image [https://i.imgur.com/xcQhW8Y.jpg]Aurelia’s hands moved as if weaving an unseen web in the air—well, perhaps not entirely unseen. With Mana Focus, I could see the mana swirling around her, all Marvel-sparkling-fingers-like, though glowing red—or should I say, scarlet? I think the color correlates with one’s innate mana. No way to confirm that. I wish I could ask the Primordial of Magic herself, but that bitch seems to have a strange fetish for me touching her core. Heh-heh.
Not sure what’s up with that, but it was a relief when Death kicked her out of the system, resulting in no more annoying voices in my head... well, aside from my own odd banter. But talking to yourself isn’t a sign of insanity... right?
Nah. Perfectly normal.
Is it?
In any case, watching Aurelia’s ritual was honestly rather fascinating—especially as a pinhole in space cracked open before us. But, of course, the gate—or portal—wasn’t what I expected. I was anticipating an actual hole to jump through, but instead, it was a freaking sphere. I so wanted to poke it with a stick, but didn’t. See? I have self-restraint, after all! Anywho... I’m sure there’s some scientific or magical mumbo-jumbo explaining it, but hell if I know. Couldn’t exactly ask Aurelia while she was busy doing her sorcery thing—especially with the ceiling making ominous rumbling noises above us.
It was clear it would take some time before the magical orifice—not that all orifices aren’t magical—was large enough for someone to slip through, let alone get everyone through. Nope, right now, it was only big enough to count as a glory hole, but it was a grower. I’m sure it could soon fit a fist or foot before eventually accommodating a whole person. But would that be enough?
I mean, have you ever tried to herd a bunch of panicked idiots out of a stadium? It’s like watching drunk fans navigate a maze—it takes forever, and that’s with multiple exits. Looks like someone—me, obviously—is going to have to stall the enemies a bit longer. Not that the undead, beastkin, and vampires weren’t already doing that, but come on, it’s me we’re talking about. Nothing like fucking an enemy up with some chaotic Blake. Tee-hee!
Dust sprinkled down from overhead as another ground-shattering explosion rocked the place.
Huh. Time to get my ass up there and show them what a real nightmare looks like.
Yep. And eat a few people?
Well, yeah.
With a gleeful hop and a scuffle, I spun around and skipped out of the dungeon core’s temple. What had once been a ruined chamber surrounded by rubble was now rebuilding itself at an amazing speed—magical shit, am I right? Honestly, I wondered why we were trying to ditch this place; it seemed smarter to stay and defend it. I mean, where else am I gonna find an XP and skill farm this good? It’s not like the system rewards me outside of a dungeon... or does it? Well, not that I know about. But the moment anyone mentions that the enemy has champions—plural—everyone turns into a bunch of scaredy-cats.
Pussies!
Taking the staircase the little kitty vamp had shown me was way easier than my previous attempt to reach the surface—and far less hazardous in terms of death. You know, like losing all my pudding after respawning. I mean, I’d lost all the plumpness from eating that undead chimera—which was downright infuriating. Now that I think about it, let’s never bring that up again unless you want to see me go on an angry tirade. That applies to mimics—hate those fucking bastards! They’re like evil jack-in-the-boxes with teeth. Anyway, back on topic: I was back on the surface level, and...
I don’t remember there being a skylight.
~
“FIRE!”
The command sliced through the roaring wind. Rows of gnomes and elves stood rigid along the decks, eyes locked on the fortress looming below. Arcane symbols carved and scarred into their hands flared to life, casting an eerie glow across strained faces. In unison, they unleashed a torrent of fireballs that arced downward like falling stars, painting the sky with streaks of crimson and gold.
Each of the seven airships shuddered violently as the spells discharged, timber frames groaning under the strain. A surge of scorching air blasted upward, whipping cloaks and sending soldiers below deck stumbling as the heat washed over them.
“FIRE!” bellowed the voice again, more intense than the last.
The vessels rocked anew as another volley erupted. The casters’ breaths came in ragged gasps; sweat traced lines through the soot on their cheeks. Hands trembled from the continuous channeling of magic, fingertips tingling with overuse as blood leaked from the scared runes. Some swayed where they stood as their mana depleted, visions blurring after the relentless barrage. Eleven siege spells had drained their energies, and whispers of exhaustion spread among the ranks.
Yet, atop the command ship Skyborne, Orlaith stood unwavering. The wind whipped at her scale dress, each metallic shard reflecting the raging inferno below. Her steely gaze, ablaze with draconic magic, remained fixed on the chaos beneath—the fortress consumed by flames, shadows writhing amidst the destruction. Black smoke billowed into the sky, swirling toward the armada like grasping fingers pleading for mercy.
“Oi, can’t believe we had ta come all the way back here fer this,” Einarr groaned. “We finally make it ta the Beastkin capital and have ta come back fer this shite! I was so lookin’ forward ta spendin’ some time with that kitty queen, too.”
Orlaith glanced at Einarr. “We’ll return to the Beastkin and finish what we started as soon as we’re done here,” she said.
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Einarr tugged at his beard in frustration before sighing. “Well, at least I can get me some o’ that vampire the Slaethians are terrified of,” he scoffed.
Raising her chin, Orlaith’s voice sliced through the cries below like a blade. “FIRE!”
Gasps rang out from several of the casters as they swayed on their feet, but they obeyed. Another volley blasted down like a meteor shower. The relentless casting had pushed over half of the mages to their breaking point. Many collapsed unconscious as the last remnants of their mana drained away with the siege spell. The rest fell to their knees, huffing and puffing for air, desperate to grasp at the mana that saturated it.
Einarr chuckled, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Looks like it’s time we be droppin’ down,” he said. The air was thick with the scent of smoke. “Are ye ready?”
A wicked grin spread across her face.
Below the decks of the airships, side hatches swung open, revealing the raging battlefield beneath. Runes ignited along the arches that framed the hatches, their glow pulsing like a heartbeat.
A barbarian, clad only in a tattered loincloth and a full-face helmet adorned with a wild horse mane, let loose the first battle cry—a primal roar that sliced through the howling wind. Muscles upon muscles coiled like springs, he raised his dual axes, their blades gleaming wickedly, and charged through the open hatch.
As he hurtled past the blazing runes, they flared even brighter, igniting a ghostly blue wisp that spiraled around his body. In an instant, the wisp expanded, morphing into a translucent, ethereal gelatinous cube that enveloped him completely. Encased yet unrestrained and unharmed by any acid, he plummeted headfirst from the sky.
The cube quivered violently as he descended, distorting under the sheer force of the wind. Reality around him blurred into chaos—a whirl of rising smoke and flashes of fire below were the only recognizable sights. Spells and arrows whistled past him, each one detonating in explosions of color as those below began their counterattack. The world spun wildly as the ground rushed up with terrifying speed.
With a thunderous impact, the cube slammed into dirt and stone debris, sending shockwaves rippling outward. Instead of bursting apart and splattering across the battlefield, it absorbed the shock, its surface wobbling like water disturbed by a thrown stone. Inside, the barbarian twisted upright with slow, fluid grace, his eyes alight with ferocious intent. His gaze pierced through the chaos, zeroing in on his targets as if drawing them into his wrath.
The moment his feet touched solid ground, the blue shell of the cube vaporized into a burst of shimmering mist. He threw back his head, unleashing a savage roar that echoed across the battlefield—a sound of raw power and unyielding defiance. Simultaneously, a beastkin warrior charged at him, spear aimed for his neck. With effortless precision, the raging barbarian knocked the weapon aside with one axe and, in the same fluid motion, drove his other axe deep into the neck of his opponent with lethal precision.
All around him, more cubes hurtled from the sky, each delivering barbarians, knights, paladins, and mages encased in ghostly blue. One after another, they crashed down onto the battlefield, the cubes dissolving into wisps as their occupants burst forth. They joined the fray with ferocious energy, their war cries merging into a single, thunderous chorus that shook the very air.
Cries from the enemies occupying the rubble of what once was a fortress rang out, “Fall back to the dungeon! Fall back!”
The barbarian cracked a smile beneath his helmet as he charged like a juggernaut into the ruins, his axes slicing through the air with wild abandon. As he raised his weapon to strike a frog-looking beastkin, who seemed almost to smile as if welcoming the end, a sudden wave of Fear washed over him, causing his axe to falter.
A speck of something floated before the barbarian, catching his attention as the frog-like beastkin slumped and wandered off, a deep frown upon his face. Glancing around in confusion, he noticed more specks, one after another, swirling through the air like pollen. Spores slowly filled the air around him in a haze, spreading out over the ruined fortress and blanketing everything within.
He blinked, his body feeling unnaturally heavy, his arms drooping as if weighed down by lead. Meanwhile, the feeling of Fear intensified, crawling under his skin like a living thing. He took a step back, shaking his head, desperately trying to clear the fog that was clouding his mind and sapping his strength.
Footsteps to his right snagged his attention, pulling his gaze away from the haze of Spores. He turned his head and spotted a woman cloaked entirely in black, with only her face visible. Yet, her features were unlike any elven or humyn he had ever encountered; her facial contours were unusually sharp, her eyes unnaturally large and glowing bright orange—a telltale sign of someone possessing intense levels of mana. This was not merely a marker of a powerful mage, but a warning of a potential archmagus, exceedingly dangerous and formidable.
She moved with a sinuous grace through the ruins, her movements fluid and unnerving. A bone-chilling grin spread across her face, her black gums stark against her white teeth, giving her a sinister appearance. The most peculiar aspect, however, was her hair, which seemed to twist and writhe as if sentient. It reacted not just to the Spores that danced around her but seemed attuned to her darker inclinations.
“Sorry, no time to stay and play,” she cooed.
The barbarian shuddered but managed to snap out of the Fear consuming him. However, he couldn’t shake off the overwhelming weakness that filled his body. With a defiant cry, he lunged at her with both axes poised to remove her head. In response, her arm morphed into a long tentacle that whipped out faster than he could react, striking him squarely in the chest and sending him tumbling into the remains of an outer wall.
He wanted to scream in pain as he felt his flesh sizzling and corroding away where she had struck him, all while venom pulsed through his veins. Yet, he couldn’t; his body was seized as if encased in invisible bonds of Paralysis. To make matters worse, the strike had instilled in him a sheer terror that dwarfed the initial Fear—a profound dread that gripped his very soul, paralyzing his mind as thoroughly as his body.
As he lay immobilized, he watched a knight charge forward, her claymore raised high. With a warrior’s cry, she thrust her weapon at the woman in black, piercing her straight through the heart. He wanted to cry out in joy despite the ailments ravaging his body, but his joy turned to horror as the mysterious woman laughed, unharmed. A dark miasma wafted off her body, enveloping the knight. She screamed as a following wave of green flames, tipped with purple, washed over everything next, engulfing them in agonizing fire.
Sheer pain and terror overwhelmed the barbarian as darkness closed in around him—then suddenly, it ended. He found himself standing at the edge of a forest, snow gently falling around him.
“Welcome,” an ethereal woman’s voice greeted.
He tore his gaze from the beckoning forest to face a woman draped in a tattered black gown. Her head and face were shrouded in darkness, yet it was her gaunt silhouette and bony hands that caught him off guard.
“Am—Am I dead?” he managed to ask, his words trembling with confusion and remorse.
“Yes. If you wish for reincarnation, the line forms over there,” she continued, lifting a skeletal finger to point at a seemingly endless queue of souls. “Sadly, it’s been backed up for some time. However, rest assured, it has slowly started moving again. I believe out of the thousands of moons of Völuspá, we’re up to seventy reincarnations this year.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, almost apathetic. “Or, if you prefer, you can explore your past lives within the forest before you. But be warned—not all that dwells there are dreams; there are nightmares too,” she concluded, her form dissolving into the ether as swiftly as she had appeared.
Blinking in disbelief, the barbarian glanced from the daunting line, where billions upon billions waited, back to the forest. He then took a nervous step forward, drawn irresistibly toward the unknown depths of the trees.