MMORPG : Ancient WORLD
Author: Aibek
Chapter 628: The Spider (IV)
The structure surrounding Alex was vast, a towering construct of woven radiance and destiny, a loom of reality itself.
Thousands upon thousands of silver threads stretched from horizon to horizon, intersecting at impossible angles, vanishing into the void and reappearing behind him as though space had folded upon itself to make room for their existence.
Each thread shimmered faintly, connected to the pulse of existence itself. The world felt free but also seemed to hesitate, as if awaiting permission to move.
This alien effect on reality was all too clear within the world painted by the eyes of the Ancient.
Alex’s domain of nothingness grew around him as a dark mantle, erasing light, form, and intent wherever it touched.
Yet the loom resisted.
The threads of fate coiled around the edges of his domain like dense spider webs, weaving barriers of inevitability that forced the nothingness back.
The two opposite powers clashed in silence, the former denying reality’s very right to exist, while the latter declared it fated to endure even in the face of inevitable doom.
The clash was silent but colossal, straining the fabric of reality as erasure fought against order, silence against preordained perfection. The pressure folded the surrounding space, and the very void and space was bent like disturbed water.
Yet, within that tension, Alex found one narrow solace, the great loom’s countless threads avoided him, as no line of fate dared to bind him directly or simply could not.
For the moment, he stood beyond their reach, isolated within his domain of nothingness, but that didn’t mean the loom was not a threat.
Alex knew that everything carried its own fate. While Zarach couldn’t directly affect him, he could certainly influence his attacks, just as he was doing now, constantly rewriting the fate of the erasing darkness so it would die faster than it should, weakening it with every clash.
Though the effect was minor, it quietly gnawed at Alex’s mana, a slow yet persistent drain, not that it would matter, but it was also a silent threat he couldn’t afford to ignore.
Alex scanned the fate loom and saw that it was made up of nearly a hundred independent constructs, each a cog turning within a greater design.
Every piece moved with unnerving precision, autonomous yet bound to the rhythm of the whole, their motion weaving, or more accurately mimicking the flow of reality itself.
Alex’s eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing beneath the gleaming lattice of threads to where its foundation rested, stopping only on the mirror strings of darkness.
Without any motion, he extended his will, and a ripple of darkness bled into one of the hundred cogs making the fate loom.
The first distortion came quietly, a soft tremor beneath the surface, and then he sent another, and another. In seconds, three of the structures faltered under the touch of Error, their once-perfect rhythm warping into
dissonance.
A jagged pulse ran through the loom as countless strings began to twist and shimmer, fighting to preserve their ordered nature even as the corruption crawled deeper, forcing the weave to question what it was meant to be.
Yet the system was ruthless in its perfection. Like a surgeon cutting away dead flesh to stop the rot, the loom severed the tainted portions without hesitation.
The corrupted sectors unraveled, dissolving into motes of silver ash, while fresh strands emerged out of thin air, recreating what was lost as if the disturbance had never been present to begin with.
As the loom corrected itself, came Zarach’s voice. Each word dripped with disdain and hard-edged conviction, carrying the weight of someone who truly believed in every word he spoke.
"You think that just by learning a few new tricks, you could stand a chance?" The web pulsed with his fury, every thread brightening with reflected emotion.
"Everyone bows to their fate, and your fate is to be nothing more than a stepping stone for my ascension."
Zarach’s eight arms spread wide, the silver threads tightening in response, drawing patterns across the void like a vast sigil of inevitability.
"So die, and live on in the cruel illusion that you could have done something better."
The words rolled through the loom of silver strands like hammer blows, sharp and with barely hidden anger.
And then the world moved.
The Fate Loom came alive, the nearest strings to Alex gushing forth as they reacted to Zarach’s will, and in the blink of an eye, the surrounding space began to turn heavy, putting pressure on Alex from all sides, like a pit of quicksand, making any form of movement a complete struggle.
Alex didn’t wait to see more. The darkness beneath his feet erupted, his figure blurred into the shape of a dark apparition as he cut his way through the freezing space.
His blade, rimmed in blade intent and enveloped in darkness, swept forward, descending on the spider web that stood between him and Zarach.
But instead of cutting through the web, Alex’s perfect strike turned soft on impact, the momentum stolen from him and reappearing as a retaliatory pulse of force that hurled him back. His own intended triumph had been rewritten, fate sold and reclaimed in the same heartbeat.
Misery appeared back in grasp, and with both blades in hand, Alex charged them with potent darkness before performing a cross slash. The energy slash descends on the silver web.
Alex’s figure turned illusory as he pushed his body to its physical edge; his muscles burned as he appeared and disappeared all around Zarach, doing so in less than a few heartbeats.
’Phantom Sword Flash’
Dark energy slashes, numbering close to fifty, descended on Zarach from all sides, each carrying the silent touch of severance.
Zarach reacted to his attack with equal quickness, making the space between them warp like a disturbed ocean.
Threads burst through the fabric of reality like veins of molten silver, weaving themselves into long spindly limbs that lashed out in wide arcs, meeting the descending slashes.
Hundreds of hair-thin phantom threads grew from the long, spider-like limbs, gushing forth to take control of the fate of each slash like hungry worms.
For every strand cut and erased, two more flickered to life, reborn from the loom’s pulse, an endless recursion, until each of the nearly fifty slashes were neutralized.
Alex had rerealized alised that the fate loom itself served only one purpose, allowing Zarach to perform all his skills at an inhuman speed.
So he knew, to create an opportunity to strike a crippling, if not the killing blow, he had to first overwhelm the loom itself. So, in the veil of performing the sword slashes at inhuman speed, Alex also planted Error into the coges that made the fate loom possible.
The Fate Loom buckled. Dozens of threads snapped, unspooling into flickering sparks. Yet just like before, the infected areas were being purged and replaced in all but a mere moment.
But a moment was all Alex needed to attack.
Alex appeared a step away from Zarach, his blade drowning in the calm veil of sevrence, his blade a breath away from slicing into his neck.
Yet, Zarach, who stood at the death door, smiled, and rightfully so, as death never came for him. An unseen force tugged at Alex’s instincts, forcing hesitation, his mind glowing blank for a single moment, forcing his sword to nearly stop.
The culprit of his blunder was a single silver string connected to the right side of his skull, originating from one of the six phantom arms of Zarach.
The string had been impossibly quick, but more than that, it weaved through the field of nothingness that surrounded Alex like a second skin, fully capable of forcing things to a drag.
But the string was somehow unaffected, and the delay it caused Alex was enough.
A wave of silvery light descended like a guillotine, pinning Alex in place and burning away layers of the dark field. The domain of nothingness around him hissed, folding and reforming under the mountain assault of countless strings.
However, then something unexpected happened, Zarach, who had taken hold of the stygian blade with one of his phantom arms, suddenly, the cocky smile on his face froze, his already pupilless inhuman eyes turning a shade paler.
In the next moment, the blade that had hung frozen finally moved, reality split beneath its edge as a dark curtain fell, cleaving through Zarach and the world alike, seamless and absolute.
The air fractured. Silver threads that anchored the very laws of motion trembled and tore, and a tide of black smoke surged outward like a collapsing star.
Zarach stumbled, only for him to smile coldly. The countless strings descended on Alex, forcing him to step back, escaping their merciless grip with ease.
"Did you think I would fall so easily?" he mocked, his eight arms spreading wide. Hundreds of silver threads converged on four of his phantom arms, forming spears that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Alex lowered his stance, his domain compressing to a fine edge around him. "Then let’s see which of us still exists when all of this ends."
Thousands upon thousands of silver threads stretched from horizon to horizon, intersecting at impossible angles, vanishing into the void and reappearing behind him as though space had folded upon itself to make room for their existence.
Each thread shimmered faintly, connected to the pulse of existence itself. The world felt free but also seemed to hesitate, as if awaiting permission to move.
This alien effect on reality was all too clear within the world painted by the eyes of the Ancient.
Alex’s domain of nothingness grew around him as a dark mantle, erasing light, form, and intent wherever it touched.
Yet the loom resisted.
The threads of fate coiled around the edges of his domain like dense spider webs, weaving barriers of inevitability that forced the nothingness back.
The two opposite powers clashed in silence, the former denying reality’s very right to exist, while the latter declared it fated to endure even in the face of inevitable doom.
The clash was silent but colossal, straining the fabric of reality as erasure fought against order, silence against preordained perfection. The pressure folded the surrounding space, and the very void and space was bent like disturbed water.
Yet, within that tension, Alex found one narrow solace, the great loom’s countless threads avoided him, as no line of fate dared to bind him directly or simply could not.
For the moment, he stood beyond their reach, isolated within his domain of nothingness, but that didn’t mean the loom was not a threat.
Alex knew that everything carried its own fate. While Zarach couldn’t directly affect him, he could certainly influence his attacks, just as he was doing now, constantly rewriting the fate of the erasing darkness so it would die faster than it should, weakening it with every clash.
Though the effect was minor, it quietly gnawed at Alex’s mana, a slow yet persistent drain, not that it would matter, but it was also a silent threat he couldn’t afford to ignore.
Alex scanned the fate loom and saw that it was made up of nearly a hundred independent constructs, each a cog turning within a greater design.
Every piece moved with unnerving precision, autonomous yet bound to the rhythm of the whole, their motion weaving, or more accurately mimicking the flow of reality itself.
Alex’s eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing beneath the gleaming lattice of threads to where its foundation rested, stopping only on the mirror strings of darkness.
Without any motion, he extended his will, and a ripple of darkness bled into one of the hundred cogs making the fate loom.
The first distortion came quietly, a soft tremor beneath the surface, and then he sent another, and another. In seconds, three of the structures faltered under the touch of Error, their once-perfect rhythm warping into
dissonance.
A jagged pulse ran through the loom as countless strings began to twist and shimmer, fighting to preserve their ordered nature even as the corruption crawled deeper, forcing the weave to question what it was meant to be.
Yet the system was ruthless in its perfection. Like a surgeon cutting away dead flesh to stop the rot, the loom severed the tainted portions without hesitation.
The corrupted sectors unraveled, dissolving into motes of silver ash, while fresh strands emerged out of thin air, recreating what was lost as if the disturbance had never been present to begin with.
As the loom corrected itself, came Zarach’s voice. Each word dripped with disdain and hard-edged conviction, carrying the weight of someone who truly believed in every word he spoke.
"You think that just by learning a few new tricks, you could stand a chance?" The web pulsed with his fury, every thread brightening with reflected emotion.
"Everyone bows to their fate, and your fate is to be nothing more than a stepping stone for my ascension."
Zarach’s eight arms spread wide, the silver threads tightening in response, drawing patterns across the void like a vast sigil of inevitability.
"So die, and live on in the cruel illusion that you could have done something better."
The words rolled through the loom of silver strands like hammer blows, sharp and with barely hidden anger.
And then the world moved.
The Fate Loom came alive, the nearest strings to Alex gushing forth as they reacted to Zarach’s will, and in the blink of an eye, the surrounding space began to turn heavy, putting pressure on Alex from all sides, like a pit of quicksand, making any form of movement a complete struggle.
Alex didn’t wait to see more. The darkness beneath his feet erupted, his figure blurred into the shape of a dark apparition as he cut his way through the freezing space.
His blade, rimmed in blade intent and enveloped in darkness, swept forward, descending on the spider web that stood between him and Zarach.
But instead of cutting through the web, Alex’s perfect strike turned soft on impact, the momentum stolen from him and reappearing as a retaliatory pulse of force that hurled him back. His own intended triumph had been rewritten, fate sold and reclaimed in the same heartbeat.
Misery appeared back in grasp, and with both blades in hand, Alex charged them with potent darkness before performing a cross slash. The energy slash descends on the silver web.
Alex’s figure turned illusory as he pushed his body to its physical edge; his muscles burned as he appeared and disappeared all around Zarach, doing so in less than a few heartbeats.
’Phantom Sword Flash’
Dark energy slashes, numbering close to fifty, descended on Zarach from all sides, each carrying the silent touch of severance.
Zarach reacted to his attack with equal quickness, making the space between them warp like a disturbed ocean.
Threads burst through the fabric of reality like veins of molten silver, weaving themselves into long spindly limbs that lashed out in wide arcs, meeting the descending slashes.
Hundreds of hair-thin phantom threads grew from the long, spider-like limbs, gushing forth to take control of the fate of each slash like hungry worms.
For every strand cut and erased, two more flickered to life, reborn from the loom’s pulse, an endless recursion, until each of the nearly fifty slashes were neutralized.
Alex had rerealized alised that the fate loom itself served only one purpose, allowing Zarach to perform all his skills at an inhuman speed.
So he knew, to create an opportunity to strike a crippling, if not the killing blow, he had to first overwhelm the loom itself. So, in the veil of performing the sword slashes at inhuman speed, Alex also planted Error into the coges that made the fate loom possible.
The Fate Loom buckled. Dozens of threads snapped, unspooling into flickering sparks. Yet just like before, the infected areas were being purged and replaced in all but a mere moment.
But a moment was all Alex needed to attack.
Alex appeared a step away from Zarach, his blade drowning in the calm veil of sevrence, his blade a breath away from slicing into his neck.
Yet, Zarach, who stood at the death door, smiled, and rightfully so, as death never came for him. An unseen force tugged at Alex’s instincts, forcing hesitation, his mind glowing blank for a single moment, forcing his sword to nearly stop.
The culprit of his blunder was a single silver string connected to the right side of his skull, originating from one of the six phantom arms of Zarach.
The string had been impossibly quick, but more than that, it weaved through the field of nothingness that surrounded Alex like a second skin, fully capable of forcing things to a drag.
But the string was somehow unaffected, and the delay it caused Alex was enough.
A wave of silvery light descended like a guillotine, pinning Alex in place and burning away layers of the dark field. The domain of nothingness around him hissed, folding and reforming under the mountain assault of countless strings.
However, then something unexpected happened, Zarach, who had taken hold of the stygian blade with one of his phantom arms, suddenly, the cocky smile on his face froze, his already pupilless inhuman eyes turning a shade paler.
In the next moment, the blade that had hung frozen finally moved, reality split beneath its edge as a dark curtain fell, cleaving through Zarach and the world alike, seamless and absolute.
The air fractured. Silver threads that anchored the very laws of motion trembled and tore, and a tide of black smoke surged outward like a collapsing star.
Zarach stumbled, only for him to smile coldly. The countless strings descended on Alex, forcing him to step back, escaping their merciless grip with ease.
"Did you think I would fall so easily?" he mocked, his eight arms spreading wide. Hundreds of silver threads converged on four of his phantom arms, forming spears that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Alex lowered his stance, his domain compressing to a fine edge around him. "Then let’s see which of us still exists when all of this ends."