Unholy Player Chapter 516 One of the lost Paths

Within the boundless gloom, nothingness prevailed. A solitary cluster of consciousness drifted through the void, suspended in a vacuum devoid of direction or distance, awaiting the moment of its eventual departure.

Rhys had lost all track of time spent in this state. Chronology had been stripped of its significance. His physical form was non-existent to him; there was no sensation of weight, no intake of breath, and no pulse of a heart.

Nevertheless, he maintained his composure, enduring the silence with the steadfastness of a soldier holding a position on a battlefield, waiting for commands that never arrived.

Lacking any other occupation, he allowed his mind to cycle through the history of his life from its inception. He revisited his deepest regrets, the brief instances of satisfaction regarding the paths he had chosen, and the persistent doubts that questioned if a different action might have altered his fate.

Every memory emerged with piercing vividness, one following the next in an unbroken chain.

He possessed an excess of time for contemplation. Eventually, even thought itself became hollow, and a profound boredom took root despite his lack of physical senses.

"Having something to drink would be wonderful right now!" These words produced no sound, existing only as a thought vibrating through a vacuum where even the concept of 'void' was meaningless.

Following that impulse, his mind turned toward spirits. He began to recall various recipes, the distinct aromas, the sharp flavors, and the comforting heat that radiated through his chest after a potent draught.

It was then that he observed an unusual detail.

He remembered the satisfaction he felt while blending his preferred drink with the mutation serum and the crimson powder provided by Adyr.

He proceeded to reconstruct the entire process mentally, visualizing every phase until the colors merged and the textures transformed vividly in his mind. Before long, this mental experimentation with flavors became a small but significant pastime in this desolate realm, providing a reprieve from the endless repetition.

Once that hobby began to lose its charm, he shifted his concentration. Recognizing that his mental faculty for visualization had grown remarkably sharp, he commenced training within his mind.

Though he possessed nothing but his thoughts, they proved sufficient. Free from the constraints of a physical body, he replayed combat maneuvers repeatedly, honing them through constant iteration.

Dagger techniques. Projectile throwing. Unarmed combat. He even experimented with armaments he had previously ignored, like axes and bows, gauging their weight and trajectory through pure imagination.

His consciousness nourished this internal world, sharpening it with every passing second. He studied, practiced, and perfected everything within his reach to kill time and prevent his mind from fading into the stillness.

In time, he began to test the limits of drunken combat styles. Utilizing his enhanced imagination, he envisioned himself completely intoxicated, clutching a bottle of wine—swaying unsteadily yet delivering blows with uncanny precision.

That was when an external force suddenly breached his self-contained world of thought.

"What in the hell is that?" Rhys stood in an open meadow beneath an untainted sky, but his focus was instantly pulled toward the horizon. Something had manifested there that was not a product of his own mind.

Positioned in the far distance was a gate as vast as the firmament itself, towering higher than any monument he had ever witnessed.

A feminine, graceful figure stood within it, though the intense radiance surrounding her obscured every feature, leaving only a shimmering silhouette.

Rhys looked down at the wine bottle he held—feeling its weight in his mind—and grumbled with a scowl, "Did I drink too much?"

He took another draught, imagining the familiar sting and the heat as it traveled down his throat. When he turned around, he froze. A second gate stood on the opposite horizon, every bit as monumental as the first.

This one possessed a different nature. Its details remained obscured to his mind's eye, but its hue was undeniable. It was an absolute, unsettling black that seemed to swallow light rather than reflect it.

Rhys felt no fear; instead, he found the sight fascinating. In a reality dictated by his own thoughts, the appearance of something foreign was a refreshing break from the eternal quiet.

He continued to sip his wine as the entities within the gates began to stir, their shapes becoming more defined with every movement.

The two titanic figures lifted their hands. One appeared to descend from the heavens, immense and glowing, exuding an aura of mercy and warmth. The other ascended from the darkest depths of the earth, shrouded in shadows and radiating destruction and dread.

Both palms were aimed directly at him. Suddenly, two distinct auras erupted—one of pure white and one of deepest black—surging forward in tandem and crushing the space around him as they converged.

Rhys had no opportunity to defend himself. In a heartbeat, he was consumed by the two energies, their clashing forces squeezing him from every direction.

His mental sanctuary shattered instantly. The meadow, the sky, and the massive gates broke apart like thin glass. His form vanished along with the bottle of wine, and everything plummeted back into the same hollow void as before.

When his consciousness finally coalesced again, he slowly drew his eyes open.

This time, he could feel the heaviness of his eyelids and the physical resistance of his body as it responded to his will. Light flooded into his pupils, sharp and jarring after the long period of darkness.

He stared up at a familiar ceiling. Its stained, weathered surface felt like a distant memory, yet he recognized it at once.

"So I'm back, huh?" His lips moved, and the sound reaching his ears confirmed his return. His spirit was back in his body, inside the laboratory.

However, he had not returned alone. Something had accompanied him back to the physical world.

Luminous, translucent text floated in the air before him.

[Congratulations. The AXION Path has marked you as one of its followers.]

The system notification alone was enough to leave him breathless. It was the undeniable proof that Rhys had successfully achieved his awakening as a Practitioner.

Yet, a sense of unease took hold. He furrowed his brow.

The name of the Path was completely foreign, a term he had never once heard mentioned.

His astonishment grew as a second message manifested, showing the Path's details in the same shimmering font.

[AXION]

-One of the lost Paths, established by the mortal Adyr Hellcraft.

-The first being to achieve balance within chaos, birthing the harmony of Black and White.

-It signifies absolute equilibrium.

Rhys scanned the description with care, then raised a hand to his face, running his fingers across his skin to feel for any traces of glass. He even pressed a finger against his eye, half-expecting to find a lens or some mechanical trickery.

"This isn't a joke?"

He was nearly convinced the scientists were playing a prank on him, projecting deceptive system messages while mocking his reaction from behind a screen.

But the reality of it was undeniable.

He slowly pushed his body up from the table where he had been lying.

Initially, his limbs refused to obey. He felt unstable, as if his body had been vacant for an immense duration. His legs shook slightly as he stood, forcing him to move with caution to regain his balance.

As he finally stood tall, his vision cleared. It was then that he saw the person collapsed on the floor in front of him.

Rhys knew it was Adyr instantly. He lay still, his two wings splayed out on either side with their tips touching the cold ground.

Without a second thought, he leaped down from the table.

When his feet hit the floor, his muscles buckled for a second, nearly causing him to fall. He steadied himself, then hurried forward to check the pulse at Adyr's throat.

He was breathing. The heartbeat beneath Rhys's fingers was rapid and strong.

Rhys raised his gaze to survey the room, attempting to understand what had transpired during his absence.

The lab was transformed. New machinery packed the area. Cables dangled from the ceiling, metal surfaces had lost their sheen, and every object was smothered in thick layers of orange and brown rust.

There was no sign of the researchers.

"How long have I been out?" he whispered, his brow deeply creased.

Observing the heavy corrosion in the room and Adyr's face—which appeared significantly older, his skin more lined and worn as if he had reached his forties—Rhys began to suspect he had been unconscious for decades.

He had every reason to believe so. The experience of his awakening had felt like the passage of many years, and the state of the room before him mirrored that feeling perfectly.

Suddenly, the door to the chamber began to grind open. The sound of metal scraping against metal echoed as the door moved, sending showers of rust to the floor.

A moment later, figures in bulky, full-body protective suits entered the room.

Rhys watched them closely, focusing on the woman leading the group.

He peered at her face through the visor, searching for a trace of someone he knew, and let out a long, heavy breath. "You must be Mara's granddaughter."

Dr. Mara and the accompanying researchers halted instantly. They swapped confused looks, struggling to grasp the meaning behind Rhys's words.