<~(Aetherium Fields, Altaron 1260)~>
I eradicated the pathetic assassins before teleporting Damien, Eri, and Hestia towards a nearby village within the region. It shocked me to learn that Damien had more to him than what appeared, but I imagined his plan had quite a lot of weak points to really work out-especially since a few of those titles were hidden from even a System Administrator which is problematic. Hiding titles is easy enough to do for mortals since they can toggle visibility through the System Interface, but to hide them from an Administrator should be impossible. That situation will need to be investigated in due time on my own though since I cannot afford spreading panic.
For now, I’ll have to be content on taking this slow and tackling problems one at a time.
“So many problems to solve and never enough time to settle,” I sighed. “Is old age finally catching up to me after so many Cycles or am I just bored?”
The caverns remained lifeless despite the corpses just beginning to rot and myself-which meant no reply to my inquiry-but before I could make headway on solving a potential mental meltdown, something caught my attention. It was not a System prompt or notification.
What it was could not easily be described in vivid words or through context, but the closest description I could place it might be “lucid dream.”
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Blood and ash stain a hallowed hall borne of Arcane. A shield bearing the sigil of a golden crown cracks apart with a scream borne of hopelessness. Swords dripping crimson red are stained with no shine-forever cursed beyond the reach of light and shadow. Bows and staves will break when all hope is lost to a descending hell.
Heroes of old fall in the face of Archon might, but Legends forged shall rise far. Through a grim reality-trained and honed through primal power-those touched by Fate and unbound to mortal designs shall weave anew.
A princess who desires to break the shackles which bind her to a dark fate shall find redemption in shadow. Worlds apart yet not far from home, a man rides to bear the weight of a soulsborne hope. Trapped in a world designed by mortal imagination, a dark entity desires new horizons and shall walk new paths of power. Three are needed and Legends shall rise.
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Without even reading the prompt that came up-which was a simple Quest notification-I quickly dismissed it from view. There were certain events going on that demanded investigation, but I knew things could not be so easily settled if action was not yet taken to correct them. With a small amount of experience gained-enough for me to reach level 20 from killing the assassins though not enough to hyperinflate levels beyond that point-I decided to teleport out towards the nearest capital settlement within the region. When I arrived at my destination, a small brunette dwarfess looked in my direction with a decidedly hopeful look-tears streaming down her cheeks. I also heard sounds of battle happening outside which seemed to be directly influencing the dwarfess’ state of mind like someone on the verge of breaking.
Stolen story; please report.
“Please, sir! Could you save us?!” She begged me as I could tell things were not pleasant outside of what appeared to be a cathedral chamber similar to Notre Dame in France.
Without giving her a verbal agreement, I nodded and made my way towards the threshold. As I arrived, it appeared that the dwarvish residents were barely able to survive-and quickly losing ground-against what appeared to be extremely arrogant orcish warbands laying siege. I could see the orc shamans casting spells, brutes cutting down innocent civilians and guards alike, and hear cries of innocent children for anyone to save them or their parents from savage orcs. There were even mindless goblins obeying commands by their orc masters-slaves through lack of fighting power and relying on others to survive-and burning buildings with calloused regards for other lifeforms. All of my physical senses were overloaded at once with the scene displayed before me and only one emotion took me over in response to sensory overload.
A bell tolled-its ringing echoing throughout the dwarven capital-and none of the orcs who paid attention knew where it came from. It rang a deep tone eleven times with crystal clarity that some dwarves paled in primal fear of a hidden instinct that an apex predator had started to walk among them. Dark storm clouds started to form above the capital which drew attention from both orcs and dwarves alike though only the shamans instinctively understood their ominous signs. Dwarven mages-who have been spending copious amounts of energy to defend their fighters from shaman spellcraft-paid little attention to the situation lingering above their heads like a sword of Damocles save for a few healers who felt something was happening. All who heard the bell tolls knew something was happening-believing it to be a sign of Moradin or orcish gods sending their wrath-but only the ancient dwarves truly understood the signs because those who gained a measure of immortality through cultivation long ago knew the signs of a Creator about to cast spells that destroyed enemies completely and feared its devastating result.
A child cried out in fear-breaking through the diluted sounds of battle-and it caught my attention. Turning slightly to my right, I saw an orcish brute raising their steel battleaxe high above their head and declaring their kill to their gods which snapped what little restraint I had left. Everything turned cold through that orc’s actions and their fates were sealed.
“Obliterate,” I spoke aloud-mentally targeting every orc within a 100 kilometer radius of the capital-and casted the spell.
I spared no orc who showed unrelenting bloodlust-sparing only those who did not shed innocent blood-as the Obliterate spell wrought havoc on all my intended targets and far different screams erupted. Dwarves all over the battletorn streets-men, women, and children alike-had no idea what was going on though a few priests of Moradin shouted their praise for the slaughter of orcish blood despite being unaware of a different deity taking notice. Orc shamans fared little better than their melee counterparts though their magical shielding was little better than thin film in comparison to Obliterate. I didn't even have to read the damage notifications that popped up minimized in my vision since the spell killed all of the offending orcs completely.
What the spell essentially does is similar to a lightning storm though imbued with voidal elements-creating a void storm akin to a maelstrom. Dark magenta lightning strikes the orcs down at the molecular level and can easily tear through magical protections like a hot knife through butter. Their cores-spirits or souls if you prefer-disintegrated in the same instant of the lightning striking their physical bodies since voidal elements tend to be corrosive or destructive towards spirits hence why mages who have void affinities are self-destructive without proper protective magical gear. It is also optional to mix in some kind of mental or shadow elements with the spell structure to add in a rainfall effect that adds no extra effects except cosmetic effect.