The brilliant starry sky, so much brighter than before the ascension, was now lit with an eerie fiery glow that made the massive contingent of elite orc infantry uneasy, for all that they gazed with curled lips and hungry eyes down at the quiet fecund valley leading to Dairyland that was rumored to be populated by hundreds of luscious fairies, and a combined dairy plant, confectionery factory and rejuvenation center rivaling any other healing house in the Northeast.
“Stand straight and tall like the proud warriors you are!” Roared the silver-haired man riding a pristine glossy black-coated stallion glaring at the assembled hoard as coldly as their master. “The flashing fires merely show Lord Domini’s dominion over the dying embers of the fallen Sylvan Contenders! Their moral has been broken, their army shattered and fled, the final fragmented regiment about to be ground to dust!” He held out his fist, shaking it in the air. “Our allies have cracked the stubborn rind of Sylvan dominion to reveal the vulnerable cowards and sweet fruit hidden within! And for this night and this night alone, we are free to seize all that we can and feast upon the spoils of war!”
The air rang with the roars hoots and banging of thousands of armored orcs readying themselves for conquest and slaughter, countless beady eyes devouring the distant sight of dozens of voluptuous fairies gazing their way in terror before heading inside the massive oak that now served as their home and factory all in one.
The sight was enough to fill them all with a fierce hunger to ravish innocent fairy flesh, most especially the Bronze-tier human mercenary leading them all.
“Come, my hoard! We will slaughter all resistance and claim every fairy within for the slave markets of Centauri!” The man covered in black steel mail crackling with dark enchantments gave the massive hoard of savage bloodthirsty orcs a knowing smile. “And the most worthy champions among our hoard will be allowed to savor one third of the maidens within and do whatever they please!”
His smile widened at the furious roars and hollers this earned, more than a few orcs so excited they immediately began humping each other.
The merc’s brow furrowed in disgust, but all he said was. “But they’d best survive your tender ministrations! For the healers among them will restore their maimed back to health, after your ‘tender ministrations.’ But if you kill them, the cost is coming out of your hides! Now ready yourselves. We march for blood and glory!”
The night filled with roars and the pounding of drums as the massive band of orcs began their slow steady lockstep march down the final hill leading to their target, some few sneering at the handful of terrified-looking elves they could see manning the distant parapet, far too few to do them any good at all, save provide the orcs with a bit of sport.
Indeed, they savored the slow, steady march, the ground shaking with their every step.
The commander of the hoard gave a satisfied smile, his brow creasing only momentarily as he whispered under his breath.
“Approaching target, my lord. Please acknowledge.”
His brow furrowed when he heard nothing at all in his interface, his hidden master so well concealed that not even his own party members could see him.
The man sighed, as if already knowing what he was expected to do. “Carrying out objective as planned. Our spies were right. The fools relied too deeply on treaties that will do them no good at all. Less than a score of defenders can be seen, and all of them have since fled inside.” The commander flashed a hungry smile. “It will be a glorious slaughter, my lord. I will make sure to record the interrogations and confessions... and save the fairest faeries and elves for your personal ministrations.”
The leader of the hoard squeezed tight his fist, whispering a slow chant as ethereal winds slowly began to build up around him, before frowning in irritation at the roars and grunts emanating from the rear of his band. Yet his sneer of irritation soon became alarm when he sensed a sudden surge, a spike of awful, terrible pressure squeezing against his Sage-sight.
He spun around, strategic chant disrupted for fast-cast readiness as he unsheathed a greatsword coated with brilliant green flame.
Only to curse as he was near thrown off his panicked stallion when he was near blinded by a flash of arcane potency so impossibly dense it seemed to drain all life, color, and dimensionality away. Leaving him with the horrid feeling that he was no more than a sketch on a lifeless piece of flat paper, the sides folded so that all directions led to the wild-eyed monster radiating such monstrous potency, wielding a blade that was somehow the center of everything. A five foot long bar of golden flame surrounded by silver-blue fire whirling about it, and for an endless second the dazed captain wasn’t sure if the awful screaming pressure he felt crushing his mana pool was the essence of bitter cold or a heat so fierce that it was beyond comprehension.
Then he lurched in his saddle when the blade flashed through the air before the strikingly graceful golden-haired warrior with a face so perfect it belied the massive mouth full of shark teeth that darted forward to TEAR OFF THE HEAD of the closest orc in a spray of blood.
The trembling Bronze took a wheezing gasp, heart hammering with icy surges of dread.
He blinked teary eyes as a handful of orcs roaring and charging forth, their massive clubs and axes raised high, eager for slaughter. The awful blade flashed twice, and the orc berserkers who had charged were frozen to pale blue stiffness, each and every one of them cut in half before their flash-frozen bodies crashed to the ground.
Yet what the terrified mercenary couldn’t take his eyes off of was that awful bloody smile on that wild-eyed hellion.
All those teeth. Those terrible, terrible teeth that went on forever.
The merc’s mouth went painfully dry.
“Lord Domini...we have a fucking problem!”
Those wild eyes... those teeth! How? His mouth was perfectly proportioned, glistening ruby red lips that instantly enticed. Yet those teeth... stretching and warping space so that a whole damned shark’s head worth of teeth fit in a perfectly proportioned, exquisitely beautiful face...
That was no fairy tale prince he hungered to have in his bed. That was an abomination!
For a heartbeat, the mercenary fingered his T-4 Blaster synced right to his power pack that would blast right through any mortal armor, bank vault, or unprepared low rank Bronze. Deadlier even than the 24-pounder cannons that ancient treaties allowed orcs or native classers alone to use here.
Yet his hand froze before he could even think of firing, as his interface finally crackled with Marice’s voice.
“Drako! For fuck’s sake, Drako! Are you still alive?”
“Yeah, Marice, thank the sacred eight. What the hell’s going on? Why the radio silence?”
Yet as alarming as he found the wild-eyed killer that was now absolutely tearing through the still confused hoard of pathetically slow orcs, not a single one over Rank 30, most Rank 20, dozens turning into frozen shadows that burst like ice exposed to plasma beams a second after being frozen.. as horrifying as it was to see this creature take breaks in his slaughter to rip off the heads of orcs two feet taller than the hellion in showers of crimson gore, what truly chilled him was the panic he heard in Marice’s voice.
“They’re dead, Draco. He killed them!”
Draco froze. Heart hammering so loud that he could barely breathe.
“Who, Marice. Who the fuck are you—”
“Tim! Narl! Even Red! Fuck, Drako, I think he actually got Red!”
Drako took quick ragged breaths, no longer able to hide the dread crawling up his spine as the air filled with discordant manic laughter that made him shiver as if someone was scratching fingernails against the chalkboard of his soul.
The formerly bucolic valley’s warm fairytale glow had somehow transformed to something dark and strange. The sparkling stars overhead were now cold blue eyes glaring down upon the shivering Draco. As if the trees rustling branches became the twisted limbs of treants eager to break free of bitter cold soil and DEVOUR those who dared intrude upon lands that stretched and twisted before his eyes.
He gasped, in wide-eyed disbelief as the ancient oak that had appeared to be the softest of targets just seconds ago now seemed miles away, and covered in a barrier of bitter cold thorns promising eternal pain and despair with a single prick.
For long seconds it was all Draco could do to keep his highly trained mount from bolting in a desperate panic as the air eerie with the taste of ancient fey magics, and only then did he understand.
“Who, Marice? Who the fuck killed our men? And where the hell’s Domini?”
Yet the horror of it was, Drako already knew the answer as the figure radiating a bitter hot freezing corona blasted through Drako’s inner guard like it was nothing. Nothing! Flinging the reminds of Draco’s elite 35th level shock troops he had paid a pretty penny to boost as well as he could... shattered like chunks of ice cleaved with a plasma torch and now that creature... that beautiful abomination stretching his mouth in such a wide, blissful smile... TOO fucking wide for such a perfectly proportioned face, gorgeous eyes Drako could have fallen right into had they met at a bar... but it was damned clear that the only thing this monster wanted to taste was Drako’s soul.
“Prince Eric, Draco! He’s not some spoiled scion. He’s... He’s a fucking abomination! And the Winter Queen’s really here! That Silver-tier psychopath has fully manifested!”
Drako swallowed, desperately wanting to get off his horse and RUN!
But it was too late. Had been since the moment he had caught sight of the beautiful youth he would have done anything for, had they met a century ago.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
For the prince had already caught his gaze, and there was nothing Draco could do.
“Drako! Do you hear me? Drako! You have to run! He’s a fucking abomination! He’s a monster! There’s no way he should be this strong, we need to get out! We need to—”
Her words cut off when the fiery-blue eyed prince casually tore off the transceiver a shivering, teary-eyed Draco was wearing, too terrified even to move as his worst childhood nightterrors froze him where he stood.
His mother’s half-drunken ramblings and bitter pronouncements finally coming true at last.
“Fine! Join your father! Be a drunken sell-sword and abandon me just like he did! But you’d better not forget your roots, Draco. Because if you walk the path of blood you’re so eager to...”
“You’ll find your queen in the end.” Draco whispered the words with a choked off sob when the monster now suddenly RIGHT IN FRONT of him casually tore off his helmet, paying no mind to the furious pair of roaring orcs trying to batter him with axes the boy dodged with an effortless twist of his hips.
“Fragor,” the boy said, and the closest orc’s skull exploded like a shrapnel grenade, the orc next to him screaming and collapsing to the ground as it spasmed with blood pouring from its ears and ruptured eye-sockets. The monstrous youth then frowned at the trembling Bronze tier merc who hadn’t even had the strength to draw his blaster. Eric casually took it from hands that couldn’t resist him, before turning back to the vision of Draco’s nightmares.
“Draw your blade and face me.”
“Please... Your Grace.”
He flinched as the air lit up with blinding plasma and frigid cold. “I can almost taste it. The next step in its evolution. Growing ever closer to a perfect transcendent form. And you’re going to help me achieve that.”
Draco fell to his knees. “Mercy!”
Eric snorted. “I see the two-hander radiating eldritch flame you flung away like the coward you are. Yet with a Bronze-tier’s potency...” He slowly nodded, before his gaze turned hard as eternal hoarfrost. “You have to til the count of 3 and 3 and 3 again.”
For some reason those words had the man blanching in terror. Draco didn’t hesitate after that. He gazed at Eric with a wide-eyed whimper and Eric couldn’t help but smile, sensing that the man had turned some sort of recording device on. “I’m coming for you,” Eric said with a gleeful madcap grin as he gazed not at Draco but the helmet he wore. “I’m coming for you all.”
He thought he heard a distant tinny scream but he no longer cared as he lost himself in the furious dream of Ice and Fire once more. For the hideous upswelling of endless fire scalding his soul was roaring hot once more and he needed to QUENCH it in the frigid flames of retribution.
Glorying in the slaughter, in his own transcendance.
Even if a tiny desperate part of Eric’s mind was certain that the hyperion core’s eternal spark would consume him in the end.
As for the fight?
The least of his concerns.
You have successfully parried Furious Barrage!
You have weaved past Doom Slice!
Fatal Cleave fails to score your flesh!
Eric wanted to say something to the howling wild-eyed warrior. Yet all that came out of Eric’s lips was a furious roar that sent Draco lurching back a heartbeat before Eric swung his sword, now infused with the glorious sweet maelstrom of Winter’s pristine chill presaging a bar of pristine fire so intense it could rupture a sun, if a five-foot long bar of hair-thin pristine fire could do anything to such a heavenly object at all.
Of course it cleaved Draco in half as effortlessly as a chainsaw tearing through cotton candy. And the look on the man’s face as the upper half of his chest froze to bitter black ice before toppling to the ground, became the agonized look of a man suffering a broken heart.
In the most literal sense.
Congratulations! You have successfully slain Draco Elzget! Rank 10 Bronze-tier Mercenary!
Experience earned!
You have gained sufficient potency to advance ONE level!
All of which was meaningless as Eric lost himself in trance of ascension once more. His mother’s words resonating through his skull were everything to him. Out of all the interface messages he ignored, one alone truly caught his attention.
Ice Fire Strike is now Level 4!
This alone filled him with a shiver of exhilaration. Sensing his growth, his ascension, knowing that his very soul was TIED to mastering the connection between these two elements beyond all others. Of all his dreams and aspirations, THIS was now what mattered. ALL that mattered.
As sweet as earning a level cutting through a hundred orcs to slaughter what should have been a worthy opponent but was instead a terrified coward might have been, a coward whose sweeping blows were so blatantly telegraphed it was like his Quickness had been 30 not 300, the true high he felt was the sheer RUSH of claiming DOMINION over his enemy’s Bronze Core radiating such protective resistance that yet did NOTHING as he DEVOURED so much heat, so much life, freezing his foe’s very HEART and instantly killing him.
Yet the sweetest prize of all, better even than the look of despair in the treacherous half-blood’s eyes, was feeling his skill quantize yet another level.
With his cheeks stretching wide (so very, very wide!) He turned around, catching the gazes of countless orcs gazing at him with open-mouthed awe.
“You have killed our warlord!” roared the loudest of the orcs hooting and hollering his way, the rest of the abominations soon chiming in.
“He struck down a mighty Bronze from the stars!”
“We must kill him now!”
“Fool, he will kill us all! We must swear to serve. He is worthy!”
Eric met the words with a snarl as hopeful gazes turned wide with fear, and countless orcs charged forward, battle axes raised high, desperately quenching their own terror with a warrior’s resolve to go down swinging.
It was a hideous sight, and a younger Eric would have had nightmares, desperate to flee from not hundreds but thousands of orcs eager to claim his head as the air was filled with the whistling thrum of dozens of class-enhanced Javelins tearing through the air.
Quickness check made! You have EFFORTLESSLY dodged past your opponent’s spear volley!
“Eric, stop wasting time! The hour grows late. We must continue to advance. We must continue to ascend!”
His mother’s hypnotic voice became Eric’s world as he roared and struck, peripherally sensing that he had reached yet another milestone. Thanks to his recently earned cultivation levels, Quickness had hit an absolutely absurd 600. Though he would receive no further title bonuses til 800 was reached, still, he was definitely moving even faster than he had a short time ago, it didn’t matter. No more than his blossoming levels or the sudden refocus of his entire build. His entire reason for BEING!
ALL that mattered was weaving side desperate axe swings, dipping around furious spear thrusts, and caressing his foes in blossoms of ice and fire. Until the night exploded with the shattering of countless ice sculptures and the howling maelstrom of fire now sweeping through the entire valley.
CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE SLAIN 1233 ORCS IN A SINGLE BATTLE!
Tier 1 Orc Slayer title has already been claimed (By yourself!)
Potency gain: Minimal! (You’re supersaturated core glows like a miniature sun, and can accept very little of the free-floating potency these low level creatures emit!)
Your transcendent insights continue to evolve in the art that now matters to you above ALL others!
Ice Fire is now Level 5!
“Come, Eric. Upon the blazing pyre of our foes, WE WILL ASCEND!”
Eric dutifully nodded his head, before stiffening as he finally registered the frightened cries of women in peril.
He slowly turned around, observing hundreds of shockingly beautiful women gazing at him with soft brown eyes, incredibly voluptuous chests, with tiny horns upon their brows. Most wore sub collars with tiny silver bells, and all of them peered his way with desperate pleading eyes.
He blinked, slowly slipping free of his furious trance.
These beautiful women crying out for mercy and succor...
He knew these girls.
Of course he did!
He had made them. And now they were all in a terrified panic.
Why?
He had slaughtered the orcs, hadn’t he?
“Please, master! Put out the flame! It will ignite the elder oak, and then our home will be destroyed!”
Eric blinked at the sensual milk maid who looked like a slightly more queenly version of the young girls huddled around her like the mother of her herd.
Eric’s eye widened, smelling the smoke, instantly knowing what he had to do.
“It’s alright,” he said, allowing the anger to fade, about to release the perfect transcendent stream of frigid fiery ice swirling about his blade. An awesome flood of potency it cost him, so much Spiritual energy and Soul Reserves. Yet with so much Hyperion energy trapped within his crumbling ES Space still cooking him alive... it served as the only vent that was keeping him from exploding with the sheer awful pressure.
But he could turn it off for a few seconds. He was sure of it.
His people were counting on him.
“Don’t. You. Dare!”
His mother’s voice cracked like a whip.
Almost of it’s own accord, his blade lit up with icy fire even more frigidly hot than before, earning panicked wails from the girls before him.
HIS girls.
His mother’s lips pressed in an impatient line, glaring at the women who all immediately prostrated themselves before her, begging for mercy from the great and terrible Winter Queen, as if Eric’s mother would actually hurt them.
Aurelia sighed, snapped her fingers, and the entire territory was suddenly filled with thick damp snow that instantly quenched the flame.
“Get inside your tree, children. Your sire has things to do, and that does not include worrying over wayward girls!”
“Yes, Your Grace!” Sobbed the leader of the herd, quickly leading all her charges, some sobbing, many looking desperate to throw themselves upon Eric and thank him with all the eagerness of women hungry for husband and family... but one look at Eric’s mother and his own sword dripping with potency that made the entire world shudder was enough to send them all racing for their sanctuary.
Aurelia sighed. “Your pets are safe. Now come. We have wasted enough time!”
Wild eyes locked with Eric’s own. And he couldn’t say how incredible it was to, for the first time that he recall, see more than just frigid disappointment in his mother’s gaze.
He thought that perhaps he was seeing the first flickers of excitement as well.
His mother flashed a too-wide toothy smile.
The mirror of his own.
“Come, my wildborn son. The night is still young and our High Hunt has JUST BEGUN!”