Read Novel Full Chapter 590: THE LEAD
Chapter 590: THE LEAD
Aaron, having finally set his house in order and mended the fractured lives of his companions, stepped back through the veil and returned to the cold, endless void.
"Aaron!
What happened?
Did something go wrong?" Aetherion was the first to speak the moment Aaron materialized, his voice tight with the anxiety of one who had been left in the dark while the world shook.
"No, it’s fine.
Everything is in order," Aaron replied, his voice carrying a new, tempered weight.
"It is time for everyone to see their new home."
With a sweep of his arm, Aaron tore a shimmering rift into the fabric of the void, revealing the lush, protected expanse of the sanctuary.
He led the way, guiding the Primordials who had already awakened into the sanctuary’s embrace.
As they began to disperse, acclimating to the rich atmosphere and the impossible safety of the realm, Aaron caught Aetherion’s gaze and pulled him to a secluded side.
"Tell me," Aaron began, his eyes fixed on the horizon of his own creation.
"How large are the forces of the Transcendents and the Absolutes?
If we are to wage open war against them, what are our honest chances?"
Aetherion took a heavy breath and began to map out the terrifying architecture of the Transcendent realm.
He explained that the realm was not a place one simply visited; it was a fortress of higher existence.
Unless an entity reached the Absolute rank, ascension was impossible.
Even then, those who did ascend were rarely welcomed; they were hunted like dogs by the established powers.
"The Transcendent realm is divided between two great powers," Aetherion explained, his voice low.
"The House of Ashur and the House of Terrace."
He detailed how the House of Ashur had traditionally controlled the southern reaches of the realm.
However, based on the last fragments of communication Aetherion had received from Chen Mo, Ashur had already fallen.
Chen Mo had dismantled them entirely, leaving a power vacuum in his wake.
"So that leaves only the House of Terrace?" Aaron asked, his mind already formulating a hierarchy of targets.
"Yes," Aetherion warned, his expression grim.
"But do not be fooled.
Chen Mo dealt with the weaker of the two.
The House of Terrace are the true rulers of the Transcendent realm.
They are the ones who command the Primordial Wardens.
Their power is entrenched, ancient, and absolute."
"Even better," Aaron said, a cold, decisive light flickering in his eyes.
"If they command the Wardens, it means they work in lockstep with Aegon.
I will need to have a very direct conversation with them soon enough."
He was already prepared for the next round of slaughter; the rekindled flame of his will was now a steady, burning forge.
---
Across the shifting tides of the defect universes, Nightflame continued his relentless hunt.
He had scoured through dozens of dying realities, reverse-tracking the subtle, chaotic trail left by the Mad One.
The journey had been a gauntlet; he had clashed with several high-level Powerhouse Merchants, sustaining jagged, injuries.
Finally, after breaking a merchant whom no one would have suspected of dealing in such dark wares, Nightflame squeezed out a lead.
He now had a coordinate—the likely stronghold of the Mad One.
Knowing the coming conflict would be a battle of attrition, Nightflame forced himself to halt.
He retreated into the shadows of a dead moon to rest, focusing his energy on knitting together the flesh and spirit damaged by exposure to raw antimatter.
"Tch.
Still no connection to the main consciousness," Nightflame muttered, his voice echoing in the vacuum.
He felt the isolation like a physical weight.
Since entering this unknown, distorted universe, the tether to Aaron had been severed by some form of cosmic interference.
He was an island, forced to make life-or-death decisions without the guidance of the prime mind.
Stepping through time and space, Nightflame finally arrived at the outskirts of the supposed stronghold.
It was a staggering sight—the largest planet he had encountered in all his travels.
Unlike the typical spheres or flat planes of this reality, this world was curved into a massive, jagged ’C’ shape, as if a giant had attempted to snap it in half.
It was a structural nightmare, but in a universe governed by madness, it was the only thing that felt consistent.
The planet didn’t just sit in space; it loomed.
It was heavily fortified, encased in layers of shimmering energy shields and swarming with sentinels.
Nightflame scanned the perimeter, his senses sharp, finding no visible blind spots.
Automated sentries patrolled every square inch of the planet’s jagged surface.
Every guard was accompanied by a hovering, ocular-lens device—a mechanical eye that drifted in a synchronized dance with its master.
The security was a seamless web of flesh and machine, designed to leave no gap for an intruder.
If Nightflame was to infiltrate this fortress, he had to be at the absolute top of his game.
He settled his breathing, slowing his heart rate until he was a ghost in the machine.
He Time Stepped, vanishing from the void and reappearing directly behind the most isolated guard on the perimeter.
The eyeball device was hyper-sensitive; its motion sensors tripped the moment the air displaced.
It began to swivel, its internal circuitry priming to broadcast a high-priority alert to the central control room.
Acting with a predator’s grace, Nightflame surged forward.
He didn’t use a blade; instead, he stretched out his hand, and his shadow rose like a living liquid, devouring the device instantly.
He didn’t know if the network would immediately register the observer’s disappearance, but he didn’t care.
By the time they noticed the silence, he would already be inside.
Moving in a fluid blur, Nightflame clamped a hand over the guard’s mouth and seized his throat.
A single, sickening crack echoed in the stillness as he snapped the man’s neck.
Before the body could even hit the ground, Nightflame unleashed his necromancy.
He didn’t just take the man’s life; he devoured his mind, stripping every memory, habit, and secret from the corpse’s consciousness.
In a seamless transition, Nightflame’s Doppelganger variant took hold.
His flesh shifted and molded until he was the spitting image of the dead man.
Once the transformation was complete, he released the observer device from his shadow.
The entire sequence had taken less than an instant.
[Did you detect an attacker?]
the device pulsed, its sensory data reeling from the momentary blackout.
It hovered in front of Nightflame, unable to distinguish the infiltrator from the guard it had been programmed to follow.
"No," Nightflame replied, perfectly mimicking the guard’s rough tone, accent, and subtle vocal tics.
"You saw one?
He must be heading toward the main complex.
We need to inform the higher-ups immediately."
[I have already alerted Command,]
the device whirred, its lens dilating.
[However, they have flagged my data as a sensor glitch.
They have requested we return to the facility for immediate maintenance.]
Nightflame masked a cold smirk.
This was a gift—the perfect Trojan horse to gain entry into the heart of the facility without further scrutiny.
"Alright then," he grunted.
"Let’s go."