Soul of the Warrior

Reivyn's consciousness faded by more than two-thirds as the other fractions of his awareness faded to darkness. Swirling lights coalesced within his remaining four, eventually forming a different scene within each.   Reivyn was still unable to form coherent thoughts, and without the guide of the central orb pulling the separate awareness's together to form a whole, he was left watching dreams that formed from the energies invading his body, wracking it with pain. He wasn't aware of how he was aware; he just subconsciously knew that the source was whatever the Masked Man had done to him.   The four separate dreams were viewed as if he was a bystander, and it happened all at the same time. His fractured senses knew there were other dreams occurring within his mind at the same time, but they weren't able to pull them together and make any sense of them as one. As it was, the dreams went from something that could have been incredibly vivid, to barely distinguishable.         He was Irk.   He had been sickly his entire life, pushed aside by his older siblings in the fight for family resources. As the youngest and the runt of the bunch, there hadn't been much left over for him.   Despite keeping to himself and always trying to stay out of the way of his brothers and sisters, they despised the fact that he received anything at all. They had to fight and struggle against each other for the favor of their parents, the strong or cunning being lavished with praise and Vigor. Their bodies adapted to the climate, and their minds grew sharp and cruel.   Irk's Second Sister was the most cunning and cruel of all.   The more competent siblings had begun to view Irk's paltry quota of Vigor from their father as theft from its rightful owners, led by their eldest brother. This, despite the fact that it wouldn't have made any difference to them at all with how much further along they were in their development.   The Second Sister had taken pity on Irk, and she had defended him from the machinations of his crueler blood. He was wary at first, thinking it was a scheme to snatch his only chance of improving himself one day to stand on his own two feet. His fears were put to rest, though, when her pity turned to compassion, and she shared with him of her own Vigor.   He grew dependent on his Second Sister, following her around like a puppy. He felt more kinship from her than he ever did even from his own mother.   Second Sister listened to his complaints about how unfair the situation was. If he had been born earlier, his share would have been larger, sooner, and he could have been one of the older siblings vying for supremacy. His story wasn't an uncommon one, as he saw many such younger siblings growing up weak and despondent.   Most of them didn't make it to adulthood.   His Second Sister commiserated with him and told him she would figure something out, just to give him a chance.   Weeks turned into months, and months turned into a couple of years before his Second Sister finally came to him with a plan. She had a bright smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye when she told Irk of the Nomad Arena.   Their society was harsh and cruel. Many people turned to crime to try and solve their problems. Most of them were caught. Their society didn't believe in redemption, and they scoffed at the idea of letting criminals wallow for years in prison. Thus, the Nomad Arena was formed.   It traveled the lands all year long, stopping in towns and cities to take on slaves and convicts to fight to the death in an arena for the viewing pleasure of the powerful. She had told him that one could volunteer to fight in the arena, and the victor would get a portion of the Vigor spoils.   Irk had been skeptical, but he trusted his Second Sister implicitly. She had convinced him that he could go and fight, and the amount of Vigor would give him just the boost he needed for a fighting chance.   Irk had followed his sister to the Nomad Arena, and she had signed him up for a match right away. She gave him a thumbs up and smile as she walked to the viewing stands, and he was escorted into the depths.   It was dark and dank, and it stank of blood and sweat. Irk could see many others, scrawny like him, shivering in their seats, refusing to engage with anyone else as they waited for their turn to go up onto the sands to fight. Irk had been confused at the sight, as he didn't see anyone else like him who was a bit optimistic about their chance to finally break free from their weak lives.   Irk was nervous, though, as he had never been in a life or death fight. Fighting and training with real weapons were required from his parents, so he at least knew his way around a blade, but he wasn't anything special with it. He had been guaranteed fairness, though, and his opponent would be of an equivalent level of Vigor.   Irk was anxious and scared, despite the assurances from Second Sister when he finally stood opposite his opponent in the sands. The cheering of the crowd drowned out his own thoughts on the matter, though, and he could only watch his opponent square off against him with a look of despair in his eyes.   Blood caked the sand all around, and there were even still some bits of internal organs that hadn't been cleaned up from the previous rounds. Irk had no time for his bile to rise, though, as the match was started almost immediately upon them reaching the center of the arena.   His opponent was a wild beast, and he fought with viciousness Irk had never seen before. It was clear that he hadn't been born in a prominent family, like Irk had, though, as he lacked any real Skill in weapons or fighting in general.   Irk suffered some minor scrapes and bruises, and he almost got stabbed through the heart fairly early on before he could adapt to his situation.   The other man proved to be insufficient, though, and Irk finally slew him. He was too much of a novice when it came to life or death fights, and it hadn't been a decisive blow. He had simply bled the man out with hundreds of scratches. He had had plenty of opportunities to strike true, but he always found his body wavering at the last second, unable to cross that final line until it was forced upon him.   He had collapsed to his knees and vomited.   He was quickly congratulated by the announcer and led to the victor's ring where he was bestowed with more Vigor than he had ever experienced in his life at one time. It might have even matched the sum total he had received to this point.   One of the arena guards grabbed him by the shoulder and directed him to return to the depths to await another match. Irk was confused and tried to reel away from the man, explaining that he had only signed up for one fight. The man had laughed in his face and manhandled him to move him to the waiting area. He told Irk that only convicts and slaves fought in the arena.   Irk frantically searched the crowd for his Second Sister. She could corroborate his story and let the staff know that he was only here to get a boost and that he was no slave. He found her in her seat, staring at him. When their eyes met, she gave him that familiar smile, but this time it was suffused with malice.   Irk's heart dropped as he realized what had happened. She had played a long game in order to catch the attention of their father, and now victory was within her grasp. The mask fell off, and he saw her for the devil that she was.   She stayed and watched every one of his fights. She even went so far as to cheer for him loudly and applaud when he continued to win. The nicks and cuts accumulated on Irk's body, and he was only afforded a tiny healing draught after each match. It burned like nothing he had ever experienced before, and it only gave his body a tiny bit of paltry healing.   It kept him full of energy, though, so he could continue to fight.   By the time it was over, Irk was an unrecognizable bloody mess. He had cuts and bruises all over his body. Sweat, snot, and tears mixed with the blood, and there wasn't a single clean spot of skin. He stared up at his Second Sister as the final victor, for there could only ever be one in each bracket, with as much hatred as he could muster.   It wasn't much, and his Second Sister had simply smirked before walking off, head held high.   Irk was taken with the Nomad Arena to their next location. He had won the final match during his first tour, but there was no reward like clemency or declaration of being a champion. He was a slave, and he would fight for the amusement of the populace.   They trained him far more cruelly than he had ever experienced with his father and siblings. More than one slave acquired along the way perished from the strict discipline. They were expected to perform well for their audience, though they would only ever receive Vigor when they won an actual match.   Years went by as the Nomad Arena traveled the land. Irk desperately fought for his life, always being paired up against another opponent who was almost his equal in Vigor. It didn't get any easier for a long time.   Fighting and killing in the sand pits, though, changed Irk. He started to revel in the bloodshed. He no longer bled his opponents because he was too weak to land a finishing blow. He bled his opponents to watch the realization of their fate turn to despair in their eyes, and for the blood that flowed out of their bodies.   Irk discovered that he had an advantage over everyone else he encountered. He quickly picked up the Skills of any weapons he was given or found discarded in the arena, and none of the new opponents was his match after several years of constant fighting and training.   He acquired many scars of his own, though, and his body completely morphed over the years. He hadn't always been superior to everyone else in his combat abilities, and his penchant for long, drawn-out fights often added wounds to his body that he wouldn't have gotten with a quick finish.   Gone was the scrawny build. Gone was the pale skin.   In its place stood a hulking behemoth, changed by the copious Vigor rewards from the constant fighting. His body and face were completely unrecognizable with the mass of scars crisscrossing his entire being.   He was given the moniker The Irksome Devil.   His life was nothing but constant battle, and he rejoiced in the blood thirst that he had discovered within himself.   The days bled into years until one day he found himself in a familiar city. He had gone full circle in the land, something that hardly ever happened.   The Nomad Arena took their slave contracts very seriously. There was a provision that any slave would gain their freedom if they survived an entire circuit of the land.   Irk had been unaware of it, as he had been tricked into the whole thing. His match would be the spectacle for the ages, as a champion from the city was appointed for his match, the only exception to the rule of only convicts and slaves fighting in the arena.   Irk found himself standing before a man he vaguely recognized. He searched the man's eyes, but the one across from him didn't share the same recognition. He scanned the crowd and saw the familiar sight of his older siblings with his parents.   They had all grown older, and several of them had families of their own accompanying them to witness the greatest fight that would be seen in the Nomad Arena for generations to come.   They were seated in the VIP section, an honor for having one of their own chosen as the champion to end Irk's chances of freedom. The lack of his oldest brother amongst his family finally snapped his mind into place as he realized his opponent was his own eldest brother.   Irk smiled as he slaughtered his own family. His eldest brother was quite a bit more powerful in the Vigor department, but Irk was far more experienced and Skilled in combat. He batted away all attempts at ending his life, and he cruelly toyed with the man that had been the bane of his existence as a scrawny child.   He cut off each of his brother's limbs and bathed in his lifeblood. He walked over to the VIP stands as they watched him advance with conflicting emotions on their faces. This was the land of the strong, and their eldest brother had proven wanting, but he had still been the pride of their family.   He stood in the sands, gazing up at his blood relatives just slightly elevated above where the fighting would occur. It was out of reach for most combatants, but not Irk. His father seemed to realize the fact as he took up a position in front of his remaining children.   Irk ignored the old man and turned his gaze toward his target. She stared at him with an impassive face, not knowing who he was. She should have known, considering she had been there to witness him win his bracket all those years ago, but she was a narcissist who quickly forgot she even had a younger sibling.   Irk smiled at her.   "Second Sister," he smirked.   She frowned for a second at the words before going completely white, fear clearly etched on her face.   The Irksome Devil threw his head back and laughed.         He was Kierl.   He grew up in a modest home, and he was spoiled immensely by his mother. His family wasn't extremely wealthy, but they never had to want for anything or struggle to make ends meet.   Kierl grew up having everything he ever wanted until he had something he had never considered.   His mother gave birth to a brother for him.   Kierl had gazed at the infant, not knowing what to make of the new addition to his life. He tried to love his new brother, but the feelings never seemed to come.   What's worse his mother began to neglect him in favor of his baby brother. He watched as she sacrificed her time and possessions to accede to his brother's every want and need.   He knew that it was right and proper for a mother to care for a new infant, and he waited until the day his brother would be old enough for his mother to get out of the phase of giving all of her attention to him.   But it wasn't a phase. It didn't end.   Years went by, and Keirl grew to resent his brother. He had usurped his position as most precious in the family. He hated him. He envied him.   Kierl began to horde his possessions, keeping them away from his brother. He started off as a sweet toddler, just exploring the world around him and wanting to experience everything it had to offer. Kierl had given his best effort to try and share his things as his mother instructed, but his resentment and envy only grew stronger as his things that he shared with his brother became his brother's things.   His life didn't become miserable or hard, and he still had the love of his parents, but it was overshadowed by the love for his brother.   Kierl began acting the same way with his friends and acquaintances, outside of the home. He would refuse to share anything with anyone, and if there was ever an opportunity to acquire some sort of reward from the educators, he worked his hardest so that it would be him.   He grew competent and knowledgeable. He was driven and successful in everything that he put his mind to, but he was empty inside.   He had driven his friends away with his machinations for hoarding everything he could get his hands on.   He was greedy.   He was greedy for love, but he couldn't get it no matter how he excelled. His brother was average at best, but his mother would go around singing his praises every time he had even a modicum of success. Kiehl's achievements were an afterthought.   A void grew inside him, and he tried to fill it with anything and everything, but it was bottomless.   It all came to a head, one day when he passed by his now teenage younger brother. He had smirked at his crossing, making a snide remark to his own friends. Not only did his brother have the love of their parents, but he was always surrounded by friends. Kierl no longer had any friends.   "There he goes, the oblivious one," the remark reached Kierl's ears. He stopped and turned to face his younger sibling. His brother smirked at him as continued to speak.   "You all wonder how I'm always so far ahead of you," he gestured toward Kierl. "Well, there's your answer. He's still feeding me to this day. Working harder and harder to get the one thing he can't have. Hahaha."   The group of teenagers laughed. Kierl frowned and confronted the group. His brother just shook his head and gave him a look he had never seen before. It was a mix of pity and ridicule.   It was a look of contempt.   "Do you honestly think you've driven all of your friends away? When was the last time you saw any of them, hmm? You didn't drive them away, they just gave up long before you did."   Kierl was confused at this point. He knew he hadn't been the best friend, but his brother's words had woken him up. He should have at least seen his old friends around town, but he never did.   He was confused as he stormed off toward home, fleeing the laughter of the youths following him.   He ran home and demanded an explanation from his mother. She brushed aside his worries, giving a simple excuse to try and allay his concerns.   It didn't work. He could see that there was a truth being withheld from him.   He became a man with a mission, as he channeled his competency into searching out his friends. Empty rooms in homes with only one child, a second child, were all that greeted him.   The conspiracy drove him ever further into trying to fill the void. He knew that there must be something to do with his driven nature, and the taunts of his brother and his friends chased him as he fell into depression.   But the depression couldn't change him. He had become Greedy. He couldn't stop himself at this point, even though everything he did only made things worse for him on the inside.   He became a successful man in his own right, even more so than his own father. He moved out of the house and tried to put everything behind him, to no avail.   Finally, after several years of harried existence, receiving strange looks from everyone in town, from people he hardly recognized any more, his brother showed up at his home.   His brother was a changed man, now that he was fully an adult. No longer was he average at best. He was filled with exuberance and confidence.   He strode into Kierl's home with a smile on his face, going so far as to even give his brother a hug.   Kierl didn't know what to make of the strange encounter, and he simply hedged his bets by trying to avoid any meaningful conversation.   His brother wasn't having it, though.   "Now that I'm an adult, the benefits have ended," his brother said out of the blue. "Nobody ever lasts as long as you do, and I really do owe you a debt of gratitude. Your accomplishments have made me the man I am today, one of the best in the entire province.   "I think it's about time to reveal the truth to you. Come with me."   His brother led him to the far side of town, to a restricted area he had never been to before. He looked around in confusion as he passed through a guarded checkpoint, and he was shocked to find that they were in a cemetery.   All of the graves were sized for teenagers and children.   "I asked you, years ago, where your friends had gone," his brother said. "Well, here they are."   Kierl looked around with horror, spotting the familiar names on headstones. He walked up to one and crumbled to the ground, sobbing against the headstone at the revelation.   "It's customary for us to come and give sacrifice to the memory of our incense burner each year," his brother continued. "I haven't had to do it yet, of course. You're still alive.   "The first child of a family, for the entire town, is given copious love and attention, and then it's revoked in favor of a second child. You spent your whole life chasing after something that would never be given to you because it was designed this way.   "You were much stronger than anyone else has been in generations. All of your contemporaries couldn't handle it, and they either gave up on life or ended it themselves.   "You might be wondering how a parent could do something so horrible to their own children, but the fact is, all of the adults were second siblings, as well. This information is kept hidden from first children, and it's usually not a problem as it fixes itself after a while," his brother gestured to the graves.   "We really don't know what to do with you, at this point. The emotional drain you've supplied me no longer applies now that I'm an adult, and I doubt you would want to hang around after learning the truth.   "So I guess this is goodbye? Good luck." His brother turned and walked away, leaving Kierl a sobbing mess.   It took Kierl many hours to process what he had been told. It was true that he had no idea what he was going to do with himself, but he sure couldn't stay here.   The void in the center of his being didn't go away with the horrifying revelation, though.   It remained, but it no longer sought to be filled with love.   It no longer had a goal. It was just there.   There was nothing left but Greed itself.         Reivyn's four awareness experienced different emotional traumas. Each one was unique, and each one altered a portion of his soul irrevocably.   He experienced blood thirst, rage, and hatred as Irk. He experienced despair, loneliness, and greed as Kierl. He experienced lust and gluttony as another, and the final awareness experienced nothing as he was shown the life of a psychopath.   His four awareness's came out of their induced dreams, and they recognized each other, casting off the seeming years of life experienced in the dreams. The other five consciousnesses awoke to be greeted by the changed fractures.   The four orbs that experienced years of emotional damage gave off an aura of darkness, and they glowed with a dark light. Their aura permeated within the larger center orb.   Empathy and compassion effused from the five orbs freshly awakened, guided by the central orb. A pure white light escaped from them, combating the taint that they were spreading.   The four dark orbs began to rotate around the center, trying to flee but trapped in the limited space. The white orbs chased after them, attempting to purify the darkness.   Suddenly, the central orb absorbed all of the eight, smaller orbs into its interior. They merged with the larger orb once again, turning it half black, half white. The four black orbs came together at a point, surrounded by the white light from the four white orbs, and their influence caused the half of the orb the smaller black ones occupied to turn white.   The black orbs fought back, though, and their aura surrounded the white orbs that had also formed into a point.   The large orb reached an equilibrium: Half white, half black, with a point of the opposite color in the center of the aura. The auras formed comet-like structures as they surrounded their counterpoints with a trailing tail following behind.   A Notification popped up within Reivyn's awareness, shocking him out of the strange state he had been in. The pain from the energies coursing through his body was gone, and he lay on the ground, panting, as true awareness returned to him.   He was still in the void corridor where the Masked Man and Galwit had left him.   He slowly sat up, gaining his bearings as he looked around the marvelous sight of the large Realm orbs and the infinite flickering sparks. He cut off his examination after determining he was completely alone, and he pulled up the Notification.  

Achievement! Soul has reached perfect balance. Hidden trigger for Bloodline Awakening activated.

Reivyn frowned at the message. He attempted to look within himself again, at the shining orbs, but no matter what he did, he couldn't perceive them any longer.   Those four smaller shards had obviously been tainted with Abyss Affinity, and the rest were filled with Veridical, Reivyn thought. What does it mean that my Bloodline required me to balance my soul between Veridical and Abyss?