Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion-Chapter 122: Hollow Intentions

The door to the vault gave a faint groan as Ian stepped through, the lingering silence behind him consumed by the closing stone.

Dust shifted in the half-light, faint shafts of it drifting through broken architecture and faint soul flame residue.

Ian adjusted his coat, calm as ever, and gave one last look over his shoulder.

No creatures mov3d. No whispering horrors. No twitching malformed corpses crawling from the walls.

Not even a flicker of those twisted, foul-born demons that had infested the Reach’s lower levels.

Odd.

He walked forward, his boots crunching grit underfoot, the echo of his steps bouncing off fractured walls and silent pillars.

The place—this portion of the Reach—was strangely vacant.

And that, more than anything, disturbed him.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

But more than the unnatural stillness, it was the absence that gnawed at his mind. No creatures of the Reach.

No twisted souls or crawling beast-forms.

And most telling of all—no demons.

That was the entire reason he had come here.

After much persuasion from the Ninth Chair of the Council—Thalia Virex—he had agreed to delve into the Reach, lured by promises of power, trial, and battle against the demonic tide surging through these depths.

Dark Mist had repeated the advice, whispering that the surest way to strength was through killing demons.

Demons were conduits of necrotic potency, hosts of soul corruption, and vessels of raw essence.

And yet...

His eyes narrowed.

"The only things I’ve killed are two demons, bound horrors and misinformed assassins," Ian muttered, his voice low. "Where are they?"

Then suddenly—whisper-fast—a blade whistled through the air, aimed cleanly for his neck.

Ian’s hand shot up with inhuman precision, fingers clamping down around the edge of the blade, stopping it inches from flesh.

"I know it’s dark in here, but come on," he said flatly, not even turning his head.

"My bad," came a familiar voice. The blade withdrew. "Just a bit on edge," Caelen said, slipping the weapon back into its sheath and stepping beside him.

Ian blinked, recognizing the man’s tense posture and worn armor.

"So... what’s the progress?" Ian asked.

A second voice piped in, brighter, amused. "We got thirteen relics," Lyra announced with her usual smirk, twirling a shimmering shard of crystalized soul-iron between her fingers.

A similar thing to soul cores, perhaps more refined.

Ian stopped. "Thirteen? What the hell do you mean thirteen?"

"We got the three from our scrolls each," Lyra said, clearly enjoying his reaction. "Two confirmed ones from Northridge. Then we found a few more just lying around on some dead teams. Poor souls didn’t need them anymore."

She said that, but Ian knew they weren’t dead until after the siblings found them.

Caelen gave a nonchalant shrug.

"You’re telling me... in the short time we separated, not only did you find your relics, but you robbed others too?"

"What do you mean in the short time we separated?" Caelen’s brow furrowed. "It’s been two days, Ian. We were starting to think your enemies finally got the better of you."

Ian paused.

Two days?

His perception reeled.

The entity he had met—the one that had given him what he holds—had dragged him into a dimension between shadows. In that space, time must have slowed or distorted.

What had felt like an hour at most... had stolen far more.

Ian shook the thought off. "How many more relics do we need?"

"To win?" Caelen asked, stepping closer. "As many as we can get. Hollow Spine is the other confirmed cluster location. Most teams are converging there. It’ll be blood and chaos."

Ian nodded slowly.

That location... it was also where the final relic he needed would be.

Decay.

With Hunger, and now Silence, Decay would complete the trinity.

Whatever came after that—unlocking the purpose of the relics, completing the reach—it would begin with claiming that last one.

"So," Lyra said, slapping a fresh magestone into her wrist bracer, "we burst in, kill everyone, steal everything, and move out."

Ian met her eyes.

He didn’t show any expression, except a ghost of a smile.

"Then let’s move."

They began traveling across cracked platforms and long-forgotten bridges, weaving through ancient structures grown over with corruption and flickering wards.

Lyra moved with her usual bouncy rhythm, humming under her breath. Caelen kept to the shadows, blades always near.

Ian was calm, centered—but his hand never strayed far from Vowbreaker.

Then they felt it.

Pressure.

A shift in the air.

Ian halted, head turning.

"Company," Caelen murmured, already fading into mist.

Figures stepped into view from all sides—circling them. Their robes were dirtied, their insignias marked with burning light. Some bore staves, others swords.

But the ones at the forefront wore distinct armbands marked with the sun sigil of the Sanctum of Light.

Ian’s eyes narrowed.

Among them, he recognized a few faces.

Sanctum rats.

Specifically, the squad that had promised to end him in the Reach.

"Well well," Lyra said with a toothy grin, "Looks like they want their rematch."

The leader of the group stepped forward. A tall, pale figure with golden eyes and silver-trimmed armor. His voice was calm but hard.

"Prophet of Death," he said. "You should not have come this far. We warned you what would happen if you entered into the Reach."

Ian tilted his head. "You did. I just didn’t care."

The man’s eye twitched. "We’ll end your heresy here."

Ian raised one hand—and with a faint hiss, the twin daggers of Vowbreaker slid into his grasp from the ether.

"Get in line," he said, stepping forward.

Lyra cracked her knuckles. "Oh good. I was getting bored."

Caelen said nothing, but he was more than prepared for blood.

The air charged with tension.

From the Sanctum squad, radiant spells began to glow. A high subjugator raised a staff, shouting liturgies in the Old Tongue.

Blades of burning light formed midair.

From Ian’s fingers, something began to flicker.

Necrotic mist swirled around his legs.

And then, with a snap of power—

—it all went wrong.