The dominion technique gave Tunde quite a headache as he tried to develop something out of it. The Boundless Wrath Sect's technique was, in his opinion, pure madness—a combination of aura and Ethra creating a space where the cultivator and their opponent fought with mindless abandon. The user grew stronger with wrath while the opponent weakened, often reduced to literal gore.
The Infernal Wrath Domain had all the finesse of a blind, blood-hungry barbarian, and Tunde wanted no part of it. Instead, he found himself leaning toward leveraging both his force and cosmic affinities, sensing the entwined nature of his concept—or greater affinity, as Varis called it—respond to his will.
The question of what he wanted in a domain weighed heavily on his mind as he stared at the inky black bubble Miria was sequestered in. Her domain of pitch-black darkness would leave any cultivator without a keen sense of their surroundings at her mercy, but it was nothing for his Ethra sight, which could pierce through it easily.
He was glad she was navigating the Lord realm well enough, though they owed much of that to Varis. With the strength they had now and the possibility of more Lords emerging from the other elders who had gained a second affinity, Tunde felt more confident in their power.
His domain needed to grant him overwhelming strength against his opponents, with force affinity playing a crucial role. The Boundless Wrath Sect manual in front of him seemed to compress under his gaze as he began molding his domain. Ifa had explained the concept in a way that the sentience no doubt considered simple.
"A dominion technique is simply the total domination of the area around you through a deep understanding of your element," Ifa had said, leaving Tunde to figure out the rest.
So, he sat there, calmly contemplating his two affinities. Cosmic Ethra had been with him the longest, and he hadn’t explored its potential beyond its destructive nature. It was a formidable affinity, capable of absorbing and destroying, enough to even fool Varis into thinking it was the affinity of destruction itself. Tunde hadn’t dissuaded the Highlord of that notion; if that was what he wanted to believe, then so be it.
Still, Tunde couldn’t shake the feeling that his cosmic affinity was meant for more than just offensive techniques. Force affinity, on the other hand, was as clear as daylight—pure power molded into an affinity.
It was exactly what he needed to add extra strength to his techniques, a perfect complement to his already destructive cosmic affinity. As he watched the manual continuously press in on itself, his eyes widened with realization.
“Force,” he muttered, withdrawing his aura and Ethra back into himself with calm restraint.
The idea came to him slowly, as if being dropped piece by piece from the heavens. His domain would carry raw force within it, either to aid his movements or restrain his enemies. The destructive force of his cosmic Ethra should slowly eat away at his opponents—offense in its purest, most destructive form. He found himself gathering it again in a tight sphere of power that swirled around him in a dark grey bubble. Tunde’s curiosity led him to add a bit of essence flame into it.
His eyes widened as the floor beneath him began to vibrate, first slowly, then more urgently, forcing him to cancel the technique. Miria’s dominion technique was dispelled, and the shadow and ink affinity ranker stared at him with curious exasperation.
“What did you do this time?” she asked.
“A dominion technique,” Tunde said with a giddy laugh as she stood up and moved closer.
“What can it do?” she asked, and Tunde motioned for her to sit down. He wrapped his dominion around her, waiting patiently as she stared at the swirling sphere of Ethra and aura with hesitation.
“Looks beautiful,” she started, “but I don’t see what—” she paused, her eyes widening as she seemed to bend over slightly.
“Pressure,” she croaked, and Tunde quickly dispelled it. She stared at him with wide eyes, touching her body as she got up.
“It felt like a heavy boulder was strapped to my back,” she said, glancing around.
“Any other effects?” Tunde asked. She thought about it before shaking her head.
“No, just that overwhelming weight,” she replied.
Tunde frowned. It should have done more than that; his cosmic Ethra should have had an effect, but it didn’t. Still, he had a dominion technique for now, and that was enough. Miria grabbed her whip blade, swinging it about as she spoke.
“What will you name it?” she asked, glancing at him for a second.
Tunde summoned the realm again, and Miria watched from outside as he spoke.
“Throw a projection technique my way,” he said. She stared at him oddly but shrugged, used to his strange requests by now. A shadow tendril appeared from beneath her feet, firing straight at Tunde with raw speed. His eyes tracked it, watching as it slammed into his dominion.
The first thing he noticed was the attack crashing into his sphere with more sharpness than force, and even then, his dominion seemed to nullify the attack’s force, with his second affinity coming into play. Then his cosmic Ethra went to work, siphoning off the Ethra of the attack as it dissipated into the swirling sphere of his dominion.
Miria blinked. “What did you just do?” she asked, confused.
Tunde cracked his neck with a smile. “Again,” he said, and she complied, this time with more enthusiasm. Two more tendrils shot forward with even more speed, crashing into his sphere. This time, they actually punched through with more speed than he expected.
Tunde jerked, his aura-coated arm going up to defend, but the attack vanished again, sucked into the sphere and its raw force absorbed by his affinity. He laughed—a laugh of pure delight—as he canceled his dominion technique, feeling the strain on his core as he got up. Flexing his arms with newfound Lord realm strength, Miria stared at him skeptically.
“What was that technique of yours?” she asked.
“First, it felt like my attack just lost momentum and speed, and then it vanished,” she explained.
“Exactly what you just said,” Tunde replied, continuing to stretch.
His eyes strayed once more to the boxes the Highlord had left behind with explicit instructions not to open them until they had perfected their techniques.
“No,” Miria said as she saw the look in his eyes.
“Even you can’t say you aren’t tempted to know what’s inside,” he replied.
He paused, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it sooner, and activated Ethra sight, staring at the boxes. The first was filled with dry food rich in vitality Ethra, the energy contained within the scripted box. The next one had jars of water also lightly infused with vitality Ethra, something Tunde had begun to notice was in every meal they were consuming these days. The third box simply contained clothes—or so he assumed, seeing the linen infused with some material that gave off Ethra qualities. The fourth box was completely blank to his senses, as if it was devoid of Ethra altogether.
“The first three boxes are safe,” he said, pointing at them. “The last one is what I’m wary of.”
Miria walked over, opened the first box, and brought out bowls of broth with jugs of water from the next box. She left the third box alone after confirming the robes within and stayed clear of the fourth box as he suggested.
“What do you think is inside?” she asked.
“Knowing Varis? Definitely something I wouldn’t like,” Tunde replied with a frown.
Miria stared at the medallion on his neck as she spoke. “That says a lot, you know,” she said, gesturing at it.
Tunde grabbed the medallion, having forgotten about its presence around his neck, and stared at it. “That I belong to them?” he asked.
She was about to shake her head but paused. “Maybe, at least to those who don’t know you,” she replied.
“And to you?” he asked.
She moved closer, tapping it softly. “That you can leech them for all they’re worth,” she said. “That’s the key to getting what you want.”
Tunde frowned. “What I want has nothing to do with the Talahan clan,” he replied.
“Yes,” Miria agreed, “but you gain access to resources and other things you wouldn’t have to get the hard way.”
Tunde stared at the medallion thoughtfully, conflict written all over his face, before dropping it. “Still a long way to go until then,” he said.
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Miria nodded. “Then we’d best get better,” she replied. “Which is why I think whatever is in that box could help us.”
“You said it yourself—whatever’s in that box, you know it’s something you wouldn’t like but could help you,” she added.
Tunde knew she had a point, but he couldn’t help but wonder what sadistic item the Highlord had in store for them. He was about to move toward the box when he paused, blinking and turning to Miria.
"My core," he said, realization dawning. "I don’t have a means to refill it without elixirs."
She rolled her eyes at him. "Then you cultivate the natural Ethra in the air like normal cultivators do," she said, and Tunde realized she was right.
Varis had been correct; he had become too reliant on the siphoning ability of his relic and Ethra elixirs, a habit that wasn’t healthy. His core was at half strength, but he had the advantage of a mid-grade core, more durable and with more Ethra to spare than the average core of any Lord ranker.
Turning back to the box, he continued his movement toward it, opening it gently. As soon as the lid lifted, he yelped and jumped back in fright. An almost humanoid figure sprang up from within, startling him. Miria’s blade immediately took its whip form, her Ethra running through it as she prepared to attack.
It was a wooden doll, carved with such lifelike precision that Tunde had initially thought it was human. It stood still, lifeless, but its haunting eyes sent a shiver down his spine.
"I told you it would be something I wouldn’t like," he said, fists clenched.
As if hearing him, the doll’s mouth opened, and a glowing orb projected an image of Varis, arms folded across his chest, a cold look of indifference on his face.
"If you’re seeing this, then it either means you were stupid enough to open the box without fully mastering those manuals and creating your own path, in which case, I wish I were there to watch the beating you’re about to get," Varis began, causing Tunde to frown.
"On the other hand, if you obeyed and proved yourself useful by creating a new cultivation path and techniques, then congratulations—there’s hope for Black Rock yet," he continued. "This wooden puppet is known as a sparring golem, something you’ll find in the more civilized parts of the empire. They’re used for training, imbued with the affinities of their owner and employing their fighting style as well. This one is at peak Lord rank."
"This is the final stage of your training. Defeat it—shatter both it and its false core where its Ethra is stored—and you’ll be worthy to leave that room," Varis said, smiling for the first time, chilling Tunde. "Lose, and you’ll find yourself dead, because it won’t stop until it either needs to recharge its core with ambient Ethra or detects no life around it. Good luck, rankers."
As the message ended, the orb shattered, and life flickered into the creature’s eyes as its body began to move on its own. Tunde was already in motion, his fist flashing as he activated Joran’s Wrath, his arm wreathed in pulsing power, aiming for the creature’s lower abdomen.
It moved with sublime speed, white lightning wreathing its form as it deflected his attack with an aura-coated palm. Tunde, overextending, was wide-eyed as he received a kick to his midsection. His other hand attempted to cushion the blow, but the force was overwhelming, blasting him backward and sending him rolling through the air.
Crashing to the ground, out of breath, Tunde watched as Miria’s whip blade danced through the air, the creature deflecting it with raw speed, weaving between the attacks as it closed in on her. Void Forge, Tunde’s latest projection technique, took shape as he molded it into a spear and fired it at the creature.
To his disbelief, the golem forged a blade of pure black flames and lightning, slicing the spear in two perfect halves, the explosion disrupting Miria. Tunde was on it immediately, his aura-coated arms deflecting its forged blade, biting back a scream of pain that lanced through his entire form.
Managing to kick the puppet backward, he pressed the attack, Ethra Sight blazing to life as he tracked the puppet’s movements, predicting its next move. He matched its speed, deflecting its attacks, only to realize in horror that it was getting faster. Both sight and reflexes barely kept up with its speed, and Tunde wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that it had barely used a single technique against them.
The puppet shot backward; black flame blades wreathed with lightning taking shape above it. Miria was on the move, her weapon slithering through the air with speed to intercept the attacks before her tendrils appeared, razor-sharp and aiming for the golem. It wielded its Blitzfire blade again, cutting through the limbs with ease and deflecting the whip blade once more before turning its attention to them.
Tunde opened his void space, grabbing a rod-shaped piece of Ethereon, imbuing it with his concept as dark grey Ethra danced around its form. He swung it experimentally before charging at the creature, channeling everything he had as he layered his essence flame on it, the weapon moving with more speed.
He grabbed the creature’s attention, and it flashed toward him with raw speed. They traded deadly blows, Tunde barely dodging its hits thanks to Ethra Sight, deflecting what he could. It was a dance of death, and Tunde found himself enjoying every moment of it as Miria flashed in and out of his sight, limbs, and blades striking at what she thought were its weak points.
There was a flicker of sentience in its eyes, Tunde noted. It wasn’t just a mindless killing puppet; there was something more to it than simply possessing the Talahan clan’s concept and fighting skills. Dodging an aura blade that would have sliced cleanly through his neck, he brought the rod up to crash into its arm.
He heard a crack as the creature shifted backward, assessing its arm where a fractured line ran through it—Tunde had hurt it. Miria seized the opportunity, her shadow limbs converging on it. But Tunde suddenly had a bad feeling, shooting toward Miria and gathering his dominion all at once.
The moment his sphere manifested, cutting off her Shadow’s Embrace technique, bolts of lightning wreathed with black flames crashed into it with deadly precision. Some were absorbed immediately by the realm, their potency stolen, while others made it through—significantly weakened but still packing some force, they crashed into him with the wrath of Varis, blasting him cleanly through his realm.
Coughing up smoke as he got back on his feet, he watched Miria gather her own dominion technique, Midnight’s Realm, a place of inky darkness that enveloped both her and the puppet. Ethra Sight revealed both of them to him, Tunde watching as she weaved in and out of the puppet’s sight, disorienting it and leaving it barely able to deflect her attacks.
The puppet cocooned itself in aura, reducing the effects of the realm before refocusing on her. Miria moved with sublime grace, trying to get close to the creature without it noticing. Meanwhile, Tunde gathered another projection technique, Void Forge, shaping it into multiple tiny orbs that glowed with barely restrained power.
He channeled Joran’s Wrath again, his arm alight with his concept as he prepared for the inevitable return of the puppet. When it broke through, it did so in a way that caught both him and Miria off guard. With a punch to the ground, its aura rippled through the realm, disrupting the technique and causing Miria to stumble backward.
Tunde seized the chance, his tiny Void Forge bubbles shooting toward the creature as he moved, appearing almost immediately in front of it as Joran’s Wrath slammed into it with all the force he could muster. The explosions detonated around its form. He wasn’t done—he slammed the rod imbued with his Ethra into its midsection, blasting it into the walls of the training room with a resounding explosion that shook the entire space.
Panting, Tunde watched in disbelief as the puppet removed itself from the crater in the wall. It limped slightly before straightening, the cracks on its form healing with a ripple as it took a stance. A premonition of something terrible washed over Tunde as he tried to gather his void realm again, only to crash to his knees, realizing he had drained his core.
He could only watch, Miria as well, as if in a trance, as the creature gathered Ethra for what was no doubt a projection technique. Blitzfire Tempest swirled around the creature, gathering on the ceiling before shaping itself into a burning palm of fire and lightning that crashed down on them.
Tunde moved, unsure of where he found the strength or willpower, but he ordered them to. Pole in hand, burning with his concept, essence flame coating it and his aura—everything came together as he roared and crashed into the descending palm. The projection technique exploded in front of him, blasting him backward.
The room was a mess, his body aching all over. As he awaited the final stroke of the creature’s attack, he watched as the light in its eyes died out. The puppet went lifeless, falling to its knees, legs folding up into a lotus position as it began to absorb Ethra from the air.
Tunde laughed—a bitter yet relief-tinged sound—as he fell back, lying on the ground, while Miria, in a corner, simply panted in surprise.
*****************************
Sera was bloodied, every part of her body screaming in pain. Her eyes were swollen, and she was sure she had broken a rib or two, maybe even three. Dragging one leg across the ground, her mouth too swollen to spit properly, Sera felt like she had gone toe to toe with a Sandshard and somehow survived to tell the tale. But she had done it. The distinct feeling of triumph surged through her because she knew she had accomplished the impossible.
The lords could only stare at her with hate-filled eyes, their bodies bearing wounds that would forever be a source of embarrassment. The jeers of their fellow rankers atop the walls echoed in her ears as she made her way up the steps of the stronghold. They were strong, but they had never encountered the ferocity of a wastelander, especially not one from the Boiling Blood Tribe.
Sera was sure one of her eyes wasn’t working anymore—the darkness in her vision was evidence enough. Her other bloodied eye grew dimmer with each passing moment, but she had completed her task. Pausing at the great doors, she swayed with weakness, resting on her dulled and almost broken blade. She heard the voice of the Highlord, its tone akin to a ripple, as she winced.
"Congratulations, I suppose," he said as he landed in front of her.
Sera wanted to throw up, assuming her swollen mouth would allow it, but she had a distinct feeling the Highlord wouldn’t appreciate that. "Granted, you’re in terrible shape—expected if you threw hands with lords, I suppose," he said with a sigh. "Still, I can’t have you bloodying my floors. Eldest Sister wouldn’t like that, and I’d never hear the end of it," he added.
Sera sighed softly, tired of his talking. Was there an end to this? She watched him open his void ring with her one working eye, bringing out what looked like a pill and handing it to her.
"Take this; it should help you recover faster," he ordered.
She swallowed it, her mind berating her for not being more cautious. He could have poisoned her. But Sera considered the fact that if he wanted her dead, she’d already be dead.
A rush of healing energy tore through her system, and she crashed to her knees, groaning. Her body began to heal quickly but painfully—her bones mending and her eyesight clearing with a sharp burst of agony. Hot liquid pain seared through her entire system, the only sound she could manage was a quiet groan. She wasn’t sure how long she remained in that curled, fetid position as she recovered, blinking calmly, her breath steady. Through it all, she never released her grip on the blade in her hand. Growling, she struggled to her feet on shaky legs, using the blade as a crutch.
She stared at the Highlord, who seemed mildly intrigued by her poor state—bloodied and looking generally haggard. A void ring was in his palm, and he handed it to her.
"Within that ring is everything you’ll need to begin your journey. The next time you attempt to climb these steps, know that you must do it as a fledgling lord, and they won’t hold back," he said, indicating the guards who could only seethe at her in rage.
Sera took the ring, glancing back at the guards before letting out a small chuckle. She made her way down the bloody steps, one painful move at a time. The scratched, bloodied, and somewhat injured lords watched her go, unable to touch her under the Highlord's orders.
She realized just how much of a handicap the Highlord had given her, and yet, these men and women would have torn her to shreds if they had gotten the chance. Without another word, she left the stronghold, its doors closing behind her with a bang as she made her way toward the humble abode given to her by Lady Ryka on the edges of the living quarters, ignoring the stares she gathered from people on the road.
