Though the Drifting Mountain, which referred to the Wailing Sierra's mountain that continued shifting toward Enira, also causing some large fissures in the ground, was enormous, the Fiends kept an assiduous advance.
All the while, Kieran watched the activity below increase in pace and efficiency as the collection of people grew, pouring in from what he assumed to be a portal linking to the Drained Space. Kieran couldn't be sure of their mode of travel, but he was growing increasingly confident in the assumption of their identity.
The implied hostility and contentious nature of Cardinal Weiss' words spoke to hidden antipathy — perhaps his or maybe the Flame that resided within him.
It was hard to differentiate between whose emotions sometimes guided the Cardinal — the ambivalence of his actions and thoughts a consequence of the Significance's strange utilizations.
Still, Kieran remembered the story about the Great Bloodshed despite its questionable veracity. During the possibly sabotaged retelling, he had learned of the people known as the Followers of War, who likely had intimate ties to the nameless Endless of War.
The Followers of War had always been a reactive force rather than a proactive one. Perhaps they enjoyed their jobs as janitors, sweeping the lands of the aftermath wrought.
However, the logic felt a tad off.
If the Followers of War were as powerful as the Cardinal suggested, being reactive was far from their only option. If they saw fit, the Followers of War could ultimately make a prudent effort to quell issues before they spiraled out of control.
But there was no value in being the savior of a dead land. The Land of Ruin was destroyed, making their only concern the preservation of Enira, the Land of Promise.
'Land of Promise…'
Kieran remembered his brief induction to Xenith, where Ariadna had expanded upon the names of each of the Lands.
Enira was indeed the Land of Promise, but the promise it offered was easily broken, which is why pretty much all of the newly inducted players avoided the option to teleport there like a plague.
However, if it was the Kieran today, he wouldn't hesitate to roam those lands. Granted, he would only make that choice if he possessed the power he wielded now.
Wrapping around the mountain, Kieran found himself thinking about many things, but most importantly, what the outcome of this last battle would be. The Cardinal's ominous foretelling weighed heavy on his mind, slowing his thoughts until it occupied a significant portion.
Kieran didn't know why… but he agonized at the thought of every Fiend dying. They may have subjected him to torturous experiences that marred his character and became stains on his soul, but they also helped give him the very power he sought.
For that reason, he pitied what the Fiends would come face to face with… the terrors they would face. Of course, Kieran would be right by their side, fighting… but the disparity in their fates was vast.
They were nothing more than the Flame's pawns, whereas he had become the Flame's Child.
Did that make much of a difference, though?
'Probably not. The Flame would likely sacrifice its child in a heartbeat to accomplish its goals. It has waited far too long, woven one too many insidious plots to be denied the satisfaction.'
Kieran spared the surrounding Fiends another pitiful look filled with powerless sympathy.
'This situation is about to become nuts. I can feel it. It will be utter chaos, and we… we will be the unfortunate victims.'
Looking on with dull resignation, Kieran's psyche brushed the Testament of a Defiant Fiend to find the strength and resolve he needed to remain steadfast — the madness he depended on to gain power and reap lives.
Then, it all hit him.
As the madness flooded Kieran's mind, demented clarity came with it. He understood one thing — the Fiends needed saving, needed retribution.
Who was their savior?
Kieran had begrudgingly accepted that role. The madness afforded him a chilling resolution, where his impression of right was… perhaps slightly distasteful.
'They require retribution and deserve saving. The Flame won't save you all. That's what the Cardinal revealed. So… I can only become your rightful savior.'
Slowly, Kieran's gaze became that of a predator amid a hunt. Primal instincts flooded his mind, perverting the meaning of savior. With a subtle, insidious touch… even a righteous savior could become a corrupt destroyer.
A hairline existed between the two fates.
It didn't take long for the contingent of Fiends to reach the easternmost region of the Ravaged Plain. But arriving here didn't give them pause either. The Cardinal continued his march toward the giant, broken fortress.
Needless to say, the Cardinal and his company of Fiends weren't given a hospitable reception.
The presence of roughly one hundred Fiends, each bearing an individual might somewhere along the lines of a hardened Master, competent in the ways of brutal combat, was a threat any force would remain wary of.
With the sinister feeling the Fiends exuded, the natural response was raised guards. Because of these raised guards, the efforts to situate the broken fortress and bring it up to par suffered a massive impediment.
Aside from the grave looks, Kieran noticed his convenient ability to glean the general combat power of these tense men and women. Woven into the crowd was a mix of Novice, Adept, and Masters, which made Kieran question their presence.
'Strange… the miasma covering the Land of Ruins is unkind and should be terrorizing the Adepts and Novices, and it is only my assumption that the Masters possess a natural defense against the virulent incursion. How are they here?'
Kieran doubted the newcomers were like the Fiends — immune to the noxious gases. There was another reason presented. One Kieran eventually discovered with the assistance of his prying eyes.
Soon, he realized the strange, lustrous armor they wore coated them in a protective membrane. Paying closer attention to the design, Kieran's eyebrow arched with intrigue and familiarity.
'So I was right.'
The opposing side wore armor akin to a uniform, seemingly made from a metal similar to the one Cardinal Weiss tended to forge with. One's rank could be discerned by the difference in the armor's luster and depth of its protection.
More than that, there was the crest on the armor's breast that Kieran was all too familiar with. That crest was branded on his true body.
That alone was proof of their identity — the War Deity Temple, currently known as the Followers of War.
It was abstruse, barely having any tangible shape, but the strokes of the crest somehow incited a feeling that made the blood boil like the moments before a heated battle.
Looking at the Followers of War, Kieran felt that sentiment course through his veins. He wasn't alone in that regard. He sensed a few of the Fiends at his rear react by minutely shifting their posture and holding clenched fists.
Words had yet to be exchanged between the two parties, yet the tension transferred grim information that neither side missed. Acting upon the permission granted by Cardinal Weiss, the Fiend launched a staunch rebuff against the motionless attacks against them.
If left to progress this way, conflict and combat were the only outcomes that lay in wait. However, that remained contrary to the reason they had come in the first place.
Then, a whistle came ear-piercing and deafening, but it whipped the tense soldiers into shape, leading to their eventual salute and separation that exposed an approaching figure.
Kieran watched all this with silent scrutiny.
'Their leader?'
