A vista full of gore was enough to stagger any onlooker, but for a Fiend… it was an experience much greater.
The endless streams of blood stirred something frenetic from the depths of their being — a bloodlust, where an enemy was a gratuitous presence, unneeded perhaps, but noted if present. That kind of bloodlust grew frighteningly impartial, soon becoming strong enough to where there was no bias toward allies.
A true Fiend was an ally to none, a weapon liable to turn against you. They were condemned to burn bridges. Eventually, a Fiend would even turn on itself, devouring its sense of identity for power.
However, Kieran had not lost his mind and likely would not lose it.
Not because his mind was too strong, but because the powers he wielded aimed to negate each other. The obsession of a Blood Fiend desired to seethe with frenzied vigor, whereas the mysticism he chased sought balance, truth, and tranquility.
The fortified Furthered Scales of Balance did not permit the plunge into insanity he was very much used to. His psyche was barred from entering the opened doorway to depravity, held back by blue-gold chains of mystic power.
Until they met another force working in concert with a Fiend's obsession with power and indulgence.
A blade bearing ruinous power sheared the chains, descending upon their links like a frightening guillotine. That blade was easily recognizable — Heartsbane, or a manifestation of its image. Its presence had appeared inside Kieran's mind, offering solace in the beauty of destruction.
Perhaps it was not the most ideal solution to the current situation, but his rage billowed like a blizzard of wintry flames. The icy storm winds somehow made the blood in his vicinity boil before flash-freezing in the next instant.
The vampiric creatures — the Nosferatu, as Kieran learned they were called — exploited Kieran's petrified state, lunging at him with fangs on display and leaking ruby liquid. The liquid sizzled upon coming in contact with the blood freezing in an expanding circle.
Whether bearing toxic qualities or simply much hotter than the frozen blood, Kieran didn't know.
They closed in on him fast, still Kieran did not move a muscle.
His gaze seemed hazed over, dulled by the war between the Furthered Scales of Balance and Heartsbane's burgeoning Ego. Both were tremendously powerful and unrelenting. The Scales took an adamant stance against Heartsbane's implacable strikes.
This went on until Kieran had enough of it all.
His entire Realm trembled, his psyche releasing a pressure that quieted and negated everything.
In his unbridled fury, Kieran tapped into his unfettered Aspect — Ruinous Negation. It was a dangerous move, tending to corrode his soul due to the lack of a suitable vessel.
But, he realized something gravely important, if baffling.
The Trial would have them believe they were to care for the bodies they were in, for it was theirs. But that felt all too wrong. And it was a fallacy enforced upon them.
The truth lay in the wording he should have paid more attention to — character. The voice did not mention soul, mind, body, or other equally essential concepts, only character.
In Kieran's opinion, one's character was the sum of their thoughts, actions, and morality.
How did his morality drive his thoughts and actions? While he had judged and questioned the reason for his experience, he had not taken the time to review what it was doing to his character as a whole.
It was a journey of many internal struggles. How Kieran viewed those around him was susceptible to caprice, which was influenced by external motivators. It shone a light on Kieran's peccable character.
His character was all he had in the beginning.
Only when he displayed progress in that regard did the Anchor return his Will, which, again, was the integrity of his character.
Now that he had thought about it, staring at the inert sword, chain, and scale, had anything truly been stolen from him? Could his Will be taken, or had he only been fooled into believing he was without it?
Will was, for lack of a better explanation, the strength of his soul, the tenacity it could bring to bear.
Maybe there were tremendously powerful individuals capable of enslaving the mind, but how did they accomplish that?
Kieran thought back to the many dead Voiceless. The unfortunate sacrifices were young and inexperienced, lacking the temperance life instilled, making them susceptible to thralldom.
But there had been more enslavement going on.
The Fiends were also enslaved, but they had been at death's door… where their Will had been broken or in unrecognizable tatters. In that state, they could not resist the temptations of the Flame.
In both cases, Will was absent, for the presence of that strength made it impossible to truly control something.
Kieran's mind churned as realization upon realization hammered into his thoughts, supplanting his previous ignorance.
Why had the Inheritors been forbidden from uttering their names? Simple, they were not themselves. They could not assume a name that did not belong to their identity.
'Assume…'
Kieran brooded over that word.
It fitted too perfectly, alarmingly so. The strangeness of everything clicked into place.
That feeling of being an impostor intensified as he grew stronger, became more aware of the world, and recognized more of his unique feelings. It all struck him hard.
He was not Kieran nor Aatrox. He was Valdu… this was Valdu.
This body, this Realm… it all belonged to someone else.
If it were his, the Mystic Gate would have assumed its proper shape, his connection to the Compendium would be robust, gaining a torrent of mystic essence from it… and he wouldn't feel this pervasive emptiness.
For those reasons, Kieran suspected this was not his soul, but a facsimile or perhaps the weakest parts of it forced into the Trial.
That persistent, vain feeling lingered in his mind, telling him to abandon everything, but he didn't listen. Not entirely. He did listen to its logical temptations.
For example, he reasoned he could take no power with him. It was true, but while the power was not his, the interactions, experiences, and lessons were. It didn't strike him as following precisely what Valdu did.
There was likely a subtle, if not evident, deviation here.
But what of the consequences if he couldn't bring the power along? In that same vein, he could act with impunity… for the result would remain in this marvel of time and fate.
Inside the Realm, Kieran winced, inhaling sharply.
Time had slowed to a crawl in his perception, but he had no experience interfering with time itself. That meant the Nosferatu continued moving at their breakneck pace, eventually planting their fangs in his body.
However, the pain of being bitten was not as severe as Kieran expected.
It should have felt worse, considering the Nosferatu came from the same place the Bloodwights did. In fact, they seemed like Bloodwights given proper shape, seeing their mastery over the same power.
Along with understanding came Kieran's former recklessness, which had become more absurd than ever.
If this Trial was completely irrespective of his condition, there was no need to restrain what he kept at bay. What would happen if he let loose? Just let everything go and, as Cardinal Weiss had suggested… destroy it all?
Could he destroy it all? He didn't know, but he was now inclined to try.
He had remembered his Aspect, and as expected, it wasn't as potent as he recalled, it too becoming faint. But that was enough. While it was unclear, he felt an attraction between Aspect and Realm.
'It's not yours, but let's see what happens when we come together.'
Ruinous Negation, what little of it he could invoke, slid into the Spirit Territory of the Realm, finding purchase and burning with impunity.
"How can this be… you were a Shell, but now you are partly filled with Ruin! My child, cease what you are doing!"
Kieran turned to the Flame and smiled.
"Why? Who will stop me?"
Without bearing the meaning of consequence, Kieran let his weakened Aspect thrive, drinking the Significance and Condemnation.
With it, he felt resurrected.
