From the swirling heart of the obsidian landscape, a voice boomed, resonating in the very marrow of Kyn's bones. It wasn't Mot's thundering baritone, but something deeper, vaster – Khaos itself. A sliver of spectral light coalesced above the churning depths, forming a visage wreathed in nebulae and impossible geometries.
"Intriguing. The tapestry of your struggle weaves threads I find… fascinating. This forced symbiosis with chaos, it blossoms well. As Mot has served his initial purpose, revealing weaknesses and building foundations. Now, for the true apex of the ocean: the great old serpents of celestial scale. Stained-glass elegance in motion, imbued with a will that lashes like living lightning. A worthy opponent to test your new power."
Kyn felt a prickle of both dread and anticipation crawl up his spine. This wasn't just another lesson; it was a sanctioned escalation, bro just got himself cooked after showing off his own ego. He met Khaos's gaze, the abyss-deep eyes flickering with spectral amusement, 'he really wants me dead' were the thoughts he had. "Embrace this next layer, mortal. I command Mot to mirror their essence: fluid fury, whip-like strikes. The chaos-weave upon your weapons shall now be tested against true kinetic force, not mere parrying. Should it falter, it will shatter you. Succeed, and the path to true dominion begins anew."
A low, rumbling tremor shook the ground as Mot before him writhed and transformed. The obsidian scales receded, replaced by a sinuous, luminescent hide that shimmered with an inner light like captured starlight. Glowing celestial runes spiraled along its length, marking points of impossible flexibility and raw strength. The dragon-form was gone, subsumed into something more akin to the fabled Fucanglong of ancient lore – a magnificent serpent of living constellations, the air singing with displaced energy as it uncoiled in lethal grace.
Khaos' command held another weight - no longer were Mot's blows mere rehearsals. Each lash of that celestial serpent-tail, imbued now with full draconic might, would sear and kill. This wasn't training; this was a trial by fire where the line between survival and oblivion blurred. Kyn felt the familiar thrum of chaos flowing into his chosen weapon - a longsword hewn from a meteorite he'd scavenged in the realm - its edge already laced with an ethereal luminescence. The air itself crackled, charged with the promise both of devastation and defiance.
He met that serpentine gaze head-on, his own eyes reflecting the molten heart of the celestial serpent before him. Seven months had been a crucible, forging more than muscle and metal; it'd tempered his spirit in the furnace of impossible odds. It was time to rise from the ashes as something truly forged by chaos itself.
"Bring it on, El-dragon. Let's see if this cloak can weather a Long's tempest." His voice resonated with a newfound steel, no longer the whimper of the cornered, but the growl of a cornering predator - ready to strike.
Mot, in its shimmering serpentine glory uncoiled, scales glinting like fallen stars, and lashed out – the first blow of the true trial had arrived.
A few months latter (4 month 16 days).
The obsidian cavern echoed not with clashing steel, but with the bone-jarring thunder of scales against flesh. It became a whirlwind of celestial fury as Kyn found himself outmatched, outsmarted. Every thrust of his longsword, once laced with controlled chaos, was met with a serpent-like whip of pure draconic might. Mot moved like liquid starlight, countering each attack before it reached full arc, turning his own strikes into brutal telekinetic battering rams. Kyn tasted the coppery tang of blood anew after each near-fatal blow. Khaos' lessons on offense had been brutally effective in forging his blade's edge - but they'd left him utterly exposed when it came to defense.
The searing agony lanced through his arms, threatening to extinguish his flickering light. Yet before oblivion could claim him, a surge of alien energy coursed through his shattered form, mends being woven back together from the raw essence of chaos. Khaos' spectral visage, now closer, more concerned than amused, shimmered above the prone Kyn.
"Arrogance blinds even the sharpest edges. Mortal, you've been mistaking borrowed power for your own. The chaos-weave on your blade was a fragile extension, a siphoning from this realm, not birthed from within. You wield a conduit of stars, not the furnace itself. True mastery lies in channeling the tempest *within* - in condensing the void, the wellspring already present in your very core."
The spectral eyes bored into Kyn, forcing him to confront his own faults. He saw it now, glaringly clear: he'd been treating his core (dantian), the nexus of internal energy, as none existent, drawing upon Khaos' ambient chaos instead of forging it himself. The key hadn't been more concentration on the blade, but *lessen its need for external power*. It was time to embrace the chaotic heart raging within him, not just borrow from its fringes.
Khaos' spectral voice resounded with newfound intensity, guiding Kyn through a spiraling visualization. "Envision your core as the eye of a storm. Swirl that void - let it churn and fractally bloom outwards. That fury wanting to destroy all IS your wellspring. Release it not just to the blade, but weave it into an aura encompassing your entire being. A living shield born from within, no longer subject to this realm's capricious currents."
He could feel it ... not the anger against Mot, but just pure unadulterated annihilations at its beginning roaring within him.
Kyn forced himself back onto his knees, each movement a whisper of agony. He looked inward, past the sting of his wounds, and delved into the depths of his dantian. He could feel it – the roiling chaos. He'd been so focused on concentrating the realms energy to his sword but now something he needed to channel it from within. A wellspring of raw cosmic energy, a storm waiting to be unleashed, not as a weapon wielded, but a fortress erected.
The air crackled anew, no longer with borrowed power from the cavern's ambient chaos, but with the nascent light of his own inner tempest. The spectral serpent uncoiled, its celestial eyes gleaming with something akin to reluctant respect. It had tasted Kyn's borrowed strength, now it was time to face the storm born within. A new battle began, a more primal one: Kyn against not just Mot's might, but his own ineptitude of the past. This was survival on a deeper level, a crucible where true mastery would be forged, line-by-line with the chaotic current of his very being.
Current match stats: 678 to none.