The Harvester

"[Veritable Sky,]" Tarnished Death calmly intoned as his two opponents charged at him. "[Chains of Heaven.]" Ripples distorted the Soul Marble and gold chains shot out from all directions.

Rakna batted some away with Sonata but most of them missed and pierced the ground with small detonations accompanying each. The werewolf glanced at them with a frown but lacked the time to dwell on it as he crossed arms with the Fiend.

Sonata clashed against the white staff's blades and once again, Rakna felt the force behind his blow being snuffed out. With a short growl, he triggered Comet in multiple succession and chased after Tarnished Death across the sky of his Soul Marble.

No matter how fast or how many times he attacked, his momentum would disappear with just one touch. Even Roias hadn't been this bad considering his ability only worked on spiritual energies.

Lilith was no slouch either. Sharing attributes with Rakna, she flew after them and thrust the tip of Gān Jiàng into the Fiend's neck. And even when her weapon was deflected by the self-altering skeleton of Tarnished Death, the Asura arms of her Agni followed right after.

"[Veritable Sky,]" the Fiend calmly uttered. "[Thousand-Form Cloud.]"

As both Sonata and the twin sabers were about to tear into him, he parried them with his double scythe before turning into a white cloud. He slipped through his opponents and splashed on the ground below like fog.

Instead of his body reforming, a skeletal draconic maw emerged and roared out a breath of white flames. In near-perfect harmony, Rakna and Lilith swung their weapons at it and launched a wave of green and silver-white flames in retaliation. The three colors exploded on collision and flower petals were scattered in the wind.

"[Veritable Sky,]" Tarnished Death spoke up as he reappeared. "[Hanging Heaven,]" he intoned, and the chains that he had previously anchored underground tightened from tension. They began to pull something up. The soil was upturned by a tiled arena, made of pure gold, hanging from the chains holding onto the sky itself.

However, the Fiend did not step foot on its surface and instead, another ripple occurred in the sky as if threatening to break the Soul Marble. But like the chains, it only created a path for a silhouette to fit through and land loudly in the middle of the arena.

"[Rise,]" Tarnished Death commanded as he landed on the platform. "[Immortal Gladiator,]" he intoned as golden wings unfurled on the back of the figure. It was a man of imposing stature, with a pair of unicolor white eyes, and a golden full-body armor.

Rakna scowled and nodded at Lilith before teleporting to the other side of the hanging arena. He conjured a Cataract in his left palm and threw it toward the Arena. The instant that it entered the borders of the arena, the Golden Gladiator's eyes flashed to life, and with a flicker, he appeared in a different place, clutching the star spell with his bare hand.

Without a noise, he crushed the sphere of energy and snuffed out the purple flames inside. As soon as he had done that, Lilith crashed into the arena in a geyser of green flames. A giant arm came out of her Agni Ring and swung an equally sizable saber at the golden man.

The latter turned around and crossed his arms. The attack hit him with a powerful shockwave that would have caused enormous damage if it wasn't for Rakna's soul durable environment.

However, the gladiator simply stepped back from the attack and not a single scratch was seen on its arms. Lilith blinked in shock. "What…?"

"Why are you surprised?" Tarnished Death's voice echoed from beside her and she shivered, her senses warning her of impending death. But the double scythe that was about to stab into her was repelled by a Guandao. Rakna optimized his attributes as fast as Eye of Symphony could allow and punched at the Fiend.

"[Fist of Rupture.]"

The attack was nothing like the Ghost Star, but it was still infused with Lunisolar Flames and the power of his Obsidian Star. Tarnished Death's body, made of bones and dark fog, fell apart before reforming behind the mysterious gladiator.

"Hm… as expected, you are treading the edge of your physical vessel, but that's still enough to overwhelm me after all," the necromancer remarked.

"And your body is not real," Rakna retorted indifferently. "That heart inside your staff is probably all that there is of you, isn't it? It's kind of a phylactery. The way you recover is strange; my attacks generally make it hard to regenerate."

Tarnished Death audibly snickered. "Right, that is mostly correct," he said and tilted his weapon downward, the white heart inside beating steadily. "But I told you, didn't I? That I would show you the true meaning of Corruption," he declared and placed his hand on the shoulder of the golden gladiator.

"[Be Tarnished, Ô Warrior,]" he chanted and a pulse of white and black energy spread from his inorganic palm. It rippled through the armor of the gladiator and gradually turned it white. At the same time, the Fiend's false body began to meld into the gladiator.

"[Naṭcattira Maḻai,]" Rakna waved two fingers. The obsidian shards floating in the air of his Soul Marble responded to his will and pelted the arena. They crossed the boundaries at high speed and became ablaze with purple flames.

In response, Tarnished Death's aura spread around the gladiator and expanded outward. As soon as the shards touched it, they became inert and helplessly nosedived.

"How impatient," the Fiend commented with a distorted voice, his body already assimilated into the gladiator by more than half, and the latter's wings fading to silver. After Rakna's spell, it took less than a second for the rest to flow into the motionless warrior.

Tarnished Death's staff ended in the grip of the gladiator and the heart that was sealed inside was absorbed through its palm, resulting in a pulse of light emanating from its chest plate.

The now-ashen gladiator's eyes shifted to red and Tarnished Death's voice echoed from within the helmet. "Let me tell you something about myself," he said. "Amongst Fiends, there is a reason why only I became a carrier of the concept of corruption. I once worshiped Life as Maklen and became a Sky Saint appointed by the Heavens as Prasminta."

Rakna raised an eyebrow. The more he heard about it, the less he believed 'Heavens' referred to anything similar to what their current Existence possessed. Perhaps the Lost Era had something that preceded Cultivators. Some kind of almighty organization…

"Yet," Tarnished Death continued with a trenchant voice. "I desecrated life itself and tarnished the Heavenly Principles to survive as a wretch. People of this Era would call me a Lich, and it is accurate. But I retained my life force. I did so by robbing the Principle of Death from the Heavens instead. I betrayed them both and made an abomination in their image."

He tapped the floor with his double scythe and the tiles began to turn as white as his armor. "As a result, I am the Fiend that corrupted the Heavenly Sky and Death itself," he stated with a faint hint of defeat in his tone. "This is what I am today. A wretched stray who dares to corrupt the once illustrious Heavenly Gladiator that guarded the Gate of the Immortal Temple. This is your chance to admire it; a genuine corpse preserved from the Lost Era."

"…is that so?" Rakna narrowed his eyes. "Then, why do I smell a sense of pride in you?"

Under his helmet, the corrupted gladiator's mouth curled into a smile. "Yes… Guilt is a shame of the weak. I am sure you can understand that much."

"…"

Tarnished Death looked at the whitened arena still hanging from the golden chains. "Do you know what this Arena is for?" He asked rhetorically. "It is a ritual instrument of tradition. The effect can only be activated when more than one individual on its surface is willing to fight. It was a way to officialize duels."

Rakna's promptly 'read' the platform with Cross Sight.

"However, that tradition… I shall corrupt it as well," he declared, and faster than he could move with his previous body, he struck the Arena with his double scythe. "[Shattered Heaven.]"

As if a scratch was enough, the chains snapped and the floor cracked like a spiderweb, crumbling to pieces. Lilith and Rakna flew away but they couldn't do anything as some type of contract was unilaterally established between the three of them. It wasn't based on the soul, the mind, or even a simple physical curse.

It was like a noose that had been tied to their necks by an omnipresent force.

"As of the moment the Arena shattered, the battle was mandated," Tarnished Death declared. "This battle will not end with death. If you draw blood from me, the Heavens will decree my defeat. In exchange…" He trailed and the fragments of the Arena floated up, merging as one giant white hourglass with golden sand inside.

"You have until the sand falls," he said and Lilith looked at the measure piece nervously. "If you fail… the Heavens will decree my victory instead."

"…" Rakna remained awfully silent and continued to stare at the white gladiator. It was hard to tell whether he was concealing his reaction or simply didn't have any.

"The time… starts now."

And the first grain of sand trickled down the glass.

* * *

"[East… God…]" Bhumi muttered as he was sent backward by an arrow he caught. But he couldn't take the necessary stance before a spear releasing solar flares chased him down, carrying with it a heat that evaporated all water from the air.

The undead closed its mouth and swung his sword at it with both hands. The impact generated a burst of plasma that burnt off the dead god's skin, but his unfeeling mind pressed on. Surprisingly nimbly, he used his knee to knock the spear upward.

And then, with basic Water Elemental Intent, he carved a trench in the ground from which a geyser erupted and veered toward Ramsa's direction like a seeking spell. Each droplet of water contained inside of it made a sharp noise until the Sun Goddess threw a miniature sun into it, boiling it in the blink of an eye and causing a steam explosion.

The steam cloud parted as Zikserth soared through it, crimson petals following him. With a snarl of inhuman timbre, his arm transformed, peeling away his skin to leave the place for dark red fur with black thorns wrapped around it.

"[Scarlet-Leafed Seed,]" he whispered and a small seed emerged from one of the thorny branches coiling around his arm with a red leaf on it. He clenched it tightly and stepped in thin air, turning himself into a streak of demonic energy.

He appeared in front of Bhumi and struck with his transformed arm. When his fist landed on the undead's chest, he crushed the seed and opened his palm. "[Devil's Garden,]" he intoned and on cue, hundreds of flowers, each a different species, bloomed over the Fallen God's torso.

Branches wrapped around his arms, thorns pierced into his skin, and scarlet flames slowly ignited at the tip of their petals, one by one, as if counting down.

"You've gotten dull in death, old friend," Soma said as he fizzled into view above, holding a moon in his hand. "[Staub des Lichtlosen Mondes,]" he chanted and the silver globe in his hand turned into glittering dust. It sprinkled the flowers, ignited by the scarlet flames.

Soma and Zikserth retreated and spoke at the same time, "[Scarlet Moon.]"

The dust and flames exploded together, rattling the Earth with a disorientating low frequency. The sky blinked and the moons gained a reddish outline for a brief second. With Bhumi as its epicenter, a perfect sphere expanded and shrunk with each second, spewing scarlet flames.

Soma covered his face with his arm as the shock, heat, and light were cast everywhere. But it was then that his senses, connected to every ray of moonlight, heard something nearly inaudible.

"[West God…]"

A tremor went through his spine and as fast as he could, he raised his hand to the sky and forcefully conjured a spell at the cost of his life energy. 

"[Mondzerstörung!]" He shouted and coughed blood, straining his own Domain in the process as he snatched a deserted moon orbiting the planet and dragged it toward the scarlet explosion with speed bordering teleportation.

In the blink of an eye, a moon-turned-meteor overtook the sky. Soma then immediately channeled his divinity throughout his body and converted his very flesh into moonlight. He caught Zikserth's shoulder and blinked out of view.

The Falling Moon collided with the Scarlet Moon, but the impact was never resolved as a voice cut through the mayhem, "[Ensi Ud Aan.]" Every single flame froze in place as a horrifying Intent split the two moons.

There was no detonation. At one moment, the gigantic spells were about to clash, and in the other, both were cleaved before being incinerated into literal oblivion. 

But that wasn't where it stopped.

Far away from Earth, a planet unfortunate enough to be in the path of the Intent suffered the same fate, forever disappearing from this solar system.

Ramsa looked up from where she stood with a pale face. Soma reappeared with Zikserth in tow and coughed out an additional handful of blood. "…damn it," he groaned, bending his neck to gaze at where the Scarlet Moon had just been a second ago.

Nearly the entirety of Bhumi's flesh had been incinerated, exposing most of his skeleton. Yet, even with that much damage, he still held onto his sword and had somehow performed his technique by exploiting the hell that had been burning him.

And now, inert as he appeared, his flesh was regenerating, siphoning more of the Fiend's aura into himself to heal faster.

"What kind of undead is he?" Ramsa uttered in alarm. "Our divinity is incapable of exorcizing him, his martial prowess is unchanged, his mind has faded but his willpower is boundless…"

"…he is both alive and dead at the same time," Soma said somberly. "This is no necromancy. It's as if his 'Life' was altered to 'Death' by skipping the dying process altogether. His soul and spirit are as strong as they would be if he was alive, and only his thoughts seem inexistent, only moving due to reactionary purpose or instinct. That's why we can hit him so easily and he counters with barely any restraint."

"Can we seal him?" Ramsa suggested.

"We would need to weaken him far more than even this for it to work," he said with a frown. "It's not impossible… but to succeed, I would need to use my Soul Manifestation. I can't help you with the sealing spell at the same time."

"Leave that to us," a voice sounded as a silver-haired demon landed behind him, frost spreading with his arrival.

"Faruth," Zikserth addressed him curtly.

"The Shades are nearly wiped out," the demon general reported. "We still have roughly a thousand soldiers capable of fighting, including Ramil and Merid. The healing tree planted by Lady Astraea kept our losses minimal. And Norio no longer is maintaining the barrier as some of the Sentinel's wolves took over."

"The wolves, you say…?" Soma's eyes lit up briefly. "Those are good news. What about Astraea and Tarasque?"

"Fighting the undead raised by the Fiend."

Soma and Zikserth looked at each other and the latter nodded in understanding. "Faruth, return to your men, gather those able to set up a sealing ritual whilst resisting the miasma, leave a group behind to start evacuating the wounded out of the planet, and then come back to us. We will keep Lord Bhumi's attention away from you, so you only have to keep channeling the ritual."

"Understood. What kind of sealing ritual should we use exactly?"

"I'll give it to you," Soma remarked and sent a string of moonlight to Faruth's forehead, conveying the ritual formation directly into his mind. "You can go. Relay the orders to my and Ramsa's people as well. My moons will shelter and heal the wounded demons."

To his credit, the ice demon only staggered as the ritual was poured into his mind; he didn't make a sound. He held his temples with a serious expression and nodded before flying away.

"It seems our break is over," Ramsa uttered as Bhumi regenerated his whole body. The corrupted god stood eerily silent, staring at them with blank and empty eyes. "For any other kind of opponent, I would have thought they were taunting us…" She added dubiously.

"Well," Soma chuckled. "It would be wonderful if he just stood there. Maybe we should compete in a stare-off until Rakna ends it?" He quipped, but to his expected disappointment, Bhumi eventually began lifting his sword above his shoulders.

"I suppose that's too wishful," he snorted and summoned his bow, releasing his aura alongside his two allies.

* * *

The fused Pasqats roared as they diced an entire forest into perfect cubes with one claw strike. A gold and silver aura surrounded its body and it reappeared right in front of its opponent.

Tarasque growled irritatingly, bending space and time around himself with gravity to redirect one more attack that defied the laws of time and space.

"I hate this!" Astraea whined from atop the shelled beast, with crocodile tears in her eyes. She was filtering every single drop of mana she possibly could through her wings and pouring all of it into Tarasque to strengthen him.

The creature she was riding rolled his eyes as he caught one of the Pasqat's arms with his tail and created a disk of gravity to cleave through it. But like every other injury he had made, the limb was slotted right back in like some cheap doll.

"Don't roll your eyes at me!" Naturally, Astraea complained about the wrong thing.

"{…focus, woman.}" A deep and loud voice echoed in her mind.

"What do you think I'm doing?!" She shouted. "Also, since when could you speak?! You should have told me earlier!"

"{…}" Tarasque immediately regretted using telepathy. While ignoring her, he breathed out a large wave of concentrated gravity to stop a beam that erupted from the Pasqat's rib cage. The ground quaked as his claws tore through the earth due to the knockback. 

"{I'd like to kill this thing for good, you hear me?}" He snarled. "{No matter how much I mangle the space and time around it, it keeps rearranging them to its whim.}"

"Well, make a singularity then! Boot it off the surface of the space-time dimension."

"{In what world do you think I have enough power to do that, woman?!}" Tarasque retorted. "{You want to make your Lord proud?! Then let's end it for good instead of just waiting!}"

Astraea grumbled half-heartedly. "…can you hold on without me buffing you for a moment?"

"{Who do you take me for?}" The beast huffed and flapped his titanic wings. He reduced his mass to accelerate and soared past the clouds. The Pasqat roared and chased after him. Tarasque looked down and his horns began to glow dark purple.

A circle made of that same light was projected forward; then another one slightly bigger. And more after that; each coming faster than the previous one until more than a hundred concentric circles were arranged in front of him.

The Pasqat roared and forcefully altered the substance of its arm, turning it into a blade. It coated it in spatial and time energy and swung it.

Tarasque coldly looked at it and wordlessly activated his spell. The innermost circle fused with the one around it and caused a chain reaction. Once it reached the largest circle, it shone brightly and rocketed toward the planet as if a released spring.

Instantly, the Pasqat found itself driven into the bottom of a perfectly cylindrical hole and pinned down by a gravitational force.

Meanwhile, Astraea firmly stuck to Tarasque with her Divinity whilst kneeling in a praying motion and gathering her energy. 'I can't do what I plan on my own…' She thought.

She could only call upon her connection with Rakna and wait stiffly as Tarasque pressed down on the planet with gravity, deteriorating its stability even more. Had it not been for Tarnished Death's handiwork, the Earth would have already popped by this point.

After a few tense seconds, she got her response. Nothing was said, but from the sphere of purple flames in the distance separating the World from her Lord's soul, a handful of soul power was sent toward her. It struck her back and dissolved into her incarnation, infusing her with strength.

The goddess smiled. "Thank you," she whispered and spread her wings wide. 

Without delay, she converged everything she had at once, and for a moment, her Divinity pierced through the borders of this Simulation. She winced at the possibility of the 'Dreamer' noticing, but it should have no interest in something so insignificant, relative to itself.

"[Þessi Lítla Fjöður Biðr þínar Nálganir,]" she chanted with a reverent tone.

"[Veiti Alföðr Sæmd þessari Orrustu.]"

"[Fella þetta Dýr Með þinni Speki.]"

As her path to Egregore reached its zenith, she voiced, "[Guðkonungr Ásgarðar.]" A whirlwind of divinity and soul power swept over her body and she briefly closed her eyes. She opened them to see the result and exclaimed in confusion when nothing seemed to have happened.

"Eh? No way, I'm sure it got through," she said and looked around anxiously.

"Why'd you call me, lass?" An unknown male voice suddenly echoed from her blind spot, right next to her ear and she screeched in fear, taking to the skies with her wings.

"Wha—!" She looked back and saw a tall old man with a deadpan expression on his face. He had long gray hair and a beard trimmed into tresses, his right eye was completely scarred and exposed to the observer. He wore a rather regal outfit but it featured soft colors that didn't stand out.

The man exuded an authoritative presence, yet his demeanor appeared lax and bored. Aside from the clothes on his body, all he had was a stick currently resting on his shoulder. It was not anything more than that; a regular stick, albeit a large one.

"L-Lord Odin!" Astraea shouted sullenly. "Don't scare me like that!"

"Grow some balls, lass," the newly summoned God retorted blankly and she fumed. He then looked downward where the Pasqat was being infinitely crushed by Tarasque, who was quickly depleting his endurance.

The Asgard King then switched focus toward Rakna's Soul Marble and scrubbed his beard with his hand. "Well, no wonder you could form a path to me with a guy like that as your Monarch. But you should have called Chronos, Saturn, or Aion. They could have requisitioned the Time of that creature and allowed you to kill it."

Astraea pouted. "How was I supposed to know that?"

Odin looked at her like a parent who had found a new reason to be disappointed. "Are you sure you're even an Egregore Entity? Did you get dumber without your full power?"

"Hey!"

"Aah, matters not," he ignored her offended yell and tapped his shoulder with his stick. "Hey, tough guy, you can let the dead thing go."

"{…}" Tarasque briefly wondered what the hell was going on his back but nonetheless followed the instruction, regardless of its rash tone. If Astraea's presence was like a planet's distortion, then this new God was basically a galaxy. Even Bhumi couldn't compare.

He stopped discharging the gravity waves from his horns and the overuse of his mana caught up with him. Smoke began to come out of his mouth due to his Magic Circuits overheating.

At the same time, a roar full of rage and savagery echoed and he detected a wormhole practically erasing the distance between himself and the Pasqat.

Tarasque shuddered but as a skeletal claw was about to shred his skull, a markedly smaller figure appeared between them and blocked the undead's attack with one hand.

"Well, look at you," Odin spoke with squinted eyes as the Pasqat struggled against his hand. "What is it? Can't overpower a frail and wrinkled old man?"

Astraea sweatdropped as she watched. 'Frail?' She thought sarcastically.

Even in Egregore, there was a hierarchy. Compared to Odin, she was an ant. Naturally, it was not easy to summon someone like him, and frankly, the only reason she had been able to do it was her extended time spent summoned, allowing her to harness Rakna's Soul Power effectively.

Not to mention, this 'Dream' had very weak borders. Compared to the System or any Reality, even with the limited power she had available to her, she basically had a 'free pick'. Otherwise, back in the System, there would have been no chance for her to summon the Norse Patron God.

Case in point… even at 1% of his true power, Odin held the fate of every life here in his hands.

As if to prove a point, the Pasqat teleported away and stopped making any noises altogether, some of its bones shifting slightly out of place and its claws clicking erratically.

"Oh, you can fear, sack of bones?" Odin scowled and his disfigured eye lit up. "Fascinating, it is. But I don't have time to whip up a pet today. So, let's get you on your way, shall we?"

The Pasqat struggled against its instincts and orders for a moment, until it ultimately decided to retreat to the Earth, its only chance of survival lying there. But as it prepared to manipulate space and time to bring it where it wanted, something grasped its entire frame.

The Pasqat froze in place and its bones creaked, slowly pressured by an outward force. It was like something was trying to turn it into a ball of scrap.

The source was, of course, Odin, whose finger finished drawing a pair of small, almost innocuous runes if it wasn't for the oppressive force they exuded. "[Ansuz Uruz,]" he intoned lazily and then began to draw a third one below that.

During that time, the Pasqat's nearly nonexistent mind was in turmoil. It couldn't understand nor could it not comprehend the idea that space and time were not responding. How could one get around the idea of losing something they possessed as a birthright?

The Asgardian God King quelled its thoughts for eternity with the next word, "[Eiwaz.]"

With but a word that barely seemed to need more effort than voicing them, the Pasqat was crushed into a compact sphere of bones. Then, it broke like an egg, and from within, a shadow erupted and snatched the bone material before bringing it inside itself, disappearing altogether afterward as if it was never there.

"Job done, lass," Odin casually waved away his runes. "Already used up what you gave me," he said as his body began to fade into particles. The amount of energy Astraea had used could only supply him for so long before Egregore snatched him back.

"…thank you very much," Astraea bowed. Tarasque was deathly silent on the other hand, gazing at the old man with awe, fear, and everything in between.

"You are lucky my runes are efficient enough to work with the pathetic resources you gave me." 

The angel's eyebrows twitched in annoyance. "Yes…"

"Still…" Odin looked at Earth, and more specifically, where the battle against Bhumi was currently occurring. "What a shame. There is such a magnificent warrior here… but his soul is in a prison of his own making," he shook his head. "Lass, last words of advice."

Astraea tilted her head.

"Firstly, be careful of the 'planet'," he uttered and she blinked. "Secondly…" He looked up. "Leave as soon as you can," he said with an unreadable expression; more solemn. "The Dreamer and the Téra's 'Keisarinna' are both approaching," he stated warningly.

The goddess's eyes widened in horror and Odin vanished.

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