Grand Ascension-Chapter 65: Unpredictable

Emotions were not ethereal abstractions. They were information. Structured, coded, vibrational patterns encoded into the spiritual layer of reality. Fear had a frequency, rage had a rhythm and despair had a harmonic signature.

When Makun’s desperation peaked, when his survival instinct screamed louder than reason, his Route Core broadcast that information outward. It imprinted itself on the Ashe flooding his body. It saturated the atoms around him. It resonated through the Veil.

And the Deep responded.

A response big enough to attract the attention of every Adept practitioner in the vicinity.

The Deep was not empty. It was saturated with chaotic information. Every act of violence, every death, every collapse, every moment of entropy ever experienced by any living thing had left residue in the Deep. Rage from a thousand murdered souls. Desperation from a million failed struggles. Madness from entities that had existed for eons without form or purpose.

All of it stored as vibrational data, encoded into the atomic structure of the Deep itself.

That was what had flooded Makun.

Zack, who lay across the street, could not believe his eyes... his eye.

Makun had been no match for him. He had been overpowered, and his only solution was running away using the Phase Veil Charm.

Then why was he suddenly propelled?

Why was he suddenly bleeding?

Why was his stomach torn?

He had no idea what was happening, but he knew the situation had turned sour.

Zack struggled to his feet, one hand pressed against the gaping wound in his stomach, Ashe flooding his body in a desperate attempt to harden his organs, to hold himself together long enough.

He was uncertain. Uncertain about the current situation.

He was not sure whether he had to run away or face whatever was coming. He wanted to run. Everything in him screamed at him to run.

From the remaining Ashe he had, his nerves to the information in the air, they all screamed run.

But, the book, he thought.

He had to finish this. The book was worth it. For her.

If Zack knew he would not be able to use the book, would he still be so obstinate?

Would he cry after understanding every loss he experienced till now was for naught?

Or was he going to curse the seers who directed him to the Night Market that day?

He could not do that. He had no idea about the book and everything that transpired before it was handed to someone.

Zack took a look at Makun, who by now had gently landed on his two feet.

Makun’s eyes snapped open.

They were no longer brown.

They glowed, faintly, a fierce orange-red, the color of fire and magma, filled with the desire to burn anything.

Makun looked at Zack. He did not consider him anything else than something he had to destroy.

At this point, Makun had lost himself to his own rage.

And his gaze scared.

Thud, th... flash.

Looking at Makun’s eyes, Zack slowly took a step back, two steps, before darting towards Makun.

I can’t run away. I have to finish this.

He channeled Ashe into his fist, hardening it beyond steel, beyond stone, into something dense enough to crack bone, to shatter skulls.

His fist came down like a hammer. It was extremely fast with brutal precision, aimed at Makun’s temple. It was a kill shot. At this point, Zack had decided to kill Makun, then search a way to get his memories. There was no hesitation and no mercy in his fist.

But Makun moved. Not as stiff and panicked like he was earlier. He was not desperately stumbling around or flailing like a cornered animal. No, he moved chaotically, his body twisting in ways that made no sense.

His left shoulder dipping low while his right foot pivoted out, his spine bending at an angle that should have been impossible, and Zack’s fist sailed past his head, missing by inches.

Makun tilted his head and smiled a non-human smile.

Then.

BOOM.

He struck back.

No technique or form. None of the intensive training he had undergone while young. It was just instinct. Chaotic raw instinct.

His fist lashed out in a wild arc, not aimed at Zack’s jaw or ribs or gut, but at his throat, as he had deduced it was a soft spot alongside his eyes.

Zack barely raised his forearm in time to block. Even then, the impact cracked against his hardened arm like a baseball bat against concrete, and Zack felt the vibration rattle through his bones.

"What the he—" Zack started.

Makun did not let him finish.

He attacked again, and again, and again.

Each strike less predictable than the last one. Each movement erratic. His fists came from angles that made no sense. His legs swept low, then high, then low again with no particular rhythm, pattern, or logic.

Zack, trained and disciplined as a third-grade Adept Warrior with years of combat experience, found himself struggling to keep up.

He struggled to parry.

Because he could not predict any pattern. Chaos had none.

Shit.

Zack, who was getting desperate, hardened his entire body, flooding every muscle, every bone, and every remaining organ with Ashe. His skin took a metallic hue as his movements slowed but his durability skyrocketed.

BAM.

He planted his feet and threw a heavy right cross, aiming to end this in one blow. Hoping to sever his head from the rest of his body.

WHOOOOSH.

The punch flew across the air, aiming for Makun’s face.

Makun did not dodge.

He leaned into it.

BANG.

The fist connected with his jaw, the bang echoing across the street. Makun’s head snapped back and even more blood sprayed from his mouth. His whole body staggered, but he did not fall. He could only feel his Route Core pulsing. It pulsed once, then twice, and it proceeded to embrace every tiny bit of the pain, the fear, and the rage Makun felt.

All of it condensed into fuel. Fuel for more power.

Makun’s hand shot forward, fingers splayed, and he grabbed Zack’s wrist.

His Ashe Flowing into Zack’s wrist.