Wither asked for all the information everyone had gathered. Hatred explained the outburst of rage that Phineas had gone through. The soul collection had been explained as well.
"Recent information suggests that Jeremy is royalty," Wither explained, "and his opposing group is trying to create a nation created off of retired souls."
Sarah explained that they would have to insert the souls into weapons in order to combat against the group. She also explained the consequences of forging different souls together.
"Forging souls can send the wielder into madness or death." Sarah explained.
The large amount of the group was disinterested.
In the dimly lit room, a profound disinterest hung heavy among the members of the group. "Hell is simple to leave and it's a risk that needs to be taken," Wither said, his voice serious and commanding. "Do we have vessels?"
Marlon, with a grave expression, placed a mysterious card on the table, silently acknowledging the weight of their actions. Wither's gaze shifted, and he inquired, "Where is the other vessel?"
Vincent, his eyes filled with determination, revealed his intentions. He placed a finely crafted figurine of a crocodile on the table, a symbol of the power he sought to harness. Despite this show of conviction, hesitance still lingered among some members of the group, for they understood the potential catastrophic consequences of tampering with souls.
"With the book of 3rd John in their hands of the Ace of Spades," Wither began, his tone contemplative, "a soul as substantial as that could bestow unimaginable power upon a formidable army." The gravity of their actions weighed heavily on their minds, leaving them all to ponder the profound implications of their choices in a world where morality and power intertwined in a complex dance of consequences.
"The point is that we have to do this regardless of the consequences." Marlon spoke.
Sarah began the ritual, place her hands above the objects. In a whirlwind of madness and confusion, the ancient oak tree quivered under an unseen force, its branches trembling as if in protest. The table beneath was not spared from the tumult, its sturdy legs shaking uncontrollably. Her hands, adorned with eerie tattoos, clutched the Time Gears tightly, their pure strength pulsating through her very being. As the power coursed through her, her finger inadvertently grazed against a sharp edge, causing blood to trickle and merge with the mysterious energy.
Amidst this chaotic spectacle, her eyes gleamed with both bewilderment and excitement, as if a secret knowledge was unlocked within her. A guttural shriek escaped her lips, echoing in the air, as she struggled to maintain her grip on reality. Her head twisted and shook, as if trying to shake off some unseen burden, while she pushed with all her might into those two objects.
The table, unable to withstand the unbridled force of the Soul Transfusion, finally yielded a loud snap, splintering into pieces. The room seemed to vibrate with the intensity of the moment, as if the very fabric of reality had been disturbed. On its completion she passed out.
In that enigmatic culmination, the Soul Transfusion was complete, leaving an aura of mystery and wonder lingering in the air, a testament to the bewildering power she had unleashed.
"This time we bring the battle to them." Marlon responded.
As they began to leave, Phineas was stopped by Hatred.
Hatred explained that he shouldn't go to the battle.
" I have to see Jeremy, I can't let him think he's better than me," Phineas said.
Phineas tried to walk past Hatred but he continued to fail to leave.
(The group traveled to Yuirity , the planet for Watchlords, using the Ghost Trains.)
"You know why you kept losing?" Hatred asked, "You are too emotional and erratic."
Hatred explained that the others have been developing experience and focus, and he noticed that David and Jeremy have continued to make progress. Whilst he remained stuck in his anger making no progress. Phineas stop trying to leave the lair.
" The only way to get you calm and composed is by doing underground fights." Hatred explained, " We need to place under pressure and moments of death."
In the mysterious realm of the Underground Continent, Hatred's teleportation had transported them to a grim arena, enveloped in the scent of iron and echoes of violence. Amidst the cacophony of cries and wagers, the brutality of the battles unfolded before them – a surreal blend of agony and anticipation.
As Phineas observed, a silent ballet of calculated movements played out in the arena. Fighters operated in the shadows, strategically positioning themselves to deal damage while deflecting incoming assaults. Phineas' insight revealed the secret, as he murmured, "Each strike carries a transfer of URI into the target zone."
Hatred's self-assured grin was met with a chorus of taunts from the crowd as fighters slumped onto the gritty sands. Phineas' revelation prompted him to share another layer of understanding: "Their avoidance of eye contact is a testament to their mastery – their keen focus on each other's tactics is the true art."
Phineas' acute perception unraveled yet another layer: the unspoken connection among the seasoned combatants. Their shared Auri bridged the gap between their eyes, a link allowing them to anticipate every minute motion of their adversaries.
Amid the hushed reverence, the Host's voice boomed, heralding the invincible Macwell Arai the Five-Time Winner – an enigmatic figure whose victories were rooted in the intricacies of perception, tactics, and a mastery of the unseen.
Arai's dark complexion seemed to mirror the complexity of his intentions. As he pivoted to address the gathering, his commanding presence was heightened by his Black heritage, accentuated by his closely cropped hair. His eyes, a blend of exuberant delight and simmering fury, offered a glimpse into the intricate interplay of emotions that fuelled his every action.
"I've wagered on you lasting a full seven rounds," Hatred's voice carried a daring challenge. Phineas' uncertainty lingered in the charged air.
"You don't think I can win?" Phineas' voice quivered with a mix of determination and laughter.
Hatred's explanation cut through the tension like a knife through the darkness. He painted a stark picture of Galaxy's current overwhelming strength, casting shadows over Phineas' chances of winning.
"Introducing his opponent, Phineas Thobert" Host announced, hinting at a silent note of laughter.
Arai began to throw punches from the very beginning he had Phineas on the backfoot, and he was winning. Macwell could read every twitch of a muscle, when Phineas looked to his left, or the slightest drop of sweat. Although Phineas noted that, every time a punch was thrown Galaxy would inhale the air around them. The bruises collected on Phineas provided Macwell and the crowd with laughter.
"Show me what you got, white boy." Macwell laughed.
Phineas pushed forward attacking every time Macwell released a breath. The fight became incredibly even, every punch laced with Uri.
"Muri: One million Floods" shouted Phineas.
Phineas, acting on instinct, creatwd an intricate tale of dread for Macwell, an illusion that unleashed an unrelenting torrent of nightmarish flooding. In this harrowing vision, those closest to Macwell, those he held dearest, became mere specters, their anguished faces distorted by the icy grip of despair, submerged within the suffocating embrace of frigid waters. Each gasp for air became a futile plea for salvation, as the numbing cold gnawed at their very souls, erasing any semblance of warmth and vitality. Macwell himself, trapped in this malevolent mirage, felt the cruel vice of terror tighten around his heart, his limbs rendered immobile by the bone-chilling onslaught. His world became a watery abyss of torment, where the line between reality and nightmare dissolved, leaving him gasping for breath that would never come, consumed by the haunting grip of a frozen oblivion.
Whilst he was in his illusion, Macwell fell on his knees. As Phineas threw his final punch, an unconscious Macwell avoided the blow. The crowd was stunned, even Hatred was stunned. In his confusion, Phineas' punches became more erratic as he became more confused. The punches didn't touch a hair on Arai's head. Macwell through his final punch, bursting a hole in Phineas' chest. Phineas' transformation, from the church, happened again. The look, the hair, and the eyes were exactly the same. Macwell's body couldn't identify a soul within Phineas anymore.
"Phineas, keep calm," Macwell said.
Macwell told Phineas to retain his body. Arai dragged Phineas into his illusion.
"Welcome to my hell, well the one you created," Macwell said.
Inside there was everyone they ever loved.
"Phineas, I've missed out on so much," a man's voice trembled, weighted with the burden of absence.
"Dad?" Phineas' voice wavered, an echo of disbelief resonating through the air.