Chapter 99: THE PANDORA’S CODEX ARC: Second Sacrifice

Chapter 99: Chapter 99: THE PANDORA’S CODEX ARC: Second Sacrifice

"Cryvathar," he thought, his mental voice frantic and edged with pain. "Do you think you could force your way out of the barrier restriction and help me?"

For a moment, there was only silence inside his mind, heavy and complete. The sounds of the forest around him seemed distant, muffled by the oppressive weight of the barrier.

Then, Cryvathar’s voice echoed in his mind, calm but strained. "I cannot."

Theon’s heart sank hard in his chest. "What? Why not?"

"The barrier," Cryvathar replied, his tone tight with frustration. "Its restrictions are overwhelming. They press against me from every direction."

Theon’s eyes widened despite the blood and sweat stinging them. "Even till now it still restricts you?"

"Yes," Cryvathar said, his voice controlled but clearly irritated. "Even now."

Theon struggled to process what he was hearing. His breathing remained shallow and ragged. Each inhale pulled at the deep wound in his abdomen, sending fresh waves of fire through his torso.

Cryvathar was a primordial being, older than the empires, older than most of the recorded history of the world. He shouldn’t still be affected by something as seemingly mundane as a barrier, no matter how carefully crafted.

"Explain," Theon demanded, his mental voice sharp with desperation. "I need to understand."

"I am inside your body," Cryvathar said, each word deliberate. "Because I am within you, the barrier’s restrictions apply to me as well. I cannot simply come out and use my full power. Just like I told you earlier, the person who made this barrier knows I am within you. They accounted for my presence."

Theon’s mind reeled under the weight of the revelation. "But... you’re a primordial. You should be able to break through this. You’ve broken through worse."

"I should," Cryvathar agreed, the admission heavy. "But I can’t. Not without risking both of us. Forcing my way free right now would tear through the remaining structure of your body. You would not survive the process."

Theon’s stomach twisted violently. "Then what do we do?"

"There’s more," Cryvathar said, his voice dropping lower, more serious than before. "There’s another problem. A larger one."

Theon’s breath hitched. "What problem?"

Cryvathar paused, as if choosing his words with extreme care. "Whoever created this barrier is exceptionally powerful... and possibly not human."

Theon’s expression changed. The color that remained in his face drained further.

The implication hit him like a hammer to the chest.

This wasn’t just a barrier designed to weaken ordinary magic users. This was targeted. Personal. Specific. Crafted with intimate knowledge of his capabilities and limitations.

"They may not be human," Cryvathar continued. "They know about your abilities. They know about me. They know that I exist within your body. They planned every layer of this restriction with that knowledge in mind."

Theon’s mind raced. "How? How could they possibly know that? Almost no one knows."

"I don’t know," Cryvathar admitted, and the rare uncertainty in the primordial’s voice only made it worse. "But they do. And they planned for it thoroughly."

Theon’s hands trembled harder. His wounds throbbed in time with his heartbeat. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. Blood continued to soak through the fabric of his clothes and drip onto the forest floor.

The enemy had studied him. Extensively. They knew his strengths. His weaknesses. His secrets. Even the closely guarded presence of a primordial being sealed within him. And possibly, they were not human at all.

He wasn’t just fighting Noel anymore.

He was fighting something—or someone—who knew him better than he knew himself.

Theon’s alarm grew with every passing second. The weight of the realization settled over him like another layer of the barrier.

He realized now that whoever was behind this situation understood far more about him than he had ever expected. They hadn’t just set a trap. They had designed it specifically for him, tailored to every aspect of his existence.

His abilities. His weaknesses. His connection with Cryvathar. Even the presence of a primordial being within him.

All of it had been accounted for in advance.

The information made Theon’s situation feel even more hopeless than the blood loss and exhaustion already did.

Ahead of him, Noel stood ready to continue the attack, his eyes cold and empty of anything resembling mercy, his magic flaring in visible, crackling arcs around his hands and arms.

Theon knew he had to find a way to survive. There was no other option.

But at that moment, standing on legs that threatened to buckle, he wasn’t sure he could.

He looked at Noel, then at Lyra behind him, then inward to Cryvathar still trapped within the confines of his body.

He was outmatched. Outmaneuvered. Outclassed in every measurable way.

And yet...

He couldn’t give up.

Not while there was still a chance to save Noel’s family from whatever larger force was using the boy. Not while there was still a chance to end this without more blood staining the clearing. Not while Lyra still drew breath behind him.

He took a deep, shuddering breath that sent fresh agony through his abdomen, forced his trembling arms to rise once more, and prepared himself for the next strike with whatever scraps of strength remained.

He would survive.

He had to.

Because if he didn’t, Lyra will be killed.

The forest had gone quiet.

Not the quiet of peace, but the quiet that comes right before something breaks. The leaves no longer rustled. The insects had fallen silent. Even the distant calls of night birds had ceased. It was as though the entire clearing was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

Theon stood on trembling legs, blood soaking steadily through his clothes and dripping from the tips of his fingers onto the dark earth. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps that scraped against his throat. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to fall, to stop, to surrender to the darkness that hovered at the edges of his vision. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Noel stood before him, magic crackling around his hands like concentrated storm lightning. The energy painted harsh shadows across his face. His expression was empty—no anger, no hatred, just cold, merciless resolve. He had made his decision sometime during the earlier clash. He would end this now, without hesitation or regret.

Theon’s vision blurred at the edges, the trees and moonlight swimming together. His arms hung heavy at his sides, almost too exhausted to lift even a few inches. Behind him, he could hear Lyra’s frightened, uneven breathing, and he could feel her presence like a fragile flame flickering in the darkness, something precious and easily extinguished.

If Noel landed the next attack cleanly, Theon knew with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t survive it. His body had already been pushed past its natural limits. Another solid blow would finish him.

But he also knew he couldn’t let that attack reach Lyra. The thought of her lying in the dirt the way he currently stood was unbearable.

So he stood.

His knees shook violently beneath him. His wounds throbbed with every heartbeat. Fresh blood dripped from his fingertips onto the forest floor in a steady, quiet rhythm.

But he stood.

"I won’t... surrender," Theon whispered, his voice weak but steady enough to carry across the short distance between them. "Not while she’s still here."

Noel didn’t respond with words. He simply raised his hands higher, magic gathering into a dense, swirling sphere of devastating power that lit the clearing in harsh white-blue light. The air itself seemed to bend around the growing attack.

The end was coming.

And Theon had nothing left to stop it.

Except one thing.

Theon closed his eyes and reached inward with everything he had left, past the pain that filled his body, past the exhaustion that made thought difficult, past the fear that threatened to freeze him in place.

"World Archive," he thought, his mental voice urgent and desperate. "I need more power. Can I... can I sacrifice another year?"

Silence answered him at first.

Then, a response.

The World Archive’s voice echoed in his mind, cold and mechanical, completely devoid of emotion or judgment.

{Sacrifice detected.

Past cost: six years of lifespan.

Additional sacrifice will place host life in critical danger.

Survival probability: uncertain. Proceed?"}

Theon’s heart hammered against his ribs so hard it felt like it might break free.

Six years.

He had already given six years of his life to the Archive in exchange for the power to protect the people he cared about. Six years stolen from a future he might never get to see. Six years that could never be returned.

Another year would bring him closer to the edge. Closer to the final threshold. Closer to a point where there might be nothing left of him to return to when the fighting finally ended.

The World Archive waited without urgency or impatience, simply presenting the choice as it always did.

Theon could feel Noel’s attack building to its peak, could feel the air growing heavier and hotter with each passing second as the sphere of power condensed further.

He didn’t have time to hesitate. Not even for a second.

"Do it," Theon thought, his voice sharp and impatient even in the privacy of his own mind. "I don’t care about the cost. Take it."

The cold warning didn’t change anything inside him.

Theon didn’t care about shortening his life further. He didn’t care about the long-term consequences. He didn’t care about what might happen to him tomorrow, or next month, or next year, or in five years.

Because none of that mattered if Lyra wasn’t there to see any of it.

His attention turned toward her of its own accord, drawn like a magnet to true north. She stood a few paces behind him, small and fragile in the long shadow of the battle, her eyes wide with terror and unshed tears. Her hands were clenched so tightly at her sides that her knuckles had gone white.

His little sister.

The possibility of her being hurt—of her dying in this clearing because he wasn’t strong enough, or fast enough, or willing enough to pay the necessary price—was more terrifying to him than any sacrifice the World Archive could ever demand. More terrifying than death itself.

Theon remembered everything she had gone through in her short life. The struggles that had marked her childhood. The repeated failures that had left her crying in quiet corners of the palace. The mockery that followed her through the halls. The insults spoken by people who should have protected her. The way so many had looked at her like she was worthless, like she would never amount to anything of value, like her existence was a disappointment to the bloodline.

And still, she kept trying.

Still, she kept coming back, again and again, no matter how many times the world pushed her down.

For her, he would give anything.

Even this.

Even another year of his already shortened life and remaining year if that was what it took.

Memories flooded his mind without warning, warm and bright against the cold darkness of the battlefield and the approaching death.

He remembered Lyra when she was still small at the palace, struggling desperately to learn her first basic spells. Her small hands had trembled as she tried to form the correct shapes in the air, her face scrunched up in fierce concentration. He remembered how difficult magic had always been for her, how every small success felt like a hard-won miracle and every failure felt, to her, like the end of everything she had worked for.

He remembered the way people mocked her behind her back in the palace corridors. The whispers that stopped when she entered a room. The quiet laughter that followed her when she left. The cruel words spoken just loud enough for her to hear if she happened to walk past. "She’ll never be like her brother." "She’s a disgrace to the royal line." "Why does she even bother trying? She’s hopeless."

He remembered how she would return to her practice despite those failures and those insults. How she would pick herself up from the floor of the training hall, wipe away her tears with the back of her sleeve, and try the same spell again with shaking hands. How she would come home some evenings with scraped knees and bruised palms and still force a small smile at him like nothing in the world was wrong.

She continued trying and coming back.

Those memories settled deep in Theon’s chest like a warm, glowing ember, burning away his fear, burning away his doubt, burning away every hesitation until nothing remained except one absolute, unshakable truth.

He couldn’t let her be hurt.

Not while he still had breath in his body especially not while he still had any power left to give.

There was still a single year of his life that the Archive would accept in exchange for the strength to protect her.

The memories faded slowly, leaving only the present.

Theon opened his eyes.

The battlefield returned in sharp, painful clarity—the shimmering barrier that still enclosed the clearing, the dark shapes of the surrounding forest, Noel standing before him with condensed death swirling between his raised hands.

But something fundamental had changed inside Theon.

His determination had crystallized into something absolute. Something unbreakable and pure. He refused to let Noel kill Lyra, and refused to let anything happen to her in this place. Not today. Not ever, if he could prevent it.

His voice came out quiet when he spoke, almost soft, but it carried the full weight of everything he was feeling and everything he was willing to lose.

"I won’t let anything happen to her."

It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a request directed at Noel or at fate.

It was a determined promise.

And he would keep it, no matter the final cost to himself.

The World Archive acknowledged his decision without ceremony or delay.

{Sacrifice confirmed.

One additional year of lifespan accepted.

Limit Break unlocked.}

The words echoed in his mind, cold and mechanical as always, but Theon barely registered them.

He felt the change instead.

A surge of power, sudden and overwhelming, erupted from somewhere deep inside the core of his being. It tore through his veins like liquid lightning, igniting every nerve ending, every exhausted muscle, every cell in his battered body. The pain of his wounds did not disappear, but it was drowned beneath the sheer intensity of the new strength flooding through him.

The air around him shimmered and distorted, as though heat were rising from his skin in visible waves.

The ground beneath his feet trembled faintly, small pebbles and loose dirt vibrating in place.

And the battle—exhausted, desperate, and seemingly hopeless only moments before—changed forever in the span of a single heartbeat.

Theon’s aura exploded outward in a brilliant, uncontrolled wave of force and light that pushed back against the oppressive weight of the barrier itself.