Runeblade-Chapter 229B2 : Thy Strength…, pt. 2

…..

The searing heat of the fire scorched his skin—turned his fur to ash and seared his flesh—no matter what he saw when he looked down. It was agony, an all consuming inferno that was joined by the weight of mountains bearing down on his back.

He ached—bowing as his legs quaked beneath him.

Porkchop snarled in defiance, calling out his rejection. This would not break him.

The screams of the damned heightened, overwhelming his senses—piercing his mind with directed malice as honed agony resounded through his skull.

He would not give up.

He did not care if it was stubborn pride, childish misconception, or foolish idealism—he would persevere.

His people were wrong. There was nothing to be found in rigid tradition. It was killing them—fracturing them as a people. The arguments over differences in song, art, and hunt. It was pointless. Young as he had been, he could see it. Why couldn’t they?

Was it hypocrisy, to judge them for their own unyielding attitude when he himself was just as stubborn?

Perhaps—he didn’t care. He didn’t know what the right way was, that was a task for people far wiser than him. He just knew that the old ways weren’t working. The Dens grew more divisive and insular every year, a disgrace to the founding tenets of their people.

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The Grandfather would be ashamed.

He wouldn’t have it.

He’d show them their mistakes—the damage they were causing. By right of claw and blood, he would do it.

But first, he had to take another step.

Sucking in a deep breath, Porkchop steeled himself against the agonous heat, and took another, shaking, step.

The consuming fury of fire vanished, replaced by the bitter disgust of cold. Tendrils sunk their way into his flesh, petrifying all that crossed their path. Cutting crystals filled his flesh. He should have been a statue, his skin should have blackened and died—but he stood hale and hearty, quaking under the growing strain of the weight.

Rooted in place, he shook—bones threatening to splinter as judgement fell upon him.

He refused.

Hair's breadth by hair’s breadth, his paw rose, quaking from the strain. With the same determination that led him to seek strength beyond the mountains that tradition had demanded he never cross, Porkchop placed his foot down.

And took another step.

The screaming contempt of his people slammed into his back, buckling his knees.

Losing his focus for the barest of moments in the face of burning fire and screaming hate, his knees crashed into the stone below—shattering.

The first drops of blood left his body, bone erupting from his flesh in lances of clarifying agony.

Health burned, gnawing at his flesh with the persistence of a thousand gnats as bone was pulled back in place—flesh sealing faster than even his brother could manage with his lesser skill.

**Ding! Primal Vigour has reached level 70!**

A deep echoing growl shook within his chest, fighting against the weight that threatened to crush the breath out from him.

He rebelled against the pain, the pressure, the heat, and the noise. Muscles screamed, engaging in a unity of purpose as he pressed against the earth, forcing himself upwards.

If he fell here, how would he ever have the strength to face his Den and say that they were wrong? How would he best his Patriarch when he came for his head?

How would he gain the might to grant the defeated mercy, in rejection of their ways?

How would he ever protect what he cared about? His friends? His people?

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Shaking like a leaf in a storm, Porkchop rose.

**Ding! Jade Bones, Earthen Blood has reached level 56!**

Standing once more, he breathed heavy and slow. He would need more than strength to change tradition—he would need to be enduring. Inviolate in the face of fearful rejection and hateful fang both.

He could not stop. Not here.

Porkchop took another step, and deep within his soul a pillar began to croon—soft and quiet.

….

The line was right in front of him.

A new torment, just another step away.

Corporus blazed within his soul, a scream of challenge and victory. It was coming—Porkchop could feel it.

His bones splintered, fracturing despite his best efforts to keep his stance square and stable. There was too much weight—the essence of a mountain, condensed onto him.

Yet with every echoing crack that resonated through his skull, his Health raced through, sealing the weakness shut. And endless cycle of agonising renewal, his very body rejecting the demands he had placed upon them.

The pain was immense, but it was a mere candle towards his determination. How could he fall now?

Would he step aside as the Dens died a slow death?

Would he falter, when he was all that stood between his team and a violent end?

He would not.

Not while he still had the barest iota of strength, the faintest capability to act. He would not fall, could not fall, until his flesh burst, his bones dissolved, and his heart beat its last.

Struggle was an eternal truth, and he was not one to baulk and hide from reality.

Sickening cracks drowned out the incessant screaming in his ear as he reached out one leg, his paw falling limp as his wrist snapped.

**Ding! Primal Vigour has reached level 82!**

He took a step.

The weight grew—delicate blood vessels in his nose bursting. His throat filled with the bite of a successful hunt, vibrant red staining the floor below.

With the weight came a new burden—weakness. It was a slight thing, his already exhausted body feeling just that slightest bit slower—muscles just a little bit looser.

Porkchop paused, giving his failing body time to heal—to adjust.

Then he took another step, blood and bile dripping to the floor as he struggled to keep his jaw closed.

….

Porkchop collapsed.

The weight was too heavy, the noise and temperature too distracting, and the fatigue too sapping.

Even with all of his stubborn bloodyminded focus, he could not stand.

Yet…he could not stop here. He still had more to give.

If he would not walk, he would crawl. Shattered and broken he might be, but he would not halt until he reached his goal. He’d reach it, or he wouldn’t, but either way he would push on until he had nothing left to give.

**Ding! Jade Bones, Earthen Blood has reached level 65!**

With the vigour of the already dead, Porkchop slid his arm forwards. He was too weak, and the weight too heavy, to lift the limb—so he didn’t try. Shuffling it forwards, he snarled against the pain, forcing himself to breath deep.

A shallow gasp was all he could manage.

Through sheer force of will, he managed to hook the tips of his claws into the thin seam between the flagstones ahead. Huffing in victory, he slowly pulled his back legs up, anchoring them in much the same way.

Tugging on them softly, he found his hold good enough—though it was hard to tell by the way his joints creaked and strained under the pressure that crushed him to the earth.

Trusting in himself, he heaved—dragging himself forwards.

He could do this. By right, he was a Bastion. The first to enter battle and the last to fall. Until his dying breath, he would be a barrier that defended others. Whether it was saving his team from the fury of their enemies—large and small—or his people from their own shortsightedness.

Reaching the next flagstone, Porkchop grunted as the weight increased once more and the air turned deathly cold. Just another stride, he could do this.

Minutes burned as his quaking arms reached out, slowly hooking his claws into the next seam.

Porkchop heaved. He didn’t move.

Straining harder caused his joints to pop, separating in their sockets as bones splintered. Still he heaved, fighting against the pain, battling for just another hand span—another hair’s breadth.

The force of his pull just broke him further, limbs falling limp.

He struggled on, trying to drive himself forwards.

It was no use—his body had given out. No matter his desire, his need, or his frustration, he had hit the wall. There was nothing left to give.

Yet, despite the futility—the marrow-deep knowledge that he had been bested—Porkchop did not give up. In desperation, he raged against the pressure, moving anyway he could as skin tore and muscle split in his battle to make it just another hair closer.

Corporus saw his struggle, and approved.

Deep within his soul, Porkchop felt his fire blaze to new heights—a song of unyielding adamant throwing back the screams of the Trial, a blaze of surety in victory burning back the chill.

His soul pulsed, and his pillar Corporus ignited.

The last vestige of the barest remaining scraps of his willpower gutted out as Porkchop realised he had achieved his goal.

Black flooded his vision, a last gasp crushed from his chest.

….

**Ding! Pillar of Self Discovered, Corporus Ignited. Would you like to initiate Aspect Formation?**

Porkchop lurched back to awareness as the resonant ding of the system notification resounded through his mind.

The clean scent of stone dominated his nose, mired only by the biting tang of stains of his own blood and bile, stretching in an unbroken trail ahead and behind him.

Silent as it was, he was almost convinced he’d gone deaf—mind fatigued to the point it took him some time to realise it was simple, blessed, quiet.

One thing he did not miss was the slight form of his brother, crouched beside his head. It was impossible to, even if he could only see the deep brown of his well conditioned boots, their bond made his presence and eminent concern unmistakable.

“Hey buddy, how’re you feeling?” Kaius’s words were soft and crooning.

“Like a shadelion gave up halfway through eating me,” Porkchop responded, not even coming close to feeling like moving.

His closest friend snorted, shaking his head with a smirk.

“I’m not surprised, that was a hell of a showing.” A gruff voice cut in, the familiar heavy timbre of the Patriarch of Deadacre’s guild.

“Most Silvers struggle to make it to the end of the temperature swings, let alone the screaming. I was confident you’d do well, but I definitely never thought you’d make it to the lap of weakness, let alone half way through it.” Rieker continued, clear and genuine respect shining through. “You’ve impressed me.”

Porkchop chuckled—surprisingly, that felt good, having his efforts acknowledged by someone so clearly strong.

The guildmaster wasn’t the only one—Ianmaus was leaning on the wall a few strides down the hall, watching him with genuine relief.

The half-elf gave him a warm smile, before he nodded to draw his attention to Kaius—who looked like he was about to rupture with curiosity.

“More importantly, did it work? Did you manage to ignite your Aspect?” Kaius asked, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially the second he had Porkchop]’s attention again.

He smiled wide in response, baring his teeth.

“I did.”