Silas Grayson and Warren Hale had died.
At least, that's what Silas believed in his final moments—bleeding out as Warren fell beside him, both consumed by pain and failure. Yet, against all logic, here he was. Alive. Whole.
He stood in an impossible void, face-to-face with something beyond comprehension: a floating blue aura.
"Welcome," it had said.
Silas stared blankly at the being, his mind racing to piece together a reality that no longer made sense. He'd heard the stories—about seeing your life flash before your eyes at death's door, about divine beings waiting to guide you to the afterlife. But none of that fit this.
"…Is this heaven? Are you God?" Silas asked, his voice unsteady. His hand instinctively went to his face, fingers massaging his chin in thought.
Fingers.
His heart skipped.
Fingers. Five of them.
The sudden realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. He'd lost three fingers on that hand. He remembered the pain, the blood, the sickening sight of mutilation. Yet here they were, intact, as if nothing had happened.
Silas looked down at his left arm—the one that had been dislocated, useless in battle. He raised it cautiously, testing its motion. It moved freely, without pain, without hesitation. His arm worked.
"What the hell…?" he muttered, flexing his fingers again, unable to believe what he was seeing.
"Something like that," the aura replied, its voice calm but tinged with an air of pride. "I suppose you could call me a god of sorts."
Silas snapped his gaze back to the entity, its glow pulsing gently with each word. "A god of sorts? Right. Sure. Let's just roll with that," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, if you're such a 'god,' then why don't you explain why I'm here—and why I'm not dead?"
The aura's light flickered, almost as if it were amused. "Won't you at least thank me first?" it said, ignoring the question. "I healed your wounds and injuries. You're welcome, by the way."
Silas raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. That doesn't make sense. I definitely died back there, so how the hell am I still breathing? And don't give me some vague 'it's divine intervention' nonsense—what's really going on here?"
"Well…" The aura paused, as if considering its response. "I didn't exactly heal you. Not entirely, anyway."
Silas narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"This place," the aura explained, its tone turning more serious, "is unique. It dispels anything impure. Injuries, illness, afflictions—they're all considered impurities, and they cannot exist here."
Silas blinked, trying to process the explanation. "So, you're telling me this… place just magically healed me? What, like some kind of divine spa?"
"Something like that," the aura admitted, its light pulsing faintly. "You can thank Ayelyn for that. She designed this space to function that way, after all."
Silas frowned. "Ayelyn? Who the hell is Ayelyn?"
The aura didn't respond immediately, its light dimming slightly as if caught in thought. Silas crossed his arms, tapping his fingers against his bicep. This place, this being, this entire situation—it was all too much to process, but one thing was clear: whatever had brought him here was no accident.
"Fine," Silas said at last, his voice tense. "So this place keeps people alive, huh? Great. But if that's the case, then where's Warren?"
"Couldn't tell you," the blue aura said, its light pulsing faintly. "He's safe… I assume. Only Lorian would know the answer to that question."
"Lorian?" Silas repeated, narrowing his eyes. "First Ayelyn, now Lorian? Who the hell are these people?"
The aura made a sound like an amused sigh, if such a thing were possible from a glowing orb of light. "If they wanted to meet you the way I wanted to, they would've done so already. Finders keepers."
Silas blinked. "Finders keepers?"
"Finders. Keepers." The aura's tone practically dripped with smugness.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you some kind of false god or something?" Silas snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Seriously, this is insane. Maybe I really am dead, and you're just here to rub it in."
The aura dimmed slightly, as if offended. "False god? Rude. I brought you here, didn't I? I fixed you. Well, technically, this place fixed you, but still—you're not dead. A little gratitude wouldn't kill you, you know."
"Oh, excuse me for not bowing down to the almighty blue glow that won't give me a straight answer!" Silas shot back. "You're out here saying my friend's probably safe and then tossing around names like Lorian and Ayelyn like I'm supposed to know who they are. How about a little context?"
The aura pulsed, almost like it was rolling its metaphorical eyes. "Look, Lorian handles… other things. If you want answers about your friend, go bother him. Or don't. I don't really care."
"Great. Super helpful," Silas said, crossing his arms. "And Ayelyn? What's her deal? Some goddess of good housekeeping or something?"
"She's not a housekeeper," the aura said, its light flickering indignantly. "She's more of a… manager. Think of her like quality control. You're standing here with all your fingers and no dislocated arm thanks to her rules, by the way. So maybe show some respect."
Silas scoffed as he sat cross-legged on the "ground." Though, calling it a ground felt wrong—there was no texture, no depth, just an endless expanse of white. He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling more overwhelmed with each passing second.
"Enough small talk," the aura said suddenly, its voice cutting through Silas's thoughts. "We should get to the most important thing. The reason I called you here—or, well, forcibly dragged you here."
"Dragged me?" Silas raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure stabbing a Soul Fragment into my leg wasn't part of your invitation process."
"Details, details," the aura replied dismissively. "The point is, you used a Soul Fragment. Two, actually—one for yourself, one for Warren. And when someone does that, I'm obligated to grant them an ability. That's the deal."
Silas's eyes widened. So the elder wasn't lying about Soul Fragments granting powers. That raised even more questions, but he kept quiet, waiting for the aura to continue.
"However…" The aura's tone shifted, almost mockingly apologetic. "You did die right after using it, so technically, I'm supposed to just let you move on to the afterlife. No powers, no second chances. Just poof, lights out."
Silas's stomach twisted. "Oh. Cool. That's… comforting."
"Buuuuut," the aura interjected, its glow brightening mischievously, "I'm feeling extremely generous today. So I've decided to bend the rules and bring you back—with an ability."
Silas blinked, caught between relief and disbelief. "You're serious?"
"Deadly serious," the aura replied, then added, "No pun intended."
"Right." Silas exhaled, leaning back slightly. "So, uh… what kind of ability are we talking about here? Something flashy, I hope. Like creating clones of myself or summoning a giant aura bomb or—wait…" His expression darkened. "If I revive, I'm gonna have to face that blood-manipulating asshole again, aren't I?"
"Precisely," the aura said with an almost gleeful tone.
Silas groaned, running a hand down his face. "Great. Can't wait for my second inevitable demise.. Why would you even give him something so strong."
"Actually, I've got the perfect ability for you," the aura said, ignoring Silas's sarcasm. It began pulsing rhythmically, as if it were growing excited.
The blue aura pulsed with an almost rhythmic energy, the air around Silas growing heavy with an unseen weight. Its voice was calm but carried an unmistakable power, resonating within the expanse of the white void.
"In the presence of Silas Grayson, all things—people, objects, concepts—must face your absolute judgment," the aura began, its words lingering like an incantation. "You hold the authority to choose their destiny. Either they revert to their origin, the purest state from which they began, or they are forced to their apex, the pinnacle of what they can ever achieve. This is the nature of your ability: Temporal Apex."
Silas blinked, trying to process the cryptic explanation. "So… you're saying I can make stuff go backward or forward? Like, I can reverse time or fast-forward it?"
The aura emitted a low hum, as though considering his question. "Not exactly. You don't manipulate time as much as you impose a final truth upon existence. When something faces your judgment, it will be returned to what it was always meant to be—its true self, untainted by time, circumstance, or decay. To its origin, where its potential was limitless, or to its apex, where its potential has been fulfilled."
Silas frowned, his confusion deepening. "Okay, but how do I decide which one it goes to? And what does that even look like?"
"You will understand in time," the aura replied cryptically. "But know this: your ability isn't just about what you choose to do, but what you discern about the world around you. You will see the threads of what something was, and what it can become. Your will decides which thread to pull."
Silas scratched his head, trying to make sense of the vague explanation. "So I just… judge things? That doesn't sound super useful when I'm up against some guy who can stab me with blood."
The aura pulsed again, this time with a faint chuckle. "You'll find it's more useful than you realize. After all, Silas, even your enemies have origins—and even they have a peak. It's up to you to decide where they end."
A chill ran down Silas's spine as he tried to comprehend the full weight of those words. "You mean I could…?"
"You're waking up, Silas," it said softly while interrupting him, its tone almost fatherly now. "Be safe this time around, okay?"
"Wait!" Silas shouted, his voice echoing in the void. "What about Warren? What about—"
Before he could finish, the white void crumbled around him, fading into black. The soothing yet mysterious presence of the blue aura vanished entirely, leaving him alone once more.
.
..
…
Silas groaned as he pushed himself up, his body trembling from the effort. His left arm moved freely, and his right hand flexed—five fingers intact. A shiver ran down his spine. Everything he had experienced earlier wasn't a dream. His gaze fell on the dagger lying nearby, its blade dulled with use but familiar in his grip. He snatched it up, his knuckles white as his thoughts raced.
He turned toward Warren's motionless body. The sight struck him like a hammer to the chest. "That bastard—! Warren really is…" His words faltered, heavy with the weight of loss.
Before he could finish the thought, Warren's eyes shot open, a sharp gasp tearing through the silence.
"Haa—Haa—!" Warren's breathing was jagged and desperate. His trembling hands roamed over his torso, stopping at the tear in his shirt where the elder's sword had pierced him. The wound was gone, but the memory of pain lingered in his wide, tear-filled eyes. He looked at Silas, the tears threatening to fall.
"You're alive! I—I thought you'd be dead… I thought I was dead!" His words spilled out in frantic relief. "But this… red globe of… I don't even know."
Silas's breath caught. He had been through the same. "Ah, so you had something similar?"
Warren nodded, his hand brushing away tears as he struggled to compose himself. "Yeah… it—it talked to me. Gave me something. It called itself—"
"Lorian," Silas cut in, his voice low but certain, a chill spreading through him.
Warren froze, his eyes widening as he looked at Silas in disbelief. "How did you know?"
Silas shook his head, the weight of it all pressing down on him. "I was told you would meet someone of that name." He flexed his fingers again, marveling at their return, before pushing himself fully upright. His legs were shaky, but he forced himself to stand.
Warren did the same, still clutching his torso where the sword had struck. He glanced at Silas for some unspoken reassurance, but Silas didn't meet his gaze.
The sound of shifting rubble pulled both of their attentions forward.
The elder, hunched slightly but still menacing, turned toward them. His bloodied lips curled into a grin, his expression dark with amusement.
"Oh?" he muttered, his voice low and taunting. "How persistent."
Silas tightened his grip on the dagger, his knuckles whitening as the familiar tension of survival overtook his body. Warren, though trembling, clenched his fists.
"Warren, quick! Give me a small rundown of your ability," Silas whispered urgently, eyes darting to the elder as he slowly advanced toward them, blood dripping from his fingertips.
"Uh…" Warren hesitated, glancing back at Silas with a furrowed brow. "It's like when you shake a soda bottle, and it pops? I can bottle up any physical pain and send it back as an attack… Lorian called it Echo Rebound, if I remember correctly."
Silas marveled at the description. It was simple but ingenious. The idea of turning pain into a weapon—it was perfect. A grin tugged at his lips, his mind racing with possibilities. "I have a couple of ideas…" he muttered under his breath, already planning their next move.
Before he could say anything else, the elder, with a twisted grin on his face, flicked his fingers, sending a small but dangerous bullet of blood speeding toward Silas' head. It was faster than Silas could react, but in the instant before it made contact, his instincts took over.
With a swift motion, Silas raised his dagger, deflecting the blood projectile. The moment it collided with the blade, something unexpected happened.
Time seemed to freeze.
The world around him slowed, the blood bullet hanging in the air, its trajectory halted as if caught in a still moment. Silas blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The dagger felt strange in his grip, and when he looked closer, he saw something he hadn't noticed before—two faint threads, attached to the blade.
"…?" He stared in confusion, unsure of what was happening. His gaze shifted to the blood bullet, now frozen in midair, its form flickering between solid and liquid.
A memory surfaced—the blue aura's words echoed in his mind. "In the presence of Silas Grayson… people, things, and concepts must face your absolute judgment. That being rather to return to their origin or reach their peak."
Origin. The word felt right. Simple, yet powerful.
He whispered it softly, almost unconsciously. "Origin."
The moment the word left his lips, time snapped back into motion. The blood bullet began to disintegrate, its hardened shape turning back into liquid and falling to the ground in a small puddle. Silas stood frozen for a moment, his mind racing to understand what had just happened.
That was it. That was Temporal Apex in action.
He had reversed the blood's transformation, returning it to its origin, before it could harm him. The weight of the ability settled in, and Silas realized what it meant. He wasn't just able to stop time or control it; he could force things back to their fundamental state—whether that was the start of their creation or the peak of their potential.
The implications were staggering. And yet, in this moment, it felt like his first real victory against the elder.
Silas didn't take his eyes off the elder. He could feel the weight of his next move hanging in the air, knowing that he had to act quickly. But for the first time in a long while, he felt like he had a chance.
"Oh? What was that just now?" the elder asked, his tone mockingly curious. His eyes flickered with something between intrigue and disdain. He knew he wouldn't get an answer. "It doesn't matter. Die."
Without hesitation, the elder pressed the blade of his sword into his palm and yanked hard, slicing past layers of skin and muscle. The crimson lifeblood that flowed from the wound quickly coated the blade, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent droplets of blood hurtling toward Silas and Warren.
The projectiles were fast—almost too fast to track. But the elder's movements were no longer as sharp as they had been earlier. Each strike seemed slower, more labored. The cracks in his composure were showing.
"I knew it!" Silas shouted, dodging to the side as one of the blood pellets whizzed past his face, slamming into the ground with a force that sent rubble and smoke into the air. "You can use blood outside your body, but you can't put it back in! In other words, if we don't bleed and we keep making you bleed… we'll win!"
Another barrage of blood bullets zipped toward him, sharp as steel and deadly as ever. Silas ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding one that shattered a chunk of the wall behind him. Dust clouded the air as the elder's attacks continued to tear through the environment with terrifying force.
Warren followed Silas' lead, weaving between the onslaught of projectiles. Though his movements were still sluggish from his earlier injuries, the determination in his eyes was clear. For the first time, they had a strategy that might actually work.
But the elder's smirk never faded. If anything, it grew wider. "Oh? You think you've figured me out?" His voice cut through the chaos, cold and sharp. "Then let's see if you can survive long enough to prove it."
The elder's smirk twisted into a snarl as he drove the blade through his own hand, further tearing flesh and muscle to fuel his arsenal. Blood poured freely, shaping into sharp, deadly pellets. The sheer number of projectiles multiplied, a storm of crimson death now flying toward Silas and Warren.
Warren clenched his teeth, his mind racing. If what Lorian had said was true, he could take the pain from the attacks and channel it into something even stronger. But that required him to endure. He inhaled sharply, extending his hand behind him. The blood pellets pelted his palm and arm, each impact like a swarm of stinging wasps. He winced, the pain nearly overwhelming, but it was just enough.
"I can work with this," he muttered under his breath, his fingers trembling but steady.
Meanwhile, Silas had his own approach. His dagger flashed in the air as he sliced toward an incoming blood pellet, the blade meeting it with precision. The moment it made contact, the world froze again. Everything seemed suspended—time itself at a standstill.
Silas stared at the frozen pellet hovering just above his dagger. He had already tested Origin, forcing the blood to revert to its liquid state. But now it was time to explore the other side of his ability.
"Apex," he whispered, his voice low but resolute.
This time, he wasn't attempting to elevate the blood itself, but rather its velocity. His focus sharpened, imagining the projectile accelerating far beyond what it was before. If he was right…
Time resumed, and the blood pellet ricocheted off his dagger, rebounding toward the elder with impossible speed. The elder had no chance to react as the projectile pierced clean through his arm. A sharp thud echoed as the blood splattered behind him, leaving a noticeable hole in his forearm.
Blood dripped freely from the wound, and for the first time, the elder's expression faltered—just slightly. He glanced at the injury, his teeth clenched, then back at Silas with a mixture of fury and disbelief.
Silas allowed himself a small, triumphant smirk. "Losing so much blood already.. I was right! You're being cautious because anymore could be your end."
The elder's face twisted in rage and desperation, a mix of disbelief and fury as Silas and Warren continued to counter his every move. He growled through gritted teeth, refusing to acknowledge the truth. They had outmaneuvered him. They had forced him into a corner.
"Arghh!" the elder bellowed, his voice echoing through the cavern. He pressed on, refusing to yield. Summoning the last reserves of his strength, he gathered the blood around him into a massive, crimson spear. The weapon shimmered and pulsed with raw power, its surface unnervingly organic as if it were alive and thirsting for destruction.
He raised it high above his head, the sharp point aimed directly at Silas. Every muscle in his body trembled with exertion, the toll of blood loss finally catching up to him. Still, he knew this would be his final strike, his only chance to end this.
"I will not lose to the likes of you!" he roared, bringing the spear down with every ounce of his strength.
The cavern was alive with tension, the spear cutting through the air like a crimson comet. Silas braced himself, dagger in hand, ready to counter. But before the elder could finish his attack, a sharp, resonant crack echoed through the cavern.
It was not the sound of the elder's spear piercing its target.
The elder froze mid-motion, his body stiffening. Slowly, he turned his head, the sound still ringing in his ears. Behind him, Warren stood, his fist outstretched. But this was no ordinary strike. Around Warren's fist, the very fabric of existence warped and twisted unnaturally. The cavern seemed to groan under the weight of whatever power he had called forth.
The air shimmered with fractal-like distortions, each one a crack in reality itself. It wasn't just space that bent—it was time, concepts, and something far deeper, far more fundamental. Warren's fist carried not just physical force but the weight of everything he had endured.
The elder's eyes widened, his bravado shattered in an instant. He tried to move, to raise his spear in defense, but his body wouldn't respond. The distortion around Warren's fist was all-consuming, a force of inevitability.
Crack.
Warren's fist collided with the elder's face. The sound wasn't just the crunch of bone but the shattering of something far more significant. The crimson spear dissolved mid-air, splattering harmlessly to the ground. The elder's body crumpled under the sheer impact, his head snapping back as he was launched into the far wall of the cavern.
The force of the blow reverberated throughout the space, causing loose stones and debris to rain down. Dust filled the air as the elder's limp form slumped to the ground.
His once-commanding presence was now reduced to a broken shell, motionless and defeated.