Zenith Online: Rebirth of the Strongest Player

Kieran spent some time in utter disbelief.

As he said moments before, the entire situation was poetic.

This Trial was the Testament of Dying Blood, meaning it revolved around the Flame's dying wish, which Kieran believed to be the death of all the Gods. But that assumption seemed overly ambitious to Kieran, which led him to believe there was some oversight weaved into his burgeoning understanding.

There were gaps in the cohesion of this Trial's meaning, which became more apparent the stronger Kieran became.

Why would a Trial linked to an Advancing be centered around aspirations to kill the Gods — who, by the way, Kieran had zero knowledge of? An Adept had no business warring with Gods. Kieran couldn't begin to fathom their Domain or what Boundary they existed in.

Those ambitions felt too lofty and misplaced for the setting, or perhaps Kieran did too much critical thinking and over-analyzed the entire situation. As with any plan, steps had to be taken to ensure a specific outcome.

What if this Trial merely symbolized one of the Flame's steps? That made more sense to Kieran because it kept the same grand ambition but minimized the scope of the scenario until it matched a severity befitting an Advancing.

But from this Testament of Dying Blood came a New Testament.

The Testament of a Defier, who went against the typical descent into madness and corruption that Fiends generally followed.

Had Kieran been the first to walk this path? It was hard to tell, considering none of his feats were recorded, recognized, or praised. Perhaps it would become a great deluge once the Trial concluded, awarding him a massive boon.

As it stood, he had accomplished all but two tasks — creating his Unique Skill and overcoming the Trial of Inheritors. But that last objective got him thinking again… what if the outcome of the Trial wasn't the takeaway of greatest import here?

What if passing the Trial meant enduring and overcoming each Class's personal struggle?

If he looked at it from that angle, then just one task remained to be completed — the composition of his Unique Skill. The creation of his New Testament was a turning point for Kieran, symbolizing his enduring mind, body, and soul. He had walked through fire, bathed in blood, and survived an infernal crucible… but he did not break.

He was a Fiend. He was Condemned. He was Chained… but he was not Broken.

'I won't break.'

Kieran stared at the symbol of his defiance proudly with a somber expression.

His expression was grim because the administrator's words weighed on his mind. He had performed exceptionally well thus far, but it could not compare to what lay in wait. The culmination of his suffering and enduring would assault him in the end.

Despite that grim and ominous affirmation, Kieran was not disheartened. His heart blazed with a will to strive for greatness, fight against any opposition, and defy all odds.

Silently, he extended a hand to the symbol of his attainments and touched it.

The sensation was paradoxical and staggering.

A simple touch aroused the feeling of magma flowing through his veins, setting his body aflame in a scorching inferno, but his mind was permeated with a chilling madness that slowed his world.

In this strange state, he could feel his heart thrum, pumping power to the edge of his being, filling him with ineluctable purpose. With that purpose came the onset of many voices belonging to him. They sounded like him but were flush with foreign, maddening thoughts.

They spoke to him and urged him to offer them the salvation he had promised. He was not the Flame's Condemned Fiend anymore. In absorbing the Condemnation, the resentments supplanted the Flame's position in his mind.

Its supreme position had been challenged, but for some reason, the Flame did not seem to mind this development. On the contrary, a protracted look exposed its glee.

"I knew it, my child. You are unlike the rest. This is why you are the Firebearer and shall carry my glory until the end of time — our time."

Kieran listened silently, looking at the Flame impassively.

The torrent of emotions pulled him in many ways until it was all negated, leaving Kieran taciturn and somewhat unfeeling. He understood what it meant to be completely dull — overwhelmed with so much until finally… you were forced to no longer feel.

Kieran could still feel things, but he struggled to express his feelings because he no longer knew which of these voices was his original. He had become the voices, and the voices became him. He was still a Fiend, filled with that same power, chained by those same resentments, but he no longer had a bulwark against their spell.

He had willfully dissolved the impediment that isolated his sanity from the incurious of a Fiend's Madness.

Somehow, Kieran preferred the idle nature of these resentments more than his connection to the Flame, though they felt similar. These voices were weaker in comparison — tolerable, even.

Meanwhile, the Flame continued to talk, happily exposing the meaning behind its delight and what was happening to Kieran.

"My child, did you know that most Fiends break before they can become what you are? Their solidity of Self and innate Significance is too pitiful to bear a Fiend's Curse. The solidity of their fate is too fragile to bear the incursion of foreign fates."

Kieran listened, maintaining contact with the Testament of a Fiend's Defiance. This was a power he had to get used to wielding — not the passive effects, but the active abilities.

"That's what resentments are — the vestiges of dead, ownerless fates. And to accept that is to accept the torment of that which was never yours. That torment breaks things. I should know. As the Arbiter of Resentments, there were many times when I had to discard them. But, you see, they're powerful, so I had to swallow them. Maybe the consumption of the dead fates inspired my desire for change. I saw more death than all the Gods combined. But they didn't understand how having to maintain Order wears on the mind. Ah, so they called me mad, you see."

Kieran's brows furrowed, forming a slight crease in his otherwise smooth forehead.

The Flame suddenly seemed hesitant, its hollow pits appearing unusually reluctant. Then, it mustered the courage, or perhaps another fueling emotion, to continue.

"My threats that I made in my rage, you will come to see that I need not lift a finger to break things. You are my child that Death could never be, for I am the Father of Resentment, and you… you have become a Child of Resentment."

During his time on Xenith, Kieran had come to be known as many things, but a Child of Resentment was not one of them. How would this new designation interfere with his status as a Harbinger? What did that combination of fate mean?

It sounded like an omen, likely one most of the leading powers would move to smite in an instant.

"I was broken for fathering the Maddened, and now the threads of the Maddened stitch your soul together. The Breakers will come for you, and your kin will gravitate toward you in search of solace, and you'll be unable to turn away. The Path of the Maddened consumes what it desires. And, you have attracted its desire."

Kieran did not expect this outcome when he endeavored to reshape his Blood Rune. All along… his actions seemed to have been puppeteered by the Flame.

Deep suspicions arose in his mind. Could the Flame's goal be found beyond the Wailing Sierra… or could it be found within him?