Omega Ascension System[BL]

Elian held his breath. [Oh, he’s got a rat in his cabinet.] "Potential spies within our ranks." Farrell nodded solemnly. "What should we do, sir?" Kyren raised his chin. "Tell the Dukes to turn back to their regions if they’re on their way here. I’ll curb the weed in their ranks soon enough. And as for Gravethorn..." He paused, bringing his eyes to Elian yet again. But this time, he slipped into his mind and Elian felt it as cold but oddly comforting numbness. ’What do you think about a little trip?’ Elian blinked once before responding. ’But isn’t what we just did a trip on its own?’ Kyren shook his head. ’You know that’s different. Now you’ll be heading to one of my cities and watching as I get rid of some pesky witches. Should be fun, right?’ Elian wanted to say something but he couldn’t even process anything to say. He was speechless, mentally and physically. "It’s settled then." Kyren’s lips moved this time as he turned around to walk into the battle craft. "We’re heading to Gravethorn." [Road trip!] . . The battle craft cut through the red skies like a blade. Below, Gravethorn city sprawled wide, its jagged black-thorn walls rising like the ribs of some long-dead beast, warding off the Arcadian border. But even from inside the craft, the air seemed cold and brittle. Even the ashen clouds above seemed to curl in unease. The moment the craft touched down on the obsidian compound of the city’s chief, Elian caught sight of destruction. Smoke bled into the horizon, fires clawing their way up rooftops. The acrid tang of burning wood and flesh stung his nose. [Congratulations. You’ve officially arrived in "shit just got real" territory.] Elian swallowed as the ship’s ramp descended. A man in scaled black armour, who Kyren told him was the chief of Gravethorn, dropped to one knee before Kyren. "My lord. I’ve sent for reinforcements from Duke Onika. But until then, we are holding on by a thread."

Kyren didn’t spare him a glance at first. His crimson eyes scanned the distance, where eerie flashes of emerald fire burst against the thorn walls. . Distant screams echoed in the wind. The bond between him and Elian thrummed like a drumbeat... cold, sharp and vengeful. "No." Kyren’s voice was a low growl, his presence blotting out the chaos for a heartbeat. "Onika can sulk in her keep. Gravethorn is mine still. And I won’t give up what’s mine." The chief blinked, stunned. "But, sire—" Kyren cut him off with a flick of his hand. Shadows shot from his palm like liquid serpents, coiling into the ground until the very stones shuddered. A ripple of black flame rolled outward, racing toward the thorn walls ahead. Elian swore the air temperature plummeted as the runes across Kyren’s arms lit up like scars alive with power. [Holy hell. Kyren’s current mood is giving homicidal demigod.] Elian stumbled to keep up as Kyren dragged him telekinetically toward the walls, making them soar through the air, giving him a view of the city below. The closer they got to the thorn walls, the more the devastation came into focus: witches in tattered cloaks chanting curses, their green fire eating through stone. Gravethorn’s soldiers crumbled, their bodies writhing as black vines—Arcadian hexcraft—burst from their throats. Elian couldn’t help but gag at the sight. His heart hammered like it wanted to flee his chest. "You don’t have to watch," Kyren murmured without looking back, his voice soft but almost cruel. "But I’d prefer you did. You should know who you’ve chosen." Then, without another word, he leapt from the top of the wall. Kyren descended into the battlefield like a falling star, his white hair whipping in the wind. He landed in the midst of the witches with a thunderous crash, shadows erupting outward like a shockwave. Dozens of them screamed as black fire swallowed their bodies whole, turning bone to ash before they could even draw another breath. [New nickname suggestion: Death Daddy.] Elian froze at the top of the wall, his hands clamped on the edge. His breath caught as Kyren walked forward, each step a calculated slaughter. He ripped a witch’s spell mid-chant, forcing the green fire to explode back into her chest. He didn’t just kill—he dismantled, piece by piece, tearing through their formations with terrifying precision. The soldiers of Gravethorn rallied, emboldened by their Rogue king’s wrath, but Elian barely saw them. His focus was trapped on Kyren... on how his crimson eyes glowed like hellfire, how his smile curved wider with every corpse at his feet. This wasn’t the charming rogue who teased him, who kissed him until his thoughts blurred. This was something else entirely.

A god of death who wore his mate’s affection like a mask. And Elian... couldn’t look away. [Well, shit. You’re either doomed or blessed, depending on how you spin it.] A sudden shriek pierced the air. Elian jerked his head toward the far side of the wall. A massive figure rose among the chaos... a witch, but not like the others. Her entire body was wrapped in bone-white armour, veins glowing green beneath the surface. In her hands, she gripped a scythe longer than Elian was tall, its blade dripping with venomous light. Even Kyren paused mid-step, tilting his head. "Well," Kyren drawled, shadows curling tighter around his fists. "Arcadia finally sent someone interesting." The armoured witch’s gaze snapped upward—straight to Elian. She raised her scythe, and with a guttural scream, hurled a torrent of green fire across the battlefield—straight at the wall where Elian stood. [Oh. Ohhh shit. Player One, you’re about to die.]