Zenith Online: Rebirth of the Strongest Player

The Flame flooded Kieran's veins in an unstoppable torrent.

With all of the Voiceless so close in proximity, there was nothing to act as a deterrent against the Flame's violent surge.

The Voiceless could no longer contain this rampant beast, just like Kieran could no longer keep the Flame at bay. It erupted with momentum built up and compressed over months of imprisonment.

Unobstructed and thrilled to be free, it rampaged through Kieran's veins and drenched his mind in a murderous tide. But inside those savage emotions was the desire to be free, as if the Flame continued unfulfilled.

Those emotions permeated Kieran's mind and usurped his defiance first. Although the Flame had broken free from the mystic prison forged to keep it at bay, Kieran's defiance had not been shattered.

It remained there under the deluge, temporarily overwhelmed by the sheer volume. But if Kieran ever seized back control of his Realm of Self, the Flame would run into an impregnable defense.

"No, boy. We can't give you time to learn and adapt. I have watched you, and you learn quickly. We must keep our mind occupied. Right, kill. Kill and kill some more. Continue to feed me!"

The Flame's demented voice shook Kieran's Realm of Self, the significance of it sounding like a supreme edict that could not be defied.

And thus, the rampage of the Flame's newly Condemned Fiend began.

Teeming with so much power from the Flame that he began to burst at the seams, Kieran wrenched his body forward. His blood painted the Voiceless' steel weapons a ravishing crimson color.

Cardinal Weiss watched all this overflowing excitement. He gripped the Pit's steel bars tight enough to bend them. He salivated as he, too, engaged in the maniacal laughter of the Order's followers.

"Yes! Grow wild! Embrace the way of Fiend Who Knows War. Our bodies can be destroyed and rebuilt, so have no fear. Just destroy what stands in front of your path!"

The stands of this amphitheater erupted with frenetic and contagious energy.

"Death is such a beautiful suitor!"

"The Flame is raising a Great Destroyer. A grand curtain of blood is about to befall us. Ugh, the bliss! It is matchless. I can't look away."

"More paint the sublime picture in the Flame's honor."

The unblinking Order of War and Flame had their eyes peeled until they reddened and watered with unhinged delight.

They watched with vigilant eyes as the boy tossed aside several Voiceless and rose to his feet in an unsteady stagger. Blood fell to the floor in dense globules, then it vibrated and began to flow in reverse as the boy removed the weapons that lanced his body.

A spear made a hollow thud, followed by daggers, a large machete, and then a falchion. Several thick streams of the Flame's silver and crimson power flooded the wounds, scarring them over in seconds.

Then, Kieran dashed forward and impaled the nearest Voiceless with his longsword. A shift in his matted hair exposed his deranged eyes, and they seemed to have been born from the depth of the abyss and lacked even a shred of human emotion.

Despite his change in presence, however, the Voiceless did not recoil.

No longer capable of thinking freely, the Flame determined how the Voiceless would react, and all it wanted was for its new Condemned Fiend to fall lower and deeper into the depths of depravity.

The Voiceless' steel weapons tore into Kieran's body, forming countless new gaping wounds. Some damaged his spine, one pierced his heart, and scores more attempted to disembowel him.

The force of the Flame-driven Voiceless was uniquely fierce.

It could not be replicated because no other entity would squander precious energy by healing how fast or strengthening how much the Flame did. The Flame was a wicked thing that was divorced from all aspects of moderation.

The reason for its voracious behavior was now obvious — it spent far too much of its resources and was always in need of new replenishments. At least, that explained one part.

Why did it heal and empower to begin with? What was the Flame's end goal?

Unfortunately, Kieran was no longer of sound mind to think up these kinds of burning questions and ask them. Those thoughts were lost in the mire the Flame had created to trap his defiance.

When it came to Kieran and fueling his rampage against the Voiceless, the Flame did not abide by the tenets it had used in Kieran's Realm of Self. Nothing was slow about how it was trying to vitiate his reason.

The Flame feared Kieran's resistance and wanted to completely shatter it with unmatched rapidity. Those were actions that sang the tune of distressing fear.

Was it Kieran that it feared? Or was it something else? Too many things about the Flame other than its tangible effects were unknown.

Nevertheless, while his Realm of Self was being encroached upon and supplanted, Kieran slew, and he took a bath too.

The blood felt warm and cool against his skin. Whenever it touched him, however, the shower of falling blood would bubble as if introduced to a sultry fire. Sometime during his frenzied onslaught, everywhere Kieran stepped began to seethe and bubble.

The Pit of Culling had become a waking hell where some kind of demon ran amok. Kieran's brutal and barbarous method struck fear into the hearts of the Voiceless so potent it began to corrode the Flame's control over them.

Every kill Kieran wrought on the battlefield was the epitome of carnage.

Many of the bodies were left a mangled mess with severed arms and legs protruding from the crimson sands in ways that resembled them pleading to the Gods for mercy.

There was no mercy inside the walls of this temple except death. Death was a mercy award to the weak.

Soon enough, Kieran's sword had reaped every life to step foot within the Pit of Culling. Its sands were completely drenched in blood, and that created a pungent stench that all the followers of War and Flame craved.

It intoxicated them like a sip of exquisite mead prepared by deities.

Without bloodlust to feed on, the Flame lost its absolute grip on Kieran's sanity, and he took in the ghastly sight before him.

So much blood. So much death. Destruction everywhere.

He had caused it, too. He didn't remember it, but it was the only explanation for why he was the only one still alive at the end of this Culling and why he was doused in blood and feeling the sickening remnants of senseless carnage.

Kieran dropped to his knees, devoid of strength and bereft of satisfaction. He had lost something and didn't know if he would ever get it back.

'…What have you taken from me?'

The Flame responded with something akin to a vibrating grin and then answered impishly.

"Well, your weakness, of course."

Kieran looked sullenly into the sand of the Pit.

A disheartened scowl formed across his lips while a puddle of blood rose to the surface as his hand sunk enough to leave an imprint in the sand.

'You've taken my choice.'

"Yes, and choice makes you weak. Just follow. I will lead you down the right path. Do that for me… and I won't do to you what I have done to the others."

Believe the Flame? Trust it? Never.

But Kieran's options were limited. He had to confide in something.

Besides, the idea of retaining a healthy mind was tempting. He knew the horrors of a sickly one.

'Make an Oath with me.'

"No need. We were bound the moment you walked into the Trial. You are the Anchor that binds me."