Hosolar stood, facing the unholy creature before him. Although muddled, his senses were still powerful enough to inform him that the thing before him was nothing but an avatar. Yet, strain as he may, he couldn’t detect the string connecting the golem construct to the Lost Child.

The child was communicating with Brivia, but he merely stood there, impassive, focusing his senses on trying to locate Neave. There was no use in fighting this remotely controlled avatar. He needed to hunt down the true body.

There was no threat from this construct. Its presence was formidable, perhaps holding the power of a cultivator on the upper end of the second step of the diamond path. Incredible power for something that could be controlled remotely.

Suddenly, he sensed something off. By the time he was back to paying attention to his immediate surroundings, he severely regretted his folly. “What the—” he screamed as pure darkness peeled the reality around him.

In the blink of an eye, the chunk of space he had been in, perhaps the surrounding 2 meters, was torn out of reality and thrown into the void.

Now that he was in the void, his connection to his true body grew far more potent, but that didn’t make his situation any better. Still, his divine might flooded into him, allowing him to refresh some of his lost reserves and fueling his desperate scramble to return the space back where it belonged.

He needed to hurry before he drifted too far away from—

ҾҾҾҾҾҾҾҾҾҾҾҾҾҾҾҾҾҾҾҾ

A putrid, horrifying scream echoed from all around him, and he looked up. Too big, too grand for a mere mortal mind to wrap itself around it, a figure appeared. Its eyes were forged of an uncountable infinity, its form flowing through time and space, scraping the essence of being around itself like a cosmic parasite.

It sneered at him with an unfathomable expression, an act so foreign he could barely recognize it as anything more than a collection of loud smells, gooey, sticky sounds, colors from beyond the visible spectrum, and terror itself, so thick it flowed like sap.

The image of a child’s face appeared before him as if anchored to the center of his vision. “Better get ready!” it taunted him, and in the next moment, the chunk of reality reattached itself back to where he’d been.

His body was surrounded by dozens of those strange puppets, every single one of them glowing with a powerful purple light.

He raised his guard and then felt his stomach sink. Where was Brivia?

He had a mere moment to turn his attention to where he felt her waning presence. Turning just in time to watch one of the puppets tear her head off.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Boom.

***

Neave found himself lying unconscious on the ground. “Shit!” he screamed. “I dropped my fucking guard!” He rushed back up to his feet.

The connection that the manipulator had to his mind, the faint yet everpresent string he fought to fight back… it felt like it was entirely gone.

But for some reason, he couldn’t find it in his heart to celebrate this fact, especially when he didn’t even know exactly what the manipulator had done.

Pushing his Violet Avatar spirit power, he rushed to reconnect with his puppets—

But they were all gone.

Suddenly, he felt a powerful tremor shake the entire cave around him. He immediately knew what it was. All of the puppets had exploded. “No, wait.” Not all of them. He focused. There was one more; he could feel it hidden within the space where his spirit power kept the avatars.

But it had… something in its hand. It was holding a roughly round object.

He retrieved the puppet, summoning it before him with a flash of purple light.

His pupils shrank.

Gripped by her silver hair, his mother’s head hung from the puppet’s clutch, fresh blood still dripping from her torn neck.

Drip…

Drip…

Drip…

…

The sight burned itself into his image, settling there. He blinked.

“Whelp, she’s gone.” He sighed as he put his hands on his hips. “Shit…” he cursed as he grabbed the head and blew a fire breath at it until it became nothing but fine ash.

He had to keep her death a secret from Marven. That old man was already unstable enough. If he found out about this, it would crush him.

There was no time for him to think about it. Even with the detonation of every remaining puppet, he knew damn well that it wouldn’t be enough to seriously injure Hosolar. Neave, naturally, had no idea what actually happened, so he couldn’t even say that the man had been hit at all.

But the reality was that Hosolar was personally chasing after him now. The time for preparations was over. He had to track the others down, hurry and finish the weapons and all the alchemy, and then forge a plan for dealing with the enemy.

He looked around, trying to think of everything he had to collect.

A sudden tremor appeared in his hand. He gripped his arm with the other hand. With all the force he could muster, he pushed the sickness in his stomach down. With the eternity of experience clearing his mind, he wiped away the image of his mother’s bleeding, decapitated head.

There was no time to think about it. Neither her life nor her death were of consequence to him. Or so he tried to tell himself. He wanted to believe that he didn’t care. Yet, there was a corner in his heart. An empty, vacant space where a small child wept, sobbing as it clutched its heart in agony. He willed that space to shrink until the child was crushed.

Then, he took a deep breath, collected everything he needed, and ran. Rushing to find the others.

Rushing to finish the final preparations.

Rushing to take his revenge.