In the Ashen Citadel

For the first time in millenia, Granath trained in earnest. He had long ago stopped the frantic progression that he had embodied as a young circle lord, instead choosing to go the steady path of elemental cultivation. Now however, with a potential threat looming over his head, all the stops had been pulled out.

His treasury had been ransacked for anything that could help him gain power, and the entire army of the city had been placed on the highest alert. In a world where the gap in strength between fighters was so high, Granath did not worry for the safety of his outer dominions. If Jonathan fell, nobody would be able to stand in his way. That was the simple truth of it. His armies would sweep back across the land, and retake everything that had been lost.

A steady stream of damned souls were funneled into his innermost sanctum, their sole purpose to fuel him with their soul’s power. Every soul that he digested granted him a small boost to his overall strength, and although the returns were diminishing, they still added up to something in the end. Souls from his own kills were far more powerful than the stream of broken beings that descended to the Hells, but those were hard to come by. The souls went towards improving as many aspects of his power as he could direct them too, from his elemental mastery to his bodily strength.

The use of souls as a power source was an art that very few beings had mastered. Granath did not have this ability through any sort of magical talent, but because of his unique race. As the lord of the first circle, he had been made with a specific ability in mind, and his was the power to consume souls. Each of the circle lords had their own speciality, a way of becoming stronger than anyone could hope to match. However, Granath was already glutted on the souls of the rebels who had banded under Patrulanus, and he barely was able to get a few stat points from a thousand souls or more. Despite this, he soldiered on. He had many more souls where those came from.

At the same time, his most powerful and skilled smiths were working on a special artifact for him. Normally he simply used his elemental powers with his own sheer might, not relying on an intermediary. However, for this battle, he sensed that he would need to bring out all the stops. Using all of the strongest materials in his treasury, the smiths were in the process of creating a massive array that would increase any magical power he channeled by a large amount.

As the stream of the damned marched into his mouth, Granath barely noticed, too occupied with his morose predictions of the future. He could not help but thinking that this battle could be his last. After all, nothing was truly eternal.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

In the Dungeon

Jonathan’s feet crunched through the stony ground of the cavern, as he slunk towards the castle standing in the center. As he approached, he got a better look at the defenses. The castle walls seemed to be one solid block of obsidian, without a single seam in sight. Seeing as it had been built by the System, such things were possible, but it was still always strange to see.

Instead of gawping, Jonathan tried to pinpoint the best place to attack. On the walls, the soldiers seemed to be haphazardly distributed, likely because they were not intelligent enough to do anything more than stand guard. All of them looked like inky black shadows of an Uthraki’s form, clad in armor that seemed to fuse with their flesh. They were tall, at least nine feet in height, but also extremely skinny. It was like they were shadows made manifest.

Jonathan reached the bottom of the wall a few minutes later, pressing a hand against the obsidian. It was strangely warm to the touch. As he had seen from earlier, the stone was completely smooth, and there was not a single crack or crevice within it. Jonathan slammed the flat of his palm down on the rock, trying to gauge its strength. Nothing happened, even with his massive strength, meaning that he would have to get in through the top. This dungeon was made for the development of future circle lords after all. Nothing would be easy.

He summoned the Void to his hands, and set them against the wall. To his surprise, there seemed to be some sort of magical warding, merged with the physical strength of the obsidian. His elemental mastery was still marginally stronger however, and the purple flames of his element managed to sink in somewhat.

Jonathan narrowed his eyes and removed his hands, before creating claws of concentrated Voidlight on the tips of his fingers. He did the same with his feet. With a quick swipe of his hand, he sunk the claws into the wall, meeting minimal resistance.

With the concentration of his power, he was able to break through easily enough. With his other hand, he started to climb, using his feet to stabilize himself. Like some sort of armored monkey, he clambered towards the top of the walls, moving as slowly and as smoothly as possible. By the time he reached the top, he was raring for a fight, and his entire being sparked with eager energy.

He pulled himself over the top in one fluid motion, landing amidst the defenders. Before they could react, Jonathan reached out and grabbed two of them, slamming their heads together so hard that something cracked. He threw the bodies over the side of the wall, and faced off against the other defenders. With an intruder now within their line of sight, a series of growls rose up from the monsters, revealing their true nature.

They leaped at Jonathan, their claws held high. He sidestepped the first volley of attacks and drove his fists into as many exposed bodies as he could see. Each strike cracked bones and pulverized skin, and the Void made sure that any damage dealt was multiplied. Impact triggered, as well as Fists of the Hurricane, allowing him to even more effectively butcher his enemies.