Chapter 212
Allie was missing a leg that for some reason wouldn’t regrow, Kathrine was severely poisoned and beginning to slow. Jalel was overpowering Captain Rusof, and Fimrindle was finally breaking out of the stalemate - slicing off limbs and heads before pushing Allie’s way with incredibly fast and jerky movements. A protective dome now encased The Blood Moon Requiem’s trading hub - preventing anyone from going in or out, and the battle within and around the compound had become an absolute madhouse of vampire on vampire battles.
Very obviously, there was a rift in the power dynamics between factions of the empire.
Turning his head, Lahn focused on the enemies before him and felt his soul roar to life with power channeled by the heavens themselves. His body burned hot with magic, and a potent sense of justice to be carried out lingered on the borders of his mind.
Possessed by the angelic being Denaskus, he hovered overhead for only a few moments before launching himself back down towards Lord Barimont with a speed that far surpassed anything he’d deemed imaginable. The sky burned with white light, enveloping him in his dive as angelic wrath encompassed his winged form. His combat level was only level 2, but here with this possession he’d surpassed even Allie’s might - rising to the challenge to save the girl he’d fallen for.
As he dove downwards with a scream of vengeance on his lips, golden feathered wings flared out to either side with a spear of holy light pointed at Lord Barimont’s heart - Lahn felt himself begin to break. His body couldn’t hold such a powerful being inside of him for long, he’d simply die before even a few minutes ran out. He’d already sacrificed one arm and his eyes just to initiate the transformation, and thus he was in a race against time to kill the vampire before his body gave out.
***
Allie watched wide-eyed as Lahn’s body crashed into Lord Barimont’s protective barrier of flames at immense speed, sending a shockwave of white gold light out in all directions that tore through stone and sent warriors sprawling or causing them to stumble. The floor shattered, and a crater dozens of feet deep erupted in the middle of the dining hall. Magically reinforced stone walls cracked and Lord Barimont screamed as the spear of light pinned him to the floor, pulling out enchanted items one after the other as each of them shattered under the immense holy aura of the angelic creature now standing over him like a judge of fate.
She saw Jalel disengage Captain Rusof with a kick to Rusof’s chest to rush to help Lord Barimont a second later, and Allie saw red. Activating her spell ‘ Path of Bones’, the scattered remnants of her supplies and the dead bodies around her tore ahead in a swarm of ivory - blasting Jalel back.
Or at least that’s what she’d originally intended, but Jalel activated some sort of movement ability and almost teleported forward - spiking his longsword into Lahn’s back-
*CRASH*
Lahn’s one-armed, angelic figure spun and blocked the sword strike with his remaining right hand, slamming one of his golden wings down onto the vampire prince with a shattering crack of thunderous power.
But it wasn’t enough.
Jalel blocked Lahn’s golden wing just like his own blade had been blocked by Lahn’s hand, and the narrowed golden eyes glared back at bright crimson as Lahn’s halo began to flare with brighter light.
“Insolence.” The deep voice of the angel possessing Lahn’s body said, only to soar upwards and out of reach when two of Lord Barimont’s elite soldiers rushed him with long spears of their own with the intent of impaling him.
Having released Lord Barimont from where Lahn had impaled the vampire, the angelic being crashed back down onto the reinforcements - cutting through limbs and burning them alive with holy flame as Jalel was pressed from behind from the captain once more.
“Master, you are cursed.” Fimrindle suddenly appeared before Allie, his thin metal body covered in gore and blood. His scythe hummed and his lantern vibrated with souls of the dead he’d ripped from the men he’d recently killed, using the souls as fuel to boost himself in battle - but he set the lantern down to lightly touch at the open wound where Allie’s right thigh had been completely cut through.
A metal finger picked up the writhing black mass along Allie’s flesh that continued to dig into her body, fighting her regeneration as she winced. The scarecrow looked up again and blurred - a spray of blood behind her telling her that he’d killed another of the soldiers before he knelt beside her once more with his scythe planted onto the stone floor. “This curse will take a long time to get rid of, and it is draining both your regeneration and your mana. In a short time you will be useless in this fight. Do you wish to flee?”
“Fuck that!” Allie spat, summoning her bones to create a makeshift ivory leg for herself. The bone dug into her flesh, impaling her vampiric body in numerous places to anchor itself - but it worked. Testing the poorly made limb out and grimacing at the thin tendrils of death mana that ran along the surface of the newly formed leg - she glared up at Lord Barimont who’d taken to the sky with a newly colored green flame forming balls of fire all around him.
She pointed to where he was battling Lahn overhead. “Help kill Lord Barimont, you’re in a better state than I am. I’ll move to help Kathrine.”
Fimrindle nodded, and then vanished once again as thunderous booms echoed in the sky between the protective dome surrounding the compound and the ground far below.
Allie cast a worried look skywards one more time, then firmed her resolve amidst the clash of steel and spells around her - propelling herself forward and rushing headlong towards Kathrine’s position in what had once been the kitchen not far off. She could already tell that the poison was wreaking havoc on her body, with oozing green wounds dripping acid and numerous slashes refusing to heal and battling the vampiric regeneration she had while Lady Muren’s bright orange hair flared about her while blood magics clashed along sleek silver blades.
Allie would not let Kathrine die here, not after what she’d done for Lahn, and so she re-entered the fray with the intent to tear off Lady Muren’s head.
***
Riven walked next to Azmoth’s hulking form through underground city streets littered with dead dwarves. A city of square and rectangular architecture burned around him, and a storm of red and black swirled overhead - crackling with thunderous applause at the destruction he’d wreaked upon his enemies. Blood mana from all the dead, infused with the power of his path.
A combination of the aspects of blood and shadow.
The cavern above echoed his ominous approach and ratkin swarms pursued his advance at the vanguard - overtaking remnant holdouts while nearing the main gate of the dwarvish palace. He’d absolutely steamrolled the defenses here, he’d killed tens of thousands of them by himself and obliterated the outer walls, and yet he still didn’t even know the name of the civilization he was conquering.
Nor did he care.
Despite having killed so many, Riven hadn’t grown many levels. It made him realize that the XP he was getting for each kill was diminishing with these weaker enemies the farther he grew himself, and that he’d have to find stronger enemies to handle if he wanted to progress fast. He couldn’t just farm a bunch of weak dwarves and expect to get growth spurts for it.
His vampiric senses picked up heartbeats in numerous houses he passed by, his red eyes sifting through the dark crevices - bearing witness to cowering civilians. The young, the old, the women - all huddled together and barricading themselves whatever ways they could.
He ignored them. He didn’t want to hurt them, he honestly didn’t even want to fucking be here at all, and had even given the ratkin explicit orders as impromptu leader of this military operation to not hurt anyone who didn’t put up a fight. However he knew there would be casualties regardless, and though it bothered him - it certainly didn’t bother him like it would have when he’d first arrived on Panu.
Sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good, and he’d given them two chances to speak to him with only a barrage of cannonfire for a response. These dwarves had started this war in an attempt to commit genocide against the ratkin he now called friends, having killed hundreds of thousands of ratkin in the process - so the dwarves had this coming.
“It almost feels too easy…” Riven muttered to Azmoth, casually holding up one hand and creating a network of wretched snares in front of him. The unholy, needle-like nets layered on top of one another by the dozens in a split second when thunderous booms echoed from the palace in the center of the city.
Dozens of magma-infused cannonballs roared towards him after the explosions bloomed on the palace wall, and they slammed into Riven’s nets a moment later - only to fizzle out and drop as smoking chunks of metal one by one.
He turned but continued walking, watching Athela’s house-sized figure battling three earthen elementals twice her weight a couple blocks away with ease as she weaved about them - spearing them with her icy limbs. Her swarms of ice-made arachnids toppled guard towers and the screams of dwarvish sentinels being overrun echoed out through the city before the tower fell with a resounding crash.
“Azmoth does not like this. Feels like we are bullying. Azmoth wishes for a true fight.” Azmoth replied a moment later, walking in stride with on Riven’s right - magma infused maul hoisted up over one shoulder. On the other side of his body, he carried the shield Riven had gotten for him so long ago at a staggering price of 140,000 Elysium Coins from Negrada’s trading compound - but had failed to use up until now. Up until today, the shield had refused to bind to Azmoth and was unwieldy - but now the shield had seemed to undertake a change of heart.
[Immortal’s Grasp (Tier 1 Awakened Shield)(Heavy Armor): 640 average defense, 83 average damage on strike. +209 Sturdiness, +42 Strength.
* Grasping Fingers: This shield can launch a hand out of the shield to grasp enemies, pulling them towards the shield or you towards an enemy.]
It was a very large and round shield, big enough for Azmoth to hide behind with over half of his body. It was made of a darker shade of gray steel, was many inches thick, and looked like it could have been the door to some kind of bank vault - only to be ripped off and used as a barrier instead. Bolts and screws had been drilled into the external perimeter, and the sigil of a black hand was displayed on the front.
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But that hand wasn’t painted. The fingers of the hand twitched, and even pushed out against the iron on the front of the shield - causing the metal creak and groan as it bent, only to be reformed moments later. Riven had already seen the shield in action twice while using ‘Grasping Fingers’ - launching the black metallic hand out of the shield to grasp and yank back enemies or crush them outright. It was certainly an odd piece, but Riven was happy Azmoth was finally getting some use out of the shield after having had it for so long.
Riven nodded while he considered Azmoth’s words, forming a storm ball in his free hand to stare at it while he walked. Cannonfire continued to crash into his nets while they moved, but nothing the dwarves could throw at him managed to break through. “Yes… I agree. This kinda sucks. But we’ve gotta do it, otherwise the senseless deaths and this stupid ass war the dwarves started will never end. We’ll kill the king and put someone else in charge as a subordinate to myself. Hopefully that’ll be the end to this nonsense.”
Concentrating on the storm ball and passing by burning houses, he frowned underneath his helm and concentrated on the shape. These upgraded storm balls from what had once been bloody razors were certainly more powerful, there was no doubt about it. The storm balls also had homing abilities on par with his bloody razors, but they lacked something that the bloody razors had.
That was piercing power.
These storm balls would launch and either eradicate his enemy, which is what usually happened, or they’d blow up and fizzle out. This latter option had happened a couple times now against higher leveled enemies who’d managed to deflect the attacks with various abilities, and based on his amount of power put into them - he could tell that if the shape had been different, more concentrated, sharper even - that they’d have pierced through before exploding.
He remembered back in Negrada when he’d first been able to infuse his bloody razors with excess mana, causing them to explode. He’d been overjoyed at the idea that he could cause them to erupt and it was a big step up from the original sharp shards of mana he’d first been able to control. However, he was now having the opposite problem. These storm balls were simply too unstable and blew up too quickly. He needed them to pierce first, allowing them to bypass barriers more effectively by condensing the mana in these projectiles onto a single razor’s edge of contact.
He wanted the shape of his old razors back.
Grimacing at the attempt and getting a headache, he began to mold the storm ball hovering over his hand into a razor just like his old ones used to be. The chaotic, lacerating buzz of energy over his palm swirled with shadow and blood magic - rippling and sparking in an attempt to resist his will.
But in the end the magic obeyed.
The magic condensed into a spinning circular multi-pronged razor similar to the ones he used to have. Only this time, instead of being solely blood magic, this was a solid crimson intermixed with black shadow mana - sparking with black lightning and having a much more solid, compact texture to it.
He smiled, having no doubt this version of his storm ball would be far superior to either previous versions of the spell he’d had. It had slightly less explosive potential because of it, but that was fine in his eyes. Being able to rip through defensive formations more easily was well worth it in his opinion, even despite a decrease in area of effect damage.
[Storm Ball has been modified. You may now either summon Storm Razors or Storm Balls based on which you prefer. These are two sides to the same coin and feed off the same spell. Storm Razors gain a 20% piercing bonus when compared to Storm Balls, and Storm Balls gain a 35% wider explosion radius when detonating when compared to Storm Razors. Your status page has been updated.]
He cocked an eyebrow. Two versions of the same spell, eh? And his thought process on the matter had been spot on. Scratching at his chin, he supposed he could see uses for both versions of the spell depending on the scenario - but he was also rather amused that it took so little effort to create such a modification.
Then again, how long had it been since he’d truly broken through? He needed to focus more on the study of magic and take lessons from the tutors back at The Blood Moon Requiem’s compound. He had a lot of questions regarding magic that he was certain could be answered by that Instructor Pladius guy, and frankly - Riven loved magic. Despite being up close and personal a lot of the time given his hybrid Warlock Devastator class that infused all physical attacks with percentage unholy damage passively based on his mana pool, he was still a mage at heart. And if he seriously put his mind to it, just what could he accomplish? So far he’d only undergone brief epiphanies due to battles or small attempts at experimentation over the course of his integrated life, so just what could he achieve if he really gave it his all?
The thought excited him. Maybe when he went back to spend time with Hakim’s group and dabbled in totem-making again, he’d truly give the exploration of magic a real try. A smile tugged at his lips, and he almost forgot he was in the middle of a siege when Azmoth’s large body tore through the street and smashed into a dwarven mage who’d tried to ambush the group.
The dwarf’s 4-foot tall body smashed into paste underneath the huge maul, and another dwarvish man - an assassin - lunged five feet towards Riven with daggers in hand before a black, metal hand whipped out of Azmoth’s shield.
The assassin screamed, then was yanked back and pulled into the grip of the shield - latched onto the heavy metal front plate before Azmoth picked the shield up and smashed it down onto the ground. The dwarf immediately died, and Azmoth wiped off the man’s guts before burning the remnant blood and walking casually back over to where Riven stood.
“You look like a real demonic paladin with your getup. The black armored plates you naturally wear, the shield and the maul.” Riven mused, tapping Azmoth’s left shoulder with Jackal’s blunt end. “I like the look. It inspires me.”
Azmoth merely snorted in amusement, and the two continued their walk to the palace gates.
That’s when a single, extremely loud warhorn - deep and foreboding - blew out from the boxy stone palace ahead of them. Riven stopped in his tracks and dismissed the dozens of nets ahead of him, revealing in more detail the large palace gates that were slowly creaking open.
The horn echoed again, and then again, and a thunderous voice roared out from the inner palace grounds as a short but heavily armored man wielding a jeweled stone claymore twice the man’s size walked out. “RIVEN THANE! I, KING OF BRYA, CHALLENGE YOU TO A ONE ON ONE DUEL! WINNER TAKES ALL!”
The deep voice echoed through the city unnaturally, causing many to slow their fighting down in anticipation of what was happening.
Riven lifted an eyebrow. Brya, was it? Well, now he knew.
Riven patiently waited for the approaching man, alone and armed only with his claymore and the thick sheets of stone armor encasing his body. Eventually the king stopped a hundred yards away, though Riven was still able to make him out rather easily due to his vampiric senses.
The dwarvish king had a crown of emeralds laid into his stone helmet, and a long black beard hung braided across his chest. The thickly built warrior slammed his sword into the ground, and with one hand he pointed Riven’s way. “CALL OFF YOUR ARMY AND LEAVE MY PEOPLE BE! WE WILL SETTLE THIS LIKE MEN, JUST YOU AND I! OR ARE YOU A COWARD!?”
Riven blinked. He looked around at the partially burning city about them, and knew full well that the city would fall. This was a desperate man’s last attempt to salvage the situation, or at least he’d die trying. Or even more probably, the king was trying to save the lives of his people and was sacrificing himself to do it. Riven glanced up to the walls where fearful dwarvish warriors stood ill at ease, glanced to the surrounding buildings where civilians still hid from the rumbling of ratkin feet or the battles his demons were involved in.
If it spared these people, even if there was a chance at him losing, Riven would take it. He might be jaded after all the things he’d gone through, but he still wasn’t a heartless murderer.
Not entirely, anyways.
Raising a hand and using his aura to project his voice, the storm of black and red radiated with the words he spoke. “This is Riven Thane. All units from Deepnest, and the guilds or mercenary groups participating in this battle from the Thane Necropolis, stand down immediately and withdraw. Anyone seen disobeying this order will be gutted. Anyone seen killing civilians unprovoked will be gutted. The king has challenged me to a duel, and I will take his word at face value that the winner takes the victory here. But let it be known to the people of this city that, should your king die and you not comply and lay down your arms to accept your conqueror - I will be forced to continue this senseless killing.”
Riven’s red eyes stared unblinkingly at the dwarf down the road from where he stood. Just with the power he’d infused into his voice alone, using the thundering storm of power overhead, he was sure the king knew what was about to happen.
There was simply no way this man could win against him, and either the king was delusional about his chances or he was making this final stand as a symbolic gesture, one that would stop Riven from killing any more dwarves other than himself.
[Dwarvish King, Level 90 Earthen Swordmaster]
Riven looked to Azmoth standing at his side, the hulking demon having grown far more levels than Riven had since the battles through the underdark had commenced. “You’ll be the one dueling for me. He’s slightly less leveled than you but it’d be a good fight, and you’ll get more experience for it.”
Azmoth grunted his acknowledgement and started walking forward. Two hands held the large stone maul, one hand held the thick shield, another clawed hand was free for grappling - and the two eel-like, armored maws coming out of his back rippled with infernal flames as fire built inside. The huge demon’s spiked tail swayed back and forth, and the dwarvish king nodded to Riven in what he could only assume was respect.
“Give me an honorable death, as a warrior king. Spare my people, I beg of you.” The king said in a lower tone so that it didn’t echo across the city, and he held up the large stone claymore to point it at Azmoth. “LET US BEGIN THEN!”
The ground underneath the dwarf’s feet surged up at an angle, launching him like a catapult towards Azmoth’s larger form. Orange and brown light illuminated the dark and the dwarven king screamed a battle cry with determination in his eyes.
Azmoth didn’t break his stride, activating Hell’s Armor and flaring to life with infernal energy. Simultaneously activating ‘The Burning Crusade’ - his physical attacks and weapons got additional fire damage boosts. Flames rippled across his entire body, shield, and weapon in an instant, and he brought the round metal shield up to take the charge head on.
The resulting crash caused the ground underneath Azmoth’s feet to shatter, but the dwarvish king was thrown via the shield into a nearby house - crashing through the far wall.
Azmoth turned, leaned down, and activated ‘propulsion.’ Flames roared even higher behind him as they launched him like a rocket into the place the king had crashed, and using ‘Crushing Meteor Strike’ - his titanic swing blurred with a resonating thunderclap of power that was followed up by another martial art - ‘Shockwave’.
The buildings around them and the street Riven stood on was vaporized, turning into clouds of dust that were quickly burned away with swaths of flame radiating out of Azmoth’s body. When the dust did clear, Riven saw the large demon holding up the smoldering, broken corpse of the dwarvish king high in the air for those on the palace walls to see. The houses for blocks around them were starting to burn, and Riven’s crimson ice quickly went to work putting out those flames as civilians started to scream in horror.
“Good job bud.” Riven gave Azmoth a smile and a grin, then walked over to give the demon a pat on the shoulder while three other well-dressed dwarves nervously stood at the entrance to the palace - waiting for his arrival. No more cannons fired, and soon the dwarves along the walls were throwing their weapons and even their siege machines off the edge in a sign of absolute surrender.
Riven’s voice boomed over the city one more time for all to hear, and the resulting roar of cheers and screams of excitement from the ratkin army behind him could be heard as a deafening cacophony. “We have won.”
Drums started beating in the deep, the sound of a victory march, and he approached the palace at a steady stroll while his demons quickly joined him. He had a lot to do concerning ironing things out, and he…
Riven shuddered, and the world froze about him. Everything just stopped, and colors faded into gray.
[Malignant Prophecy has activated. Desired Action: Medium tier manipulation. Current Willpower stat: 460. Sufficient willpower to perform desired action. Performing this act will put your malignant prophecy on cooldown for significant amounts of time. Desired Action: Save Kathrine Vonsilla Crushada’s life. Malignant Prophecy’s only available option will be demonstrated to you upon acceptance. However, you are currently at 4 total Malignancy Points. When you achieve 5 Malignancy Points your first tribulation for repeatedly dabbling in taboo arts will begin shortly after the prophecy has been fulfilled. Elysium’s wrath will be unchained. Do you wish to proceed to save Kathrine’s life, while incurring the wrath of the system?]
…
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[Your manipulation of fate has gained you 1 Malignancy Point.
Current total Malignancy Points: 5. Should you succeed in following the outline of the prophecy, your first tribulation will commence and your soul will be judged. Malignant prophecy has entered an extended cooldown stage and cannot be activated for the next two years, should you survive your tribulation. Good luck.]