Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion
Chapter 184: Three Paths

Chapter 184: Three Paths

The silence stretched a heartbeat too long.

Ian’s knuckles flexed around the hilt of Judgement, but his voice was quiet. Measured.

"Are you ready to actually go all out?"

Eli didn’t answer right away. His golden eyes studied Ian’s face, searching for something beneath the calm.

Then he sighed.

Not like a man afraid. Like one mourning something already lost.

"So that’s how it is." He turned to look at the city skyline—jagged towers silhouetted against a brooding sky, the faint shimmer of Esgard’s outer wards glowing far in the distance.

A smirk curved one corner of his mouth.

"Damn shame. I actually liked this city."

Then—

His left eye bled red.

Not metaphorically—literally.

The iris cracked like glass fracturing under pressure, bleeding into a demonic crimson glow that pulsed with every heartbeat.

From beneath his skin, marks began to rise—black, jagged sigils etching themselves across his chest, shoulders, and throat like a language lost to time. They glowed briefly, then burned in red fire.

The air screeched.

Mark blinked once. His smile didn’t fade, but it slipped slightly into something more cautious. Calculating.

Eli rolled his neck, shoulders cracking audibly.

"Guess we’re turning Esgard to dust after all."

Ian didn’t speak.

He breathed.

And the world shuddered.

A black flame erupted from the ground—quiet, at first, like a candle’s kiss—then surged into a wave of necrotic fire that swept outward in all directions.

The sky above them dimmed, color draining from it like someone had crushed it in their palm. Light coiled away from Ian’s form as if it feared what he’d become.

Then—

The second state activated.

Eyes gone void-gray.

Runes across his arms and throat shimmered into obsidian.

His footsteps left behind fading marks.

And as the world around him warped, as if caught in a deepening shadow, Ian whispered:

"Crown of the Forgotten."

The name echoed, not just in sound—but in reality.

The ground split in a slow, creeping spiral. A dome of flickering shadow erupted outward, spiraling with veils of black that bent the very light around them. Air thickened. Bones of those nearby—not just men, but even distant birds—grew brittle.

The pressure forced the clouds overhead to spiral downward into an unnatural stormfront.

Ancient sigils blazed within the dome. Floating. Turning.

As though the world had suddenly remembered a truth it was never meant to know.

And from within that domain—they came.

Hundreds.

Maybe more.

Soulbound.

Phantoms of rage and purpose, armor forged from death, eyes lit with the cold fire of the Hollow Flame.

Fang stepped forward first, his long purple rods forming with a hiss of dark lightning. He grinned lazily, already twirling them like a dancer welcoming a storm.

"’Bout time you called us," he said, then turned toward Mark. "And who’s this shiny bitch? Oh, the chosen."

Beside him came others.

Shadows with steel fangs.

A knight with hollow eyes and a banner made of screams.

A twin-bladed ghost cloaked in glass.

And then—

A growl so low it shook the floor.

Massive paws stepped into the light of the sigils.

Havoc.

The lion-beast, mane made of iron chains, eyes molten gold. Its form flickered between flesh and spectral flame—bigger than a siege beast, the chains along its limbs rattling with a sound like wrath given form.

Eli exhaled, stepping forward beside Ian. The sigils along his arm now reached his fingertips.

His voice came low, amused.

"Sorry, Chosen," he said, gaze fixed on Mark. "Seems you might have to die here today."

Mark watched it all with an unreadable expression.

But when he finally smiled, it wasn’t arrogance.

It was acceptance.

"So," he said softly. "This is what’s become of you."

His own aura began to shift—light forming at his shoulders, golden motes that floated like feathers from an unseen crown. A circle of six golden lines appeared behind his back, like the framing of some ancient celestial wheel.

"I see now," Mark said, voice growing distant. "You’re not playing the game."

He looked between Ian and Eli.

"You’re trying to end it."

Then the air collapsed—

And they clashed.

Ian moved first—vanishing in a flicker of soulflame, Judgement cleaving toward Mark’s neck.

Eli followed a breath behind, his blade erupting with red lightning as it struck toward Mark’s heart.

But Mark—

Mark didn’t dodge.

He didn’t need to.

A blinding ring of light exploded around him, and the clash broke the sound barrier. Soulbound were flung backwards like leaves. Fang cursed as he spiraled away. Havoc dug its claws into the stone, but even it was pushed back a step.

Steel met golden light.

Judgement screamed against a blade Ian didn’t see until the last moment—a shimmering construct that shouldn’t have existed in this world.

Mark laughed.

"I fought dragons for my initiation," he said as he parried both blows at once, twisting his stance like a dancer. "Do you really think this will be enough?"

Ian didn’t answer. He spun, ducked low, and swept Judgement across Mark’s legs, but the Chosen leapt clean over it, flipping once before bringing down a crushing hammer of light made from the fragmented sky itself.

Eli blocked it—barely.

The impact cracked a crater fifty feet wide.

Then they moved again.

Every breath was a blur.

Mark struck and stepped, struck and stepped, each movement painting the air with light that cut deeper than steel.

Ian’s soulbound swarmed in waves—Fang reappearing with a snarl, slamming his rods into the ground to summon a wall of spears. Havoc lunged, teeth snapping at Mark’s side.

Nothing landed clean.

Mark fought like certainty made flesh.

Unshakeable.

Untouchable.

Ian was fast.

Eli was brutal.

But Mark...

Mark was perfect.

Not a wasted motion.

Not a stumble.

Even when a soulbound managed to draw blood, Mark twisted the pain into momentum, driving it backward and severing its head with a flicker of divine will.

Still—Ian did not falter.

The Crown of the Forgotten pulsed. The domain held.

And for every inch they lost, he summoned more.

More flames.

More dead.

More forgotten oaths.

Mark parried a dozen blades at once, golden light flaring around him like a shield made from heaven’s remnants.

"Come on," he muttered. "Where is it? Where’s your hate? That’s what gave you strength, right?"

Ian met his gaze.

And smiled.

"If only you knew the truth," he whispered.

Mark blinked.

Then winced as Eli’s blade carved a shallow line across his ribs.

The first real hit.

Mark snarled—and for the first time, his expression cracked. Not much. Just a flicker.

But enough.

They pressed in.

Fast.

Hard.

Unrelenting.

The three of them blurred together in a chaos of light, fire, and fury—until even the soulbound had to back away.

Stone melted.

Sigils cracked.

The sky screamed.

And still—no opening.

No moment of weakness.

Not from Mark.

Not yet.

The battle raged on, a collision of three divine paths.

And none had yielded.

Not yet.