Rising god
Chapter 64: Lost Soul

Chapter 64: Lost Soul

Outside the ancient house, the crowd of spectators had swelled, their murmurs a low hum against the backdrop of the trembling structure.

The air was thick with anticipation and dread, as if the house itself were a living entity, pulsing with secrets no one dared to voice.

he two entrant guards, now joined by reinforcements, stood at the forefront, their hands resting on their weapons, eyes scanning the building for any sign of change. No one had entered since the initial expulsion of the visitors, and the realization had settled in: the house was sealed, its doors unyielding to any who tried to breach them.

The leader of the tourism site, a grizzled man named Captain Torren, stood apart from the group, his weathered face etched with concern as his mind churned with possibilities. "It’s either that someone is still inside, triggering some hidden condition," he said, his voice low, "or the house itself is reacting to something we don’t understand. Either way, I want to know everything. Every change, every sound, every whisper from that damned place, I want it reported immediately. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" came the unified response from a group of thirty subordinates, their ranks varying from seasoned veterans to wide-eyed recruits.

They fanned out, some setting up observation posts, others consulting arcane devices to monitor the house’s energy. Torren cast one last glance at the vibrating structure, its weathered facade seeming to mock their efforts.

’It has been like that for three days now.’ The leader muttered under his breath before turning to walk away.

...

Inside the house, Baines stood on the first floor, his breath steady despite the relentless assault on his mind and soul. The spirits’ memory attacks, once a disorienting torment, had lost their edge. He had learned to navigate them, closing his eyes the moment the visions began and willing himself back to the present.

The technique Astral Fang had proven effective against the spirits, its ethereal energy slicing through their intangible forms. But the ghosts were another matter. Their attacks were more insidious, targeting his very essence, and Baines had begun to notice something new in their movements.

"What is this?" he whispered, narrowing his eyes as he studied the ghosts. Their forms flickered in the dim light, their outlines jagged and unstable. As he focused, he saw faint lines of energy threading through their movements, patterns that seemed deliberate, almost ritualistic.

The way they shaped their hands, the way their energy flowed, it all converged into the foggy outline of their souls.

Usually, Baines would have relied on the Eye to pinpoint their weaknesses, but with the Eye silent, he was forced to rely on his own perception. Since achieving his second resonance, he hadn’t spared to know all of its effects, or even the fact that he hadn’t tried to note the other things he could do aside from seeing the soul’s outline.

’I should look into myself again later,’ he thought, filing away the idea for when he had time to reflect. For now, he focused on the lines of energy. They weren’t tied to sword resonance, that much was clear. The ghosts were soul structures, their power drawn entirely from their spiritual essence.

"How do they use the soul energy?" he wondered aloud. It seemed simple on the surface, but the complexity of their movements suggested otherwise.

His vision blurred briefly, signaling another memory attack. The spirits were relentless, pulling him into the past without warning.

’Ascendance over mortality,’ He muttered the name as he remembered some words from the first page.

-What sees the soul? Is it the eyes, the senses, or the soul?

-How would you know the soul when you see one?

Then the page went and contradicted itself again by saying,

-The soul could be an abstract concept.

Baines paused, letting the words settle.

’What am I using to see it?’ he murmured. ’Is it my eyes, my soul, or something else? And are they attacking my soul directly?’ With no immediate answers, he shifted his focus inward, visualizing the outline of his own soul.

Like the ghosts, it was a faint, shimmering silhouette, its edges undefined but unmistakably his. ’Alright, let’s say I’m seeing it with my soul, and I know this is my soul, then what concept does it follow?"

He thought of Ashenfall, the technique rooted in raw will to achieve, to survive, destruction, and rebirth. Divine power, by contrast, was built on faith, purity, and renewal.

But the soul?

Was it right to define it by concept? But the book was saying it was also a concept.

So he decided to take it at face value. The soul was different for every person, even twins had different attributes. "Then, let’s say it’s tied to personality," Baines reasoned. "If that’s true, then I need to imagine my personality."

The memory attack surged again, pulling him back to his childhood.

He saw his younger self, vibrant and curious. Then he picked on the attributes he could see. He naturally loved plants, he had always been curious about what his siblings and parents did, and he loved to give out.

The scene shifted, as it always did, to the pool of blood. Then he also picked the attributes. His older self stood there, consumed by vengeance and rage, his thoughts a storm of destruction.

But beneath the fury, traces of his younger self remained. Though his curiosity for things had muted, his love for plants persisted; his generosity surfaced in rare moments, like when he helped Darkan. And there was something new, a sense of peace he found in the rhythm of his sword, a clarity that emerged when he swung his blades.

The memory shattered like glass, and in its place stood a new figure: a younger Baines, but overlaid with the complexities of his current self.

The two versions of him stood face-to-face, their personalities intertwined, curiosity and rage, generosity and resolve, peace and destruction. As the younger self tried to open its eyes, Baines snapped back to reality.

"Gasp..." He heaved, his chest rising and falling as if waking from a deep, dreamless sleep.

His mind suddenly felt sharper, expanded, as though the house had unlocked something within him. His understanding of Ascendance over Mortality deepened, its principles crystallizing in his thoughts.

And then he saw it, the souls of the ghosts. They were no longer vague outlines but vivid, irregular shapes, each one jagged and distorted.

"Lost souls," he whispered, the realization dawning.

These were souls that had wandered too long, then got infected, finally unable to reach their next destination. Its shape then turned irregular, hence being called a ghost.

They especially attacked the souls of those with bodies because of their innate regret of getting tainted.

There were also the spirits. Their memory attacks no longer fazed him.

Baines gripped his swords. "Time to end this," he muttered.

He charged forward, his swords trembling as he infused them with Astral Fang. The ethereal energy lashed out, slicing through the spirits with precision.

With the demon blade, he did something new: he channeled his soul, his personality, into the weapon. The blade glowed faintly, resonating with his essence, curiosity, rage, peace, all woven into a single, potent force.

Slash! Slash! Slash!

In a fluid, practiced motion, he cut through the ghosts and spirits, his blades striking not their forms but their souls. There was no dramatic gash in the floor or ceiling, no unnecessary flourish, just clean, precise cuts that severed the essence of his enemies.

KIIIIIIIIIIIII!

The ghosts screamed, their voices a piercing wail of agony and release. Then, with a faint whish, they faded into nothingness, their souls finally freed from their torment.

"Haah..." Baines exhaled, a wave of relief washing over him.

If that hadn’t worked, he wasn’t sure what he would have tried next. His gaze shifted to the mummies, still standing motionless, their crimson bandages glowing faintly in the dim light.

Throughout the battle, they hadn’t moved, but their presence had been a quiet but persistent threat.

He felt a spark of intuition, a sense that he understood their purpose.

Drawing on the last reserves of his soul energy, he prepared his next move. "I’m almost out," he muttered, aware of how little energy remained in his battered body.

A small boy could only hold so much, after all. Thankfully, the mummies weren’t fighting back, and that gave him an advantage.

"Soul Slash," he declared, channeling his soul energy into the demon blade once more. With a swift, deliberate motion, he swung, aiming not for the mummies’ bodies but their essence.

The blade sang as it cut through the air, and one by one, the mummies collapsed, their forms dissolving as the soul effect took hold. Maybe the best thing about this soul attack was, no matter when he struck, it would always attack the soul.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!" Baines roared, his voice echoing through the empty chamber, a primal cry of victory and defiance. Despite everything he had faced, he had struggled and won. He pushed out all those pent-up emotions into the roar.