Reborn as the Last van Ambrose
Chapter 184: History

Chapter 184: History

The Dragon Emperor’s massive body shifted slightly as he regarded Mo Xuan. The ancient sorcerer trembled, his crystallized soul energy flickering like a dying flame.

"You expected me to be your prize," the Emperor said, his voice made the broken chamber resonate. "A power to be claimed, a body to be possessed. How small your vision has always been."

Mo Xuan tried to speak, to explain his grand design, but the words got caught in his throat. The being before him was so far beyond anything he had prepared for that his millennia of planning seemed like a child’s game.

"I will not be the one to end you," the Dragon Emperor continued, and for a moment, hope flickered in Mo Xuan’s eyes. "That honor belongs to another."

The Emperor’s gaze shifted upward, toward his own massive back, and Mo Xuan’s hope died as quickly as it had been born.

"I have remade our friend."

All eyes in the chamber turned to follow the Emperor’s gaze, and what they saw surprised them.

Standing atop the Dragon Emperor’s back, as if he had been placed there by the gods themselves, was Grim.

But this was not the human who had nearly died from Mo Xuan’s soul attack. This was something entirely new.

Grim wore only the pants from his gi and his boots. His upper body was bare, revealing skin covered in blood that seemed to glisten. But most striking were the scales that now covered his torso, arms, and neck—a pattern of blue, silver, and black.

His eyes, when they opened. The scar on his face pulsed, and when he breathed, the air around him shimmered.

"Hello, Mo Xuan," Grim said. "We need to finish our conversation."

Mo Xuan staggered backward, his sanity fragmenting trying to process what he was seeing. "Impossible. You were dying. I destroyed your soul!"

"You tried," Grim agreed, dropping gracefully from the Dragon Emperor’s back to land on the chamber floor. "But you made the same mistake you always make—you underestimated what you were dealing with."

As Grim walked forward, Mo Xuan could see that the transformation went deeper than just physical changes.

"What have I done?" Mo Xuan thought, his fragmented consciousness reeling. *All my planning, all my manipulation, and I’ve only succeeded in creating something worse than what I sought to destroy.*

Two thousand years of careful schemes, of patient corruption, of believing himself the master of his own destiny—and it had all led to this moment of absolute failure.

"I was a fool," he realized. *I thought I understood power, thought I could control forces beyond my comprehension. But I was always just a puppet, dancing to melodies I couldn’t even hear.*

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The memories came flooding back as Mo Xuan’s consciousness began to fracture further. He remembered when it all began, so long ago he barely could remember.

He had been young then, barely out of his first century of life. Just another elf seeking knowledge in a world that seemed full of mysteries waiting to be unraveled. Magic was simpler then, more direct. You drew power from the elements, shaped it with will, and hoped your understanding was sufficient to avoid catastrophe.

But Mo Xuan had always wanted more.

He remembered the day he first heard whispers of the forbidden arts—magic that drew not from the natural world, but from the spaces between worlds. Power that came not from harmony with existence, but from the violation of natural law.

Most elves turned away from such knowledge. They understood instinctively that some boundaries were not meant to be crossed. But Mo Xuan had been different. Where others saw danger, he saw opportunity.

The first souls he corrupted were small things—insects, rodents, creatures whose suffering meant nothing to the grand scheme of existence. But each success taught him new techniques, showed him new applications of forbidden power.

By his second century, he was stealing years from dying mortals, adding their remaining life to his own. By his third, he had learned to corrupt the dreams of sleeping dragons, feeding on their nightmares to fuel his ever-growing abilities.

But it was in his fourth century that everything changed.

He had been deep in the archives of a long-dead civilization, searching for texts on soul manipulation, when he found reference to a being called Axem. Not just any practitioner of forbidden arts, but someone who had allegedly stood as an equal beside gods and emperors.

The search for Axem had consumed the next fifty years of his life. Following rumors and legends across continents, delving into ruins that predated recorded history, sacrificing countless lesser beings to fuel divination spells that might reveal his quarry’s location.

When he finally found him, Mo Xuan had expected to discover another elf, perhaps more skilled than himself but ultimately just another seeker of forbidden knowledge.

Instead, he found something that redefined his understanding of power itself.

The magic that Axem practiced was on another level. Every technique Mo Xuan had spent centuries perfecting, Axem could perform with ease. More terrifying still, Axem seemed to understand applications of soul magic that Mo Xuan couldn’t even comprehend.

"You seek knowledge," Axem had said during their first meeting. "But knowledge without purpose is merely curiosity. What do you want, young elf?"

"To understand," Mo Xuan had replied. "To master the forces that govern existence itself."

Axem had smiled then, an expression that held no warmth. "Understanding and mastery are different things. But I can teach you both, if you’re willing to pay the price."

The price had been everything Mo Xuan was.

Under Axem’s tutelage, he learned techniques that required him to sacrifice pieces of his own humanity. Each new level of power demanded a corresponding loss of something fundamental—compassion, empathy, the ability to feel joy or wonder or love.

But the power... the power had been intoxicating.

Within a century of studying under Axem, Mo Xuan could corrupt entire civilizations with a thought. He could steal the life force of thousands to fuel a single technique. He could reach across realms to plant seeds of destruction that would bloom centuries later.

And Axem had praised him for it.

"You are my greatest student," his master had said as Mo Xuan perfected the technique for possessing other beings. "You understand that true power requires the willingness to sacrifice everything for its acquisition."

But even as he spoke those words, Mo Xuan had sensed something in Axem’s manner—a distance, a coldness that went beyond the emotional numbness required for forbidden magic practice.

It wasn’t until much later that he understood. Axem had been preparing him not as a student, but as a tool. Every technique he taught, every advancement Mo Xuan achieved, was part of a larger plan that stretched across millennia.

The realization had come when Axem finally revealed his true identity.

"I was told by a truth seeker that I will lose another something important to me by my own blood. You will be my insurance that I come back on top."

The corruption had been so complete by then that Mo Xuan felt no betrayal, no anger at being manipulated. He simply accepted his role as Malaxis’s instrument and began the work he had begun.

Centuries later he found Malaxis. Broken, just a soul left.

Dropping Malaxis into the human realm had been the culmination of centuries of preparation. Creating the perfect vessel wasn’t necessary. Malaxis was as corrupted as Mo Xuan.

But now, looking at Grim’s transformed body, he finally understood the truth that had been hidden from him all along.

He had never been a student, just a backup plan.