For the first time, he brought out his trump card. The Third Eye of Exal’drin. The eye on his forehead snapped open, seeing through armor, time and space. Even then, the blows came in so fast that the margin of error was slim.
Dodging the next attack was extremely difficult, but he managed by the slimmest of margins, finally gaining an edge in the fight. Surprised by the dodge, Arkanon paused for a moment, letting Jonathan send a thunderous uppercut hammering into his chin. Purple light detonated as he released the power of the Void, but all he achieved was a begrudging stumble from the realm’s hegemon. As the man recovered, Jonathan began to think that he had intentionally paused to get a measure of his new powers.
He barely leaped out of the way of a punch stronger than a missile, which caused the very air around it to combust. In a battle like this, there was no real way to win. Only to survive.
Jonathan fought to stay afloat, but eventually, he was forced to cancel his Blessing from overuse. When that happened, Arkanon went to town on him.
The Uthraki showed speed and strength that he had previously kept hidden, going from a blur to an invisible streak of power striking Jonathan faster than he could think.
It had to be the result of a skill, but Jonathan could not tell what. The only consolation was that there was no way this could be raw stats. For that sort of power, Arkanon would have to be multiple Tiers higher.
Jonathan barely held on, his bones crumbling and flesh tearing. Eventually, Arkanon was forced to stop, his skill running out. He paused, and looked down at Jonathan, who was lying on the ground.
“What an odd distribution of stats,” the man declared. “One might think that you are going down the route of fools. That of a jack of all trades. However, every stat is on par, or even greater than someone at your level focused on that stat above all else.”
“Didn’t seem to do me much good against you,” Jonathan murmured, as his bones began to knit back together.
“I have been around for centuries, boy. In that time, I have forgotten more about fighting than you have ever learned. I possess multiple Master Ranked skills, and all of the boosts from such an achievement. I stand at the pinnacle of my Tier. Only a circle lord is stronger than me for my level.”
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“Does this mean that I passed your test?” Jonathan asked.
“It does. Few could survive against a full on assault from me, even without the use of my more deadly skills. I will hear you out.”
Jonathan stumbled to his feet, and held out his hand to the warlord. The man looked at him with an expression of bemusement.
“You’re supposed to shake it,” Jonathan explained.
Arkanon shrugged and reached out with his own massive appendage. He grabbed onto Jonathan’s gauntlet, and began to squeeze. Jonathan winced, and then both men let go. It seemed that Arkanon had gotten the hang of the gesture quite quickly.
Hushar came bounding back in, banishing the elemental energy surging around his form. Jonathan appreciated that the man had been waiting to avenge his death, rather than flee. Then again, he wouldn’t have gotten very far.
Arkanon raised one palm, and the world split before him, creating a rent in reality. He strode in, and the other two men followed him.
A few seconds later, they stood overlooking a vast city, standing on an expanse of bleached bone. The city extended outwards for dozens of miles, filled with all manner of buildings. Towers, oblong storage units, houses made out of pure metal. It was a luxurious sight, at least for Tartarus. A massive wall surrounded the city, and a field of bright light extended up towards the cavern ceiling. Every now and again, a monster would attempt to fly into it, meeting a gruesome end as they were cooked alive by the magic.
“Welcome to Pazimon, capital of the second layer of Tartarus. It is my pride and joy,” Arkanon declared.
Jonathan did not comment on the subtext, which was that it was a replacement for his long lost lover.
“Now, to business,” the man declared. “Follow me.”
Arkanon strode along the bleached bone, and towards a tower in the center of the skeleton. The palace that Jonathan had seen on the map was built throughout the skeletal structure, and the tower was the highest point.
They entered the small gate built into the side of the building, and descended a set of spiral stairs. At the bottom was a far grander door, leading into a hallway filled with demonic iconography. It seemed that whatever interior decorator Arkanon had hired had a flair for ephamissing the realm’s true nature.
Flickering torches set in uncomfortably humanoid skulls illuminated the area, and tiles of red stone lined the floor. Tapestries woven from what looked to be extremely fine sinew depicted great battles and victories. Every now and again, there was a picture of a stately Uthraki woman, which Arkanon seemed to unconsciously linger at.
They proceeded through the grandeur in silence, eventually reaching a massive archway, leading into a throne room. The room was empty save for a mighty throne made from obsidian and reddish gold.
Arkanon made his way over, and sat down. Some imbuement in the rock made it so that when he sat down, the throne began to glow with an ominous light. He then leaned forward, looking every inch the conquering king. “Now, I believe we have something to discuss.”