Ascension Was a Lie, So I Destroyed Heaven

Chapter 4 : The Sword that Knows No Master

"You look like you just walked out of a prison cell, Aren," Jaxon said.

Aren stopped at the edge of the training grounds. The dust from the dry earth settled on his boots. He looked at Jaxon, who was standing in the center of the stone ring. Jaxon was tossing a heavy practice sword into the air and catching it by the hilt. He looked relaxed. He looked exactly like the man who had been Aren't best friend for twenty years.

"The Jade Palace felt like a prison today," Aren replied. He walked closer, keeping his voice steady. "The Archon is not in a good mood."

"He never is," Jaxon said. He stopped tossing the sword and leaned on it. "So, did you find the traitor for him? Or did you just tell him what he wanted to hear so you could keep your head?"

"I told him the truth. The anomaly was a fluctuation in the local mana. It was not sabotage," Aren said. He hated how easy the lie came to his lips.

Jaxon laughed. It was a loud, boisterous sound that used to make Aren feel safe. Now, it just made his skin crawl. "You always were good with words, Aren. But you look stiff. You've been spending too much time with those blueprints. Your soul is getting dusty."

"I have a lot of work to do, Jaxon. The Ladder won't build itself," Aren said. He started to turn toward the dormitories.

"Wait," Jaxon called out. He stepped forward, the heavy wooden sword resting on his shoulder. "Don't go yet. We haven't sparred in months. Not since you became the Grand Master of the project."

"I'm tired, Jaxon," Aren said.

"Just ten minutes," Jaxon insisted. He kicked a second practice sword toward Aren. It slid across the stone and stopped at Aren't feet. "For old times. You used to say that a sharp mind needs a sharp body. Or are you afraid that the great Architect can't handle a bit of wood and sweat?"

Aren looked down at the sword. He remembered the weight of Jaxon's real blade in his back. He remembered the coldness of the steel. He felt a surge of white-hot anger, but he pushed it down. He needed this. He needed a reason to get close to Jaxon.

"Fine," Aren said. He picked up the sword. It felt light and clumsy in his hand compared to the weapons he had used in his previous life. "Ten minutes."

"That's the spirit," Jaxon said. He dropped into a low stance. His eyes narrowed, and for a second, the playfulness vanished. "Don't hold back, Aren. I want to see if you've still got that fire in you."

"I won't," Aren promised.

Jaxon moved first. He was fast, much faster than a man of his size should be. He closed the distance in two long strides and swung the wooden blade in a horizontal arc. Aren stepped back, the wind of the strike brushing against his chest.

"Too slow," Jaxon taunted. He followed up with a vertical s***h.

Aren parried. The impact sent a jar of pain up his arm. His physical body was weak. He was thirty years old, but he hadn't focused on combat cultivation in this timeline yet. He was an architect, a master of symbols and energy, not a warrior.

"You're shaking," Jaxon said. He leaned into the clash, his strength pushing Aren back. "What's wrong? Is the pressure of the heavens getting to you?"

"I'm just finding my rhythm," Aren said. He gritted his teeth and pushed back, using a small burst of internal energy to create space.

"Good," Jaxon said. He spun the sword in a circle and lunged.

Aren moved to the side, but Jaxon adjusted mid-flight. The wooden sword caught Aren in the ribs. It wasn't a hard hit, but it took the air out of his lungs. He stumbled back, gasping.

"You're distracted," Jaxon said. He didn't follow up. He just stood there, watching Aren. "Is it Elara? Is she giving you trouble?"

"Elara is fine," Aren said. He wiped a bead of sweat from his eye.

"She worries about you, you know," Jaxon said. He walked in a slow circle around Aren. "She says you've changed. That you look at her like she's a stranger. Or an enemy."

"She's imagining things," Aren said. He raised his sword again.

"Is she?" Jaxon asked. He stopped walking. His expression went flat. "Because I feel it too. You're here, but you're not here. It's like you're looking at a ghost when you look at me."

"Maybe I am," Aren whispered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Aren said. "Come on. Are we fighting or talking?"

Jaxon grinned, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Right. Let's fight."

He came at Aren with a series of rapid strikes. Wood hit wood with a rhythmic cracking sound that echoed off the surrounding buildings. Aren stopped trying to win. He focused on survival. He watched Jaxon's feet, his shoulders, the way his weight shifted. He was looking for the opening he needed.

He had a micro-formation prepared in the palm of his left hand. It was a tiny, invisible script of energy that would latch onto the first piece of metal it touched. It wasn't a weapon. It was a beacon. It would allow Aren to hear what Jaxon heard and see where Jaxon went.

Jaxon swung high. Aren ducked and rolled. He came up behind Jaxon and swung, but Jaxon was already turning. Their swords locked at the hilts.

This was it.

Aren reached out with his left hand, pretending to grab Jaxon's arm for leverage. His palm brushed against the steel guard of Jaxon's practice sword. He felt the tingle of the formation leaving his skin and sinking into the metal.

"Getting desperate?" Jaxon asked. He shoved Aren away with a powerful kick to the stomach.

Aren fell hard onto the stone. The world spun for a second. He felt the copper taste of blood in his mouth. He stayed down, clutching his midsection.

"Aren!" Jaxon dropped his sword and ran over. He looked genuinely concerned. He knelt beside Aren and put a hand on his shoulder. "Dammit, I'm sorry. I forgot you haven't been training. Are you okay?"

Aren looked up at him. Jaxon's face was inches away. He looked like the brother Aren had loved. The guilt in his eyes seemed real. *How can you look at me like this?* Aren thought. *How can you care if I'm hurt now, when you'll be the one to kill me later?*

"I'm fine," Aren said. He pushed Jaxon's hand away. "Just lost my footing."

"You took a hard hit," Jaxon said. He reached out to help Aren up, but stopped. He looked at the sky.

"Jaxon?" Aren asked.

Jaxon didn't answer. His eyes went wide, and his pupils dilated until they were almost entirely black. He tilted his head to the side, as if he were listening to a distant sound.

"Do you hear that?" Jaxon whispered.

Aren felt a chill run down his spine. "Hear what?"

"The humming," Jaxon said. His voice was different. It was hollow, devoid of its usual warmth. "It sounds like singing. Like a thousand voices all hitting the same note at once."

"There's no singing, Jaxon," Aren said. He stood up slowly, watching his friend.

Jaxon didn't seem to hear him. He stayed on his knees, staring up at the clouds. "It's beautiful. It's so loud. Can't you hear it, Aren? They're calling our names."

"Who is calling?" Aren asked. He reached for his sword, his fingers tightening around the wood.

Jaxon blinked. The blackness in his eyes faded, and he looked back at Aren. He looked confused for a moment, then he shook his head and laughed. The sound was forced.

"I... I think I'm the one who's been working too hard," Jaxon said. He stood up and brushed the dust off his pants. "Must be the heat. I thought I heard something."

"What did it sound like?" Aren pressed.

"Nothing. Just the wind through the pillars," Jaxon said. He picked up his sword and checked the hilt. He didn't notice the faint, microscopic glow of Aren't formation. "Anyway, I think that's enough for today. You look like you're about to collapse."

"Jaxon," Aren said.

"Yeah?"

"Be careful," Aren said. "The Archon is looking for traitors. Don't give him a reason to look at you."

Jaxon laughed and slapped Aren on the back. "Don't worry about me, brother. I'm the best sword they have. They wouldn't touch me. You're the one in the spotlight. Just finish that Ladder so we can all get out of this place."

Aren watched him walk away. Jaxon moved with a slight sway, his shoulders relaxed, but Aren noticed how he kept glancing at the sky. He wasn't the same. The infection had already started. The 'Immortals' from the Upper Realm were already whispering in his ear, promising him the world while they prepared to eat his soul.

Aren waited until Jaxon was out of sight before he sat back down on the stone. He closed his eyes and focused on the connection.

He could feel it. A tiny spark of energy, moving away from him. It was Jaxon's sword. He could hear the muffled sound of Jaxon's footsteps. He could hear the clank of the metal against his thigh.

*I'm sorry, Jaxon,* Aren thought. *But I have to know what they're telling you.*

He stayed there for a long time, even as the sun began to set and the shadows of the training pillars grew long and jagged. The air turned cold, but Aren didn't move. He felt a deep, heavy weight in his chest. It was the weight of the future he was trying to break.

He was interrupted by the sound of someone approaching. The footsteps were light and familiar.

"Training late?" Elara asked.

Aren didn't open his eyes. "Jaxon wanted to spar."

"He told me," she said. She sat down beside him. He could smell the faint scent of jasmine on her robes. It was a smell he used to love. Now it just smelled like the tea she had tried to poison him with. "He said you're getting rusty."

"He's right," Aren said. He opened his eyes and looked at her. She was smiling, but her eyes were searching his face.

"Are you okay, Aren?" she asked. She reached out and touched his cheek. Her skin was warm, but it felt like a brand. "You've been so distant lately. It's like you're somewhere else."

"I have a lot of work, Elara," he said, repeating the same lie.

"The Ladder is important, I know," she said. She leaned her head on his shoulder. "But we're important too. We've worked so hard for this. We're almost there. Just a few more years and we'll be together in a place where nothing can hurt us."

Aren looked at her golden hair, shining in the twilight. He felt a sudden, desperate urge to tell her everything. To tell her what he had seen. To tell her that the place she was dreaming of was a slaughterhouse. He wanted to grab her and run away, far from the Archon and the sect and the gods.

But he saw the pendant around her neck. The glowing jade stone that matched the one she had taken from his dying body.

She wasn't a victim. She was a gatekeeper. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"Yes," Aren said, his voice cold. "Together forever."

She pulled back and looked at him. Her smile faltered. "Your voice... it sounds so sad."

"I'm just tired, Elara," he said. He stood up and offered her his hand. "Let's go back. I need to finish the adjustments for the foundation."

She took his hand and stood up. They walked back toward the main temple in silence. The stars were starting to come out, but they didn't look like points of light to Aren. They looked like eyes, watching him from the darkness.

Once they reached their quarters, Elara kissed him on the forehead and went to the kitchen to prepare more tea. Aren went into his study and locked the door.

He sat at his desk and pulled out a small, flat stone. It was a receiver for the formation he had planted on Jaxon. He placed his hand on it and closed his eyes.

At first, there was only static. The sound of wind and distant voices. Then, the connection cleared.

He could hear Jaxon breathing. It was heavy, ragged, as if he were running.

"I'm here," Jaxon's voice whispered through the stone. "I'm listening."

There was a pause. Then, a second voice spoke. It wasn't human. It sounded like the rubbing of dry parchment, or the hissing of steam. It was cold and ancient.

"The harvest is thin, Jaxon," the voice said. "The Architect is slow. The Archon is worried."

"He's working as fast as he can," Jaxon said. He sounded terrified. "The calculations are complex. He says there are issues with the mana flow."

"The flow must be open," the voice hissed. "The hunger is growing. If the Ladder is not ready, we will find another way to feed. And you know what that means for you."

"No," Jaxon said. "Please. I'll talk to him. I'll make sure he finishes it. I'll watch him every second."

"See that you do," the voice said. "And the girl. Elara. Is she still loyal?"

"She is," Jaxon said. "She loves him. She'll do whatever it takes to keep him on the path."

"Good. If he wavers, kill him. We can use his soul to jumpstart the gate. It won't be as efficient as a living battery, but it will be enough for the first wave."

"I understand," Jaxon said.

Aren pulled his hand away from the stone. He was shaking so hard he almost knocked the candle off his desk. He felt a wave of nausea that he couldn't suppress. He leaned over and vomited into a waste bin, his body wracked with tremors.

It was worse than he thought. They weren't just waiting for the Ladder. They were actively pressuring the traitors. Jaxon wasn't just a willing participant; he was a terrified servant. And Elara... Elara was the leash.

He wiped his mouth and sat back in his chair. He looked at the blueprints on his desk. The lines and symbols seemed to blur and shift, turning into the tentacles he had seen at the gate.

He wasn't just building a grave for the gods. He was living in a den of monsters. Every person he had ever loved was either a puppet or a butcher.

He heard a soft knock at the door.

"Aren? The tea is ready," Elara's voice called out.

Aren looked at the door. He looked at the flat stone on his desk. He felt a cold, sharp clarity settle over him. The fear was gone. The nausea was gone. There was only the mission.

"I'll be there in a minute, Elara," he called back. His voice was perfectly calm.

He picked up a pen and began to draw. He didn't follow the blueprints the Archon had given him. He began to sketch a new set of lines, hidden deep within the foundation of the Ladder. It was a sequence of symbols designed to store energy rather than channel it. A massive, world-spanning capacitor.

If they wanted a battery, he would give them one. But he wouldn't be the one they were feeding on. He would be the one who pulled the plug.

He finished the sketch and hid it inside a hollowed-out book. He stood up, straightened his robes, and walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the latch.

He remembered the feeling of Jaxon's sword in his back. He remembered the look on Elara's face as she took his pendant.

"I'm coming, Elara," he whispered to the empty room. "I'm coming for all of you."

He opened the door and walked out into the hallway. Elara was standing there, holding two steaming cups of tea. She smiled at him, her eyes bright and beautiful.

"You look better," she said, handing him a cup. "The rest did you good."

Aren took the cup. He could see the faint blue sparks of the soul-binding spores floating on the surface of the liquid. He raised the cup to his lips, but he didn't drink. He just looked at her over the rim.

"The rest is over, Elara," he said. "The real work is just beginning."

He walked past her and went to the window, looking out over the dark valley below. In the distance, he could see the construction site for the Celestial Ladder. It was covered in torches, hundreds of them, looking like a swarm of fireflies gathered around a giant bone.

He knew that Jaxon was out there somewhere, looking at the same lights, hearing voices that weren't there. He knew that the Archon was in his palace, dreaming of immortality. And he knew that the things in the Upper Realm were watching, waiting for their meal.

He poured the tea into a potted plant when Elara wasn't looking.

"It's going to be a long night," Aren said.

"We have plenty of time," Elara replied, stepping up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "We have all the time in the world."

Aren didn't answer. He just watched the lights at the construction site. He felt the phantom pain in his back flare up again, a sharp, cold reminder of what was coming. He wasn't the man he used to be. He wasn't the architect of their heaven anymore.

He was the architect of their destruction.

The door to the study creaked open behind them. Aren turned to see Kael standing there, his face pale in the dim light. The boy was holding the scroll Aren had given him earlier.

"Master?" Kael whispered. He looked like he had been crying. "I... I tried the technique. The Echo of the Void."

Aren felt a surge of interest. "And? How do you feel, Kael?"

Kael stepped into the room. He raised his hand. His skin was translucent, and the veins beneath looked black, as if they were filled with ink. His fingers were trembling.

"I feel powerful," Kael said. His voice was shaking. "But it hurts, Master. It feels like my bones are turning into glass."

Aren looked at the boy's hand. He saw the first signs of the calcification he had designed. He felt a momentary twinge of guilt, but it was quickly swallowed by the memory of Kael's betrayal.

"That's just the energy settling," Aren said, his voice smooth and comforting. "The pain means it's working. You just need to push through it. Do you want to be a master, Kael? Or do you want to be a student forever?"

Kael looked at his hand, then at Aren. He swallowed hard and nodded. "I want to be a master. Like you."

"Then keep practicing," Aren said. "Don't stop. No matter how much it hurts."

Elara looked from Kael to Aren, her eyes narrowing. "Aren? What technique did you give him?"

"Just a little something to help him keep up," Aren said. He smiled at her, a cold, empty smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We need everyone to be at their best for the Ascension, don't we?"

Elara stayed silent for a long time. She looked at Kael's trembling hand, then back at Aren. She didn't say anything, but Aren could see the suspicion growing in her eyes. The mask was starting to slip. The perfect wife was starting to see the stranger beneath the surface.

"Yes," she finally said. "Everyone needs to be ready."

Aren turned back to the window. The lights at the construction site seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. He felt a sense of grim satisfaction. The pieces were moving. The traps were set.

He looked up at the sky, at the void between the stars.

"I'm ready," he whispered. "Are you?"

From the stone on his desk, hidden in the shadows, a faint hiss echoed through the room.

"We are waiting, Architect."

Aren't hand tightened on the window sill. He didn't flinch. He didn't pull away. He just stared into the dark, waiting for the morning to come, and with it, the next step in his dance with the devil.