Jonathan strode back towards Edgar and the other survivors as his skin repaired itself, leaving chunks of charred meat behind. By the time he had reached Edgar’s side, most of the severe burns were gone. However, his flesh still stung in the lank wind of the realm.
Jonathan stood by Edgar’s side until the man finally awoke, sputtering as he coughed up scorched blood.
“Jona… Jonathan?” Edgar began weakly. “Is that you?”
“Yes. How are you feeling?” Jonathan replied, his face grim.
“Terrible. I feel like I took a dip in lava. The Tartarus kind too. What about the others?”
“Some of them, uh, didn’t make it,” Jonathan said, lowering his eyes.
“Is Eva still alive?” Edgar asked frantically, trying to get to his feet.
Jonathan pushed him back down.“Eva is alive, but she’s in pretty bad shape. You should stay down. Wait until your regeneration puts you back together.”
Edgar sat down reluctantly, and then caught a glimpse of the others, lying dead on the ground, and he thumped the dirt with his fist, an expression of rage on his face. All the two men could do was wait until the others recovered. Edgar had been the first to rise because of his elemental abilities, but the others had been in comparatively worse shape, which necessitated a longer recovery time.
Both men simply sat there, keeping their eyes away from the corpses. Their regret burned within their minds, but Jonathan knew that in that situation, there was really nothing else he could have done. Without any indication of what was about to happen, there was no way to prepare, and with the immense power of the sacrificial technique, there was no way to escape in time. It was a miracle that anyone had survived, especially him. All that had stood between him and the explosion had been a layer of mundane ash and rock, which was basically nothing.
The majority of the damage had been taken by his armor and his flesh. More regret surfaced within his mind at the thought of his faithful armor, lying in his storage device as a fused mess of melted metal. He would eventually get it repaired, but for now, he would have to rely on his own power. He could only hope that it was enough.
The first thing that told him that the others had awoken were the groans that suddenly broke the still air as the Uthraki got to their feet. They were less damaged than Jonathan had been, but they were still in rough shape, especially the twins. Tukar and Hushar were ‘only’ replete with multiple broken bones and lacerations, whereas the other two cradled almost completely detached limbs, with only a tiny strip of flesh allowing them to heal from the grievous wounds.
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“Primal One damn it!” Tukar spat as he saw the corpses. “Just what did those bastards hit us with?”
“Something that they will think twice about using again. It took hundreds of Tier 2 mages to cast, and it was too weak to take out the strongest of us,” Jonathan said glumly.
“The Crimson Sect cannot have that many more members, or else it would not be as feared as it is. Its power is based on strength and prestige. If they just let any old Tier 2 mage in, then it would just be another branch of the military. I don’t think we will be seeing another attack like that in the near future,” Edgar added.
Jonathan found it a bit strange how detached everyone was from the deaths, but they had grown up in a world of violence and bloodshed, where twelve year olds were tasked with executions and power was gained at the edge of the sword. After everything that his companions had gone through, this was nothing new. At this point the only thing to do was to keep going, to ensure that the deaths of their allies had not been in vain. It was down to them to take out Granath and liberate this world.
Jonathan vaporized the corpses with his Void abilities, the least he could do for the people whose names he barely knew. Then, with nothing left of his failure save for a few ashes drifting in the wind, he continued on morosely, trailed by the survivors.
In the Ashen Citadel
An icy spike of fear stabbed into Granath’s mind as he rewatched the recording of the Crimson Sect’s strike on Jonathan and his allies. He had originally triumphed as he watched them overrun by the fiery light of the sacrificial technique, but then his heart went still as he watched Jonathan clamber out of the earth, his body torn apart. By all logic, he should have been dead, but his monstrous resilience had kept him going, healing his body back to full health. In fact, the only lasting damage that had been dealt was the destruction of the man’s armor.
Even worse, a few others had survived, the high level wind mage and the Uthraki whom Jonathan had somehow brought back to the Ash Heaps. All of them were able to resist the mana inhibition of the realm as well, a mystery that Granath could not fathom.
Jonathan himself had reached the peak of power, nearly ready to ascend to Tier 3. As far as Granath could tell, he had somehow crossed all of his thresholds, and his might was beyond anything that Granath had ever seen in this realm. If he had been more foolish, he would have cursed Angranor for meddling in his affairs. Jonathan never would have reached this level without the help of Tartarus.
Rather than wallow in misery, Granath instead sped up his soul consumption, trying to gain as much power as he could before Jonathan came calling. His stats were already beyond the norm for this realm, and his skills even more so. Comforting himself with his immense stat sheet, Granath managed to stave off the dread for a little longer. As a being who had never had to truly fight for his life, he was not prepared for a fair battle.