Genetic Ascension

Chapter 2312: Dance

Sylasʼ mind expanded.

There was no better way to describe it. His stats hadnʼt changed, nor had his Rune Mastery improved. Nothing about his body or Will had undergone some dramatic evolution, or so it seemed.

Yet the way his thoughts moved shifted so quickly that for several moments Sylas could only stand there and experience it.

Before, thinking in Runes had meant building every thought brick by brick. Even when those processes took place at impossible speeds, they were still processes, and enough bites could slow down even the largest beast.

Now Sylas simply stopped finishing some of them. He left gaps where Runes should have been. Incomplete structures hung inside his thoughts and his Living Will filled in the rest, forming interpretations and constructs of the mind that were somehow more whole that the infinitely precise versions had been.

Not everything required reinforcement. Not every thought needed to rigid and concrete. Some people thought in words, some in images, but a combination of both formed a mixture of ideas anchored in reality and a subconscious speed of thought that blasted forward beyond reason.

The difference was absurd.

Connections that once required dozens of Runes collapsed into impressions. Probabilities no longer needed to be individually modeled when his Will could feel the shape between them and choose which deserved attention. Even memories seemed to become lighter, no longer stored as rigid blocks of information but as living things he could approach from different angles without reconstructing every detail first.

Sylas had spent so long making his thoughts more precise, but precision didnʼt mean efficiency, and the line between perfectionism and OCD was a lot blurier than some people wanted to admit. Not every thought needed to be perfect...

He could pour that sort of attention toward anchoring the most important details.

And suddenly the Vosskarr made far more sense.

There was no hidden mystery buried within their bloodline. They were simply interesting. That was all.

The universe was too large for every unusual Path to belong to some heaven-defying Race, and Sylas was sure there were millions of cultures that had developed something just as strange in another direction. The Vosskarr had merely walked down one particular road far enough that it happened to intersect with one of Sylasʼ weaknesses.

Even their language wasnʼt inherently magnificent. Its advantage came from time.

The Vosskarr worshipped literature, and more importantly, they passed language through blood. Most languages degraded as generations evolved. A word used by one culture could mean something entirely different a thousand years later. Geography changed pronunciation, politics changed implication, religion changed interpretation, and eventually the descendants of the same people could read their ancestorsʼ writing and misunderstand half of it.

The Vosskarr couldnʼt. Their blood always remembered.

Every generation inherited more than the shape of a word or the syllables that built it. They inherited its intent and the countless refinements made by those who came before them.

A Vosskarr child didnʼt learn an ancient word by guessing at its meaning from surviving texts or just listening to their parents speak it in endless loops before they spoke their first. The understanding itself lived within their bloodline.

That was why they wrote in blood.

Sylasʼ gaze returned to the crimson scripts spread through the gaps of reality and he finally understood what had attracted him. They hadnʼt invented the perfect language because they were geniuses. They had been iterating for an absurd amount of time.

If a stronger Race had developed the same culture, with a bloodline capable of preserving even deeper impressions and a greater natural affinity for Will, the result might have made the Vosskarr language look primitive by comparison.

Still, understanding why the Vosskarr werenʼt extraordinary didnʼt change what they had done for him. His thoughts moved with a freedom he had never experienced before, and for the first time he realized how much strength he had been wasting simply because he insisted on thinking ”correctly”.

It almost felt like he had been handicapping himself.

Sylas frowned.

The thought struck deeper than it should have.

Handicapping himself.

Something shifted at the edge of his perception, not in the galaxy around him but somewhere inside, like his mind had brushed against a doorway it had walked past countless times.

For the briefest instant, Sylas felt as though there was something beyond this realization, something embarrassingly obvious that had remained hidden precisely because he had been too talented to see it.

Then an explosion of Will ripped across the planet below.

Sylas looked down.

Thousands of Serpentes were dying.

While he had been lost in thought, the Vosskarr interference had continued evolving. Fire and ice were no longer merely arriving together. The pairings had become more precise.

Illusion-focused types were being mixed beside Charisma bloodlines whose uncontrolled emotional pressure broke the concentration necessary to maintain false realities. Some combinations werenʼt even direct counters; they simply created enough friction that each group operated several percentages below its best.

Those percentages stacked.

The crimson words had built upon themselves, each new application learning from the last. It reminded Sylas of old machine-learning systems on Earth, crude compared to what existed in this world, but effective in principle. Given enough iterations, even a simple mechanism could become monstrous.

Sylas watched another wave collapse before reaching the battlefield.

This was how the Vosskarr fought. They picked a method of attack and then refined it continuously until they formed an undefeatable iteration.

Sylasʼ hands slipped from his pockets. He extended one palm over the world below. From this height, clouds drifted beneath his feet and the planet curved away in the distance, its atmosphere glowing faintly around the edges.

His Rune Mastery hadnʼt increased. He understood no higher tier of Runes than he had several moments ago, and there was still an enormous amount about Living Will he had yet to comprehend.

But combat strength wasnʼt measured by knowledge alone. It was measured by how much of that knowledge you could actually use. Just like the difference between Sylas reaching Fathomless Rune Creation... and then actually learning how to use it.

Before, Sylas had been forcing every action through a framework that demanded perfect structure. Now he left for them to grow into his own unique interpretations.

His Charisma flowed into the gaps and Runes formed across the skies, fewer than before, looser than before, yet somehow carrying vastly more possibilities within them.

A hundredfold difference.

Sylas looked down at the battlefield with undying indifference. He hadnʼt made this large of a leap in Rune Mastery since the day he learned what it truly meant to be Fathomless.

And now... he had found a proper place for the void in his casting.

”Dance.”

His voice came out in a whisper, and yet it echoed across the entire galaxy.