Chapter 41
One day merges into another, then into weeks and months.
There is no sunrise to mark the beginning of a new day, no darkness to signal its end. The sky remains the same dull crimson, unchanging, oppressive. What separates one day from the next is the same loud, obnoxious horn I’ve come to dread.
At first, I try to keep count. Of the number of fights. Of the tokens earned. But just like the days, they blend together until the particular becomes general; until I do what’s expected of me, and I do it well.
We wake up, I fight, we eat, I read my instruction manuals and Moe reads some fiction—she needs some entertainment, tokens be damned.
Somewhere along the way, the numbers begin to blur, and I stop trying to hold onto them. I fight and fight, waiting—hoping—for some type of improvement.
Although my speed and strength are slowly becoming better, I still haven’t reached level one.
I may not be fighting the weakest opponents anymore, but they’re not the strongest either.
I settle into something in between—four points, sometimes five. It’s enough to push myself, and still have confidence in my win rate. And the more I fight, the more I start to recognize the patterns; the way the warriors at this level fight.
The highest level I’ve faced so far has been a level two. Although there was a stark difference in our levels, what I’ve learned is that even within levels there are distinctions in strength based on domains.
Some can manifest their domain’s abilities, but barely. Some even get stumped by using powers they don’t understand, resulting in their loss.
Since my knowledge about levels and domains has always been surface-level, I’ve taken this opportunity to learn and observe.
The elementals are still the most ubiquitous ones, but they are also the easiest to beat.
At a level two, one is lucky if they can conjure up their element for more than thirty seconds to one minute.
Afterward, their energy is all but depleted, giving me the much needed opportunity to finish the job.
As my experience accumulates, my movements become cleaner.
Where before I wasted effort at first, now I conserve it and wait for my opponent to make the first move—the first mistake.
Each one of my strikes is measured. I don’t swing unless I know it will land, and when it does, I follow through without hesitation.
My reactions are sharper as well. The lag that once slowed me down—the moment of uncertainty before a strike—is almost gone. Where in my first match I held too many doubts, now I only have one conviction—I must survive. Moe and I must survive.
Before we know it, almost three months have passed.
We make our way back to the market often enough that the path becomes familiar. The faces, less so. Just as I begin to recognize some, they disappear. New faces appear. The cycle continues, all over again.
If before I would have felt sorry for those people—especially knowing that I also have a hand in their demise—now I’ve become indifferent to it.
The meals stretch further than expected with Moe’s cooking acumen. And what we save on food we splurge on books.
I borrow a new book every four days or so. Moe gets new one every three days—or less, depending on length.
At the end of each day, we have the same routine. Moe lays on the bed, reading her book while I sit cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the room. I alternate between reading and putting the knowledge into practice through meditation.
Every fight, I consume a little more soul energy: two or three particles at a time. Not only I can not afford to steal more, but my abilities are still too underdeveloped to do so. Those few particles of energy take a huge amount of concentration, and then even more meditation to absorb them.
One day, after a fight with a level two warrior whose abilities consisted of a strange control over metal—something I haven’t seen before—I decide to finally borrow a book on power domains.
Curious, Moe ditches her current read—a romance book about the ill-fated love story of a Tartareian princess and an Aperite Supreme. She places a fluffy blanket on the ground and joins me.
“This is so thin,” Moe mentions when she sees the little booklet. “You paid a token for this?”
“It is expensive for what it is,” I agree with a sigh. Most immortals already know all of this. It’s no wonder that the book is brand new. I’m probably the first person to ever check it out. “But I’m curious. Soon, I’ll develop my own domain, too. I want to know about it when the time comes.”
I open the book and note the two sections: one that covers the domains and one that covers the levels.
Moe leans closer, her shoulder brushing mine as she peers down at the page.
I read the introduction to the domains section.
“There are seven original domains, one for each of the Seven Primordials. After the creation of Tartareia, seven more domains appeared as the universe sought equilibrium.”
Moe frowns. “Seven original and then seven more appeared?”
“I suppose this has something to do with Aperion. They have fourteen Primordials—the Light and the Nether, while we only have the Dark Ones.”
She nods. “So the universe created another seven domains to make it equal to Aperion? That’s odd.”
I shrug. “The universe works in mysterious ways. We don’t even know what was before the Primordials.”
“You’re right.” She nods. “Alright, go on.”
I flip the page to the first domain—and one of the seven original ones.
“Dominion Domain. Authority, sovereignty, and command over others.”
Moe hums softly. “That already sounds dangerous.”
I continue reading aloud, slower now.
“The wielder exerts control over will and structure. Lesser beings may be compelled into obedience. Oaths, once spoken, become unbreakable. The domain may extend influence over fundamental laws, including the perception and flow of time.”
I pause. “The Dominion Primordial is in charge of all oaths. A vow directed to Him is binding. To receive his blessing, a vow can be dedicated to Him in the following ways:
I vow to the Seven.
I vow, by the power of Him who rules the everlasting world.
I vow to Him, the Master of the World, of Word and Time who resides in the depths of Tartarstasis.”
Both Moe and I turn to stare at each other.
“I never knew that’s why people vowed to the Seven all the time.”
“Me neither.” I was taught such a vow is binding, but not why or how. “Wait. There’s more.”
Moe waits for me to continue.
“A vow to the Seven, while binding, delivers the least amount of punishment if broken. That is due to a long law that states any general prayer to the Seven can be answered by the Primordials as they like. For best results, each prayer should be addressed directly to the designated Primordial. A vow made specifically to Him, if broken, is deadly to any being.”
“Wow,” she whispers. “I’ve never heard this before, neither have I heard anyone make a vow specifically to Him.”
“Me neither.” I shake my head. “And I wonder whether people don’t know about the differences in these vows or…”
“They purposefully don’t make a vow to Him because the consequences are so severe?”
I nod. “I think that’s highly possible. In higher circles, the vow to the Seven is used and I doubt they wouldn’t know about this more potent vow. But not many things can end an immortal’s life. Apparently this can.”
“Higher circles?” She frowns. “What do you mean by that?”
My eyes widen for a moment at my slip. “Uhm, just the upper echelons of society, the nobility and such.”
“How do you know about them?”
“I think everyone knows to some extent. The noble houses are quite famous, or infamous depending on who you ask.”
She nods, accepting my explanation. There will come a time when I’ll have to tell Moe the truth about my family and…the curse of my birth. But I’d rather not do it now.
I clear my throat. “The next one is the Hunger Domain. Consumption of power, magic, and life force.”
“Doesn’t that describe the typical immortal? From what you said, all immortals consume energy from around them.”
“Not quite. While we do consume energy from the environment and from…souls… I think this refers to a different type of energy.”
“Huh?” She frowns.
“When someone uses their abilities, they transform energy into that ability. I think a wielder of the Hunger Domain can take that ability, turn it back into energy and absorb it.”
“Oh. That’s quite a handy ability to have.” She nods.
There’s an additional description, so I read on.
“The wielder devours incoming spells and rune energy, converting them into personal strength. The wielder may also consume luck or misfortune. With mastery, one may influence fate—exchanging people’s fates or stealing them for his own.”
“That’s… unsettling,” she mutters.
“I’ve never heard anything like this before so I’m hoping this is a rare domain. I don’t think I ever want to meet someone who can just steal my fate.” A shudder goes through my body at the mere thought.
Like the Dominion Primordial, the Hunger Primordial has his own prayers. In this case, He presides over rituals, curses, luck and misfortune.
“The following incantations may be used to get the blessing of the Hunger Primordial, though it’s not a given that He will answer back.
By the Seven. This one is general. It may improve spells and rituals and doesn’t require an exchange.
By the grace of Him who consumes, He who is never full, He who is blessed with unlimited energy. This prayer is aimed directly toward Him so He will personally bless a ritual or spell. But he will ask for something in return.
There is one last incantation.
In the name of He who wields good and back luck; whose all-seeing-gaze covers the land. This one is particularly for good luck or to cast bad luck curses onto other people. The book states that there are levels of exchange depending on the magnitude of the ask.”