Souls Online: Mythic Ascension-Chapter 289: Traitor on the Council

Tremlin stood rigid, his jaw clenched and hands at his sides. He was trembling, though he refused to admit it to himself. It was not fear that caused it, at least not the kind he was willing to acknowledge. It was the pressure of divine presence, the suffocating weight of being surrounded by so many who had been marked by the gods.

He had offended them all, including the young woman who claimed to be favored by Eldara herself. That fact alone should have shattered him, but it didn’t. Pride held him together. Pride, and the stubborn belief that no matter what blessings these outsiders had been granted, they were still just that. Outsiders.

Servants, apostles, envoys. Fine. But not equals.

He did not bow to mortals, no matter how chosen they claimed to be.

Still, he held his tongue. Because for the first time in many years, he did not know what would happen if he spoke again.

And in the silence that followed, a question burned quietly in the back of his mind.

What about the other three?

Leo. Adam. Rachel.

They had said nothing. Revealed nothing. That unsettled him more than anything else.

Barker, for his part, looked as though someone had poured a bucket of ice water down his back. Cold sweat gathered at his brow and slid down his temples. His spine remained straight, but his eyes flicked nervously across the group. There was no saving this cleanly, no way to frame what had just occurred without acknowledging how dangerously close they had come to offending gods.

He cleared his throat, forcing composure.

"Of course, honored guests, now that introductions are... complete, we can begin the final discussions regarding your reward. Heartwood does not forget debts, especially not those paid in blood."

Before he could continue, Rachel’s brows knit tightly together. Her gaze slid across the elders, sharp and alert.

There was something foul in the air. Something crawling.

She could sense it.

A desire.

Foul, seething, and murderous.

Her expression darkened.

Then, before anyone could move on, she turned her head toward the back of the chamber.

"Hey Princess."

The voice cut through the air like a knife.

Everyone turned. Seryn had entered at some point without making a sound. She stood quietly near the doors, flanked by two guards, her expression unreadable.

Rachel took a step forward and asked, "How did you find out about this dungeon?"

Seryn blinked, surprised by the question, but her answer came easily.

"My patron," she said. "The Spirit of Flowers. She sent me a warning. Something was festering deep beneath the forest. I was not allowed to leave Heartwood myself, so I sent a scout to investigate."

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. "And what did the scout say when he got back?"

Seryn hesitated. "I do not know. I never heard from him directly. I was told by one of the elders that the scout found nothing. That it was just residual miasma."

Rachel stepped closer now, her tone growing colder.

"Which elder?"

Seryn glanced toward the council. "Elder Lorent. He was the one who reported back."

Rachel’s gaze snapped to Lorent, her frown deepening into a scowl.

"Interesting," she said slowly. "Because right now, his deepest desire is to kill every single person in this room."

The temperature dropped again.

Elder Lorent’s breath caught in his throat.

And everyone turned to stare.

Elder Lorent stiffened in his seat as every eye in the chamber turned toward him. The weight of Rachel’s accusation pressed into the room like a vice, and though he tried to remain calm, the flicker of unease in his gaze betrayed him.

He gave a forced chuckle, thin and hollow.

"I believe the young girl is simply fatigued," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Surely your senses are muddled, child. You have endured a great ordeal. Perhaps too much strain has made your thoughts unclear."

Rachel’s expression shifted slowly.

Her smile was cold. Not playful. Not smug. Icy and deathly still.

"Oh, I’m tired," she replied softly. "But not enough to mistake murder for manners."

She stepped forward, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

"My mentor is the one they whisper about in ruins and pray to never meet. The God of Darkness and Judgement. And he’s very much alive."

The words landed like a hammer. Heavy. Final.

Elder Lorent’s blood ran cold.

His eyes snapped wide, his breath hitching as recognition carved its way across his face. He knew exactly who she was talking about. He had read the name in forbidden texts, had heard the old prayers meant to keep such a god away. The one who sees through all falsehoods. The one who walks through shadow and calls guilt to the surface like rot from flesh.

In that instant, he knew he could not hide any longer.

So he didn’t try.

Lorent lunged.

The motion was desperate, reckless, and utterly revealing. No more masks. No more games. His fingers clawed through the air toward Seryn like a predator grasping for its final chance.

He didn’t make it.

The atmosphere cracked.

There was no sound, no roar, no flashy magic. Just presence. An overwhelming, suffocating presence.

Leo moved.

His form shifted in the blink of an eye, muscles expanding in a surge of divine energy. His body stood tall and unyielding, a perfect balance of savagery and regality. Platinum-blonde hair spilled like liquid light down his back, wild and unbound, brushing past his waist as if even gravity feared to touch him.

There were no scars on his flesh. No marks. Only purity. Strength made perfect.

Around his neck, thick black chains hung broken, shattered as if some divine force had once tried to restrain him and failed.

More wrapped around his forearms and legs, dangling loose like trophies of a war he had already won.

He looked less like a man and more like the beast crowned king.

One chain snapped forward like a whip, launching from the collar around his neck. It wrapped around Lorent’s throat in an instant, yanking him back mid-lunge. The elder choked, feet lifted from the ground.

Another chain surged from Leo’s arm, coiling around Lorent’s extended wrist before it could touch Seryn.

The force was brutal.

Lorent’s body was whipped back like a yo-yo, crashing to the floor and skidding across the smooth roots with a grunt. The chain around his throat retreated until Leo’s own hand wrapped around the Elder’s neck, holding up firmly in the air.

Everyone in the room froze.

Greg’s jaw dropped. "Holy..."

Penny’s lips parted, her eyes wide and sparkling as they raked over the vision in front of her. Her voice slipped out like a sigh.

"Oh. Oh I get it now."

Her eyes dropped to Leo’s abs...or rather, where they should have been if not for Leo’s armor.

She pouted.

"Why is he still wearing clothes?" she whispered with genuine offense.

Then, softer.

"...me still like though."

Greg glanced at her. "Penny—"

She held up a hand. "Let me have this."

Crystal didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. A deep, slow flush crept up her face, and her hands rose as if moved by instinct, pressing lightly against her cheeks. Her breath caught. Her blindfold remained unmoved, but her posture tilted forward ever so slightly.

The entire chamber had shifted.

What once had been a tense standoff was now a one-sided display of dominance. Leo stood over the restrained elder like a king about to pass on judgment with his own hand

Lorent squirmed beneath him, not from pain, but from something deeper.

Fear.

And Leo?

He stared down, calm and unreadable as the savage nature of a beast raged just beneath the surface.

The remaining elders were even more shocked now. While they had heard of Apostles before, never had they seen anything like Leo. Tremlin however remembered something in that very moment from an ancient text.

Of a Race so powerful that a Faction of the Gods descended to the Land to wipe them from existence.

Tremlin knew what Leo was.

Leo was an Adaptive!