Chương 143: Chapter 142 - Is Merit Given?

The priestess spoke, hands raised in placating gesture. Pink hair caught the crystalline light filtering from above, creating halos around her head.

"Forgive the impudence of the child. She is but young, has many years ahead to learn wisdom and restraint." They grumbled. They bickered amongst themselves. Words overlapping, accusations building like storm clouds gathering. Until the footsteps grew heavier. A palpable pressure descended, thick enough to taste. The footsteps echoed through halls, finally reaching the circular area. The leaders stopped dead mid-sentence. One by one, they turned toward the sound.

Even the vines around Elara loosened, responding to instinct older than thought. Step. Step by step. Silver metal, perhaps iron, rang against stone with each movement. A radiant, menacing pressure identified itself as the figure walked. The sound carried weight. Authority. Inevitability. Step by step. The figure stepped into frame. Elara's desperate eyes searched for the one who had been by her side, the quiet sentinel that safeguarded every moment of her trip. Lyssandra. Where was Lyssandra?

She searched, eyes desperate, scanning shadows between pillars that seemed to stretch and contract. Until nothing. There was no resemblance to anyone she recognized. As her eyes traced up the figure's feet, she saw leather sandals laced with straps, tracing up long elegant legs of alabaster skin. She found pale skin wrapped in thin bindings, climbing over long sculpted legs and the smooth curve of powerful thighs.

A crimson robe hung loose from her frame, slipping open as if careless, exposing the sharp lines of her waist and the firm shape of her stomach beneath layered wrappings, she saw thin delicate lines of what seemed to be scars from past battles. Golden plating rested over her chest, barely containing the fullness beneath, gleaming like molten light against skin as white as ivory.

Fur lined her shoulders, framing a body built with both elegance and dangerous beauty, every movement making the robe ripple like blood in water. The figure stood tall, her presence warping the air itself, like heat rising from flame. Dark crimson hair spilled in wild waves down her back and over one shoulder, vivid as fresh blood. Her face was flawless, carved with cold, sharp beauty, untouched by blemish despite her old age.

And her eyes burned gold, the fierce gold of a living flame, bright and merciless, staring as though they could strip flesh from bone with a single glance. The coin performer from Everlight dropped his currency. It clattered against floor, resounding through the hall like a death knell. The sound echoed, stretched, filled every corner with ringing finality.

"This is ludicrous!" His voice cracked.

"She cannot simply appear after centuries of absence and expect—""Heavens," the priestess began, words dying in her throat before she could form them. Her staff trembled in white-knuckled grip. The Emperor and the elf representative remained quiet. Elara barely supported herself, gasping for air as if the whole ordeal had drained her completely. The vines had released her but her legs would not obey commands. She glanced up taking in the details of the hour glass. This was not the Sky-Sundered Saint.

This was not any guard that had escorted her. It was one of the most feared leaders in the scattered realms. Crepuscula. Empress of Materna. She looked around with stern sharp eyes, evaluating the chamber. Elara thought to herself that of course these were faces probably new to her. The Empress had participated in four centuries of Transcendence. How many councils had she witnessed? How many leaders had she watched rise and crumble to dust? Finally her eyes settled on Elara.

Shock ran cold down her spine like ice water poured directly into her veins. Elara had considered herself brave. Had manipulated kingdoms and her people. Faced corruption and death without flinching. But these eyes. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. They were the eyes of a predator. A predator that did not chase prey. A predator that sought something beyond the prey's flesh and blood. Beyond hunger. Beyond desire. Absolute dominion.

It terrified her in ways she had never experienced. Crepuscula spoke, voice like grinding stone. Simply direct but also in a way that's superior.

"We vote again."

"I am certain we have already decided," the old Emperor spoke, brushing his beard with trembling fingers.

"The merit has been transferred. The mechanism—""Is intact," Crepuscula interrupted.

"Therefore, we vote again." The others exchanged glances, uncertainty painted across features. The coin performer found his voice, high and strained.

"There is precedent. If a representative arrives after initial vote, we must cast anew. The law is clear." The priestess spoke through labored breath, staff planted firmly against stone.

"The rule exists. Though it does not please me. If a representative introduces themselves after initial vote, we must honor their participation." The chamber seemed enveloped in even more radiant presence. Elara struggled to breathe. The pressure increased with each passing moment, crushing down on shoulders and chest. The others could barely stand upright. The elf representative maintained composure through visible effort, sweat beading on forehead.

The coin performer from Everlight was almost at his knees, one hand braced against empty air. Crepuscula stepped forward and looked down at Elara.

"Stand." Elara flinched, scrambling to her feet like puppet yanked by strings.

"Or stay down." She hastily stood, legs threatening to buckle beneath her weight. Crepuscula walked with calm, measured steps. Armor resounded in the empty hall, carrying sound that represented her authority and presence. Each step a declaration. Each movement inevitable. Finally, she made it to her place in the circle, completing it for the first time in decades. The vote began. Everyone looked uncomfortable. Sweat beaded on foreheads. Hands shook despite attempts to still them. Except Crepuscula.

She stood motionless. The priestess spoke, voice barely steady.

"Anyone in favor of surrendering to the Transcendence, of transferring merit to safeguard the scattered realms, raise your hand." Silence stretched like pulled thread. One by one they raised their hands. The priestess first. Then the elf. The Emperor. The coin performer, reluctantly, face twisted in frustration and rage. Four hands raised. Until it was Elara's turn. She did not raise her hand. The coin performer's face went purple with rage, veins standing out against temples.

"You dare?" He stepped forward, coin forgotten on the floor.

"You dare stand in opposition after what you attempted? After trying to poison the very mechanism designed to protect us all?"

"I—""You selfish child! You would doom the scattered realms for your petty ambitions!" Elara remained silent, jaw clenched. Crepuscula did not raise her hand either. The coin performer noticed. His face twisted into something between fury and triumph.

"Well then," he said, voice dripping with laced formality.

"It appears we have our result. Four in favor. Two in opposition. The motion passes. You have been outvoted, and now you must—" The ground shook. Not trembled. It Shook like the world itself rejecting stability. Crepuscula had brandished a weapon. A long golden blade that seemed cut the very air around its edge. She raised it high. And brought it down.

The sphere containing transferred merit exploded into golden light that erupted in all directions, threads of merit flying back to their original owners like homing birds seeking nests. Silence fell absolute. Crepuscula dismissed the blade with casual flick of wrist. She looked around at stunned faces, meeting each gaze with cold certainty.

"Patience is weak."

"I will participate."

"Everyone will." Her voice carried no emotion. Statement of fact. Declaration of war. The coin performer screamed, wordless rage erupting from throat. Crepuscula turned. Faster than sight. Her hand shot out, fingers closing around the coin performer's throat. She lifted him off his feet with single arm, muscles not even straining beneath armor. His eyes bulged. Hands clawed at her wrist. No effect. She might as well have been carved from mountain stone.

A Golden barrier erupted between them, force like wall of solid light. A voice spoke. Not from any direction. From everywhere at once. Inside their minds. Monotonous and absolute. [You may not harm another participant while the Transcendence is ongoing.] Crepuscula stared at the barrier where her hand met his throat and felt something disturbing her very foundation. She then looked at the leader from Everlight dangling from her grip. She released him. He crumpled to the floor, gasping, hands around his throat.

She looked around at the assembled leaders. Her gaze lingered on each face. Measuring. Cataloging.

"Very well." Her presence intensified. Menacing pressure that made stone crack beneath feet. She manifested a long sword made of red burning flames and drove it into the floor. Cracks radiated outward from impact point, spreading like spiderwebs across ancient stone. Until something intercepted. A card fluttered down from the ceiling. Crepuscula immediately swung her blade to the side in devastating arc. Sensing something was incoming. It met resistance.

A woman with elegant white robes and white veil, held a card between two fingers. The card withstood the attack, somehow deflecting a blade that could split mountains. She spoke, voice musical and amused.

"Tsk tsk. You never change." Crepuscula only glared. Her long blade caused ripples in space itself, distortions spreading outward from where card met edge. Elara scrambled away at the back wall. Her hands found stone, cold and solid. This was the first time she had been truly scared. Not worried. Scared. One of the leaders yelled, voice breaking.

"Fine then! We shall hold the Transcendence this century! Let us see who will emerge as its victor!" Someone lifted Elara off her feet. Lyssandra. Finally. Arms strong and steady, armor warm against her back. One by one, everyone disappeared. The elf dissolved into green energy and mist. The Emperor became smoke. The priestess faded to with golden light. The coin performer vanished in shower of currency. The ground groaned. The very island was in distress, foundation cracking beneath impossible pressure.

Lyssandra ran and jumped, princes in hand diving down the void, blue flames came of her forming wings, she didn't transform but manifested into the traits of what seem to be a phoenix. Elara looked back over her shoulder. Crepuscula stood in the center of the collapsing chamber. Unmoving. Watching them flee looking away from her opponent. Her orange eyes burned. And Elara knew. She had not been dismissed. She had been marked.