Chapter 12: The Tenth Academy
1237 Words
Lucien Vance didn't know the exact range of Yasta's combat scanner, but it likely covered several miles. He followed the Combat Rating indicator, moving farther from the tollgate.
With the Necro-Lord gone, the frenzied Horde gradually calmed, reverting to aimless wandering. Silas Third and the others slumped in relief.
A stinking ditch snaked into the distance. Green eyes occasionally glowed in the dark undergrowth before vanishing. Lucien strode through the tall grass, checking his scanner. The target pulsed here. If this Necro-Lord survived, Crimson Fortress forces using this route would face catastrophe. An intelligent undead commander could doom the stronghold itself.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch…
The gristly snap of chewing scraped Lucien's ears. Peering into the ditch, he spotted a dull red glow. Moonlight pierced the clouds, illuminating crimson flashes and twin pairs of scarlet eyes.
Lucien’s breath hitched. Pyro-Crystals? It’s consuming Pyro-Crystals?
ROAR!
The long-haired horror lunged, claws slashing downward. Its arms radiated hellish heat, glowing like forged iron. Lucien twisted aside. Grass shredded where it struck, filling the air with acrid smoke.
Pyro-Crystals tumbled from the creature’s body. They ignited the dry brush, flames leaping up to bathe the field in wavering light.
Lucien blurred into motion with Shadow Step. He wrenched the iron staff free from the creature’s back and plunged it into the base of its skull.
The Necro-Lord froze. Twitched. Collapsed. Dark red fire bloomed within its flesh, devouring it from the inside out.
Lucien stared, stunned. The damned thing gained elemental affinity by eating crystals? Humans pray for such gifts—one in ten thousand ever awaken them. Yet this abomination just… feasts its way to power? A cold doubt coiled in his gut. Who’s the true apex predator here?
The creature crumbled to ash. Flames dwindled around it.
Lucien approached the ditch. Beneath where the Necro-Lord fed, a crevice gaped. He shone his beam inside. Crimson reflections danced in the gloom. "A Flare Crystal vein?" he breathed. Shock gave way to fierce triumph. Energy crystals fetched fortunes across the cosmos—pure Stellar Energy or elemental variants like Pyro-Crystal. This vein, however small, was a treasure vault.
Chasing a Necro-Lord had yielded an empire’s ransom.
He pocketed several crystals, then sealed the crevice and camouflaged it with ruthless precision. Another asset secured. Another seed planted for the wars to come.
As he turned, a smudge of crimson caught his eye near his boot. Brushing dirt aside, he uncovered a vertical eye carved from some unearthly material. It burned cold against his palm. He flipped it over.
A leering death’s-head stared back, empty sockets seeming to track his movements.
Ice shot down Lucien’s spine. Instinct screamed DESTROY IT. Instead, he thrust the artifact into his Void Ring.
Only then did he draw breath. What nightmare is this? Not of Earth—that much is certain. But who brought it here? The thing’s mere presence scraped at his nerves like a blade on bone. He’d unearthed something ancient. Something hungry.
He raced back to the tollgate.
The Horde had largely retreated, stragglers shuffling into the night. Within the hour, only the dead remained.
Corpses piled outside the gate, a feast for swarming Mutant Rats. The stench made even the hardiest soldiers blanch.
“Lucien! Where were you?” Rowena Vance snapped, her eyes sharp with accusation.
“Tracking the Necro-Lord that led the Horde,” Lucien replied flatly.
Her face paled. “You’re certain?”
“Report it to Judicator Shaw. Immediately,” Lucien commanded. “These intelligent undead change everything. They’re not just mindless hordes anymore. That thing slaughtered fifty soldiers tonight.”
Rowena swallowed hard and turned to transmit the warning.
“Boss. You good?” Silas called out, less concerned for Lucien than for his own precarious position without the man’s protection.
“Handle the cleanup,” Lucien dismissed him. “I’m resting.”
“On it, Boss.”
Nearly a hundred dead. Another grim tally in the Endless War. Yet the survivors moved with numb efficiency, desensitized to the relentless parade of death. Comrades fell. Replacements came. The machine ground on.
Lucien lay on the tollgate roof, fingers brushing his Void Ring. That skull-eye artifact throbbed in his mind. Its material—cold yet alive, alien yet intimately wrong. Not of Earth. Did the students bring this poison here? What kind of student carries such nightmares?
Rowena vaulted onto the roof, her usual vibrancy dulled by exhaustion. She sank down beside him. “Judicator Shaw’s orders: link up with the Northern Front. Priority one. We need to relay this to the Northern Bastion.”
Lucien’s lips thinned. “The Northern Bastion? They already know.”
“Why?” she pressed.
“Crimson Fortress isn’t unique. Where there’s one Necro-Lord, others hunt.”
Rowena hugged her knees, staring into the devouring blackness overhead. The moon vanished behind smoke. “Will Earth ever know peace again?” she whispered, the question dissolving into the dark.
Lucien stayed silent. Night bred ghosts and false intimacy. This weary Rowena was a stranger to her daytime self. But the apocalypse didn’t care about loneliness. Planetary evolution crawled onward. The true Trial hadn’t even begun. He alone knew the storm gathering beyond the stars. Perhaps the Six Paragons sensed it too. But the students… they were the ones who’d decide Earth’s fate.
Yasta. Odin. Small players from second-rate Imperium academies. The real predators—the elites from the top-tier Astral Academies—would wield Combat Techniques that shattered mountains. They were the protagonists in this cosmic drama.
Lucien touched his Void Ring again, the cold metal biting his skin. He turned to Rowena. “Get some rest. I’ll keep watch.”
She nodded, offering a tired smile. “Shame. If you’d offered comfort instead of silence… well. Might’ve been interesting.”
Lucien just shook his head. Not his type. Never would be.
As Rowena slipped away, Lucien pulled out Yasta’s combat scanner. He’d ripped out its tracker long ago but avoided accessing the wider Astral Network until now. Away from Crimson’s prying eyes.
A personal terminal was a digital soul. Yasta’s held his life story: contacts, family records, secrets.
Lucien powered it on. Attempted connection.
NETWORK UNAVAILABLE.
Expected, yet still a letdown.
Registered Trial participants had their terminals monitored. Death triggered instant disconnection. Yasta’s fate was already logged in some Imperium database.
Lucien exhaled, gazing at the starless void above. He wasn’t worried. The Trial operated under the Grand Yu Imperium’s Youth Conclave. No outside interference permitted. Earth might be primitive, but it was Imperium territory now. This was a proving ground—for both students and Terrans.
A brutal, impartial culling. Killing Yasta wouldn’t raise alarms; it might even flag Lucien’s potential. That was partly why he’d done it—to be seen by powers beyond this ruined world.
Students on Earth were isolated. Observation only. No off-world comms. Blood and steel decided who walked away. Death was routine.
Lucien scrolled through Yasta’s terminal. Most data was useless. Then, buried in a system log, he found three saved notifications:
Cadet Yasta: Mission parameters incomplete at 3-month mark will trigger Second Wave deployment. Execute diligently.
Galactic Youth Conclave ruling: Grand Yu Imperium Youth Conclave dissolved. Restructuring pending.
Galactic Youth Conclave ruling: Astralis Decimus Academy relocated to Cerulean Fringe Sector. Fortune favor your endeavors.
Lucien froze. The Imperium’s Youth Conclave—gone? And the Tenth Academy… it was coming here?
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