The problem with having the power to destroy the world, is that no one will ever believe you, and there's no way to prove it.
A nice, normal power that can be scaled up to planetary levels, sure. But an instant world-ending, all-or-nothing power? Utterly useless at social events. May as well not have anything.
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At the central worktable of the ascendance forge atop Mount Sanctum, Jair painstakingly poured out silver-glowing liquid in a sequence of symbols he knew by heart.
The white light of the mountain’s unquenchable heart starkly illuminated the massive columns surrounding the forge and cast looming shadows across the polished obsidian floor.
Manafire rippled across the table in a constant cascade, hot enough to drench the pale fabric of his once-grand uniform robes in sweat.
But heat and exertion weren’t the only things making him sweat.
Distant shouts and footsteps echoed back to him through the vast chamber. Snarls and hissing portended his approaching doom.
His pursuers had entered the mountain.
Though every cell in his body screamed at him to hurry, Jair kept his movements deliberate and the flow of molten starsteel steady. Even with all his knowledge and every resource he could draw upon, he’d barely managed to collect enough of the rare mineral.
He'd attempted this ascension twice before, and both times, the process had been interrupted before it could be completed. He would not falter this time, even to the very moment of his death.
The snarling and baying of the pursuing drakenhounds grew louder, nearer.
With supreme effort of will, he forced himself to proceed calmly. Stay steady. Ignore the way his heart raced and his body tensed.
He still had time.
He held one hand directly above the glowing symbol on the table, as close as he could bring himself to the searing heat radiating from the molten starsteel. With his other hand, Jair pressed two fingers against his forehead, eyes drifting closed as he mentally traced familiar pathways within his spirit.
"Soulblade, manifest!"
Silver fire burned in his vision, even through closed eyelids, as the weapon stored within his soulspace transposed itself into physical reality.
─ Reforged Soulsword (2nd Form)
Advancement progress: 99%
─ Rank: Uncommon
─ Class Requirement: Mageblade
His trusty sword appeared beneath his hand, worn and mundane but carved with the familiar symbols that resonated down to his very soul.
Jair pressed the weapon down into the starsteel, the pattern he’d drawn perfectly aligned with the blade’s size and length, then began laying out the other elements necessary for the ascension. Two fully charged silver workings, intricate latticeworks containing between them enough mana to level the mountain, four flawless blue dragon-tear pearls, and a single pure sapphire cut to exacting specifications.
Sizzling and hissing rang out in the distance as the forerunners of the enemy assault ran into the first line of his traps. That would only slow them for a few seconds.
"There's enough time," he whispered, but his hands trembled with adrenaline he couldn't entirely suppress.
He positioned the collection of items along the blade, guard, hilt, and pommel, then held both hands over the weapon.
Half done. The easy half.
"Compression."
Tightly-controlled pressure flooded down from his hands, pressing in tight against each of the components to hold them perfectly in place. Minute adjustments shifted the items into even closer alignment, that extra hair toward perfection. Time he couldn’t spare but didn’t dare to skip.
Every step was essential. He’d worked toward this moment for more years than he cared to recall, accumulating only the most powerful ingredients. If he was going to change history, he needed something outside the ordinary.
Shouts echoed across the room, guttural snatches of a language even after so long he barely understood. The gist was obvious. There he is, kill him now, the usual. He thought he heard a “his soul is mine,” in there too.
He wasn’t here to fight. Focus.
Breathing hard, Jair transferred control of the spell to one hand and picked up the half-empty crucible of molten starsteel with the other. Mouth dry, stomach tense, he poured the silvery metal very carefully over the sword, though it took every ounce of his willpower to continue moving with smooth precision.
Holding the spell’s downward pressure while allowing the starsteel through the intangible field of power strained Compression to its limits. By any rights, he should have waited another month before using it for something so strenuous. If he survived past the ascension, there would be painful repercussions to his recklessness.
Good thing surviving wasn’t necessary to his plan.
He poured the molten metal over the ingredients and intensified Compression, crushing the priceless ingredients into glittering powder with unwavering precision.
The power of the magical components had nowhere else to go but into the sword, infusing the molten starsteel.
Distant firelight burst into existence in the corner of his vision, yowls of surprised pain accompanying the flare—the last of his traps.
He didn’t turn to look, forced his body to remain steady against every instinct. Rushing would only make things worse.
Once completed, the ascension could never be undone. If he skipped a step now, it would sacrifice his future for the sake of the moment. Everyone’s future.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Manafire flared up starkly white as his spell broke the containment on the twin artifacts, allowing the whole of their incomprehensible power to fully suffuse the weapon. The last drops of molten metal surrounded the sapphire just below the guard.
Final step. He'd never gotten this close before. All his traps had bought the precious seconds he needed.
All that remained was to finish the seal. The sword would take care of the rest.
He sliced the tip of his finger against the blade's point then pressed it into the starsteel just below the sapphire.
“Compression.” Recasting with his other hand, he mixed his blood into the molten metal and began to trace out the pattern engraved in the deepest depths of his soul. Forcing the spell to move at speed with such exacting precision tore through his manabody like thorns in his veins.
Ordinarily it should require hours to manipulate Compression in this way, but he had only seconds. He’d probably never cast with this hand again, not that it mattered. This was the end. One final step, and he’d—
Something crashed into his back, claws tearing deep into his body as the momentum hurled him forward across the table. That alone wouldn’t have been enough to doom him, but the impact was accompanied by a discharge of explosive lightning.
Deafening sound slammed into him, electric fire surging up his spine.
His concentration scattered.
The spell broke.
"No!"
Jair landed directly atop the weapon, the impact of his body disrupting the pattern. The half-finished seal collapsed entirely. Something heavy pressed down on his back, preventing him from recovering.
“LIFT!” His voice came out a ragged snarl. The heart of the mountain surged in answer, power running white-hot through the spell imprint drawn across his right forearm. The overdraw was intensely painful but he was far past caring about mere pain.
The weight on his back lifted. A startled yelp accompanied the crash of scale against stone, then the monster fell silent as the force of Jair’s spell crushed it to pulp against the distant ceiling.
He hadn’t come here to fight, but he was still an archmage. Unlike the hastily-added Compression imprints, he’d maintained Lift since the day he learned it so long ago.
He didn’t have time for this.
Jair pushed himself back to his feet, taking in at a glance what he had left to work with.
Molten starsteel spilled in lumpy waves over the edges of the incomplete sword. When he pulled his hand back more starsteel clung to it, leaving the sapphire exposed. The third and fourth pearls had scattered out of place.
He needed to fix this. He’d come too far to accept failure now.
Starsteel clung to his hand, burning through skin and muscle, but he couldn't spare a thought for that. Frantic, desperate, he pressed the blade back into shape with his fingers. With two quick swipes he smoothed the edge and wiped away the extra material spilling over the edges.
Blood mingled with sweat, running from the deep wound across his back, the pain meaningless as he stared down at the incomplete ascension. Red dripped down his arm and pooled around the blade.
Now what.
Before he could do anything more, claws skidded on stone behind him. His pursuers, too close to escape again.
He spun to face them, three more drakenhounds. Larger than any ordinary hound, they were waist-high at the shoulder and over twice as long, lithe lizardish bodies covered in dark scales that reflected sinister rainbows in the light of the manafire. Two red, one blue, light building in their throats as they prepared to strike.
He’d abandoned his protective spells when he traded them for Compression, moments of progress more important than moments of survival. It would do him no good to hole up behind a shield and wait until he was worn down.
The first had already jumped, jaws wide, claws extended.
“Lift.”
The spell caught it mid-leap, slamming it upward with all the strength of Jair’s desperation and the weight of the mountain’s heart.
The second hit him before he finished with the first, tearing into his chest in the instant before he switched targets and sent it flying upward to join its compatriots as pulped lizard meat on the ceiling.
He could only maintain one active spell, with his left hand torn to unusability.
The rest of the force was right behind them. Too close. Seconds at best. And even if he blasted his way through the bulk of this force, there were another hundred behind them, and the beastlord himself behind them with the whole of his army on his heels.
This was a fight Jair couldn’t win.
But he couldn't fail now. Not after so long. Not after trying so hard.
“Impose Weight,” he pressed down on the entire approaching contingent at once, slowing their movements as power burned through him at a truly incredible rate. Anywhere else on the planet, he’d run out in seconds. Here, the power was all but inexhaustible.
Jair himself would be what wore out first. He was bleeding out, physically, and magically burning far beyond safe operational parameters.
But it bought him one last window of opportunity. A few final moments to find a solution.
He'd done everything perfectly, moved as fast as he possibly could, right up to the last moments.
And it still wasn't enough.
What could he have done differently?
Was there any step he’d been slow or inefficient to complete? Any ally he could have better utilized, any resource left untapped in the years leading up to this?
He couldn’t think of anything.
He’d already used every drop of personal mana on the way up the mountain, setting as many traps as he could manage. If he’d tried to fight before reaching the forge, he’d be doing so in perpetual overdraw with only his sword to rely on.
If he turned away from the project sooner to fight the lone forerunner, he’d have lost control of the ascension anyway. If he stopped to fight before starting, he’d end up bogged down and cut off from even reaching the forge.
Nothing. There was nothing he could have done better. No way to move faster. No way to delay his pursuit another moment. His attackers would be slowed, so long as he held the spell, but not stopped.
I refuse. I'm not going through this all again!
He'd been trapped in this desperate quest too long, but going back wouldn’t matter unless he could change something.
"I REFUSE!" Jair roared aloud, slamming his half-melted hand onto the sapphire. Blood dripped from his chest, staining the silver metal pink. He released Impose Weight in the same instant he recast. "Compression."
His body screamed at him to stop. He’d already gone far beyond any reasonable limits. Manafire tainted the power, liquid and searing, as he overdrew with his full strength. The spell pattern burned too hot, close to rupture, threatening to tear him apart from within.
He didn't stop. Couldn’t stop. Failure now would break him. He refused to be broken. Not now. Not again.
The full strength of Mount Sanctum’s manaforge surged recklessly through him as he pushed himself far past overdraw. Through blurred vision and a mind growing fuzzy, he focused his spell.
He stamped the spilled blood down into the metal in a single final surge of mana, searing the pattern of his soul into the misshapen blade.
─ Reforged Soulsword has been ascended. Form 3 unlocked.
Power resonated through him as the ascension clicked into place. An imperfect ascension, perhaps, but he couldn’t possibly have done anything more. Sometimes, even doing everything right was no guarantee of success.
With the last of his strength, Jair pressed two fingers to the blade's edge.
─ Connection established: Jair Welburne.
Then his body slid backwards off the table, landing in a lifeless heap at his murderer's feet. Jair’s awareness stuttered, reality freezing around him as he drifted free, his soul drawn toward the grinning mouth of the monster who’d killed him.
Not today.
He focused inward to where his soulspell lived, glowing like a golden star. A second silver star now orbited it, proof of the ascension’s success.
For the first time in a long time, Jair felt hope instead of dread as he touched the golden star within his soul and time began to reverse itself. The nightmare could end.
Finally.
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