Chapter 13: • Writhe of Command
He looked up to the sky with a squeezed face, yelling at the Inquisitor. "Making it harder for me only makes it more difficult for you to leave this place you know?!"
Silence, of course. The grass moved gently with the flow of the wind, the storm was now coming to an end. Jarren hissed and brought his face down. "Whatever," he muttered.
Before he could give in anymore to his anger, the Status Cube chimed with a cold, mechanical sound and the Inquisitor's voice came with an announcement.
[This Corridor has been cleared and will self-destruct in 60 seconds.]
[Enter the Portal to continue to your next Trial.]
Jarren remembered the rules, Corridors where the Trials took place self-destructs sixty seconds after the particular Trial. This was to prevent participants from staying in one Trial for far too long, and also to keep the games going.
If one was too scared to move on to the next Corridor and face their next Trial, they could decide to remain in the same Corridor and be shattered to death alongside it. The choice was theirs.
Jarren's eyes shot up as a portal burst into existence before him, suddenly and without warning.
It was a massive structure, shaped like a large silver flower with petals extending outward in an unnatural elegance. The edges of the portal were glowing ethereally, and the center pulsed, like it was waiting for him to step in.
Jarren looked at the portal with a begrudged face. That portal was going to take him straight to his next Trial, and after facing a Gatekeeper and now having a Threat Level [15] Path, he knew things were only going to get tougher.
Sighing deeply, he dragged himself up to his feet, legs still aching from the second brutal fight against the Gatekeeper. His hand absentmindedly brushed the drying blood on his face.
'I had only just survived, and yet here I am, forced to move forward. There is no time to savor my victory or even to breathe properly.' He looked around the muddy meadow. 'But I guess that is the way I made the Gates. Who am I to complain? If the characters I created can survive, then so can I.'
He ended his gaze around the meadow and was about to step toward the portal, but then his eyes caught the Gatekeeper's sword once again on the ground.
Jarren inhaled sharply. Leaving such a magnificent weapon behind would be a waste. But what could he do? He could not lift it up, he had tried. But even knowing that, Jarren still couldn't walk through that portal and leave behind such a weapon that could assist him greatly.
Sighing with courage, the author decided to try one more time. He took a few steps toward it as his gaze stayed locked onto the blade; the way it rested there, taunting him. 'One more try,' he thought. What did he have to lose?
Kneeling down, Jarren stretched out his hand, almost about to grab the sword's hilt when a sound interrupted him.
A notification rang out and a holographic screen flashed before his eyes, projected from the Status Cube.
[Do you wish to use the Writhe of Command Technique to corrupt the Sword of the Castellan?]
Jarren froze, eyes wide. 'Corrupt?... Sword of the Castellan. This is curious.'
After almost 1500 Chapters, Jarren couldn't recall ever creating any technique like Writhe of Command. When his Soul Core awakened, it had been one of the Techniques listed, but he had decided to explore its meaning when he had more time in the second Trial.
Still, the opportunity to experiment now, in the middle of an imploding corridor? Perhaps it wasn't the best time, but... curiosity got the better of him.
'What exactly does it mean by corrupt, anyway?' Jarren thought to himself. However, there was no time for him to be contemplating this. He glanced toward the portal and saw the pulse beating faster as if urging him to hurry.
The seconds were ticking away, soon this Corridor would soon be nothing more than dust. Jarren refused to hesitate any longer and quickly — decisively — selected [Use Technique].
As soon as he made his choice, he immediately felt a strange sensation course through his already outstretched hand.
At first it felt like he could suddenly feel his blood coursing through his veins, like water through a river channel. But then, at the center of his palm, a dark, swirling liquid began to seep out.
It was purple, thick like ink, and alive with a dark energy. As Jarren watched, it spiraled downward and wrapped itself around the blade of the sword as though it had a will of its own. Then the liquid began to coil over the hilt, the crossguard, and the blade itself, covering the once-shining silver in deep, oily lavender.
What it looked like was a kind of possession. Like the sword was being consumed, devoured by the essence of his power.
...Corrupted?
All at once, the transformation was mesmerizing and unsettling. Jarren was entranced as he watched it happen, and he saw the sword pulse with life. The purple liquid had now fused into its deepest essence, melding with the weapon until it was no longer recognizable.
The hilt turned obsidian — glassy and black — and there was now a shiny purple stone resting just below it. The blade on its own now looked even sharper, and deadlier. It had a clearer silver; unlike the glowing yellowish silver it was before, it was now the color of a brand new sword.
Then, a new notification appeared before him:
[Target has been corrupted.
The Blade of the Castellan is now under your control.]
Jarren's brow furrowed. "Under my control?" he muttered this time. 'Does that mean I can lift it now?'
Perhaps... he could try again. Feeling some excitement, he reached out and gripped the hilt.
To his amazement, the sword obeyed. It lifted effortlessly in his hand, as though it weighed nothing at all. It felt perfect and balanced, almost even familiar, like it was a weapon that was made just for him and had always belonged to him.
Jarren stood straight. He then lifted the sword to his face and gave it a quick inspection as a sense of satisfaction crept over him. So that's what the Writhe of Command does. The Technique gave him the power to corrupt things beyond his own reach, then force them to comply with his command.
'This is an amazing Technique,' he thought. 'I wonder if it's upgradeable.'
His happy thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the booming voice of the Inquisitor.
[10 seconds until Corridor self-destruct.]
Jarren's heart jumped. "Shit!" He bolted to his feet, still clutching the corrupted blade in his hand as he ran toward the portal. The soft glow of the silver petals grew more intense as he approached. Without a second thought, he leapt through the portal just as the Inquisitor's voice arrived at "One" and the meadow behind him began to crumble.
On the other side, Jarren was greeted by total darkness. He couldn't see anything or make out anything. It was absolute, the kind of darkness that gnawed at the edges of perception, swallowing everything.
Then, the voice came again, disembodied and indifferent.
[Welcome, Aspirant. To your Second Trial.]