A carpet of corpses laid on the battlefield. At the center of it was a single man with long blond hair matted with blood, standing, scornful of death and with his chest swollen with pride.
All the corpses belonged to those who had been Immortals in life, warriors who were considered invincible, commanders with amazing intuitive power, talented young men and simple soldiers. Nobody had been spared.
Of all those bodies, none had been massacred or torn to pieces as it would be normal in a war between Immortals.
A spear blow to the heart was enough to destroy all the vital Meridians. A blow to the head enough to destroy the brain with an explosion of Mana. A destructive Mana current inserted into the most important Meridians to destroy them in a matter of seconds.
Each of the wounds inflicted was precise and clean.
Ligir was a warrior, not a butcher. He had always despised those who wasted energy and movements to tear their opponent to pieces. His goal was to win in the most intelligent and honorable way possible.
Tearing his opponent's body to pieces was not among his priorities.
There was something incredibly unusual in his way of fighting. And his men had noticed it for the umpteenth time before the corpse of the last enemy had fallen to the ground with a thud.
Immortals or mortals, all possessed a body that could receive blows and vulnerable weak points.
In Ligir's technique, there were no wasted movements or improperly used energy.
Most of his Skills couldn't destroy a planet, probably. Yes, he could have done it with a great deal of effort. But Ligir was different from those Immortals who only wanted to see who could destroy multiple planets with one Skill.
In short, a most sophisticated version of who could piss further.
A spear blow straight to the heart was far better than any flashy Skill.
The more you progressed in Phase, the more you tended to focus on brute force output in your Skills and attack from afar. Ligir, on the other hand, preferred to stay close to his opponents during the conflict, so as not to have too many attack him at once.
At his level, being far away from your enemies meant exposing yourself to receiving multiple Skill blows. But when staying close to them, no more than a dozen Immortals could have attacked him simultaneously.
It was a unique style, which no other Immortal practiced in the universe.
Most importantly, his most loyal allies were Scarlet Tear and Morning Lightning.
His coat and crown, the two most important pieces of all his equipment.
Many Immortals, after reaching the apex of the universe, could no longer find objects worthy of being worn since almost none of them would have been able to increase the qualities and power of their Skills.
However, Ligir had been fortunate to wear items of Equipment forged by the greatest blacksmith in his time in the universe, Phaistos, his mother's childhood friend.
The generation previous to his own, his mother's, had lived holed up in impregnable fortresses because of their fragility and inability to fight; but this generation without any courage had given birth to curious young people eager to increase their abilities, who had pushed themselves into the outside world and had begun to declare war on each other.
The more the power wielded by the young Ligir grew, the more his mother was obsessed with the idea of his death, therefore the woman had asked Phaistos to forge a set of weapons and Equipment from the rarest materials, which would allow the young hero to win all his battles.
Scarlet Tear, his cloak, had been dipped in the blood of creatures from a different space-time; these creatures were extremely powerful and dangerous, but, fortunately, could only be seen on the occasion of sudden attacks on their universe. The material used for the fabric had been obtained from the sap of trees that lived in a smaller dimension, continually shaken by inter-dimensional storms that would have torn any Immortal to pieces.
Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!
By collecting the blood of these creatures, infusing it with precious minerals and dipping in it an already practically indestructible fabric, thus the coat of Ligir was created, as powerful as a shield and capable of protecting its owner from unexpected attacks.
His crown, Morning Lightning, had been forged using the heavenly punishments received by some Immortals, stained with terrible crimes. By using the lightning bolts that came down from the heavens to punish and imprison them, Phaistos had bent the will of heaven under his strength, hammering it in the most beautiful crown that a living being could ever create. When Festus had forged it, he almost became blind, since the crown gave off a bright light that derived from the lightning from which it had been shaped.
…
Crater gaped at Alexander. The Commander had never fully known the history of the legendary Ligir and had never actually understood how illustrious the origins of his King were.
It was then that his gaze stopped on the objects that Alexander wore on his head and shoulders every day. Raising a shaky finger, Crater blanched: "These ...?"
Alexander winked at him and continued.
“In the long run, my mother's Clan dwindled, consumed in wars of such devastating power that we can't even imagine them. Yes, there are many Immortals in my father's Clan, but none has ever lived up to Ligir, or any other member of my mother's Clan. Although now in ruins, its members once reigned supreme over the universe.
In addition, some artefacts risk losing some of their lustre, if they are not handled in the right way or if they are not used. If I have to be honest though, if they were at their peak, I probably wouldn't have a level high enough to wear them. So even if I could fix them, I wouldn't."
…
Covered in blood from head to toe, Ligir looked around with an indescribable fury that flooded his body. All the men around him had been dismembered with fury and blood soaked the ground. Some soldiers were now unrecognizable and only with the use of some particular Skill could their identity be discovered.
The few survivors crawled on the ground, heavily wounded, and some held the lifeless bodies of their friends in their arms. Their eyes were full of terror and hope. As long as Ligir was at their side, no war would be lost, even if their opponent was an abomination like the one who had decimated their army in a matter of minutes.
He was a being who went beyond the imagination of every single man. A creature that traveled from one universe to another, using a very rare gift that no one, not even Ligir, possessed.
The appearance of monsters like that was the only reason that pushed all the most powerful Clans of their universe to join forces front against the external intrusion. With these alliances, monsters were eliminated in seconds.
Most of the creatures that crossed the barrier into their universe were as powerful as one of their greatest Immortals. The warriors were used to seeing very strong monsters being defeated in the blink of an eye thanks to the union of the most powerful men in the universe.
But this time it seemed to be worse than the others.
Holding his shield and spear, Ligir took a deep breath.
The monster was probably much more powerful than he was.
If Ligir had waited for reinforcements to arrive, with their glittering and incredible Formations, all the Immortals present with him on the battlefield would have died.
"My mother said that participating in this war would earn me an endless reputation, huh," growled Ligir. Then he grinned. "She also said that the bill would be very steep."
A moan filled the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Ligir saw a soldier, tormented by pain, was bent over the body of a lifeless woman. The monster had cut the young woman's body horizontally, but not even the slightest trace of the lower part of her body remained.
"A flock of pathetic insects!" thundered the monster, ready to continue with its carnage. It was determined to become the undisputed ruler of this universe.
The monster was a few dozen meters tall, with vaguely humanoid features.
The Immortals, after reaching a certain level, could enlarge their body at will, becoming incredible titans, as big as a planet.
And this was another of the techniques that Ligir despised.
However, this was no problem for him. With his spear he could have defeated any opponent. His spear possessed Runes and qualities that would cause an explosion in the enemy's body, be it a dwarf or a giant.
He just had to hit the right spot.
After hitting, the spear would spawn a death field around it's tip, fuelled by the hero's Mana.
The only thing left for him to do was hit his enemy's weak spot. This would have marked the end of the clash.
Ligir began to run and went faster and faster, so as to become a shadow. As he had disappeared, he reappeared in front of the monster, who tried to punch him.
Ligir dodged in a split second with a somersault. He began running along the monster's arm, while the latter activated a sort of force field. It seemed determined to tear the hero into pieces.
Ligir's armor, another gift from Phaistos, shone; along with it, also his sword, spear and all the rest of his Equipment was shining.
The destruction field generated by the monster was immediately repulsed and Ligir's armor began to crack. Not even the peak of Phaistos's art seemed able to compare with one of those monsters.
You know, when a person begins to avoid direct confrontations of strenght, one begins to think that he does not possess it at all. Before acting, the monster had observed the war, looking for the most suitable time to tear everyone apart. He had also identified Ligir as the greatest threat among all Immortals.
But he had seen his enemy avoid brute force clashes, opting for more efficient and deadly solutions. Dodging with a shield and planting a spear in a person's heart was less satisfying than crossing swords, but it was undeniably more effective.
The monster raised its Gargantuan fist.