Savage Awakening: A LitRPG Apocalypse

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Essence Level 328 -> 336

The air in front of them began to shimmer. At first, they thought it was just a heat wave. Then it cracked open, swirling cold whites and blues into the warm yellow landscape.

A portal. And through it, they could vaguely see a warbling image: a mountain. A bright-blue sky above with just one sun.

It was the peak they'd left from. Everest. His friends all gasped when they saw it.

It was home.

Air gushed out from it, cold and refreshing, washing over them all, dusting them with specks of snow, wrestling with the torrid winds….

It was finally hitting Zane—they’d made it.

…It didn't seem to register fully. It felt like they had been in here ages. Like they had been leveling and fighting non-stop, floor after floor….

It would be nice to get a chance to rest. Do other things.

But first, a notification.

Distributing final rewards…

Calculating run difficulty…

Grade determined: Impossible

Distributing rewards…

A silver chest dropped into the sands. Zane cracked it and found the inside bigger than the outside. It was a vault full of stacks of fist-sized gold coins. Neat.

Then, right after—

Heavenly Tribulation Seal [Sky (C)]

A treasure granted by the System in honor of extraordinary deeds. It greatly boosts the wielder’s chances of surviving their next Heavenly Tribulation.

Zane wasn’t sure what to make of it all—he looked to Reina, who seemed to think they were the sort of thing that would pay off down the line. They sounded pretty important to her.

That all done, he and his friends moved on. Stepped through the portal, and made their way into the light.

Home at last.

***

Steelheart Conclave

Inner Faction

The Barbarian Sage waved his hands wildly. “—first in the history of the Rising Dragon Scroll!” he said proudly.

He stood in the middle of a vast round chamber, a temple of heavy iron. A single shaft of sunlight shone down on him. The rest of the place was mostly cast in darkness. He could barely make out the faces around him.

This was a meeting of the Steelheart Council—an assembly of the most powerful figures in the Faction. All sat around on big wrought-iron thrones around a big wrought-iron table.

Each was a grand Elder, or an Ancestor, or a Patriarch. There were dwarves, and men, and half-giants—but they were all well-built, hefty with muscle. Each had an aura to match.

The Barbarian Sage didn’t feel much pressure, though. He was also one of these folk, after all, and he was pretty sure he could take any of them in a fight.

He put up a projection. Began cheerfully playing a little highlight reel he had snipped together of the best moments of Zane’s run, stopping to point out any time Zane did anything even a little interesting.

He finished grinning. “And that is why, esteemed council-members, I seek to give Zane Walker the max contract! That is—our maximum offer, plus immediate status as a Core Chosen—along with all the benefits it offers. I would also take him as my Direct Disciple. So. What say you?”

Silence in the chamber.

The Barbarian Sage scratched at his throat. He had worn his dress robes for this occasion—broken it out of deep storage for the first time in ten thousand years. He wanted to show he meant business. They were rather itchy, though, and he was fairly certain he had put them on backwards. Ah, well.

One elder spoke out first. Lady Ironfingers—though most of her was hidden in shadow, you could see her famous fingers steepled in the vague light. Each was wrapped in careful thick gauze, like sheathed swords.

She nodded. “You’ve brought an impressive one, Yoren. I can see it.”

“And yet…” another gruff voice spoke up. It was Grand Elder Bane, a scruffy old dwarf-Elder on the other side of the room.

“Some would say the Scrying Guild has been too hasty! Does he truly warrant that rank? The potential is there, obviously—but he is still a pre-Integration whelp! He's hardly taken a step on the long road of cultivation.”

The Barbarian Sage frowned. Incidentally, Elder Bane’s #1 disciple, who had held Rank #17 on the Rising Dragon Scroll for some centuries now, had been pushed down to #18 as a result of it. He had a sneaking suspicion that had something to do with Bane’s grumpiness.

“It is asking a great deal,” said a deep third voice, accompanied by a snort of flame. Grand Elder Karakas, a full-blooded Nethersteel Drake—though he still retained his tail in human-form. It swished behind him as he spoke.

“Let us not forget,” said Karakas. “He’s has taken Yoren’s own Bloodline! Yoren has some stake in this. Bane is correct. Zane Walker is the most impressive Nascent Soul man I have ever seen—I will grant that. But he is still a Nascent Soul man. I say it is too early.”

The Barbarian Sage frowned deeper. Karakas had never liked him. They had something of a rivalry back in their youths—probably because the Barbarian Sage kept pummeling him every time they fought in the finals of the End-of-Year Tourney. The Sage would’ve liked to do it here and now, for old times’ sake. But he had a feeling it would do little to change the old lizard’s mind.

“I have come to a decision.”

A voice deeper than the rest boomed across the chamber, leaving silence in its wake.

It came from the head of the table. The biggest chair there, for the biggest fellow. The Bedrock Golem, Patriarch Steelheart.

They all listened up.

“It is true that this is an unprecedented situation,” said the Patriarch.

“The odds are against you, Yoren. It is known that the attrition rate is over ninety-nine percent between power levels. This is especially true of great talents. A talent at one level rarely remains one as they rise. And we would only offer a maximum contract for a candidate who stands a good chance of becoming a backbone of the Faction. That attrition rate… should rule out any Nascent fighter. Especially one of extraordinary potential, who will draw an extraordinary Heavenly Tribulation. The odds are too steep.”

The Barbarian Sage opened his mouth to protest.

“However!” continued the Patriarch. “In my estimation… the Scryer’s Guild was correct in their assessment. Zane Walker will face a devastating Tribulation, but that Seal should aid him greatly. He faces many a bottleneck ahead besides—but even so… in soul, in will, in body. He is a package like none we have ever seen. That is worth taking a chance on.”

He waved a brick of a hand.

“You are authorized to make the maximum offer!” said the Patriarch. “Bring Zane Walker to the Steelheart Conclave.”

The Barbarian Sage grinned wide. “Will do!”

He was already thinking up what to offer. He would have to drown Zane in Bloodline treasures, for certain—essence treasures too. All kinds of rare metals. Zane was a growing boy—he would need to be fed very well. The Sage chuckled. He’d have to make a trip down to see some old friends in the Titan Heartlands—see if he could bum a few more Titan Rhino parts too, perhaps…

***

Azure Flame Faction

Inner Reaches

The ruling council of the Azure Flame Faction met at the heart of an ever-erupting supervolcano. It took up nearly half the surface of the molten planet it stood on—and its temperatures were akin to those at the hearts of stars.

You would have to brave soul-melting eruptions just to enter the chamber. Only the strongest of the Azure Flame Faction could do that.

Grand Elders and Ancestors and Patriarch alike sat on a circle of molten-rock thrones.

Patriarch Azure Flame sat on the largest one, at the very center. He made for an imposing figure most times—thick of beard, burly of frame, his massive dragon-kin horns curving over locks the color of coal.

Today he looked mildly uncomfortable. Shifting in his seat a little.

There were nine thrones here. But only eight would attend these Councils, usually. One was nearly always empty. That belonged to Grand Elder Noughtfire.

Noughtfire had not been seen in this chamber for half a Chaos Cycle, in fact.

But now he stood before them in person. He had called this meeting. Most of the powers there had an inkling what it was about.

Noughtfire was not looking at anyone else. He leveled his gaze squarely at Patriarch Azure Flame, who was looking less comfortable by the second.

“I plan to offer all the Faction is legally permitted to to Zane Walker,” said Noughtfire. “As you are the Faction Leader, I thought it proper to let you know.”

“I… see,” said the Patriarch. A pause. “Now, Elder Noughtfire—I do not mean to question your discernment, of course—but it remains a rather large risk. Perhaps this merits some discussion—”

“No need,” said Noughtfire casually. “I will offer the resources myself. And I will take him on as my Direct Disciple. You simply need to authorize his position within the Faction as an official Core Chosen. Ah—and the incentive ladder.”

“Incentive ladder?” said the Patriarch.

“Indeed,” said Noughtfire, unfurling a scroll. “This Chaos Cycle is fast reaching its peak. Our best scryers estimate the first of the Monster Waves will strike our Galaxy within the next fifty years… I plan to have him ready for the frontline by then.”

An even more stunned silence. One of the Grand Elders made a choking sound.

“He would have to be elevated at minimum two hundred Levels—and two full Law Tiers—for that,” said the Patriarch slowly.

“Indeed.”

“In…fifty years.”

“That is correct.”

The Grand Elders, the Patriarch, the Ancestors all looked to one another. Noughtfire could guess what they were thinking. They thought, as usual, that he had gone utterly mad. It was a little amusing to see.

Then they inspected the scroll—and there were a lot more choking sounds.

“It is a simple list,” said Noughtfire. “Achieve a challenge by a certain date, and the Faction will offer him a reward. It may be to reach a certain power Level, or a comprehend a certain Concept. Win the End-of-Year Tourney. Slay a Named Monster. And so on.”

It was hard to tell if the shock was coming from the ‘goals’ Noughtfire had set, or the rewards he was proposing.

He had thought there would be a lot more outrage about those rewards; some of them even Noughtfire would not have the power to grant. Unique items only the Faction treasury would have. Then again—the challenges likely seemed impossible to begin with.

One such reward, for instance, would come after challenge #6—“Defeat Rising Dragon Scroll #3, Core Disciple Haxorax, in single combat. In two years’ time.”

Noughtfire closed the scroll. Raised a brow.

“So. Is that all?”

“Err—” said the Patriarch.

“Excellent,” said Noughtfire, and left.

There was a silence.

Then the council exploded in shouts.