Genetic Ascension

1582 Odd Atmosphere

Sylas stepped onto the Sanctum’s planet. His steps were calm, and he didn’t look like he had just returned from saving his galaxy from yet another invasion.

But this was simply how he usually was. There was always a taller mountain out there.

This time, he had stayed a step away, but it had only opened up more problems. How would the Purvon react? What would be waiting for him at the Sanctum Gathering? What would the Kaelthar do? How would the Petals of the Seeing Thorn Matriarch react to her daughter’s death?

He could see all of the problems lining up one after another. He wasn’t lucky enough to have these matters dealt with for him, nor was he lucky enough that a single death would deal with all of his problems.

Unfortunately, what he had done would only bring down a fiercer oppression onto him. That said…

“Hand it over,” Sylas said.

He stood with his back to his ship, looking up at the leaderboard of names ahead of him.

It wasn’t clear who he was speaking to until a cloaked woman walked down with a pout and handed a ring over to him.

Sylas didn’t look at her, taking it for himself before he headed out. That ring carried all of Fowler’s accumulated wealth. If before he was one of the wealthiest men in the Sector, he was certainly unmatched now.

When Sylas stepped onto the Scorpion Lineage’s moon, he confirmed that the atmosphere was odd. It was heavier in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

By the time he made it to the mountain reserved for Gralith and his disciples, the feeling only became more certain.

Sylas’ steps paused, his head turning toward a rock he had personally sat on before-a rock that many of them had.

Today, though, there was someone he didn’t recognize sitting on it: a handsome man with the shadow of an unshaven beard on his face. His hair was a bit disheveled, his arms a mixture of metallic bands with hexagonal bolts keeping them together and bandaged wrappings.

Along the length of his back, a holster of seven blades was lined up. All of them seemed to be a variety of eccentric swords that looked almost… futuristic, more than rustic and ancient like the usual weapons Sylas came across.

There was one that had a blade shaped like a trapezoid, cut perfectly down the middle and attached in shimmering silver to its hilt.

There was another that had a spine of bronze forged of gears rotating in relation to one another.

There was another interesting blade that seemed the most normal of them at a glance— except for the fact the butt of the hilt had a rotating metallic eye that spun and locked onto Sylas.

Somehow, all seven blades fit on the handsome man’s back, layered horizontally as though on a display rack, while the hilts alternated from left to right.

It didn’t take Sylas much to guess who this was. This was Gralith’s First Disciple, a man he had yet to meet the C-tier, Warlord Ekear.

What Sylas didn’t expect, though, was for him to look so human. He kept expecting to find some sort of quirk, some sort of oddity. Even Gralith, who looked almost entirely human, had something decidedly inhuman about the violet in his eyes. Sylas couldn’t quite understand it, but he knew that Gralith wasn’t human.

Ekear, though… if he told Sylas he had been born and raised on Earth, even though Sylas would be sure it wasn’t true, he wouldn’t have a real physical basis to disprove it outside of Ekear’s great strength.

Even his style of dress seemed particularly Earth-like, though a bit bummy. He wore a worn brown trench coat with its sleeves roughly cut off, a pair of loose cargo pants, and heavy boots for his lower half. The only oddity was that instead of a shirt, his entire torso was wrapped in more bandages spotted with dried blood.

Ekear looked back to meet Sylas’ gaze, reaching a hand up to run metallic fingers-each wrapped in weld-nut rings-through his greasy black hair.

He didn’t speak immediately, his gaze almost looking as though he had just woken up.

“Mm…” he mumbled, nodding his head in acknowledgment before turning back to gaze at the skies.

Sylas stood there for a while. Something was odd, but he wasn’t sure exactly what it

was.

The Hub of the Sanctum had seemed fine, so why was the Scorpion Lineage itself so strange?

Sylas was about to make a move to leave, but his eyes narrowed. His head tilted up to the skies, lagging behind Ekear’s motion by a few fractions of a second.

“Master isn’t here,” Ekear said, still looking up at the skies. “He took Second and Third to train since they’ve fallen too far behind you. So, he wasn’t here when it was done, unfortunately. The move on the date is also unexpected, so it’s unlikely that they’ll be able to make it back in time for the gathering either. So it will just be the two of us.”

Sylas didn’t reply to this. He was still trying to decipher exactly what Ekear meant by “just the two of us.” The Scorpion Lineage had much more than just them as disciples.

This gathering was going to be a test of every disciple, not just the best. There seemed to be something hidden within Ekear’s words.

At that moment, an enormous scroll appeared in the air. It unfurled with a fog of violet, pulsing across the skies as Runes danced, quickly forming into complex characters. Sylas’ eyes narrowed.

[Scorpion Emperor Decree]

[Scorpion Army 073 has been found in violation of several rules and has been put on probation pending investigation] —

It was a great bit of fanfare for little more than a single line. But the reason for why became all too clear as Sylas began to feel a burning in his body.

Screams echoed across the planet as everyone began to feel the exact same pain.

Their Scorpion Warlord Genes were being used as a proxy for punishment.

But this was only just the beginning.