Genetic Ascension

Chapter 2085: Fierce

The next puppet appeared in a similar flash.

Sylas only swung his scythe a single time and it was split in two, not able to get an inch closer than he allowed.

"What is he doing? What is he doing?" Alpine spoke aloud for the first time in a while, a hint of panic entering his voice.

Sylas wasn't going to give him an answer, though. And Juxi and Deuvuo certainly wouldn't have one.

When Sylas continued to the next puppet, the result was mind-numbingly predictable.

An arm ripped right through his chest, gripping his heart and yanking it free of his rib cage. Its bloody, pulsing mass hung in the puppet's hand, a light smile on its face as its head tilted to a side as though to observe Sylas.

But then the tilting continued, and then continued… until its skull scattered across the floor.

Tendrils of emerald gold wrapped around Sylas' heart, stuffing it back into his chest as he continued to the next.

"He can't continue like this…" Deuvuo said in a gasping breath. It was almost like he had been holding his breath all this time.

He started to laugh, feeling that Sylas was probably doing it on purpose. He had even heard Sylas laugh earlier. That sounded like the laugh of a man resigned to his fate.

Deuvuo hadn't known Sylas for long, but he didn't seem the sort to find anything funny. Only someone past their breaking point would act so out of character.

Sylas managed to defeat one puppet in an act of catharsis, but then what? The second one ripped through his heart without a care.

Sure, it died, and Sylas was a master of Will so he managed to survive. But if just the second puppet managed to do that, then the third would just take his head.

The speed was already to the point Sylas' power up was worthless. The puppet had already caught up.

If he had this much power to hide, then he should have just incrementally increased it again and again like he was already doing. This was just suicidal.

But when Deuvuo saw just how many stairs there were left to go, he started bitterly laughing right along with Sylas. No amount of slow rolling it would be enough for that number of stairs.

Had they even gone through more than two dozen puppets? Maybe three? Yet the peak of the mountain still felt an infinite distance away.

If not for Sylas, maybe the three of them would have already died. He rightfully concluded they were useless so instead of suffering more, he just decided to die in a blaze of glory and leave them to suffer the same fate.

Deuvuo was in too much of a daze to even vote, but so too were the others. Yet the next round started anyway. It seemed that this time it really was Sylas' own turn.

The puppet shimmered into existence and it was already a blazing blur. Its body shifting from side to side so rapidly it looked like there were three of them instead of just one.

All three of these afterimages appeared around Sylas in a flash, summoning weapons that they hadn't used since the very first stairs.

They slashed down all at once, each one such a blur it was impossible to tell where the real one was.

A rune of blood red appeared in just one direction, just to Sylas' left alone. He didn't even look toward the others, his senses were sure, and his confidence was untouchable.

The puppet slammed into the Rune, shaking once and then sizzling as though having been dropped into a vat of acid.

It melted in real time, collapsing to the ground in a puddle of ooze.

[Bloodburn].

The more injured he was, the more corrosive his poison.

The puddle sizzled, sparks of lightning arching through it for a brief instant before fading.

Sylas moved forward toward the next stair.

He forgot about everything but the next challenge in front of him, and every time a new puppet appeared, he crushed it with overwhelming power.

…

BANG.

Sylas lost an arm, a fist punching through his shoulder and ripping out large chunks of his chest in rotating, twisting lines of warping space.

He leapt to a side seemingly a moment too late. His arm spun in the air aimlessly, but the one he did have left released his scythe and slapped at empty air.

The spinning arm did the same as though orchestrated by the air.

Both hit nothing, and yet the echo of a clap resounded through the winds nonetheless.

[Boundary of Worlds].

An illusion of a head and tail formed around Sylas' arms, forming a looping circle around the puppet that left it trapped in a quagmire of space and time.

BANG.

It was ripped apart in a hurricane of spatial blades.

Sylas exhaled a breath, his severed arm snapping back into place on his shoulder. The flesh was quickly eaten away, leaving nothing but a bony black mass.

…

Half of Sylas' face was bone, the other melting flesh. Corrosive blood was turned against him, reflected by the most magical ability Sylas had seen come from the puppet.

At first it looked like it was only capable of using close combat, but it seemed that that was only as long as you didn't push it so far.

Sylas wasn't fazed in the slightest. Black fog rose from his wounds, his body eating the very pain itself as he used the boost to accelerate beyond what the puppet's limits were ready for.

Sylas' scythe flashed, severing the puppet in two.

…

Sylas fought as though he had no value for his life at all. In fact, it didn't look like he had any life left at all.

By the time he was making true headway on the stairs, he was nothing but a skeletal man, a frame of obsidian black was all that was left of him.

But it only made his air more savage, more wild, more relentless.

He cut and he cut, he reaped and then he reaped more.

Every time he was pushed back into a corner, he dug deeper and pulled out more strength.

High in the skies, the tortoise shifted somewhat, its eyes glowing fiercely.