The Transcendent Godslayer-Chapter 95: Rifts: Aftermath

The Saints stared downward at the result of their attacks... a crater the size of a country, digging several kilometers deep into the ground.

Volatile dynamis rampaged within it, and every so often, the earth would burst open, releasing geysers of highly pressurized energy.

"There’s nothing there anymore."

Although many of them felt the same, just like the voice said, none acknowledged it outright. They continued peering with their senses, probing every inch until they were absolutely sure there was nothing left.

It was safe to assume that the Saint who had obtained the drop of blood had died... whether from their combined attacks or from the blood itself revolting.

Treasures like that needed to be refined in seclusion, in places where one could devote their full focus.

Any interruption, and the refinement could backfire, warping the user’s own dynamis and turning it lethal.

It was a shame, then, that they couldn’t find the blood as well, most likely, it had dispersed with the Saint’s death.

Or perhaps... the Saint had succeeded and fled the area. Though the explosive surge in dynamis concentration after the attack suggested otherwise.

The fact that they even acknowledged that thought, showed just how much their perspectives had changed on certain things.

If it was before today, they wouldn’t even consider the fact that the treasure had been snatched under their noses, nor the fact that the culprit was still able to escape.

Either way, it was evident that the culprit was no longer here.

All in all, aside from the Orcish Saints who were right now grinding their teeth in frustration and anger, none of them had suffered any loss.

*Ripp* *Ripp* *Ripp* *Ripp!*

The continuous sound of space tearing apart across Ares filled their senses, and the concentration of dynamis ticked slightly upward.

Rifts with swirling black masses at their center spawned sporadically in different sizes all over Ares.

Each one radiated a different pressure... some so weak that even newly awakened could survive them, others so intense they made even the Saints feel uneasy.

There were even some... thirteen of them to be exact, that made the Saints feel a genuine threat of death. When their senses passed over it, they could feel intimately that they would most likely die should they enter.

They were at least, one in every continent.

No one bothered exchanging words, and each Saint shot off in different directions, racing back to their domains.

In the end, only the Orcish Saints were left alone in the sky.

As far as the eye could see, there was only destruction and carnage on the face of Andreía.

Andreía had once been a continent with a population in the billions. Now... fewer than fifty million remained. The rest were gone, their lives fuel for the world as well as its inhabitants to grow stronger.

Those still alive were either the strong or the lucky.

Then again, in times like these, luck could be considered a form of strength.

Across the continent, lone or stranded survivors scrambled in search for other people, seeking solace in one another. There were also many who had lost their minds completely. It was chaos in every possible sense.

Fights broke out in different places amongst people, incessant looting and pillaging, violence, despair, struggle, even debauchery was not out of the question.

The true nature of people came alive and had found its stage, after living under order and protection all their lives.

The Saints took in the scenes below with cold indifference, then shot off in a specific direction.

Toward a fairly large rift with a swirling black mass at its center... a rift from which they could feel the unmistakable terror of death in their hearts.

---

Menelaus shot up with a gasp, heart pounding fiercely in his chest, and sweat pooling down his face.

His breathing was rapid and panicked as his head whipped from side to side.

Slowly, he touched his face and frowned.

"I’m alive?"

Beside him, Kallen lay passed out, still strapped naked to the table. His wounds had healed, and the runes across his body had become lines of deep purple—almost black—markings.

Menelaus took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I’m alive," he exhaled, feeling a wave of relief wash over him.

But that relief was short-lived. He suddenly paled and turned his head back, only to find the part of the building leading to the underground still standing.

A deep sigh of relief escaped his lips.

Now that everything was done, he could probably...

His thoughts stopped dead in their tracks.

"How are we still alive?" he muttered.

Just moments ago, he had been considering killing Kallen, at least, to relieve himself of the emotional weight seeing the boy’s face placed on his heart.

Besides, he no longer needed to fear Zephyrus. He now had someone powerful enough to protect him.

But then considering how his benefactor had abandoned them during the Saints’ assault, he wasn’t so sure. In that case, wouldn’t killing Kallen now be digging his own grave?

However, if the Saint had abandoned them, then how were they still alive?

Maybe the Saint had saved them and they hadn’t been abandoned after all. But... could even a Saint survive that?

One moment they were fighting amongst themselves, and the next, they were attacking something together.

It didn’t take an autistic genius to figure out that something else had attracted their attention... enough for them turn their back on what they were fighting for.

It could either be something even more valuable, but that wouldn’t make them all turn their backs on the other treasure... a bird in hand was better than two in the forest. So the best plausible explanation, was that the thing they were fighting for, was snatched away.

And since their attacks had been directed toward them...

Menelaus shuddered.

It was either the Saint who had taken the prize had descended to their location, or they were the ones who had it. To be precise...

He stared at the grimoire in his hands. Had he been played for a fool all along?

But the book had never been in the air, and that still didn’t explain how they were alive. Nothing did. He was running in circles.

The only notion that made even an iota of sense, was that his benefactor had saved them at the last moment.

Either way, killing Kallen might not be such a good idea. Just to be safe.

He lifted the table with Kallen still strapped to it, and headed underground.

It was time to complete his rituals.

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