As they ran, the city started to blur around them, and the soldiers blocking their way became commonplace, more obstacles to be dispatched with alacrity. The floating mages were a different problem however, and they rained down spells on the two men, forcing them to take circuitous routes to avoid the strikes. However, none of them dared to engage them on the ground, not wanting to test their spells against Jonathan’s new rune, which had been able to defeat Granath’s mana itself.
Back in the palace, Granath raged, throwing his massive bulk against the stone pillars of the building, causing it to shake. He was being thwarted by mere ants, and it galled him. Granath was unable to pursue them however, because of his immense power. He had long outgrown the soft limiter for this circle, and as a result, the mana was too low to support him. He had been forced to order a mana recycler from a lower circle and had it installed within his palace, so that he could survive.
He could only last for about fifteen minutes out of its effect before his strength vastly decreased, and he could not afford to project any sort of weakness to his citizens. Because of this, he had been forced to send his forces out after Jonathan and the other man, whose name Granath did not know, and did not care to know. For the first time in millennia, someone was getting the better of him.
The last time anyone had even harmed him was when that accursed would be be hero had tried to usurp him all those years ago. The man had somehow reached Tier 2, which should have been impossible for anyone not aligned with Granath. He had entered the Ashen Citadel, destroying its legions with ease, before challenging Granath himself. The majority of the wounds that he possessed were from that fight, and he now had a new one to add to the litany of scars, the one that Jonathan had left. Of course the wound had not been actually dealt by Jonathan, rather by that amulet that he had possessed, but it still counted in Granath’s mind. He would have his revenge soon enough in any case.
The Ash Heaps were his domain, and the vast majority of his armies were spread across the land, rather than simply being in the capitol. Millions of soldiers roamed this world, and all of them would be coming after Jonathan soon enough. Granath sighed, and stopped indulging in his rage, instead slithering over to his most prized possession, the suit of armor and sword that the hero had worn all while fighting him. They were nondescript pieces of equipment, but they were both Tier 2, spiritual weapons that the man had somehow transported to the Hells with him after dying in Telvaria. Granath had never been to the real world, but he eventually hoped, like all circle rulers, to be granted a leave of absence. So far however his own weakness stymied his efforts to advance.
Granath closed his eyes and contemplated his place in the universe for the next half hour, sitting in blissful silence, undisturbed by the noises of his servants outside. He might have been a monster, utterly alien to any person, but he still had the mind of the being that he once had been, a lowly human groveling in the dirt before the sublime might of his master, Angranor.
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The circle rulers were locked in an endless cycle of stagnation, where to progress, one had to defeat the circle ruler above them in power, which was quite a hard thing to do. They could challenge one another at any time, dueling in front of the entire infernal court, but it was considered to be quite a fruitless affair, as it was almost impossible to defeat someone more powerful than you. Sure, their levels were equalized, but the more powerful fighter still had the advantage of all of their skills and titles, which meant that they were often far more powerful than the challenger.
Granath had been gathering strength ever since his last disastrous duel against the lord of the next circle, Slothari. The circle below the Ash Heaps was known as Mire, and it was a land of endless decay and rot that extended for thousands of miles in the form of a vast swamp. The monsters that dwelt within it were all uniquely nasty creatures, and their lord was no better. Slothari was a giant pulsating ball of slime that wielded far greater power than her ridiculous shape would entail.
In general, the circle lords became more humanoid the further one delved into the Hells, striving to become more aligned with their maker, Angranor. Only the rulers of the last nine circles had ever met their king in the flesh, and Granath knew that he would never have the opportunity. He was the laughingstock of the circle lords, and that was the only thing that kept him going sometimes.
Granath clenched his jaw and looked upon the suit of armor, reminding himself of his own power, no matter how many layers there were to go until he could reach the bottom of the Hells. It was partly the fault of this realm why he could not chase after Jonathan Harlowe, because as the first realm of the Hells, this one was built to contain Tier 1s and Tier 2s, and was the only circle with such variance in its minimum and maximum power levels.
Tier 1 mana was far weaker than any subsequent tier of mana, and as a result it was hard pressed to support fighters above a certain level. It had been different in ages past, when there were fewer Tier 2s, and Granath fondly remembered laying waste to Patrulanus’ city thousands of years ago, but the number of people in the realm had skyrocketed recently. This variance was because of the fact that the differences inside of tiers grew exponentially the higher one got, but it still meant that Granath was heavily constrained after having reached the pinnacle of what was allowed. To grow further, to reach the Tier 3 status that he had been ready for for all these years, he would need to defeat Slothari and send the Ash Heaps to the second place among the Hells.
When a circle ruler beat another one, their entire circle came with them, rather than them simply taking over the role of the other circle ruler. It was a strange system, but in the few cases when it actually happened, it was easier than having to reset all of the administrative systems.
Feeling a little bit better, Granath withdrew from the trophies, and set up a mental communication link with his generals out in the ash, alerting them to the presence of an invader, and sending them a detailed report on Jonathan Harlowe. None of them responded, but he knew that they had received the information already. Armies started to amass out in the world, and Granath smiled. One way or another, Jonathan could not hide forever.