Re-Awakening: I Ascend with a Legendary class

Chapter 728: Exceed Monsters (1/2)

Lily’s door opened onto silence, and silence was the first thing that tried to kill her.

She came out standing on black glass. It stretched flat in every direction, polished to a depth that showed her own face looking back up at her, and above it hung a sky with no stars and no moon and no light source she could find, yet she could see. The air did not move. Sound did not carry. When she took a step the click of her heel died the instant it was born, swallowed before it could become an echo, and Lily understood with the cold precision she brought to everything that this was not quiet. This was a place that ate quiet things, and she was a quiet thing.

The spirit assembled itself out of her own reflection. It rose up off the glass wearing her shape at first, then shedding it, becoming a tall pale figure with a mouth and nothing else on its face, a mouth that did not move when it spoke.

”You walk in shadow,” it said. ”You have made a life of not being heard. So I will hear you anyway. That is my world. Nothing you do in it goes unnoticed, and everything that notices you wants you dead.” The mouth curved, almost kind. ”Your trial. Silence the Choir. Unmake the Sound.”

”Poetic,” Lily said. Her voice landed flat and dead on the black glass, and she noted that, filed it, and did not let it unsettle her. ”I assume the specifics come the hard way.”

”They always do.”

The glass opened under her like a mouth, and she dropped into a world of sound made solid.

It was a canyon country, and the canyons sang. Not metaphorically. Walls of dark stone rose on either side of her, and the wind that moved through them did not whistle so much as chord, deep layered tones that she felt in her teeth and the roots of her hair, and each region of that broken landscape held its own note and its own thing that lived in the note. She learned the shape of the first one on the second day, and it nearly ended her.

It came out of a resonance. She had been moving low along a gully when the whole canyon shifted a half-step higher, and something detached itself from the singing wall and turned toward her, a creature of packed sound with a body that flickered between there and not-there in time with the tone, and when it screamed at her the scream was a physical wall that broke three of her ribs and threw her forty feet.

Lily hit the ground rolling, came up with darkness already pouring off her hands, and did what she did best. She vanished. Shadow Dominion of her own making swallowed the gully, killed the light, and she moved through it like she had been born in it, and she opened the creature’s flank with a blade wreathed in Dreadspire and drank the strength out of the wound the way her mentor had taught her.

Nothing happened. The blade went in. The debuff did not take. The creature felt her steal from it and simply refused the theft, and its whole immense body swung toward the exact spot where she stood hidden in perfect darkness, because in this world the darkness was loud, and it could hear her heartbeat singing.

”Of course it can,” Lily muttered, tasting blood. ”Of course.”

[Exceed Monster.]

She read the words hanging faint in the dark and did not laugh the way Almond would have. She went cold instead, which was her version of the same thing. She spent the next days in that cold, learning the creature the way she learned everyone she had ever been sent to kill, patient and total, sleeping in the few dead pockets of the canyon where sound did not reach and waking to study the way the thing moved through its notes. Immune to the blade. Immune to poison and to the blood-bought curses that had never once failed her. Immune to darkness, to fear, to the slow erosion she could pour into a wound. There was one thing. She simply had to find what a creature made of sound could not survive hearing.

It was a flower that gave it to her, on the ninth day. A small grey bloom growing in one of the dead pockets, in the only places the singing never reached, and when she finally thought to wonder why it grew only in the silences she cut one and held it to her ear and heard nothing at all. Not the absence of sound. The unmaking of it. The flower did not stay quiet. It devoured every note that came near it and gave back a silence so complete it hurt.

She built her answer out of that. She could not fabricate the way Almond could, but she could enchant, and she took the grey blooms and she wove them through the edge of her blade with a working that drank her own vitality down to a thread, and she went to the singing wall on the tenth day and let the creature hear her heart, and let it come.

It came screaming, the way it always came, that solid wall of sound that had broken her ribs on the first day and would have crushed her flat. Lily walked into the scream. It parted around the flower on her blade, unmade before it could touch her, and she drove the edge up into the resonant core of the thing and held it there while the silence ate the note the creature was made of.

It did not die loudly. It could not. It simply ran out of sound to be, and came apart into a stillness so absolute that Lily’s own three heartbeats felt obscene inside it.

The dark sky above the canyon wrote its answer without a whisper.

[1/100]

Lily stood on the black stone with her blade dripping silence, wiped the blood from her mouth, and let herself, for exactly one second, feel the size of what was in front of her. Then she put it away, and started walking toward the next singing wall.

Rudra’s world tried to drown him before he finished arriving.

He came through the door and there was no floor at all, only ocean, an ocean that filled the whole sphere of the world so that there was water below him and water above him and a cold green light coming from everywhere and nowhere, and no surface anywhere to break for. He hung suspended in it, and it pressed on him from all sides with a weight that would have folded a lesser man’s lungs into paste, and Rudra breathed it, because he was an Admiral and had walked out of worse, and turned in the deep to find whatever had sent him here.

The spirit was already there. It hung in the green water in the shape of a great slow serpent of light, coiling and uncoiling without ever fully resolving, and when it spoke the water carried its voice into his bones.

”You command,” it said. ”You have spent your life at the head of others, moving fleets, spending lives, winning. Down here there is no one to command but yourself, and yourself is not enough.” The coils tightened. ”Your trial. Break the Tide. Still the Deep.”

Rudra’s face did not change. He had received worse briefings from worse superiors. ”Understood.”

”You understand nothing yet,” the serpent said, almost fondly, and the light went out, and Rudra fell through the dark water into the pressure of the true deep.

He found the first one by its glow. In a world of drowned dark, a single region far below shone with a sick blue radiance, and when he swam down into it he saw the shape that made the light, a vast drifting thing like a jellyfish grown to the size of a warship, trailing veils of luminous flesh that filled the water for a mile in every direction. It was beautiful. Rudra had learned long ago that in this kind of work, beautiful meant dangerous, so he approached it the way he approached everything, with respect and a plan and his full strength ready.

The veils touched him, and every muscle in his body seized at once.

He had time to understand that the light was not light, that it was a current running through the water and into him, before it stopped his heart. He restarted it himself, with a working that cost him more than he wanted to spend, and hauled his convulsing body up out of the veils by main strength, and hung there in the cold retching water while the great thing turned its blind bulk toward him with the patience of something that had never once needed to hurry.

[Exceed Monster.]