60 days in the workshop and 92 days in the Obsidian Runic Spire.
And on the 92nd day, he was ready for his next trial. The second he used a Teleportation Circle at the corner of the workshop, he finally managed to get to the next floor.
And by doing so, he gained another pseudo-core. He passed four floors and gained four pseudo-cores in the process. Now, he had five of them.
The next floor was... full of blood.
It was just like the rainy platform but this time, it was full of blood.
"Oh by the gods... you have got to be kidding me."
Vastarael stood at the edge of the platform, eyeing the sea of blood creeping up his boots with an expression that could only be described as utter disbelief. His mind was still catching up to what he was seeing.
In front of him was gigantic floating pot pouring blood.
The blood was rising steadily, like some kind of twisted fountain of doom, splashing out in a steady stream, painting the platform red and turning everything into a swamp. It reeked of that metallic tang that made his stomach churn. The blood didn't seem to stop and the fact that it was pooling around his ankles just made everything worse. Thank the gods for his boots; they were durable and liquid proof, not just stylish. He wasn't about to have blood-soaked shoes.
"Really? Blood? I mean, come on... I've dealt with water and sharks, I've fought my own mother, but this is next level."
He grumbled to himself as he made a mental note to seriously consider getting cologne for situations like this. At least he'd look cool while being disgusted.
He stepped back a bit, surveying the scene. The pot that was floating above him, endlessly spilling blood, was no ordinary vessel. It looked like an oversized clay jug from some ancient god's junk drawer. The thing was massive. And it just kept pouring endlessly. Vastarael's lips curled into a smirk.
"Okay, if it's a battle you want, then it's a battle you'll get."
He hadn't really used his mage abilities in a while and something about the blood swamp just screamed 'I need magic for this.' So, without further hesitation, he raised a hand.
He whipped out a Clean Rune, just to keep things somewhat sanitary, and then let his Mystic Eyes of Awareness focus on the situation. Whatever the hell this thing was, he was going to get it figured out first. He couldn't deal with another 'mysterious enemy' that caught him off guard.
He was killed like that two times already.
As soon as he locked onto the pot's magical signature, his eyes narrowed. "You are a floating vessel of death, aren't you?"
And that was when it happened.
The clay pot started to vibrate. And then, it moved. In fact, it wasn't just pouring blood anymore. The whole thing began levitating around, spinning like a twisted mechanical demon, as if it were preparing for a full-on battle stance.
The floating blood-filled jug somehow managed to screech like a possessed kettle boiling over, and Vastarael's face dropped.
"Are you... Are you challenging me, pot? You really want to go there? Well, fine, if I have to fight a pot to move on, then I guess this is my life now."
He wasn't exactly sure what kind of enemy this was going to turn out to be, but it didn't matter. He wasn't about to let some jug of blood have the last laugh. His hand crackled with energy as he began drawing his circle in the air, creating massive energy constructs around him.
"Alright, let's see what you've got, blood pot."
And that's when it hit him. He wasn't just dealing with a floating pot. No, no. This thing was about to spit blood. And not just any blood. It was magical blood. This was gonna be one bloody fight. Literally.
"Oh, hell no. I'm not getting drowned in blood by some random ceramic jug!"
He summoned a shield of sapphire and slammed it down onto the platform, pushing back against the flood of blood that began to churn around his feet. It wasn't just rising. It was actively trying to drown him.
He didn't have time to waste. With a flex of his will, a barrier of Cold Runes materialized around him, freezing chunks of the blood into solid, icy shapes, which immediately turned into gruesome blood statues. They flopped around like frozen corpses, creeping towards him in all the wrong ways.
"Okay, okay, bloodbath, I get it. But I can deal with this," Vastarael muttered, shrugging as he casually swung his sapphire glaive at the nearest frozen blood golem that had crawled its way toward him. It shattered into pieces with a satisfying crash.
The floating pot—now realizing that Vastarael was not the type of person to go down without a fight—started to spit blood at him in torrents, like some kind of weird, nightmarish water balloon fight.
He dodged, side-stepping with ease, using his mystic eye enhancements to track the arcs of blood before they even reached him. He couldn't let this thing get the better of him.
"Oh no, you don't, jug. You started this and I'm finishing it."
And with a flick of his wrist, a bolt of pure sapphire energy launched from his hand, slamming into the floating pot. There was an enormous explosion of blood and ceramic and for a brief moment, the entire platform seemed to tremble.
Vastarael stood, panting slightly, his boots still firm on the blood-slicked floor. He looked around, making sure the battle was over. And then... it stopped.
The pot collapsed into a heap of broken clay and spilled blood, its endless pouring finally ceasing. The blood on the floor began to dry up, leaving only faint stains behind.
Vastarael, covered in various gruesome substances, wiped his face and looked at the now-silent battlefield.
"Well... that was... disgusting. And fast. Seriously, that's it?"
[Yes. You have passed.]
With a sigh, he walked away, heading for the next floor.
"Blood... blood everywhere. But hey, at least it wasn't another sandstorm island—"
Without even thinking, Vastarael's reflexes kicked in and with a snap of his fingers, he conjured a massive hemispherical sapphire shield around himself. The sound of hundreds of blood spikes smashing into it echoed across the platform like hailstones in a hurricane. The spikes ricocheted off the shield, spraying chunks of crystalized blood into the air.
He stood there, his hand still raised, staring at the shimmering barrier he'd just created. His eye twitched as he processed what just happened.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
For a few moments, he waited in tense silence, glancing at the spikes embedded in his shield. They looked sharp enough to skewer a dragon. He gave a dry chuckle.
"You really thought I'd fall for a death trap again? Come on, I'm not new at this anymore. I see your game already. Killing me to join you, cosmic horror shit."
He let the sapphire shield shimmer for a moment longer before dispelling it with a flick of his wrist, the sparkling particles vanishing into the air like glitter at a poorly planned party. He dusted off his outfit, which didn't need dusting but still, it was the principle of the matter.
"Nice try, though. Ten out of ten for creativity, minus ten for execution."
But before he could take another step forward, the platform under his feet began to tremble. The blood drained away rapidly, swirling into some kind of whirlpool as Vastarael stood there, arms crossed, watching the display with mild annoyance.
And then, it happened.
That familiar feeling of being sucked into an interdimensional void wrapped around him, like an unwelcome hug from a long-lost relative. The air grew thick, heavy and otherworldly as everything around him blurred. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He yelled into the void as his body began to vanish into thin air.
"Oh, come on! AGAIN?! I just left the bloodbath and now this? I don't even get a fucking break?!"
Moments later, he reappeared in the one place he absolutely, positively, never wanted to be again: the Cosmic Horror Abyss.
The familiar oppressive darkness surrounded him. Tendrils of mist-like shadows coiled and uncoiled around him and the low, incomprehensible whispers of eldritch horrors echoed in the distance.
The vast, starless void stretched out in every direction, occasionally punctuated by the appearance of an unblinking eye or an impossibly wide grin from creatures he couldn't even begin to name.
Vastarael sighed, planting his hands on his hips as he scanned the void.
"Oh, you guys again. What is it this time? Did you miss me? I swear, if this is just another one of your cryptic 'end of the universe' tea parties, I'm gonna lose it."
The abyss seemed to ripple with an eerie kind of amusement, as though the horrors were delighted to see him. A deep, booming voice that sounded like a thousand screams mashed into one rumbled through the void.
"CHOSEN ONE. YOU HAVE RETURNED."
Vastarael raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
"Oh, now you're calling me the Chosen One? Last time, you called me 'insignificant mortal speck' and told me to prepare for eternal torment. Which is it? Chosen One or Speck? Pick a lane."
Another voice, this one like nails scraping on glass, chimed in. "WE HAVE MISSED YOUR PRESENCE. YOU... AMUSE US."
"Amuse you? What am I, a cosmic jester now?" Vastarael threw up his hands. "Look, I didn't come here to entertain you. I got sucked in again against my will, thank you very much. You know, I have actual trials to deal with. Deadly ones. With blood pots and spikes, remember?"
The shadows writhed, and another deep voice emerged from the void. "YOUR SPIRIT IS RESILIENT. YOUR INSOLENCE IS REFRESHING."
Vastarael shot back, rolling his eyes.
"Refreshing, huh? Glad to know I'm not boring you. So, what is it this time? Another cryptic warning about my destiny? Or are you just here to waste my time?"
The abyss seemed to grow quieter, the whispers turning into a low hum, almost as if the horrors were considering their next move. A massive, grotesque eye appeared in front of him, blinking slowly as if it were studying him. Vastarael crossed his arms.
"Yeah, yeah, creepy eyeball, I've seen it before. Can we speed this up? I've got floors to climb and honestly, this whole 'cosmic dread' thing isn't really doing it for me anymore."
The eye blinked again. "YOUR DEFIANCE WILL LEAD TO YOUR UNDOING."
"Uh-huh, sure it will," Vastarael said, yawning dramatically. "Let me guess, 'beware the trials ahead, trust no one, the blood moon rises,' blah blah blah? You guys seriously need to work on your material. It's getting old."
Another booming voice, this one more agitated, hissed through the void. "YOU MOCK US, MORTAL?"
"Mock you? No, no, I'm just offering constructive criticism," Vastarael replied with a grin. "I mean, come on, you've got all this cosmic power and you're wasting it on spooky whispers and vague threats? At least throw in a dance number or something. And I am an Immortal so have some respect on my race."
The abyss trembled and for a moment, Vastarael thought he might've pushed them too far. But then, the oppressive darkness began to recede, and the voices grew quieter.
"YOU ARE FUN."