraying its hide, slicing deeper.
"Hold it…"
Kael launched himself into the air—
Thread Step: Sky Fang!
Threads burst beneath his boots, catapulting him skyward. From above—
Razor Weave!
He came down like judgment, threads carving deep into the Alpha's back. Ash exploded.
It roared.
Rift-Claw Tempest! One last time. Bigger. Wider. Thirty-five meters.
"End it."
Kael closed his eyes, breath steadying. His runes peaked, violet light bursting from every line etched in his skin.
Thread Ascension: Loom's Requiem!
A forty-meter whirlwind of pure light-blades erupted from him—threads and runes merging in perfect harmony. The light collided with the Tempest, with the Alpha's hide, with the rift-core behind it.
A radiant explosion tore through the crater.
Shadow shattered. Threads unraveled. The beast's bellow was the cry of a god dying.
Then—silence.
The rift-core collapsed. Threads fell like dying stars. The crater trembled as the Labyrinth recoiled.
Kael collapsed to one knee, chest heaving, his runes fading. Blood pooled beneath him—his leg torn, chest bruised, ribs cracked. Loom's Requiem had left him on the edge of ruin.
But the beast was dead.
"Strongest…" he rasped. He forced himself to his feet, dagger sliding back into its sheath. Ash settled like snow.
The Alpha's power had dwarfed the Vicar's. Rift-flame denser. Threads more complex. A monster born for war.
Gifted-tier peak. Initiate-tier shadow. And now… mine.
He could feel it—the residual energy, soaking into his runes. His core thrummed with it. Stronger.
The Labyrinth pulsed. Northward. More rifts stirred.
Three down… he thought, eyes on the horizon.
His runes flared once more.
Loom's Requiem echoed.
They were waiting.
The Tyrant whispered again, no longer faint.
"Now."
Kael nodded.
"Stronger still."
No team. No glory. No songs sung.
Just a weaver forged in shadow and flame, reborn anew, walking forward.
Into the storm.
Initiate-strong.