AuthorShawnWilson

Undying Blood - Chapter 66

Chapter 66

[ New Skill - Risposte ]

“Finally!” he shouted.

Francis activated the skill immediately as a catkin attacked, claws coming at him.

A thread began to appear as the long nails came at Francis, and his mind followed their path, reacting to it. He parried and blocked both claws, his blade shifting the beast’s hand out of position. Francis’s hips drove forward, thrusting his sword into its neck, almost cutting its head off.

Without missing a beat, Francis weaved and dodged, watching and waiting for the same thing to happen again.

He could see the tiny threads more often as attacks came, but there was more to it than simply noticing them. Francis focused on an incoming attack, weaving around the thread, adjusting its pattern with his sword, and ending the life of another beastkin.

[ Risposte Increased - 2 ]

Like a madman, Francis stood there, surrounded by half a dozen animals, twisting and turning, adding more bodies to the blood-drenched ground. All around him was a tapestry of death.

It was beautiful and scary at the same time. 

Do Stenson and Kels see fights like this? I’ll need to ask.

[ Riposte ( Rare ) - This skill is an activatable ability when engaged in melee combat. The user can parry an incoming attack and then immediately return their own melee attack. The skill uses a small amount of endurance with each use. As the rank of the ability increases, the number of times in a row it can be used, as well as some additional damage, will increase. ]

Lost in that thought and reading the description, Francis changed his original plans, knowing that in a minute or two, the advanced warriors would once again reach him, signaling the spell to come.

Spinning like a top, he cut down the wolf-kin behind him and ran as fast as he could, slaying the beasts he approached from behind, carving a path to the kingdom’s army. 

“What are–”

He didn’t listen, running past the line of warriors that would die soon, seeing the look of shock on their faces as he emerged from the horde of beastkin, killing two catkin before their lines collided.

“Good luck!” Francis shouted as he weaved between the men. He knew it didn’t matter if he killed more of the beasts. Even if more of these men survived until the advanced warriors reached them, the death spell would claim them all.

And so he raced toward the advanced line, ignoring the cheers and calls that came from those who saw him. A few shouted for Francis to stop, while others told him to seek out healing.

I guess I do look like a man about to die.

Most of Francis’ skin was covered in blood. The good news was that a large majority of it wasn’t his. His endurance had made bleeding out harder, his body clotting the wounds faster.

Up ahead, he could make out the man he was looking for.

His blond hair was hidden under a helmet but Francis recognized the armor and the group of cavalry that Kels was riding with.

“Knight Kels!”

“Who goes there?!” one of the other warriors shouted, moving his horse between the man he sought.

“Get out of my way!” Francis shouted, trying to sidestep the warrior’s horse. “I’m the sage!”

“Piss off, you’re a cow–” the same warrior started.

“Let him through!” Kels’s voice rang out, stopping the man and his horse immediately. Francis could hear the chastised warrior grunting as he continued on.

“Sage Francis? Is… how?” Kels stuttered for a second. “How do you know–”

“Where I am? I’m the sage, remember?” he replied with a grin. “Can I borrow one of your healers, and then, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find General Stenson and have a talk.”

“But… I mean, yes, of course!” the knight exclaimed.

After a set of whistles, a healer came forward, the man's eyes widening as he approached.

“Heal him,” Kels ordered.

The healer nodded and Francis smiled as he studied the one who had trained him in camp so many deaths ago.

“When this is over, you and I need a minute or two in your tent,” Francis said. “I’d like to test myself against you.”

Some of the warriors nearby scoffed, but that grin Francis knew far too well appeared on the knight's face.

“I would be honored to see what kind of warrior you are,” Kels replied. “Any man who can wade into the battle as you have, naked and with nothing more than a sword and shield and return as you did, has earned that honor.”

Francis chuckled, then paused, focusing on the words he had just heard. “Uh… can I borrow some clothes?”

“Here,” the healer said, beginning to pull his robe over his head. “You can have this.”

Taking the yellow robe, Francis set his weapon and shield down before slipping it over him. It felt tight against his skin and seeing the healer standing there in just a standard undershirt and pants made him wince.

“Uh… I’m sorry… you–”

“It is an honor,” the man replied, bowing slightly. “To know I healed and clothed the Sage is worth far more than a robe that makes me a target on the battlefield.”

Francis and a few of the other men chuckled as the healer returned to his original location.

“Alright, I need to go,” Francis said as a horn blew and the warriors around him began to regain their formation. “Don’t push too far. Stenson told you about what will come, correct?”

Kels nodded, his smile fading as his lips tightened.

“He did. Again, I am grateful for your gift, Sage Francis. I look forward to when you summon me and we cross blades.”

Waving, Francis retrieved his sword and then took off running. He had to pull the robe up with one hand to his waist to prevent it from ripping. The outfit was obviously not designed for the speed he moved at. The looks Francis got as one hand exposed his blood-covered skin and the other held a sword made him laugh, turning the scene he was making even worse.

As Francis approached the stage where the King and the others were, a pair of guards got in his way, drawing their weapons, and prevented him from passing.

“Halt! Lower your weapon and identify yourself!” one guard shouted.

Dropping his cloak and thrusting the sword into the dirt, Francis held up both hands.

“I’m the Sage. Sage Francis. I need to speak with the General.”

A few more guards arrived and the pair that had stopped him glanced at each other and then at him. 

“How can you prove you are who you say you are?” the same guard asked.

Francis knew these guards were the best in the army. The love of battle had him wondering if he could hold his own against one of these warriors, but he didn’t want to end up dying and having to restart this loop if he could avoid it.

“I’m buck naked under this robe which belongs to a healer,” Francis said. “I went out before the army’s first call and killed hundreds of those beasts and now have returned after seeing Knight Kels and being healed. In all this, I’ve told the King and the General of the plans and for what comes next.

“I entered the tent with Captain Vella alone last night,” he continued. “She summoned her father, the General and Nehemiah who came and verified that I have the rank I claim. Now I–”

“Forgive me,” the guard who had last spoken said, putting away his weapon. “You give enough details that most would never know, and from the blood that I saw as you ran here… it is obvious you have been fighting. Please follow me, and I shall take you to the General, but if you would, leave the sword here.”

“That’s fine, just make sure it’s returned to Stenson… I mean the General. He gave it to me from his personal collection.”

A few men grunted at those last words, and then the one Francis spoke with nodded to those who had arrived. Each of them returned to their normal positions.

“If you would,” the guard said.

They moved quickly, covering the short distance to the stage where an older man with one arm was smiling at his approach.

“Sage Francis!” the king shouted. “You’re alive!”

“Just as I said I would be,” he yelled back. “Forgive me. What is about to happen is going to be painful to watch.”

Baxter’s eyes narrowed, those red eyes glowing like rubies as he nodded slowly. 

Moving up the stairs, Francis bid the guard goodbye with a nod and approached the King, studying the looks all those gathered were giving him.

“So, there is no other path?” Baxter asked, hand raised to give the signal.

Part of him wanted to tell the king to heal during the spell but he had convinced Stenson that doing so was far worse. The truth was, Francis wondered what would come from this path. He would be alive, the army would be gravely injured and whatever came next would be new to him. 

“No… I am sorry, my King. What comes next, I do not know.”

He saw it. Tendrils of magic were coming from Queen Auri. They were so faint and minute that he didn’t notice them until they touched him. As quickly as he could will it, Francis deactivated his Magic Feedback skill, not wanting to reveal that card just yet as he wasn’t sure what would come next.

The tendrils wrapped around him, like a warm blanket. They didn’t squeeze or inflict pain but somehow they moved with his heart.

King Baxter nodded a moment later and Francis tried to figure out how the man could tell he hadn’t lied.

Is there a signal? Or–

“Join me,” General Stenson said, interrupting his train of thought. “Let us see what the darkness you say is coming will look like.”

Francis moved quickly and stood near the older man and giving Stenson a single nod and a wink, getting a tiny head shake in return.

Seconds ticked by and Francis knew it was time.

“Sound the horn,” he said.

“But–” Stenson said.

“Sound it, save a few more lives,” Francis said.

The general nodded, Baxter dropped his hand, and horns blew.

As they sounded, the spell began to form, and the giant sheet of black death raced out from the enemy’s back line.

Gasps and mutters came from those behind him, but Francis was focused on the troops. 

A few more… this will save a few more.

With the horn sounding right before the spell started, it looked like those who were near the farthest edges of the spot where the sheet would end might make it back. A large line of warriors would return home tonight if they moved fast enough.

Francis stood there, rising to his toes, clenching his teeth and wanting to pray to some god.

Stenson grunted and the spyglass Francis had used many times was held out before him.

“Thank you,” Francis whispered, lifting it to his eyes and peering through.

He could watch through the magical screen showing other areas of the battle, but what it was focused on was men who wouldn’t return. They would die, and he didn’t need to see that again. It was a memory that was forever locked in his brain, having seen it firsthand and experienced it himself multiple times.

“Faster… run faster,” Francis whispered.

Through the spyglass, he could see the advanced warriors running with everything they had. The horns sounded again, the call for retreat at full speed. A few stumbled, but a line that stretched the length of the battlefield moved.

With each stride the men took, they gained a chance as the shadow formed above, blotting out the sun and hiding the holes in the soil.

A few more men tripped, and Francis winced, knowing they wouldn’t make it.

“Come on…” Francis muttered. He almost jumped when a hand touched his shoulder. Lowering the spyglass for a second, he saw Stenson’s eyes locked upon the line he had been watching.

“Do they make it?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” Francis replied.

A hush filled the platform as the sounds of an army racing for their lives echoed across the plain. Cries started to come as the sheet of darkness descended on those furthest back. The screams of beasts and men in such great numbers drowned out the sound of hooves and feet moving as fast as possible to escape death.

Francis held his breath, looked once more through the General’s borrowed item, and watched, waiting, and remembering.

The end of the sheet touched down and more cries came, but these were different from the ones moments ago.

Across the platform, those who had been watching the line of warriors race for their lives cheered.

Stenson’s grip on his shoulder felt like it might shatter his bones before it relaxed.

“Well done, Francis, well done,” the older man said, a single tear rolling down one of his cheeks. “You know what you just did?”

Amidst the noise of celebration, even though so many had died, he shook his head.

Stenson pulled him close, pressing his lips almost against his ear. “You gave hope when we had none, which is worth more than you realize. We'll face it together even if you don’t know what comes next. No matter what, I’m here to–”

Francis didn’t get to hear those words as a set of gigantic hands lifted him off the ground and pulled him free from the general’s embrace.

“Sage Francis! I… I had my doubts, but know I am grateful for far more than you can imagine!” Baxter exclaimed. “Now, let us pray the gods reveal what comes next. Just know, there is a place in my tent if you desire it.”

An icy glare came from everyone who had just been celebrating on the back edges of the platform. Gone were the smiles that had rejoiced in the saving of lives.

Now the real wolves on the battlefield watched him, sizing him up even more.

Gods this is going to get fun.

Francis nodded and the King set him down.

“I’ll pray about that,” he replied. “In the meantime, I know everyone here has things to do if we’re going to win this battle.”

A massive hand slammed into his shoulder as Baxter gave him a nod. “He’s right! Everyone, take care of your duties! We meet in my tent tonight to discuss our next plan. Go!”

People moved immediately, most giving a slight bow as they departed.

In moments, only five of the real players remained on the platform, and Francis cracked his neck, locking eyes with Priscilla, meeting her icy blue gaze.

“A wonderful turn of events indeed,” the woman said, slowly moving toward the stairs. “Sage Francis, I would enjoy a moment of your time later if you are willing.”

“I look forward to it,” he replied.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 63

Max sat next to Miranna, both of their feet dangling out of his dimensional space. Beside her, Shale Spark and Rakonath sat as well, the two dragons both in their humanoid form.

“You two need to think about what you’re seeing and the truth of what it means,” Max said, pointing at the vastness of space above them. There was no moon out tonight, and the stars above felt so close, one might be able to reach out and grab one.

Two dragons had flown up here, each with a rider on their back, until Shale Spark and Miranna couldn’t handle the cold and thin air. Max then opened his dimensional space, allowing the two to climb inside. Rakonath continued climbing higher until they reached an altitude that prevented them from going further.

It was there that Max reopened his space, and they joined the two women.

“Look below,” Rakonath said, his finger tracing a path before them. “There is so much of the world that is dark and empty, and yet you see those small areas that have lights. Just like the sky above, there are small places where lights shine.”

“You two need to find a way to see beyond the darkness and aim for those small areas,” Max added. “What’s coming next is going to be hard. Cordellia already shared with you both what it took for her to overcome the fears she once had.”

Both women nodded, the pair of them still silent as their eyes scanned the heavens and the earth.

“Is it worth it?” Shale Spark asked. “I mean… being a god?”

Max chuckled as Rakonath let out a louder laugh.

“Is it worth it?” the silver dragon replied. “That’s a question you’ll have to answer in time, but I believe it is. While I enjoy the power, it’s not because of the power itself, but because of the relationships I have. How many humans, dwarves, and elves have already died due to old age? We don’t suffer that problem as dragons, but if you do not defeat the tower, eventually Miranna may become old, feeble and pass away. Would you prefer to have that problem or find a way to solve it forever?”

“I want to solve it,” Shale Spark said immediately. “And that’s the only way?”

“It is,” Rakonath replied.

“So if you hadn’t defeated the tower, would you have outlived Mom?” Miranna asked.

“I would have,” Max answered, frowning a little bit. “For so long, she was afraid of how quickly I would die as a human. Having that kind of relationship isn’t easy. I know you feel it with Hana.”

Miranna winced and nodded.

“She’s not gone yet,” Max said, “and you should enjoy the time you have with her, but something I realized is that her spark carries on through her children and now grandchildren. So much of me wishes I could have interacted with my sister’s grandkids. To watch them play, laugh, and enjoy each other. I’ll never get that, and while it’s a little saddening, I’m still grateful that I get a chance to be a part of every life in this world. In some ways… they’re all my children.”

His daughter sighed and leaned against his arm. “I’m sorry again, for… all of that.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” Max replied. “We admit our mistakes and move on. You’ve done the first part. Now we do the second part. You and Shale need to decide who will be the ones to join you in the tower now.”

“And remember, you’ll have to help them grow,” Rakonath said. “They are only on the thirty-first floor. “You’ll be able to lend a hand and wisdom. They’ll need you both to look past their weakness.”

“I think we both know who we want,” Shale Spark stated. “Kurrar the dwarf would make a great healer. His temperament reminds me of Batrire but with less glaring.”

Max chuckled and nodded.

“Agluur, the demon, is a fine mage. I think her demonic magic abilities and natural talents would be an asset compared to a standard elemental caster,” Miranna said. “Which leaves the hard decision… who to choose for the last spot.”

“Is there a reason why it is so hard?” Rakonath asked. “Each of the candidates is a competent warrior. Each carries a spark.”

“For different reasons, yes,” Miranna said, her eyes fixed on the world below. “Shale and I talked about it… with those choices made, we’re choosing what race from here might get a chance to become a god and which one won’t. It’s hard deciding on that.”

“Who cares which race becomes a god?” Max asked. “Why not choose based on the warrior and not their race?”

“Because they’re all equal as a tank,” Shale Spark said. “Sure, one’s a little bigger, another has a few more hit points, and one might be a little faster, but in the end, their skills are basically the same, and none of them are so outside the norm that it’s an obvious choice. Mir and I liked the fact that our… original team… all felt equal. Each race was given a spot. Now there aren’t any elves, and if we don’t pick Sabon, there won’t be a human to defeat the tower with us.”

“And that’s a problem?” Max asked.

Miranna shrugged, glancing at her friend. “Kinda… the whole point of us all being picked was to be champions who represented our world and our people. Now it feels like we’re something else.”

A low grunt came from Rakonath who picked up the empty cup on the floor of the dimensional space beside him and tossed it into the night sky. “What did I just do?” he asked.

“Uh… litter?” Shale said.

“Perhaps,” Rakonath replied. “But what else? Did I make a wrong choice by throwing that out and letting it plummet to the ground below? Will it injure anyone or anything? Does my choice matter if no one gets hurt? The answer is I won’t know until I travel to the place it lands and see what happened because of my action.”

Max smiled as his dragon faced the two young women.

“You two are tossing a cup into the empty sky, and at the end of the day the only way you’ll know if the decision you made matters is when everything is over and you find out the results of that action,” Rakonath said. “No one is going to care if a human isn’t on your team. What they’re going to be focused on is whether you defeat the tower. They aren’t thinking about how it’s unfair. All they care about is the end result. And you two need to focus on that as well.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Max said, waiting till both Miranna and Shale Spark were looking at him. “Take a month with each warrior. See how they do with the other two. Then decide.”

“That seems… smart,” his daughter said, cocking an eyebrow. “Mom always said you were, but sometimes I wondered.”

He laughed and gave Miranna a gentle shove. “Careful. I might just push you out and see if you can fly.”

***

Max and the other gods stood outside the tower, looking at the empty spot the party had just vanished from.

“It feels weird,” Fowl said. “No pageantry or pomp. Just a goodbye wave and good luck.”

“I think it’s better this way,” Cordellia stated. “Less pressure on the five of them. All they need to do is focus on the task ahead.”

Max nodded and squeezed Tanila’s hand.

“You’re smiling a bit more than usual,” she whispered. “Why?”

“Why…” Sog said. “Perhaps it is because he made a wager with Rakonath on who they’d pick, and he won.”

“And you didn’t bet?” Batrire asked.

“Me? No!” Sog replied, shaking his head. “I’m letting Jazzjak handle all my wagering from this point on. No need for me to get knotted up inside over things like that.”

“I’m proud of you,” their dwarven healer stated. “Perhaps you can teach Fowl to mature a little bit faster also.”

“Gods, woman,” Fowl grunted. “I’m trying! It’s only been seventy plus years.”

Rakonath came over and held out a red gem. “You won. They picked Sabon like you said they would.”

Max took the thumb-sized gem and tossed it a few times in the air before storing it. 

“You do realize why they picked him over the other two?” Max asked.

“’Cause he’s human?” Fowl asked.

Tanila groaned and shook her head. “No… It’s ’cause he’s bald.”

***

Max lost himself in the crafting of armor and weapons. All around him, the sounds of metal being struck, bellows causing coals to glow brighter, and men and women grunting as they worked filled his ears.

You’re going to need to watch that line. You’re going to run out of space for those enchantments.

You say that, but I didn’t run out last time. It was just tight. 

And by tight, you mean you were a hair away from causing the entire armor to explode?

Perhaps. Still, I need to consider some of the things each of the new additions is going to need in the coming levels. We’re looking at a team, I think, that will easily pass the 59th floor.

Yet we both know that is when the actual tests begin. Are you still planning on leaving your book for each of them to read if they reach that point?

I think it’s the best way to ensure they make the right choices. I doubt their party will find a way to beat the times we set, but perhaps they can find a way to overcome the other challenges. Besides, there is no guarantee that those floors will even be the same. 

That does cause an interesting question and dilemma if they have that knowledge before those floors begin.

If “Chromie” or whoever recognizes they have that knowledge?

How does the tower handle cheating? Is it worth giving them that kind of knowledge if it might make it harder on them? I’ve said it before, but we both know there will be a time when the tower truly tests the character and willpower of Miranna. I don’t believe she’ll get the same free pass we got.

I wouldn’t call what we got a free pass… there was a lot of suffering and pain.

Yet we both know the tower wanted and needed us to survive. It didn’t need anyone else to.

Max grunted to himself, his hands steady as magic poured from his body and into the armor he was crafting. There was a beauty to it, seeing the transformation of metal, scales, gems and runes all bonding together to create something useful.

I’d be foolish, to say I might speak my mind to the Archons the first time I meet them, but I really want to know why they allow such… suffering and pain.

Beyond the truth you already know?

Max grunted again, not answering the question Bob raised, and knowing the truth wasn’t something he liked about the system.

There… slow down, if you—

Max immediately stored the pair of boots he was working on as the magic contained erupted, almost causing an explosion at the workbench he was at.

He could sense the looks the others in the building he was in gave him, each of them close enough to see the blazing light that appeared for a second before Max stored the doomed item.

Welp… it looks like you were right… I guess I’ll need to take these later somewhere where the explosion doesn’t hurt anything.

That’s the fourth pair in the last month… you’re pushing this too far. Legendary skill or not, you cannot make items with that many effects.

Two pairs of boots in my inventory say I can.

Yes… Two, and how many have become worthless or done what almost happened? Eight.

So a twenty percent chance of success. I have the items, I have the mana, and the time. Ultimately, what else is there?

Avoid getting noticed by the system. I swear, sometimes you’re worse than me.

Yet you’ve been so good about keeping the system from bothering us. How is that skill you got from Chromie working out?

A chuckle echoed in Max’s head as Bob used the pound of flesh they had taken from the system’s copy of himself on the 100th floor.

Part of me still wonders if it was intentional or not. Giving me the skill [ System Access - Assistant ] shouldn’t have happened. Yet like your artifact… someone is helping us. The question is who.

Undying Blood - Chapter 65

Chapter 65

The sound of the morning bell rang.

"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"

Sitting up, Francis chuckled. “It’s Phillip. One never knows what he’s going to have us do.”

“That’s for sure… let’s get dressed, I don’t want to be last,” his brother replied.

Francis nodded, anxious to see what waited for him on the other side of the battlefield.

[ Quick Attack ( Uncommon ) - This skill is an activatable ability that speeds up the attack while also altering its path. It can be used in any form of melee attack. The damage and power behind the attack is reduced by .5 the normal output. Utilizing the ability drains a portion of the user's stamina and the cooldown is based upon the skill rank as well as the user's physical ability. As the rank increases, the damage reduction will decrease. Skill does not protect the item used or the physical body from injury when attacking. ]

***

Francis roared, ripping his sword from the snake’s scales, driving it repeatedly into its chest, and glancing around at all the beasts staring at him.

I can’t believe it took two hundred and forty-eight deaths just to defeat this one beast... 

Four deaths prior, his Perception had increased to a twenty-six, and everything changed. The only disadvantage to that increase in perception was the horrible death he experienced when his senses overloaded and the snakekin ripped his head off.

Francis had convinced Stenson he needed to do this. The old man had agreed, still seemingly amazed at how much Francis had progressed. 

Even now, with his stats, there was no way Francis could have achieved this growth in the Spires without long, drawn-out weeks, if he could stay alive there. Here, he had a place that didn’t care about what his birth order was. 

All they wanted to do was kill him. 

And all Francis wanted to do was get stronger by grinding himself to death against the horde.

(Stats aren’t potentially fully updated till later, just knowing they’ll go here)

[ Status ]

Francis Lancaster

Age 17

Strength: 31

Endurance: 33

Agility: 31

Wisdom: 19

Perception: 26

Magic: 10

Skills

Swordsmanship (Common) - 59 Advanced

Shield Use (Common) - 46 Advanced

Tracking (Uncommon) - 10 Basic

Stealth (Uncommon) - 11 Novice

Traps (Uncommon) - 3 Basic

Rock Throwing (Common) - 7 Basic

Mental Resist ( Uncommon ) - 38 Proficient 

Blood of the Undying ( Unknown )- 100+ Sage

Fast Learner (Epic) - 1 Basic (Locked)

Horseback Riding (Common)- 11 Novice

Horseback Handling (Uncommon) - 6 Novice 

Mace (Common)- 11 Novice

Pain Resistance (Uncommon) - 41 Advanced

Poison Resistance (Rare) - 33 Proficient

Power Strike (Rare) - 28 Proficient

Brawling (Uncommon) - 31 Proficient

Strong Bones (Rare) - 34 Proficient

Death’s Dance (Epic) 13 Novice

Magic Resistance (Rare) 29 - Proficient

Magic Feedback (Legendary) - 8 Basic

Quick Attack (Uncommon) - 19 Novice

Death's Dance was barely adding only the slightest amount of strength, as the poison magic the snake had used had lost most of its potency due to his Magical Resistance. Every chance Francis had in all these loops, he used Quick Attack and Power Strike whenever he sensed it was possible. 

Francis’s body had grown stronger, and his skills had reached ranks that even the general didn’t want to admit were absurd for his age. 

Pushing those thoughts aside, Francis yanked his weapon free, flicking the blade to the side and sending out a wave of green blood.

Another roar came moments later from deeper in the enemy lines, and a figure Francis had wondered if he would face again stepped forward.

An armored rhino-kin emerged from the edges of the gathered beasts that had watched him kill the snake.

This one felt different than the one off to the left where Francis normally fought, but it didn’t matter. It was still a foe he wanted to test himself against. 

A foe he needed to learn to overcome.

The rhino-kins' steps thundered as it moved toward him, getting down on all fours and charging.

Francis moved a few steps away from the snake’s corpse. He smiled, set his legs and prepared for the new challenge. As the beast drew close Francis took a step forward, pivoted and threw his shield at the incoming rhino-kin.

[ Power Strike ]

It snapped forward, spinning with a force Francis had learned a hundred deaths or so ago having fought against the serpent. The rhino-kin moved slightly to the side, somehow seeming to sense the momentum and danger.

Francis continued his turn as the shield came off his hands, dashing behind the spinning metal disc and shifting to the side, away from the beast.

The rhino-kin didn’t grunt or seem to complain as the shield bounced off the thick hide along its shoulder, yet the impact caused it to stumble slightly to the right.

Francis was there, just a second afterward and as the creature tried to swing that deadly horn toward him, he dodged and struck.

[ Power Strike ]

[ Quick Attack ]

Francis’ sword cut the beast along the side, slicing through the tough hide and destroying one of the leather straps holding its armor.

That attack elicited a noise, the rhino-kin roaring as it skidded to a halt and quickly rose to its back legs.

Francis struck again and again, using all of his skills on the beast’s haunches, rolling and dodging the fist that came downward at him. The rhino-kin’s fist sent out a spray of dirt, creating a hole from the impact.

Francis played for its back, attacking the area that wasn’t as protected as the rest of the beast's body. He tracked the movements of the rhino-kin, reacting to how it shifted and moved, eyes tracking everything he could as his sword pierced and carved off flesh.

The beast bellowed at him, a different one than the usual roars of anger. These sounded like the rhino-kin was in pain.

Francis continued his assault until he suddenly felt pressure from behind, pain radiating through his core, and stumbled forward.

Glancing down, Francis saw an arrow as thick as his arm protruding from his chest. It had multiple barbs and looked to be made entirely of metal.

Death's Dance roared within him, telling him the end of this loop was just a few steps away.

He turned his head, trying to see where the attack had come from, yet all he saw a grey fist coming down at him.

“Fu–”

The sound of the morning bell rang.

"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"

***

“So… you found an archer of some sort,” Stenson said, drumming his fingers on the table beside his chair.

Francis nodded and sighed. “I wouldn’t say I found it. Rather, I’d say it found me.”

The older man chuckled and bobbed his head. “Still, your growth is… exceptional. A twenty-six in perception is something few will ever achieve. That Fast Learner skill is paying off tremendously.”

“You say that way every time,” Francis replied. “I mean, I realize you don’t know it, but it’s just something I come to expect.”

“Well, forgive me for not being able to remember anything between your deaths.”

“And there’s that one too.”

Stenson shook his head and frowned. “Are you being playful or disrespectful?”

Pretending to look off into the distance and have to consider it, Francis turned and winked, knowing how this conversation would end.

“Playful. Once I said something disrespectful and that path wasn’t a good one for either of us.”

“Well, I have to admit I am a rather smart man,” Stenson replied. “I mean, according to everything you say I say. Still, I’m assuming this is when you want advice?”

“Maybe… I’m not sure. Something happened in that fight and I think I might have been able to defeat that rhino-kin if nothing interfered but I’m also wondering why something did. Never before has a creature done that. Even when you managed to defeat that one tiger-kin, everything else remained in place. Why would something break a code I thought they lived by?”

“A warrior's code for one isn’t for another,” Stenson said. “Would you sit back and let your brother be killed in a fight between him and someone else or something else?”

“No,” Francis scoffed.

“Even if it appeared both he and his opponent desired that?”

“Hell no. He’s…” Francis stopped his reply and sighed. “I get it. So something didn’t want to watch me kill another one of its kind. Still, that makes me wonder what the hell we’re going to do. How do you defeat a creature you can’t…”

He paused, shook his head, and then snorted.

“What, what are you thinking?” Stenson asked, leaning forward on his chair.

“Give me a second. I’m remembering all my deaths,” Francis replied.

Every time I changed something, it didn’t matter if it was a slightly different thing I did or a major one. Some words meant a helmet, while other words meant not getting it. But the outcome of the battle seems to be consistent. The same creatures, same attack and spell patterns… but what if…

Francis paused, realizing his new Perception was providing him with the ability to recall things like never before. 

“I have a question,” Francis said. “Let’s pretend every fight I did was exactly the same. I mean, I know it feels like it would be impossible to always take the same exact steps, or make every thrust and swing of my sword just like the life before, but what if I could and did? Would that mean that whatever beast just killed me would do so again? Would it fire at the same spot and place? Could I time it? If I know when it’s coming, could I dodge the arrow?”

Francis watched as Stenson’s eyes did what his sisters did when thinking. The older man’s lips bunched up and relaxed for a few moments.

“My answer would be yes, but we’re talking about countless deaths. You’re at the cusp of something and I imagine I’ve probably wondered when you would achieve it. Those last few deaths, what is different when you fight?”

Francis smiled at the older man and knew immediately where he was going with that question. 

“I can see the flow of battle better and react differently. Their attack patterns, movements, everything. It’s almost like I can expect or know where they will go.”

“That is because you’ve reached a point where one’s mind evolves,” Stenson stated. “It’s rumored that at higher levels, someone can recall everything perfectly. Every smell, taste, image, and book they have read. For you… I’m not sure how your mind could handle so much to remember but again, I understand what you want to attempt. To do that would be… madness. What if it took a thousand or ten thousand tries? All for what? Seeing what attacked you? I’m not certain that would be worth the potential mental distress, even with potential skills and stats you might gain.”

Francis couldn’t help but frown because he thought the idea made sense. He also understood that the general might be right.

Maybe another time… I suppose I would skip mentioning this to him if I were to try that path.

“So we’re back to the same question as always,” Francis said. “If that’s the case, I want to try something different this time.”

The older man chuckled as he did between every death. “And what pray tell is that?”

“I’m going to go out there with just a shield and a sword.”

“That’s not a big deal. I mean, are you taking something else, usually we haven’t discussed?”

“No, I mean no armor. Just clothes.”

“Why… oh… you’re trying to get another skill. Guarded Stance?”

“Yes, but maybe another one as well,” Francis replied.

“Which is?” Stenson asked.

Francis laughed and just smiled. “I think I’m getting really close to getting Riposte as well.”

“Jeagars balls… I mean… forgive me, that was not…” Stenson stopped his apology as Francis burst out in a belly laugh. “I’ve cursed before, haven’t I?”

Blinking back tears, Francis nodded, laughing harder as the older man scowled.

“Forgive me, son. I am going to wager you sometimes bring out the worst in me.”

“It’s okay… I… always laugh… this hard,” Francis replied.

***

[ New Skill - Guarded Stance ]

“YES!”

Francis’s shout seemed to make the beastkin he was fighting hesitate momentarily.

Laughing, Francis just stood there, buck naked, holding just a shield and a sword, dancing between the four creatures trying to kill him.

Cuts and scratches covered his body and Francis had found out after the first death it was better to fight naked. Clothes presented potential tripping hazards when one's pants fell down around their ankles.

Still, he planned to fight until the spell came, experiencing the death of the black sheet and taking the added gift of Magic Resistance each time.

“Hey, you, fall back!” a voice called out.

Francis shook his head as the first group of advanced soldiers reached him. He didn’t even glance at them, knowing it was the same red-haired one from last time. Normally, the man’s distraction caused Francis to get cut, but with his new ability, he avoided the claws that came for his side.

“I’m fine, just focus on the other one’s! Plenty for everyone!” Francis yelled.

Shouts and the sound of combat grew louder as a line of troops reached him. The previous three times one had actually tried to pull him back, stating he had earned his gold, but Francis had resisted, easily breaking free of the soldier’s grasp. Choosing to change things up a little bit, Francis fell back some.

“When the horn sounds, obey the orders!” Francis shouted. “I’ll be fine!”

Four men moved to join Francis’ side, cutting down the creatures that attacked and moving to help drive back the beasts he was facing.

“I’m fine I told you!” Francis called out. “Stop! I’m training skills!”

“What the hell are you saying?!” the warrior shouted. “This is a battle boy! Not some–”

The red-headed warrior stopped talking as he always, a trio of catkin overwhelming the solider because he was too focused on Francis and not the battle. The beasts quickly moved to attack another warrior.

More animals came and Francis did his best, always blocking and parrying, only attacking after he had blocked or parried an attack. In his mind Francis could see it now. There were threads he had never noticed until recently. There was a small one attached to every creature he faced. 

How their legs moved or hips turned. If you tied a string to it, they would always pull or push in a way that was expected.

Francis’ fights had turned into him watching the movements and reacting. He was faster than these creatures and instead of driving deeper into the enemy lines, Francis shifted sideways, removing more of the beasts that were nearby.

Spells started to rain down upon him now, and Francis knew it was time to go if he wanted to wait for the next part.

[ Power Strike ]

[ Quick Attack ]

All catkins around him were dead in seconds, and Francis turned to the right.

“Shift or get hit by a spell!” Francis shouted.

None of the warriors listened. They never did, yet Francis cut down the beasts in his way, getting about a hundred yards before a massive rain of fire filled the area where he had been standing.

Glancing at the troops approaching his position, Francis sighed, judging from the distance and his own position.

Still haven’t gotten the other skill… maybe next time.

As the enemies began to back up, Francis pressed into them, forcing some to stay and endure the same pain he knew was coming. He watched as the black sheet of death began to form from the back of the enemy army. It moved quickly, washing over the battlefield and darkening the sky.

Screams came from every man and beast around him as the magic assaulted them.

Francis’ skin burned, and try as he might to fight against it, he couldn’t.

It was like being dropped into the middle of a frozen lake with dozens of heavy stones tied around your ankles. He might get one or two off but he’d drown before escaping. Whatever spell this was ate his flesh like water washing away blood on stone.

Still, Francis embraced it, content to have gained one of the skills he wanted.

[ Guarded Stance ( Uncommon ) - The user gains the ability to enter a defensive stance for ten seconds, which mitigates physical damage done by 25%. The stance will cause the user’s body to harden, improving natural resistances and other abilities by a small percentage. As the skill rank improves, the length as well as the mitigation bonus will increase. Each use drains a small portion of the user's endurance. ]

Chapter 2 - The Creation of Arin

Levi frowned at the other student standing across from him.

Of course, it had to be Bram.

His opponent was from a family in the north, specializing in the ore and ice trade.  Dark black hair and black eyes were among the many telltale signs of someone from that area of the kingdom, as well as a permanent squint caused by the sun on the ice. 

“Saw you got lucky against Liora,” Bram said, his deep voice rumbling.

Someone definitely got the puberty gene…

“You forgot to shave?” Levi shot back. “I mean, I’m sure we could find a cat somewhere and put some cream on your face and lick off those few hairs on your lip.”

A chuckle came from the female attendant.

“You little–”

“That’s enough,” she said, cutting off Bram as he leaned on top of the crystal arena. “You can talk on your own time. We’ve got a schedule to keep and since you both made it through the first round, you know what to do. Thirty seconds till we start.”

Bram grunted and pulled a rune-covered box from his jacket pocket.  It was blue and the aura of energy that was coming from the rune made an audible hum.

“Really? You made that?” Levi asked as he pulled his jar out again and pulled the top off.

“Eat boar dung,” Bram growled. “You and that little slime aren’t going to win this and you can go back to your grandparents and cry about how–”

“Enough!” the attendant exclaimed, her hand slapping the top of the crystal arena box, the noise of it ringing out around the room. “You can talk crap later, but for now, put your creations in the starting area or forfeit. I don’t have the patience to listen to two boys arguing about whose is bigger.”

Snorting, Bram flipped his lid and his box upside down.  

“Is that a Cryozoan?” Levi asked. “There’s no way…”

“Going to call it quits?” his opponent asked, grinning.

Shaking his head, Levi held the jar up to his face. “Alright, Arin. It’s a cold-based creature. Play smart.”

“Arin?” Bram called out. “You freaking named your creation?!”

Ignoring the thicker boy, Levi once again let his slime plop into the starting area and close the lid.  The Cryozoan was a sapphire blue color and it almost appeared like ice was trying to form on the crystal base under it.  It was about three inches in width and had six pointed sides.

With both lids closed, the boys stood near their creations and waited until the bell chimed and the partition slid open from the starting area.

The tiny arena where their creations were housed had an open space better suited for an offensive-based creation, such as the Cryozoan. For a slime, which focused on simply dissolving whatever it sat upon, it was a setting that could quickly end its journey.

As Arin made its way out of the box, a small appendage about an inch long formed before it, flattening almost like a tiny shield as it approached the Cryozoan.

“What the hell is that?” Bram asked. “How can–”

A shard of ice zipped across the small arena, striking the gelatinous shield and freezing instantly.

Levi sucked in some air through his teeth, waiting to see how his creation would respond.

Come on Arin…

A second after the shield appendage was frozen, it snapped off and the red slime moved over it, slowly absorbing it back and forming another shield.

“What the chuck is that?!” Bram cursed, drawing more attention to their duel. “How can it do that?! You’ve had to help. There’s no way–”

“Quiet!” Professor Thomas’ voice rang out. 

Immediately, the dark-haired student clamped his jaw shut, eyes fixated upon the slime that was drawing closer to his Cryozoan that hadn’t left the safety of its starting area.

The ice creation turned, another shard of ice shooting from a different spike.

Once again, Arin’s shield froze and broke off, reabsorbing and forming another.

Levi couldn’t help but grin, knowing that his creation was taking the different aspects of the ten slimes he had melded together and was applying all of their affinities and abilities to their absolute potential.  He had spent weeks training it against a variety of different stimuli, rewarding Arin when it did what Levi wanted.

In less than a minute, six ice shards had been sent at the red slime that continued its slow but steady approach.  Each one had been blocked, only slowing Arin down. Finally, it reached the Cryozoa,n which was backing into the corner of its starting area.

“No! You can’t do that!” Bram shouted, trying to open the lid to his creation's staging area.

“Mr. Holt!” the attendant snapped. “Touch that lid again and I assure you, this defeat won’t be the worst thing that happens to you today.”

The boy’s face puckered like he had just sucked on a whole lemon. Bram could only watch in horror as Arin enveloped the Cryozoan and began to dissolve it.

“The winner, Levi Wilson.”

Levi couldn’t help but smile as the attendant said his name. 

“So much money,” Bram muttered. “My parents…” The boy glanced upward into the stands, where a burly man with the same coal black hair and eyes, wearing thin clothes, scowled. 

“Good duel,” Levi said, holding out his hand.

“Go eat dung,” Bram replied, slapping Levi’s hand away before storming toward the stairs.

A sigh came from the attendant. “Some of them are a bit spoiled, aren’t they?”

Levi shrugged and pulled a piece of moldy bread from his pocket, depositing it in his starting area. “I’d rather not comment on that,” he replied. “I’ve been on the receiving end of a few of their training moments, and let’s just say my talents lie in alchemical areas and not in physical ones. Here, Arin, treat.”

“You really did train this,” she whispered, leaning closer. “I heard about the first match, but seeing this in person… how?”

Levi smiled as his slime made its way to the starting area, its red color having lightened slightly and its size having grown just a smidge. “Lots of long nights. But I’ve got a journal with all my notes, I’m hoping it will impress someone and get me a good job,” he said.

She snorted and shook her head. “I have no doubt you’ll have that problem,” the woman said, motioning to the section where those who came to scout talent were all watching. “Just remember to make them bid against themselves, and congratulations on making it to the third round.”

Scooping Arin up and depositing it back into the jar, Levi nodded. “Thanks. I’m Levi, by the way. I didn’t catch your name.”

She smiled. “I’m Abigail. And thank you for asking.”

Levi gave a slight bow and moved to the bench where he would wait for the other duels to end before starting his third round.

“Good work, Arin. Just one more to go!”

***

Lightning surged and struck Arin, causing the slime to shudder, sending droplets of red slime around the arena box.

“Come on… You can do it,” Levi muttered.

He watched as the Voltfilament Nematode, a lightning-based worm, coiled and sent a barrage of electrical attacks every two or three seconds.

There wasn’t much Arin could do beyond take the attacks and push through it, small sections of slime being burnt off from the heat and power.

His opponent, Tamsin Reed, stood with both arms crossed and a smug smile on his tanned face. The student’s family owned a few ships that ran the river barge trade section and they were known for having magical affinities on top of a lot of money.  

I swear, these people are just paying for their kids to succeed.

Trying to ignore the negative thoughts in his mind, Levi focused instead on the fight taking place.  Even worse was that Professor Thomas was standing nearby, his hand stroking the footlong white beard as others seemed to be paying attention to this fight more than some of the others.

A groan came from elsewhere in the room while another student let out a cheer signaling a victory and a loss.

“It’s not going to make it,” Tamsin stated. “The power of the Voltfilament Nematode is too much for it.”

“Arin, use the cover,” Levi said, ignoring his opponent.

His slime moved slowly, not nearly as fast as before, but eventually, after suffering two more electrical attacks, Arin got to the wall near the staging area of Tamsin’s creation.  

“That’s not going to save him,” the boy mocked. “It’s already lost a third of its size and it’s moving slower.”

Levi ignored the taunt, knowing that the training they had done was going to pay off if what he expected happened next.

Once again, Arin formed a small shield, but this time it wasn’t as large, yet extended further from its body, sagging slightly as the slimy appendage tried to support it further away.

“That’s going to get blown off,” Tamsin said.

“Maybe, but you all keep forgetting one thing,” Levi replied. “None of you so far has actually done any work teaching your creation how to fight. You simply bought something or had someone help you make it.”

“Mr. Wilson,” Professor Thomas said. “Please refrain from accusations you cannot prove. I would prefer not to have to deal with complaints from families that you might be slandering their names.”

“Forgive me, sir,” Levi said, eyes still focused on the fight.

A small grunt came, and then the Professor turned, moving toward another ongoing duel.

“You’re not going to watch me win?” Tamsin asked.

Professor Thomas turned his head and winked. “No… because Mr. Wilson is right. You’re about to lose.”

The tanned, blond-headed boy turned his attention back toward the crystal arena and watched as his Voltfilament Nematode launched an electrical attack that worked as he had predicted. The shield erupted in globs of slime, but Levi’s creation made its way into the starting area, rolling faster than before, its apparent smaller size quicker than a moment ago. Without wasting a moment, Arin rolled on top of Tamsin’s creation and began to dissolve it.

Another electrical discharge came as the lightning worm tried to break free from the slime that had enveloped it.  While it appeared to do some damage, it wasn’t enough and before a second internal attack could come, the Voltfilament Nematode went limp.

“The winner, Levi Wilson,” the attendant stated, holding up his hand towards Levi.

“How… how?” Tamsin asked.  

“He already told you,” the attendant sighed. “Yours never moved, and once it got trapped, the obvious answer is yours couldn’t defend itself. Now head up to the stands.”

Tamsin shot Levi a glare, but he ignored it. 

“Arin… collect yourself and come get a treat,” he said.

After dissolving the lightning worm, the red slime began to move around the crystal arena, collecting the stray pieces of its body that had been sent flying.  When a moldy piece of bread was placed back in the starting spot, Arin moved quickly to collect its reward.

“You do realize that you just made it through three rounds,” the attendant said. “From this point on, you're guaranteed a job with one of the top apothecaries or in a guild house.”

Levi’s smile was the only answer he needed to give as he scooped up his slime and deposited him back in the jar, dropping two more pieces of bread in after.

“I do… that’s all I wanted,” he replied.

“Well, good luck in the rest of the duels. I know they get much harder from here.”

Sighing, Levi held the jar close, knowing that these next fights were going to be much worse and the threat to his creation was going to be even worse.  

“Hey Arin… play smart. I’m not sure what we’re going to face, but you’ll need to not sacrifice so much of yourself, okay?”

A small movement from the red slime in the jar might have been a sign of okay, or simply Arin enjoying more to eat. Either way, Levi would take it as a good sign.

That was until he glanced up at the attendants setting up the match boards and saw the name of his next opponent.

Havel Deren… shit.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 62a

Tanila stood in the doorway, her eyes fixated on their daughter, who was passed out. Max stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder, not saying a word.

She could feel the dampness of her dress where tears had soaked it. Her own soul felt empty and yet light, having spent the last few hours listening to every fear and pain that Miranna had.

“Come, let’s let her sleep,” Max said. “You could use a drink and so can I.”

Taking one last glance, Tanila nodded and gently shut the door. She turned, seeing Max’s eyes. His eyes held a spark of hope that she hadn’t seen in a while. Her chest had ached for so long, and it had hurt far more than any other wound she could remember. Even the fear of losing Max when he had been kidnapped hadn’t been this hard. She had the necklace back then and knew he was alive. Yet with Miranna, no jewelry granted her hope that the child she loved would return.

They made their way through the hall, holding hands and not saying a word until they reached the balcony where they often sat to talk or just look over the city below. Max pulled out a chair for her, and she fell into it, somehow worn out even though her body didn’t get tired.

“I feel that,” Max said as he plopped into his seat. “But I also feel she’s returning.”

“Part of me wasn’t sure she would,” Tanila said, admitting the truth out loud. “The way she behaved and rejected everything we said or tried to do was… painful. Parenting isn’t easy at all.”

Max laughed and shook his head, setting two glass cups and a bottle of wine she knew he had saved for special moments out from his storage. “I never thought it would be easy… just hopefully easier. I was certain I wasn’t this difficult. Maybe Stacy was, but I wasn’t.”

Tanila resisted the urge to roll her eyes, glad that they could joke and laugh for once. It had been so long since they could talk like this. The thread of hope felt thick enough to last, and she clung to it with every fiber in her body.

“I’m glad I wasn’t there when Rakonath did what he did,” Tanila said as she took her cup, running a finger along the lip of it. “I might have gotten angry and… well, I would have been angry, and who knows what I would have done then.”

“Been a mother bear and tested out your bloodline bonus. I wonder who would have won that fight.”

“You’re saying you wouldn’t have helped?” Tanila asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I don’t know what I would have done,” Max told her. “I wanted to stop him, and yet Bob told me not to. Part of me wanted to free her from Rakonath’s hands, but the other part of me knew that if I did, she’d never change.” He sighed, picked up his cup, and then drank it all in one go. After finishing it, Max sat back and looked out over the city. “Rakonath was right… the whole world has suffered for over two years, and we let it. I’m not sure what I could have done to hasten or push past her pain, but I see now all the things I was blind to before.”

“You weren’t blind. You just chose to ignore them,” Tanila stated.

“And that’s worse,” Max replied. “You saw them, you pointed them out, yet you did something to try to help. I just kept giving her rope, hoping Miranna would finally stop running.” He sat up and set his cup on the small wooden table and started rubbing his thumb over his knuckles on the opposite hand. 

She could see his eyes staring off somewhere. “What are you thinking so hard about?” 

“I know she’s scared about so many things,” Max said, looking up at her. “She hasn’t acquired any new skills since she turned fifty. Twenty years with no extra skills has her wondering if she’ll never get stronger.”

Tanila snorted and shook her head. “She’s stronger than all of us except you were before entering the tower. Even now, the equipment and gear she has is beyond what most could dream of. Sure, it’s not as good as what we got because we were part of your group, but her entire team was equipped way more than anyone else I can think of.”

“I know, but it’s more than that,” Max said. “She’s in that shadow. Even if she doesn’t want to admit it, she’s just like you were. Trying to live her own life, always held back by who her parents are.”

Tanila winced slightly, the memory of her father and mother and the horrible things they had done. So many humans had died at the hands of her family, and Max was right about her not wanting to be part of that shadow.

“So what about Rakonath? Has he spoken to you since this morning?”

Max shook his head. “I haven’t reached out either. I will tomorrow. I know he is fine, but I need a moment to come to grips with what I’ve done to him.” Her husband paused and met her gaze. “I owe you an apology as well. I didn’t lead as I should, nor did I protect your heart as I promised.”

“You can’t take all the blame.”

“I can’t take it all, but I can take most of it. My job is to protect and watch over both of you. As much as this world means, you are my first love, and she is my second. Somewhere close comes Rakonath.”

“And Sog?” she asked, winking at him.

“Oh, easily after Fowl,” Max said with a chuckle. “The truth is, I think I’ve learned even more today than I had in a while. Family is more important than anything else. I forgot just how large my family is. I guess I’ll need to do the same as Miranna and go apologize to the others.”

“We both do,” Tanila said. Memories came flooding back of times when she had not been grateful for the help offered or given by her friends. Each of them said they understood, but that didn’t mean she was given a pass to act like that. “When did we take our friends for granted?”

“A long time ago,” Max replied. He took a deep breath and let it out, repeating the action twice more before smiling. “It’s funny… Sog has had a greater impact on me than I ever thought possible. And here you were worried about having a demon in our world.”

Tanila rolled her eyes and scowled playfully at him. “I believe you’re wrong, dear husband. I said I was worried about Sog corrupting our dragon. Who knew Cordellia would be the real villain in all that?”

Both of them sat there, laughing and smiling, finally able to see the light of a new day about to rise. 

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 62

Max watched as his daughter and Shale Spark stood on the opposite side of the training area. Edward was dueling different heroes who had been given a spark from him and the other gods. These were a pool of potential candidates. Each one was trying to prove they were worthy of the three open spots on his daughter’s tower team.

Miranna has aged… in a way that steals the light of life.

Her friends died. The tower is not kind, and she saw it firsthand. Losing three of them in a single battle almost broke her. If it hadn’t been for Shale Spark… 

Max didn’t need to think about that again. He stood there, studying his daughter, her gold eyes cold as she watched the duels. The last two years were more complex than he had ever imagined. It had taken their entire family, all the gods, to try to comfort her, and they had yet to succeed. Miranna’s mood was poisoning the whole world.

She’s also avoiding Hana… even though her friend is trying to comfort her.

Age… love… those things hurt, and you know it more than the rest of them. You should try talking to her again. If you don’t, Rakonath is going to keep his promise.

Max scoffed as Bob gave him yet another piece of parenting advice. Since his short reunion with his family, Bob had acted differently, and sometimes it still surprised Max. Even though it had been almost thirty years since that trip, Bob had a different tone to him.

Cheers came as Edward defeated one of his men, bowing and smiling at the small crowd that watched.

Max saw that his daughter didn’t even react beyond a slight head motion. Shale Spark was still lying on the ground, her larger body occupying a significant portion of the training area where the pair waited.

“What do you think about them?” Edward asked as he moved to join Max. “All of them are anxious to hear your thoughts.”

“The choice is going to come down to Miranna and what she feels are the right pieces,” Max replied. “I have my opinions, but I don’t want to promise something I can’t make happen. You see what she has become.”

The king’s face softened as he nodded. “I know she is older than any can imagine, yet she barely looks over someone who is twenty-one or twenty-two. Yet the weight she carries feels like more than what I must endure. My wife and I offer ourselves again to help her in any way we can.”

Max gave Edward’s shoulder a tap and nodded. “We are grateful beyond words. Everything we have faced as a kingdom, you and Lanyra have proven the wisdom you both possess and how fortunate we are to have you both. Now then, let’s go release them.”

The pair walked toward the seven candidates who might fill the voids in Miranna’s party. Three warriors, a dwarf, a human, and a demon, would possibly be the shield that protects the team. Two humans, a dwarf and a demon, rounded out the healer and mage spots.

“You all did well! Thank you for showing the strength you possess!” Max exclaimed, clapping as he approached them. “Please, go relax inside, and I will speak with Miranna and ask her thoughts.”

The group bowed almost as one, and Edward escorted them toward the open doors across the training grounds, where others waited for them.

Without waiting more than a few seconds, Max turned and approached his daughter, seeing the look she was giving him and knew it was going to be a struggle from the start.

“None of them,” Miranna said, her voice flat. “I’m not going to bring anyone else into the tower with me.”

“Then it’s agreed. You’re done entering it. I’ll mark that—”

“Done entering it?!” she exclaimed. “No, Shale Spark and I—”

“Are done,” Max said, his voice carrying power he rarely commanded it to wield. “I will lock you from the tower and you two will not be able to enter it again.”

“We’ll just go—”

“No, you won’t,” Rakonath’s voice called out from behind Max. “We’re all in agreement. You either go in as a team, or you stay out as a pair. No other options.”

Shale Spark snorted and then lowered her head when Max sensed the look Rakonath had given her.

“You would be wise to not do that to me again, or you will find yourself clipped until I decide the time for your wings to be healed comes again. Now transform so that others are not forced to stay away to look and talk to you. That is the behavior of a wyrmling who does not carry my spark.”

Shale Spark’s size shifted, and a few seconds later, she stood beside Miranna, gold dragon scale armor glinting in the sunlight, her head cowed.

“How can you two be like this?!” Miranna demanded. “We’re the ones who see the images we see when we close our eyes! Not you, us!”

Max let her rage again. She had denied it, got angry, accepted it, and then repeated this process over and over. He would rather have her like this, at least sharing how she felt, than the months where she sat somewhere, barely eating or talking.

Don’t interfere.

Max’s mouth opened, and he stopped as Bob warned him not to respond the way he had been planning.

Breathe. Take a page from Sog. Let it out. The time has come for a different approach. 

Clamping his mouth shut, Max closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it and then slowly letting it out.

“Oh, please, don’t give me this Sog meditation junk.” Miranna grunted. “Rakonath might be able to bully Shale Spark, but you—”

Max watched as his daughter’s gold eyes widened in surprise. Her jaw stopped moving as the blade Rakonath held caused a thin line of red to appear against her throat. The dragon’s other hand held her neck from behind. 

“You are wrong,” Rakonath said, his voice calm as he spoke. “The only one here who could stop me is your father or mother. Ask yourself, where is she? Why isn’t she here? It’s because it pains her to watch her daughter act like this. To push the world away and not allow anyone in.”

“I’m not pushing anyone away!” Miranna growled. “You don’t know what it feels—”

Rakonath growled back, the knife pressed a little deeper, a little more blood appearing.

Rakonath…

Leave him alone, Max. 

“How does it feel?!” Rakonath shouted. “I never met my parents! I watched the only dragon I knew and loved be attacked and almost die. I felt guilt for Bob being trapped because of my desire to enter the tower! I know how pain feels! All of us do! How do you think your friends, those who protected you and those who you were supposed to protect, felt? What did they feel when the blade cut them like this, is doing to you now, and they realized there wasn’t anything they could do?”

“Dad—”

Pain lanced through his chest when she said his name. Every part of him wanted to tell his dragon to stand down, but he could feel the slightest change in her tone and facade.

“Don’t,” Max said, shaking his head. “You want to use that name, then act like my daughter. The one I spent every hour I could with laughing, baking, smithing, dueling, or just talking about life. The one I read to at night and tucked her in. Where is the girl whom I hugged and cheered when I heard of her bond with Shale Spark?”

Miranna’s mouth moved, but nothing came out. Her eyes looked wet, but Max could see her still fighting against the emotions.

“Ask yourself… how does Shale Spark feel?” Rakonath said. “She feeds off of you. She is forced to grieve all the time because you grieve. Ask her. Out loud or just between the two of you. Ask her if she has moved on, and you’re the only one holding yourself and her back.”

The dragon let go of her, the blade vanishing. Rakonath stepped back. 

Max closed the gap between them and pulled his daughter close, pressing his forehead against hers. “I would die for you, and I will burn down every world and god for you, but I can not let you burn down the life of one you call a friend. Of one you call family”

He let go and stepped back, watching as Miranna touched her neck, lifted her hand, and stared at the blood.

Tears ran from Shale Spark’s red eyes as the dragon woman, who looked like a warrior ready for battle, trembled.

“Shale?” Miranna said softly, turning to see the dragon she was bonded with shaking.

“He’s… right…” Shale Spark whispered, touching her chest. “It hurts… right here. You don’t know how much it hurts to have to carry your pain like this.”

“I do—”

“No,” Rakonath growled, cutting Miranna off. “We’ve tried this the soft way, the gentle way, the supportive way, but your father, Bob, your mother, and I all agree. You are acting like a wyrmling who doesn’t want to try flying again after crashing and hurting themselves. You’re dragging the entire flight, your family, and this world down because you can’t move on. Because you won’t move on.”

Rakonath stepped forward. He was only a foot away, peering down at the daughter of his friend. “You want to honor them? Defeat the tower. Name a city, a kingdom, or something else in their memory. You want to make their sacrifice like the dung in a pig’s sty? Keep doing what you’re doing.” He snapped his fingers, and Shale Spark winced. “Return home, daughter. When she has learned what honor is and apologizes to you for the grief she has caused, you may return.”

“Rakonath!” Miranna protested, tears starting to leak from her eyes. “You can’t!”

Max saw the silver eyes of his friend glowing.

“I can,” the dragon replied. “I have never known a Hoste to act like this. Even when your father struggled with things beyond what you can imagine, he did what was right and needed. He fought with honor. He sacrificed himself and the things he loved for principles he believed in.” Rakonath put a large finger against Miranna’s chest. “You sacrifice others to make yourself ignore the pain you feel. That is not how any Hoste I have ever known acted. Perhaps it is good that your grandmother could never see what you have become.”

Rakonath…

His dragon turned and shook his head.

“No, I will not hide our words. I know how you feel. Every day, I have endured the pain of your suffering and the pain my daughter feels because of your child. She has caused the joy of this world to fade. Even now, your wife is trying to help and encourage others because she sees the darkness Miranna casts over all the kingdoms.”

He is right, let him speak. 

“Even Bob knows what I say is true,” Rakonath continued. “I do not placate wyrmlings who bring others down. They learn to fly, even if I must carry them to the clouds and drop them. She needs to be let go.”

Shale Spark sniffed, moving slightly away from her friend before transforming into her dragon form. A pair of red eyes looked back at Miranna, hot tears running from them. A single sniff came, then the red dragon launched herself into the sky, sending dust swirling around them.

“Shale,” Miranna said, her chest heaving. “I’m sorry.”

Max watched as his dragon knelt, looking up at his daughter. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize because she leaves. Apologize because you know you were wrong. And when you start saying you’re sorry for real, you need to travel through all the kingdom, telling everyone you see that you’re sorry for stealing their joy.”

As tears fell from Miranna’s cheeks, Rakonath took his hand and gently grabbed a fist that she had clenched by her sides. 

“Listen, little one… life is hard. The tower is a crucible. It will test you and melt away all that makes you unworthy. A time will come, higher inside. You’ll see. If you cannot overcome this moment, you’ll never defeat the tower.” Rakonath stood, pulling Miranna into an embrace. “I look forward to the return of the woman I love and the warrior who shall rival her father one day.” A soft kiss was put on her golden hair, and then the dragon backed away, gently pushing the outstretched hand of Miranna. “Our home is your home when you find the right words and heart.”

Max saw the look his friend gave, those silver eyes locked on him. “It is about time you showed teeth. I was beginning to think my friend had forgotten the hardest lesson of all is that life is painful, but it is the friends and family who allow us to persevere.”

He nodded at his dragon. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize how much pain I had caused you. Why did you say nothing?”

“Because… you weren’t ready for the truth. Like your daughter, you allowed emotions to cloud your mind. But I am glad you have woken up and realized what needed to happen. You honor me with your friendship and your apology.”

Rakonath put a hand on Max’s shoulder. His oversized hand squeezed as he walked a dozen yards, leaping into the air and changing into the silver-scaled form that reflected the sun.

Silence replaced the words that had been said. Max saw his daughter with her head down, tears streaming like rivers that overflowed.

“Star, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” Miranna said between breaths. “I’m sorry… it… just hurts… so deep.”

Max opened his arms, holding his hands out slightly.

She didn’t move. Max felt the pain of every second that went by as Miranna stood there, not moving. For so long she had resisted their affection, yet he had hoped she might give it on her own.

As his hands started to lower, she moved, slamming herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around him, and sobbed. Then a wail came. Followed by another.

Max felt his tears falling as he held her, one hand brushing her golden hair, the other supporting her.

“I know,” Max whispered. “It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to hurt. Just know you’re not alone when it comes.”

She didn’t nod. All Miranna did was empty her soul through tears and groans.

Max was the shelter in the storm. He would make sure she weathered this moment no matter what.

Undying Blood - Chapter 64

Chapter 64

“Just stay back,” Francis said for the tenth time. “Do not follow me, understand?”

Every warrior nearest to him seemed confused. They blinked constantly, many of them struggling to move, only pressed forward by the wall of troops behind. Further along the line of warriors, Francis could see grown men and others closer to his age urinating themselves as they gazed across the open grass at the large bull-kins that roared. Francis’  presence had calmed a few of those near him, but most were shaking in their armor.

“But… there’s… so many,” one said, his voice trembling with every word.

“There are,” Francis shouted. “But I’m going to help lower their numbers. Just stay in line and practice what you were taught. I’ll do what I can to thin out their ranks.”

“Why… why rush to your death?” another called out.

Francis turned and stared at the men, who realized their perilous position. Their eyes showed the fear each of them had. Turning meant dying to their allies. Going forward meant their families would earn something for their sacrifice and, hopefully, live if this foe was defeated.

“Death comes to all of us,” Francis shouted. “I don’t fear it because I know that what I am doing means others will get a chance to live!”

He pointed his finger toward the back of the human army.

“My brother is back there. He is like you. No one but me believes he is special. I do this so he can live,” Francis roared, pounding his chest. “My love for him is what has led me to stand here before you all today. Focus on who you love and hold it tight. Let that be the fire which burns in your chest, pushing away the fear that threatens to crush you.”

A few cheers came and then more as Francis drew his sword and waved it.

“Wait for the orders of the King to attack! My time has come!”

Francis turned, jogging toward the enemy, as a small group of men started a cheer that spread across their side of the battlefield.

It warmed his own heart while also filling him with a sense of purpose.

Before Francis, the line of beasts stretched in both directions, fading off near the forest's edges.

His approach sparked a few roars, and Francis shouted back at them, waving his sword before banging his shield.

Soon, he was only about a hundred yards away, and Francis saw a shape pushing through the first two lines. A bull-kin, a few feet taller, wearing leather armor of some kind. It slammed the club it carried in each hand into the ground, sending up a cloud of dust, while mooing, it mooed at Francis.

Laughing, Francis sprinted forward, watching his new opponent do the same. The beast had a weird gallop, but bull-kin picked up speed with each stride. In seconds, Francis and the bull-kin clashed, and he didn’t hold back.

The beast swung the man-sized club in its left hand at him, and Francis darted to the right, avoiding the blow and hacked at its knee.

[ Power Strike ]

The joint was severed as his blade tore through it all: armor, hide, flesh, and bone,  severing the leg and sending the beast toppling to the soil.

The bull-kin rolled, wooden weapons bouncing along the dirt as it tried to react and get up but it was too late. Francis was the predator, moving with the speed his improved Agility gave him,  lunging toward the fallen creature. Francis swung for the arm that was trying to steady the beast.

[ Power Strike ]

Once again, his new sword, combined with his power and strength, was too much for this bull-kin. With an arm missing right above the elbow and half a leg gone, it fell snout-first into the ground.

Francis’ blade thrust forward. He focused on the things Lucan had taught him.

None of the attacks he sent were as strong as they could be, but Francis repeatedly pierced the creature's side and neck as quickly as possible.

Blood ran into the soil, and the bull-kin attempts to stop Francis’ attacks were futile.

Less than a minute after the fight had started, the bull-kin breathed its last breath, and Francis wiped the blade on its armor, turning to face the horde before him.

He roared, shouting at them, and banged his shield again. 

The men he had left behind cheered. A flood of power washed over him, making his skin tingle with excitement.

Some of the beasts answered his challenge. Francis didn’t wait to see what might come next, claiming a chance to fight him.

Like an arrow, Francis shot forward, reaching the standing line of bull-kin, hacking and chopping off legs and outstretched arms.

They weren’t exceptionally fast but the blows Francis deflected and parried left no doubt he didn’t want to get into an extended brawling fight with them.

Dozens of bull-kin lay on the ground, mooing and crying out, unable to stand from the injuries he had inflicted.

More beasts came at him and Francis howled like a crazy person.

Stenson was right! I needed this!

Francis focused on fast attacks, trying to strike and injure, rather than looking to kill, but just main. He used Power Strike only when he had to, clearing a space from the horde that pressed against him. Minutes passed and the cacophony of mooing sounded like the greatest song Francis had ever created. 

Wolf-kin and cat-kin suddenly appeared before him, Francis’ charged had pushed deep enough into through the first lines of the beasts that no more bull-kin came at him.

A message popped up and Francis smiled.

[ Swordsmanship Increased - 54 ]

It had been a while since Francis had earned a point, and he would gladly take it. Each swing of his sword, every thrust was a chance to get stronger. 

The beasts weren’t a match for him now, even as they pressed upon him, surrounding him. Claws did nothing but draw small cuts when they pierced the armor Francis wore. Any beast that lunged forward with their jaws open, hoping to take a bite, pulled away, missing their head.

Animal parts littered the ground as Francis shouted and laughed. Lucan’s instructions were the only things on his mind.

Be fast… Be faster!

Francis’ sword glinted in the morning light, sending blood with every strike. He stuck to his plan, not going for kills unless it was required. All Francis needed to do was train and work out the frustration inside.

The ground shook and a roar came from the kingdom's army.

Beastkin began ignoring him, moving forward, headed toward the rushing army.

Those who got too close to Francis quickly found themselves out of the fight.

Movement came from the corner of his vision, and Francis spun, his shield deflecting the blades sent his way. Two roars sounded and he paused, seeing a pair of female catkin approaching him.

Each seemed taller than the one he remembered and for a moment, Francis hesitated, dodging, blocking and parrying the daggers they both sent. As one of the female cat-kins began to split, working to surround him on two sides.

That’s new…

Getting attacked on two sides by beasts like these wasn’t a good idea, so Francis feinted right and went left–using the horde of standard cat-kins and wolf-kins, trying to stay out of this fight–shields and victims. Every dagger that they threw at Francis was avoided or blocked, and the one he had charged seemed to realize Francis was stronger than it had expected.

Her attempts at fleeing failed, and even when she roared–a few of the beastkin near her tried to assist her escape–all fell to his sword. Francis ran her down and took off her head, ending the beast's life in a single strike.

Francis spun, searching for the other one, spotting it running away, vanishing into the horde of beastkin.

Roaring, Francis turned his frustration upon all the beasts near him, continuing his slaughter of creatures until a roar he recognized sounded. Once again, the mass of fur shifted away from hi,m and a rhino-kin appeared.

Francis sighed, seeing that the creature was similar to the one he had killed so many times.

Motioning at the beast with his weapon, Francis waited for it to charge, wanting to try a different style this time.

The rhino-kin’s horn ground against his shield as Francis blocked the attack, shifting his weight and absorbing the blow.

[ Shield Increased - 40 ]

Ignoring that notification, Francis went to work, his sword darting forward, creating puncture wounds as the rhino-kin turned and stood.

Francis dodged each swing of its leathery hand, lashing out and adding another injury to the creature.

Minutes passed and the beast began to slow, its front half and side riddled with hundreds of cuts.

The last few attacks the rhino-kin attempted held no power and no speed. Like a drunk swaying in the street as they walked, the rhino-kin staggered until its body finally gave out and it fell.

The beast was still alive, its chest rising and falling. Francis howled as he thrust his sword into the glossy eye that stared at him.

One last shiver came before it lay still and Francis turned, roaring at the army before him.

He realized there was a wider circle than usual around him and as soon as his opponent was dead, the roar, the one he would never forget, came from deep in the army.

Multiple other roars seemed to echo down through the beasts from different directions and Francis glanced around, realizing he had moved deeper than he had expected. Most of this army hadn’t moved out. If he had to guess by the spells he occasionally saw striking in the beastkin forces, they had yet to advance to the point of the seventh line of attackers his brother and he had been part of.

Laughing, he shouted, looking for what was to come. A few more moments passed before another beast came forward, one he had never faced.

The snake rose as it slithered toward him, and he froze.

Not from fear but from how it looked.

It stood easily nine feet tall, even when upon its tail and lower section, it had a thick upper body with muscles and arms Derrek would envy, covered in iridescent scales that changed colors. Two eyes, which were pitch black yet spoke of intelligence, stared at him as a tongue forked out from the elongated mouth, two large fangs protruding from the top. Its hands clenched and unclenched, and its clawed fingers seemed ready to gut him.

And then Francis almost crapped himself.

“Who dares challenge me?” it asked.

Its voice sounded exactly like he imagined what a snake that could talk would, and Francis tried not to laugh as the thought ran through his brain that this wasn’t some joke.

“You can talk!” Francis exclaimed.

“Of course! Now then, tell me your name so I can write it under the place where your head will rest!”

Shaking the trophy the beast hoped to collect, Francis smiled, twirling his sword before pointing it at the creature.

“Not going to happen,” Francis said. He didn’t waste any more words, not wanting to risk getting attacked by another beast or having someone in the king’s army decide this was a good place to send a spell.

Running toward it, Francis saw it slither to the side, raising both hands, each of them glowing.

Oh crap!

He sensed magic coming at him, but it was a kind he had never felt before. It was different from the ones the kingdom's mages or healers used. It felt and seemed… raw.

Instead of an actual thread, it was more like a solid stream of pure power, like someone had shot a geyser of green liquid at him. Both the physical form of the spell as well as the stream of power raced toward Francis.

Holding his shield out, Francis tried to block as much of the murky green substance as possible. At the same time, Francis willed his body to fight against the magic.

A hot, wet, sticky liquid sprayed off his shield, seeping in through his armor, and immediately began to burn.

[ Poison Resistance Failed ]

[ Poison Resistance Failed ]

[ Poison Resistance Increased - 15 ]

[ Magic Resistance increased - 13 ]

Multiple notifications flashed in the corner of his vision past those, but Francis ignored them, hearing a cry come from the lizard as the flow of whatever spell it had been casting halted. 

[ Magic Feedback Increased - 3 ]

Francis didn’t waste the opening; his body already resisting his desire to move. His muscles ached, and whatever kind of poison it was didn’t just cause them to stop working but also dissolve them.

The creature recovered as Francis swung, something white flashing from clawed fingers. His sword, instead of finding scales, struck a magical barrier that illuminated with each attack.

Over and over Francis swung his sword, thrusting and probing for a weak spot. He could sense how his body was already slowing down.

The pain was bearable as Pain Resistance mitigated so much of it, yet whatever kind of spell the snake had used for the initial attack, Francis knew time was his greatest enemy.

[ Deaths Dance Activated ]

Power began to surge within Francis, and he held back from showing it, not wanting to display it as the snake seemed to be smiling. Its fangs dripped a green liquid as it weaved around him, avoiding Francis’ weak strikes while sending out slashing attacks with its claws.

Francis’ sword kept striking the barrier the beast had summoned with its left arm, but it was unable to break or shatter it. Brute force wasn’t working, and he needed to save his skill until the right time, waiting for the final moments of Deaths Dance. Francis knew this fight would be the first of many agasint this creature and he wanted to find out what might work for future loops.

He thrust upward, downward, and at the snake's side. Every time Francis attacked, the snake moved its hand, the magical shield stopping his strike.

Power continued to swell within and Francis knew he was reaching the last third of his lifeforce. While he never knew how much damage he could truly sustain, being tortured by his sister had given him a good reference point for when Oidrun had called for heals. 

The snake seemed to be purring as it hissed, and Francis pounced when its guard appeared to be down.

After blocking it blocked an attack, Francis drove his shield upward and forward, using all the strength his ability granted as death drew near.

[ Power Strike ]

At the same time, Francis thrust downward, trying to get past the barrier, willing himself to be faster. The magical barrier shimmered as the creature blocked his sword, but it took his shield bash to its chest.

Scales shattered upon impact, and green liquid oozed from the wound.

Francis had shown his trump card, and those black eyes widened, its right fingers starting to glow again.

Roaring, Francis repeated the same thing, slamming his shield forward again, thrusting with his sword.

[ Power Strike ]

This time, the beast blocked Francis’ shield with its barrie,r and a loud crack came as the magical protection seemed to flicker. Francis’ sword struck true, impaling the snake in part of its lower body, sinking a few inches before the creature twisted away.

[ New Skill - Quick Attack - 1 ]

Francis wanted to laugh, and yet he couldn’t.

Another blast of the green liquid erupted from the snake's right hand and Francis didn’t have the health to survive it. His combination attack had left his shield out of position, yet even with death just seconds away, Francis pushed with everything in his being.

He knew why he was doing this. Francis was absolutely certain Stenson knew a moment like this would come. Not necessarily against this snake creature, but that Francis would be forced to accept death. Both Francis and the general knew he would go down fighting with everything he had.

Before Francis took the magical blast of green liquid to his face, he growled. “I’m going to kill you.”

[ Power Strike ]

[ Quick Attack ]

Francis’ blade darted down and then came upward as the snake moved its fingers to deflect his attack. Somehow, the skill allowed Francis to change everything about the attack, shifting his hips, torso, and arm. It wasn’t just a simple feint, but a true transformation of Francis’ entire being and approach.

The blade drove deep into the snake's chest, sliding between scales and sinking halfway in.

Both of them screamed before Francis’ world went dark.

A small request

Hey all!

I’m currently working on a webtoon for those who didn’t know. Also working on trying to get it as an original on webtoons.

If you havent and are willing, check it out. Maybe sign up and favorite it. If not, I understand, but I figured I would ask and ty!

https://www.webtoons.com/en/canvas/ultimate-level-1/list?title_no=1059077

Undying Blood - Chapter 63

Chapter 63

The sound of the morning bell rang.

"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"

Francis didn’t reply, simply sitting up slowly.

He couldn’t talk. His mind was struggling with what had happened and the notification before his eyes.

[ Magic Feedback Gained - Legendary ]

[ Magic Resistance - 12 ]

“You okay?” his brother asked. “You look like you’re drunk or… I don’t know. Still asleep?”

Francis nodded and smiled at Michael. “I’m good. Really good. Sorry, just thinking about someone.”

“Oh… is she pretty?”

“Well unless you're interested in Trina, who is your half-sister…” 

“Woooaah! Let’s stop that line of thinking right now,” Michael protested, holding up his hands. “How… why are you even thinking about her?”

“Weird dreams, and not those kinds,” Francis replied. “Just remembering that there is someone other than you that I love.”

His brother snorted and shrugged. “As long as I’m still the favorite, I guess I can let it slide. Now, hurry, we’re going to be late.”

Francis snorted and grabbed his boots, getting ready as he read the description.

[ Magic Feedback ( Legendary ) - This skill reflects magical spells back at the caster. A percentage of the damage is redirected and can cause the caster to suffer a negative effect, limiting or preventing casting. Feedback damage, chance, and time of negative effect increase as skill increases. Skill is always active unless the owner chooses to deactivate it. ]

Stenson is going to flip!

***

For the tenth time, Stenson cleared his throat, his jaw clenched tightly.

“Do you need me to get you something to drink?” Francis asked.

“No… it’s… I know that I would have assumed that in time, you would have acquired the Magic Resistance skill. Honestly, I’m a bit… surprised at how quickly you managed it in so few attempts. Did you discuss this technique with me last time?”

“Uh… maybe… yeah, I mentioned a certain trainer with a flair for pain,” Francis replied.

“Yes, Oidrun has a panache for that. Still, a legendary skill is… at your age… at any age, and all of this,” Stenson said, waving his hand at him. “Hard to take in. You’re on a path that seems far faster than I must have anticipated.”

“Still, someone tried to kill me,” Francis said. “I have four women to choose from and I think… well, I assume I know who it would be, but the truth is I don’t.”

“And they struck at the perfect time,” the general stated. “It’s not a coincidence that they waited until you had acknowledged that you had acquired the skill. I doubt it would have gone unnoticed but whoever sent them, your father, Avelis, or someone else. They were ready for that moment. The problem now is that when someone finds out you have the Magic Resistance skill, you will be a threat to every mage in the Spires. That’s even before they learn about the other.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me before?” Francis asked, flabbergasted at the new problem.

“I didn’t think you’d acquire it so soon!” Stenson protested. “No one does what Oidrun recommends! And if they do, they don’t do it every day for a week or more. People get tired of pain. You… you already have the skill and are higher than many who have acquired pain resistance. You keep forgetting that most of us don’t run headfirst into a battle and willingly suffer for it. None of us wants to die. And it appears I didn’t realize the true mental fortitude you have.”

Francis sighed. Suddenly, the whole training in the capital had just gone sideways. A single skill had changed everything.

“You mentioned a list of skills and we’ve talked about them some,” Francis said. “I think I’m getting close to the Quick Attack and may have figured out how to sense magic also. I think I might be able to figure it out completely in time. I know riposte comes next, then what?” 

Stenson leaned back in his chair. “Power Strike can turn into Crushing Blow. There is also the Flurry ability after Quick Attack. Most don’t acquire it, but Guarded Stance will be acquired if you focus on defense for a long time. Some try to do that one and Riposte at the same time but the records point to working on multiple skills being harder to achieve.

“Guarded Stance is powerful because you can get Iron Wall, which helps to defend against attacks for a bit. The real dangerous one every wants is Reflective Barrier but that one is rarely achieved.”

Stenson’s voice changed at the end.

“Is that the one that caused you to lose your arm?” Francis asked.

“Yes,” the general said softly. “I still can’t believe he had that ability. The truth is, most don’t believe or want to admit I have what I do. But most haven’t trained as long as I have.”

“Hundreds of years,” Francis said.

“Correct,” Stenson replied. “You’re already further ahead than most can fathom. That is why they believe you are a Chosen. Everyone would assume that at some point, one of the gods will inhabit you and you will become an Avatar, going forth and slaying our enemies.”

“And yet they want to strike me down before I do that,” Francis pointed out.

“Not everyone wants the war to end with us winning,” Stenson replied. “You already mentioned how Avelis reacted to that news. There is no secret; one side wants us to lose and is willing to let the kingdom and potentially the whole continent suffer to achieve that end.

“Then, toss in the fact that you would be an Avatar causes a shift in politics as well. While the gods often don’t involve themselves in those things, knowing there is an Avatar in the world would make some hold off on their plans, not wanting to draw their ire.”

“Such a stupid thought,” Francis said. “When’s the last time the gods have done anything? I mean, we’re here, and the only time I’ve seen their power is when that priestess killed me.”

Stenson nodded as he frowned.

“When the great war between the four kingdoms took place over a thousand years ago, the gods became involved. Records point to Avatars fighting other Avatars. The destruction they caused remains. While I know you have never seen the flatlands where the mountains all end and the four kingdoms are separated, there are almost a hundred miles of mountains still missing.

“One belief is that the gods have agreed, like the grandmasters, to stay out of most affairs since that day. Whatever gifts they’ve given us with our skills and abilities, no one has seen actual evidence of them beyond the priest or priestess occasionally channeling their presence.”

“So what?” Francis asked. “These new… beasts and whatever god or parasite or whatever the thing is that inhabited me… The priestess or god recognized it. How can they sit back and do nothing if they know it's here?”

“I’m not sure if they do,” Stenson replied. “I wanted to ask you at some point to go back to the tent and meet with the priestess but I also didn’t want to risk you and this ability. I’m just thinking that if they knew you had it from that moment, they would seek you every time you were reborn.”

“So, then the gods aren’t all knowing or all powerful… similar to the idea that Queen Auri mentioned.”

“It would appear they are not,” Stenson replied

“Now what? How do I deal with the spire?” Francis asked. “If I show up flaunting my legendary skill, I doubt I’ll survive long. But we both know I need to find a way to increase both it and the Magical Resistance while working on trying to acquire physical skills.”

“I’m hoping you’ll at some point also work toward the abilities of legends,” Stenson said. “Things long lost and believed not able to be gained anymore.”

Francis felt his heart quicken and leaned closer, saliva forming in his mouth at that thought. “Like what?” he asked.

Shaking his head, the general grimaced. “I’m not sure that in all the other times we’ve talked, I realized your resolve, Francis. To have endured the pain and agony it took to acquire Magical Resistance goes far beyond ordinary willpower. You set your mind to the task and suffered no matter the pain.

“That is the path you will have to take and all I know is there are moments in battle where one survives and death is just a breath away, where skills are gained. Stories speak of warriors who became grandmasters because they gained an ability that allowed them to continue a path others couldn’t walk.”

“Similar to my ability to come back to life?” Francis asked.

“No,” Stenson replied. “They could heal in battle or sometimes could form a… barrier or sorts by channeling their own life and mana together. No one knows the names of such things, but I believe you, Francis, might be the first to acquire one in thousands of years. You could… travel across the seas to the other side of our world and visit the places where creatures of legends live that we haven’t seen in thousands of years.”

Francis felt his mind struggling to absorb what he was hearing. “Wait, isn’t the world flat? Like the seas just end and they drop into a never-ending hole?”

The general’s laughter filled the tent as he shook his head, smiling.

“Forgive me… I… I forgot you haven’t had that education yet. No, Francis, there is more to this world than just our small piece of land. Consider for a moment if that were true, where does all the water come from that keeps our seas from running out?”

Francis frowned and tried to ignore the way he felt Stenson had mocked him, realizing that he had never considered that before.

“Uh… yeah, I guess that does make sense… but then what? I mean… I know there are a few other places like ours in the sea, but when you say world… that means what?”

Stenson stood and moved to a table, grabbing paper and a pencil. He sketched for a moment, pausing occasionally as he continued to work on his drawing.

“What are you waiting for? Get over here,” the older man said.

Quickly joining him, Francis stared at the circular shape on the paper.

“This is our world and this small area of land is the continent we live on. Over here are and here are the two other ones you most likely have heard of, right?”

Nodding slowly, Francis couldn’t take his eyes off the four different spheres the older man had drawn, and the crude shapes that were sketched upon them.

“This one is still traveled to if one heads east. But on this large section of land I’m talking about, men don’t go past this place anymore unless they desire to never be seen again. The last record of any ship reaching and returning from there dates back more than five thousand years.

“I’m a poor artist, but this shape is the only version I have ever seen,” Stenson continued. “King Baxter has a single map hanging in his private stud,y which is so old it rests in a magical box lest the very air destroy it.”

“But that place is like ten times larger than our land!” Francis exclaimed.

“And far more dangerous,” Stenson replied. “I won’t start to fill your head with things you’re not ready for and please do not ask your instructors about it. Discussing the war is a problem enough, but asking questions about this place isn’t often taught. If they have proven worthy of the knowledge, there is a chance someone at the Spires will .”

“Yet another way they keep it for the few,” Francis muttered. “So, what, you tell me this, why? I mean, you know I can’t reach it or talk about it.”

Stenson chuckled and took the paper, holding it over a flame and letting it burn close to his fingers before dropping it to the floor and stepping on it.

“To give you something to reach for, Francis,” the older man said, putting his hand on Francis’ shoulder. “You are so focused on the right now. Every day you think about just the obstacle before you. You want to save your brother, so you fight to find a way to save him. When you realized it was harder than you originally thought,  and you knew you needed help, you reached out to me.

“With the knowledge you now have of what is taking place behind the scenes, you threw yourself headfirst into getting the skill you think you need. But then what?” Stenson asked. “What comes next if you can’t die? What happens if the day comes, the war is over, your brother is safe, the kingdom finds a way to work together and you have achieved a place of greatness? Will you be continent to meditate in a cave somewhere? Start a family that grows old and dies while you live? Pick up a hobby or skill and master a crafting ability or perhaps magic?

Francis tried to think of something to say but he was stunned at how far the general seemed to be looking.

“And what happens when you do die?” Stenson continued. ”If you’re reborn and say a thousand years have passed, will you then have to repeat it all? Will your mind be able to handle that strain? If I’m honest, my mind struggles to comprehend how you have managed to stay sane and the only answer I can come up with is that you are short-sighted.”

“Did you just insult me?” Francis asked.

Shaking his head, Stenson sighed. “No. Sometimes, its best option is to attack what is right before us. A farmer planting a field must focus on getting the soil tilled and the seed in the ground. But he must also consider harvesting and keeping enough seeds for the next year. Then he must ensure that he rotates fields so that he doesn’t deplete the soil of all its nutrients. Sure, he could hire a mage to come and help infuse the ground, but that would be expensive.

“And what if a drought comes or a giant rainstorm that washes everything away? Did he prepare for the future by putting food away? Did he save money for those moments to purchase what his family needs to survive?”

Francis winced, clenching his eyes shut for a moment and rubbed them. “So… you want me to think about… what happens if I find a way to solve all the problems we’re trying to overcome? And what… plan for that?”

“No,” Stenson replied. “I want you to see that this world has other things for you to consider and perhaps pursue. I have no doubt you will visit the other three kingdoms eventually.”

Francis frowned. “Why would I want to go there?”

“Because of the kind of person you. You’ll realize that just defeating the enemy we face won’t be enough to stop the threat to us. Eventually, if a single kingdom falls, those beasts can focus on one or all three even more. Then what? You’re back to the same problem as before.”

Sighing, Francis nodded. It all made sense. He had been bashing his way through whatever stood before him and hearing the truth of how long this conflict would take sapped some of the joy out of acquiring those two new skills.

“Don’t be sad,” Stenson said. “Use this as another log in the fire inside you, Son. Know that if you… When you help defeat this threat for all the kingdoms, your name will be written down forever. Who knows what else you might achieve along the way.”

“But what if I finally defeat this one side and we can’t beat the other?” Francis asked, his soul feeling a momentary pang of despair. “I just keep dying and trying? Even if it takes a thousand deaths? Five thousand?  Is there a way to stop this loop from happening?”

Stenson shrugged.

“I’ve been fighting the same battle for a year now. Sure, it changes each time we go out and fight, but the truth is that life often repeats itself over and over. We live for the good moments and you, Francis, get to have more than anyone else. Maybe one day you’ll find a way to end the loops. I personally pray it doesn’t happen till you find the path that allows you to keep your brother safe and help defeat our enemies. But returning to the previous point, how did it feel when you got the Magic Resist skill?”

Francis closed his eyes, took a deep breath and then grinned, remembering how pumped he was at seeing the notification. “Yeah…” He said, trying to accept that Stenson couldn’t answer all of his questions. “I get it.  As for what it felt like… it was amazing.”

“And the Strong Bones or Pain Resistance?” Stenson asked.

Francis chuckled. “I get it… I do. Unlike everyone else, including you, I’m getting to enjoy moments most will never experience or hope to. Sure, there are some really painful and bad moments. Yet knowing I get to come back, attempt it again, all while trying to find a way to save Michael… I hear what you’re saying. So now what?”

The older man rubbed his chin and then grinned.

“Why don’t you go kill something?” Stenson said. “Take a quick break and just go wreak havoc in the enemy army. Shoot, you really want to have fun? I’ll get you outfitted and you can go before the first line of troops and approach an army alone!”

Francis coughed and saw that the general wasn’t joking. “For real? You want me to go out first? Without anyone else?”

“Want? Part of me does and part of me doesn’t. But ask yourself, Francis. Why not try? Imagine how much fun it will be the next time we talk after you die and you tell me how much I was either an idiot or a genius. Best of all you get a break from what you’re dealing with now. There’s a voice inside me that also wants me to tell you to try choosing a different path, maybe for a few deaths. If you really wanted it, I could write a letter to the Spires, where all you do is craft. It’s going to cause problems no matter what I send you over there for, but at least you could try something different.”

“Well, I have been kind of itching to kill something,” Francis said, grinning. “Besides Derrek and my father.”

Stenson roared with laughter. “Maybe that will help diminish that rage a little. So tell me, what do you want to do, Francis? Return to the Spires or go kill some beasts?”

Francis didn’t have to think about it. “Just as long as I get some good armor and a weapon, I’ll gladly go face the enemy alone.”

The older man nodded and motioned to the tent flap. “Come, let’s get you outfitted for a little fun.”

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 61

Miranna felt the darkness wrapping itself around her as she appeared on the 55th floor of the tower. This boss was supposed to be tougher than the others, and yet her group hadn’t had too much trouble making their way through the early 50th floors.

“It’s hard to see in here,” Vraxion said. “Even with my night vision, it’s as if this whole floor is causing it to struggle.”

“Bah, only a quarter moon too,” Thergar stated, pointing at the moon that was trying to hide above the clouds in the night sky. “The tower sure loves to be melodramatic.”

“We need to focus,” Miranna said. “I can’t see the boss yet. You know the plan.”

She studied the zone, seeing thin sheets of light that seemed to vanish from above on the base of the floor. Pillars, broken walls, and other shapes were all there, just hard to make out.

Twirling her two swords slowly, she motioned upward. 

“Shale, let’s see what you can tell us.”

Their dragon nodded and leapt upward, her red scales softly reflecting the moonlight as she soared into the air, now the size of a two-story house.

It’s dark down there… even from up here. Lots of shadows, broken buildings, and stones lying everywhere. I think I can see the boss about three hundred yards ahead of you all, but it’s like the darkness is trying to hide it.

Any other monsters or creatures you can see? Usually, the boss has help.

Miranna heard the scoff through their bond.

If there were any to see, I would have told you. Now, do you want me to stay up here or engage first?

Wait. We’ll follow the same plan as always. 

A slight warmth filled Miranna, and she knew Thergar had cast his buff on them.

“We’ll go in standard formation,” she said. “Vraxion gets the aggro, I’ll come assist, Vaelithrea, you toss a spell or two when it feels right, and Thergar, don’t let our warrior die.”

The dwarf grunted and shook his head. “It never gets funny, does it?”

Vraxion shook his head, the demon showing a small smile between the openings of his plated helm. “No, it does not.”

Miranna watched as nine feet of muscle and strength moved ahead of them. Their demon warrior who had a dry sense of humor, similar to Sog’s had his crystal shield out, and the sword her dad had made. The rest of his armor moved in silence. Even though it was plate armor and covered every inch of his hulking frame, the hodgepodge of colors seemed comical as their warrior took center, his boots smashing a stone he stepped on.

She could feel Shale Spark flying above, not needing to glance upward and know that her dragon was in position. Small glimpses of the moon on those red scales stood out.

Vaelithrea tapped her shoulder. “You’re going to cast the Frost Nova or Fire one first?”

“I’ll go, Frost,” Miranna replied. “I’d rather make sure we’re slowing it down before dealing a bunch of damage. You two stay behind me, I’ve got ya.”

Their mage chuckled, and Miranna glanced back at their healer, seeing him nod and start leading the two of them after Vraxion.

Slowly, they covered the dark ground, the shadows lessening slightly as they moved deeper along the tower floor, weaving between broken stone walls and stacked pillars. Vraxion kept the forty yards almost perfectly, stopping and waiting till he was in their line of sight and it was okay for them to proceed.

The amount of debris in the way started to lessen, and when they were right at the edge of about a hundred yards from the boss, Miranna saw it move.

It was tall, probably as tall as Vraxion, and had two long arms. It was like a shadow, all black and a weapon in each hand that seemed to absorb the light.

Their warrior shouted, jogging toward the boss that attacked him head-on. Sparks and the sound of metal connecting with something else filled the air.

It’s fast!

Miranna nodded, even though her dragon didn’t need her to reply. “Shale says it’s fast! Keep Vraxion topped up!”

Their healer didn’t bother replying as Miranna moved to join him, watching the demon’s health bar in the corner of her vision. It wasn’t going down, which was a good sign.

“It’s on me!” Vraxion called out. Their warrior roared after that, and Miranna felt the power of his intimidation ability wash over her. It didn’t seem to impact the boss, who danced around their warrior, a blur of darkness, blades striking at the armored tank.

She joined the fray, both swords glinting in the moonlight, trying to attack the boss as it flanked their tank.

[ Frost Nova ]

The spell rolled out from her, ice crystals sweeping around the ground. A few flecks of the ice seemed to stick to the boss’s feet for a moment, its dance slowing down. She swung, her blades missing completely.

The boss’s form seemed to shift, avoiding her strikes, and the sound of its blades striking Vraxion rang out. A grunt came from their warrior, yet his shield came around, connecting with the blur of shadows and stopping it for a moment.

[ Fire Nova ]

Flames radiated out around her, and Miranna watched as the boss tried to dodge over the wave of fire, and as it did, she struck, her left sword catching its leg.

The attack she landed felt like she had struck a stone wall. No blood was shed, no injury was shown, and the boss didn’t stumble. A pair of red eyes appeared in the darkness, staring at her. Miranna could sense a deep-seated hatred behind them.

A bolt of lightning came at that moment, illuminating the area, and the boss stumbled. That evil glare turned from her and looked back at where their mage was.

The boss vanished, a puff of smoke taking its place as Vraxion’s sword cut through empty air.

Vael—

Shale’s words were cut off as Miranna turned, seeing their mage standing there, a pair of glowing blades stuck from behind. One pair of red eyes grew brighter, the boss seeming to grow stronger, while the red eyes of their mage dimmed.

“NO!” Vraxion shouted, charging toward the boss who was pulling its blades free.

Miranna’s mind struggled with the truth of what she saw. Vaelithrea’s health bar was gone. There was nothing left. Her friend had just died. In a single attack.

She watched as the boss turned its attention toward Thergar, their healer. Miranna knew there was no way Vraxion would make it in time.

[ Haste ]

Miranna needed to thank Sog for his gift, the ring’s charge giving her the speed she needed. Like an arrow loosed from a bow, she flew toward her friend.

Two shields replaced her weapons as she placed herself between the incoming strike and the dwarf that stood there, unable to move or react. Miranna plowed into the boss, two blades striking the shields she carried, knocking it backward from the force that she charged with.

The boss slid off her, its blades coming for her when it stopped, turning and running behind her.

“On me!” Vraxion shouted. “Taunt—”

His words stopped as the sound of metal on metal rang out again, and Miranna turned, seeing that the boss’s blades moved faster than they had a moment ago.

This time, blood came quickly, and Vraxion’s health bar started to decrease at a noticeable pace.

“Poisoned!” their warrior cried out. 

“On it!” Thergar shouted.

Miranna ran back toward the fight, sensing Shale Spark coming down to join the fray.

A soft green glow covered their demon warrior, and when it did, Miranna tried to stop. 

“I—” Vraxion said.

But it was too late, another cloud of smoke came and Miranna spun, watching Thergar trying to block the blades that swung toward him.

The first two strikes bounced off the magical shield, and both warriors tried to get there in time, knowing it was down. There would be no other magical barrier.

A pained cry came as the boss struck again, black blades almost invisible in the darkness of the tower floor.

Miranna shouted, angry, hurt, and scared as their healer crumpled to the ground, the boss turning its gaze back on them. She prepared to strike, ready to get her pound of flesh for what the boss had done, when something slammed into her side, almost knocking the breath from her.

A pair of claws had grabbed her, and Miranna realized what Shale Spark was doing.

I need to get—

The dragon spun as quickly as it could, one warrior in tow, the other lying on the ground, unmoving, his head bent forward.

“Noooo!” Miranna shouted, trying to turn and twist to see where the boss and her friend were.

It’s too late, we need to go!

Vraxion! We need to—

He’s gone… look.

Shale Spark’s claw that held her turned, and Miranna felt her heart break. The warrior who had stood against everything was on his knees now. Two blades were slid into the back of his neck under the small ridge between the helm and the armor that covered his back.

Red eyes roared like suns, looking upward at them.

Everything changed in that second.

[ Escape Gem Used - Exiting ]

The darkness had been so overwhelming and oppressive and now the light of the day was blinding. The scent of bread and the sound of a city overwhelmed Miranna’s senses as she felt herself being jostled, moving upward.

No! Why did you leave?! We needed to—

We would have died.

Miranna wanted to argue; she wanted to state that it wasn’t true, but before her mind could reply to her dragon, she saw the city beneath her. She sensed the warmth of the sun. And yet none of it mattered. 

A figure flew at her, and a giant shape came right behind it.

“Star!”

Her father’s voice rang out, somehow reaching her before he did. Behind him was Rakonath, his giant silver body moving through the air.

For a moment, she was weightless, the claws that had held her vanished, and before Miranna could fall more than a few feet, arms wrapped around her, pulling her close.

“What’s wrong?!” her father cried out, holding her there, cradling her like a child.

She looked up, saw the pained expression he had. Miranna noticed above her father that Shale Spark was clutched between Rakonath’s claws.

“I… the boss…” Her words didn’t work. Try as she wanted to, Miranna couldn’t get her mind to say what needed to be said.

“The boss, it… killed them?” her dad asked softly.

Tears were her response as she nodded, feeling his arms wrap tighter. A pained roar rose from above.

“I wasn’t… strong… enough,” Miranna got out between the sobs.

Her heart shattered into a million pieces. 

Chapter 1 - The Creation of Arin

Hey all! Just a heads up.

A month ago or so I had an idea and couldn't get it out of my head.

So I wrote a few chapters. Occasionally I write a chapter here or there when my brain forces me to write something. I've got a few other chapters already written. I'll drop a few over the next week or so. Just a perk of potential things I'm cooking.

**************

Levi cradled the small glass container in his hands, excited for the moment that had finally arrived.

“You’ll do fine, just let your instincts guide you,” he whispered to the red slime he had created for the advanced alchemy studies class graduation project.

“Now remember,” Professor Thomas called out, holding up his hands to quiet the noise in the room. “We’re actively searching for those of you who have mastered the arts that have been taught over the last 12 years of your life. As you can see in the seats above you, there are many here who are interested in seeing what the sixty-four of you have developed and come up with. Even if you don’t make it that far, the fact that you have successfully created something that can survive outside the container you hold is more than most could ever imagine.”

With the white haired professor finally giving his speech, he motioned to the brackets displayed on the wall.

“Each of you prepare yourself! One shall rise to the top and with it an offer most here would give anything for.”

Cheers came from many of the students and applause rang out from the three hundred guests in attendance.

Levi’s gaze searched the stands, finally landing upon his grandmother and grandfather, both of them waving and cheering silently for him.

It’s been a hard life, but I’ve come this far! All I need to do is make it to the second or third round and I’ll easily get a job at any of the apothecaries or guild houses. Then I can take care of Grams and Gramps for all they’ve done for me.

Putting that thought out of his mind, Levi turned his attention to the brackets and found his first opponent's name listed under his.

“It looks like we’re going to be facing each other,” Liora Vance said as she slid in beside Levi. “You do realize we’re considered bottom of the barrel?”

“Says the woman with a family known for fighting,” Levi teased. “I mean you weren’t even supposed to be in the Flux tower based upon your martial prowess.  The fact you’re standing here in this group means something, doesn’t it?”

The redheaded woman shrugged and then motioned to her parents in the stands. Levi’s eyes studied the pair, same red hair as their daughter, green eyes that looked ready to turn someone to stone by the hard gaze they gave. Each wore the sun over a spear crest proudly on their chest, marking them as one of the noble families in attendance today.  Their outfits were worth more than Levi’s grandparents' probably made in a year, but he had gotten here through hard work and proof that he could learn and master most things in the alchemical world.

“My Father said he was proud but I could tell that Mother wasn’t too happy about me making it this far,” Liora said. “She would rather see me in the Viel tower. But as you said, being here does prove something and I’m ready to see if you’re going to beat me as always.”

“Hah,” Levi laughed. “You’ve occasionally won.” 

“Please,” she replied, reaching over and ruffling his unkempt brown mop of hair. “Everyone knows you’re going to make it to the third round at least. The only difference is you’re probably the only one in this tournament who actually followed the rules and made whatever you have in that jar of yours all on your own.”

“You admitting that you had help?” Levi asked, studying the small metal box she held in her hand. 

“Admitting? No…” Liora stated. “But… I might have been given some extra tutoring from a few individuals who owed my parents. Still, I did most of the work, but I’m not sure exactly what this thing is capable of.”

“Sixty seconds!” Professor Thomas called out. “Take your places at the small arena box setup for your bracket! And remember, handlers may not intervene inside the cube, but outside tapping or luring is permitted!”

“Come on,” Liora said. “We don’t want to be late, and I’m actually interested in finding out how all this works.”

Levi nodded and moved beside her, glad to have made a friend from someone most couldn’t believe a commoner like himself would ever do.  She had been a great friend since their 6th year at the Vyrdan Academy.  All it took was for him to remove a stain on her outfit from one of the other nobles, who had accidentally spilled a bright orange liquid they were carrying for no particular reason. After that, Liora had been his best friend.

“You two know the rules?” a class assistant asked.

Both of them nodded, each grinning as the student in his twenties and trying to find a place in the job market, sighed.

“Fine,” the man replied. “Deposit your creation in the small opening on each end. When the signal is given, I’ll open the doors and we’ll see if either of them has the ability to move or attack.”

“Good luck, Liora,” Levi said, holding out a hand.

She shook it and grinned. “Please, we both know I’m about to get my butt kicked and I’m okay with that. Just make it gentle.”

Laughing, Levi shrugged and moved to his side of the crystal arena box that each pair had.  It was a two-foot cube with a small six-inch loading area on the side.  Magical dampeners were said to protect the arena from catastrophic failure, although their effectiveness was not guaranteed.  

He lifted his glass jar to his face and tapped the outside gently. “Alright, Arin, let’s show them what you can do.”

“You named yours?” Liora asked as she set her metal box on top of the loading area. “Why would you do that?”

“You mean you didn’t?” Levi replied. “I mean… why wouldn’t I?”

His friend groaned as she shook her head. “Because you know what happens after the tournament. Everything gets destroyed and you… have a bleeding heart. How many cats have you–”

“It’s time,” the attendant said, letting a groan out as he listened to them chat. “Put your creations in the loading chamber, close the lid and let's see if I’m going to die of old age before something happens.”

Levi nodded, ignoring what Liora had said, not wanting to admit he wasn’t happy about the ones who destroyed everything that they created when all this was over. 

“Good luck, Arin,” he said once more before pulling the glass stopper and holding the bottle upside down.  Slowly, the red mass slid out of the jar and landed with a plop onto the crystal base. It immediately began to shift and move, almost as if it were inspecting its small enclosure. 

With a quick slide of the crystal covering, Levi stepped back and saw that Liora had a flaming slug-like creation that was about an inch long.

“What is that?” he asked.

“I believe the term is a Pyrocyst,” Liora replied, shrugging. “I call it a fire worm, but that’s not technically the term.”

“Please stand back,” the attendant said as he ensured both of their coverings were closed. 

The pair moved to stand shoulder to shoulder, eyes fixated on the box before them.

“Just a little help?” Levi whispered.

“Maybe a bit more,” Liora replied. “Still, I’ve no clue what it’s going to–”

A bell chimed and when it did the small crystal wall that had separated the main area of the arenas from the loading boxes slid upward. Immediately, Levi’s creation began moving into the larger area, its body seeming to half-roll or slide across the surface.

“Is that a slime?” Liora asked. “It looks like one.”

“A variation,” Levi said. “I took a few different samples of the slimes we keep in the lab, cut out sections and–”

“No… I didn’t want a lesson on what you did,” she sighed. “I was just asking if it was a slime.”

Sighing, he nodded. “Yes, Arin is a slime, but unlike the others we’re used to, he…”

Levi stopped talking as the Pyrocyst moved forward about a foot with blazing speed, a small trail of fire left behind as it shot out of its loading area. Two small antennas formed on its front and a flame wick shot forward, striking the red slime right in the middle.

Part of the outer edge of Arin sizzled and vanished from the intense heat but the ball of slime immediately moved sideways, probing around the crystal arena.

“It’s not able to find it,” Liora said. “Doesn’t it have eyes?”

Levi grinned and raised his eyebrows playfully. “Just watch, you’ll see.”

As he spoke, the Pyrocyst turned slowly, seeming to struggle to move sideways compared to its fast forward movement.  The red slime, Arin, rolled around the box, approaching the fire slug that was trying to turn, but wasn’t able to maneuver as the slime could.

Once again, the Pyrocyst shot forward, putting itself into a corner of the crystal arena.  The attendant let out a grunt, frowning as he watched on.

“I take it that’s bad?” Liora asked.

The man nodded. “I’m afraid you’re going to lose, Mrs Vance. Look, your creation can’t turn and has just put itself in a corner.”

Every word the attendant had said was true.  The fire slug was attempting to turn but was having trouble doing so. Arin had no problem shifting the way it moved without delay and soon came up from behind.

Flames ignited all over the Pyrocyst’s body, causing the red slime to stop its approach. After about ten seconds, the flames died down and Arin rolled on top of it. Immediately, the fire slug began to have bubbles rising from its body as the acidic nature of Levi’s creation broke down the Pyrocyst and soon dissolved it completely. As it did so, the red color of the slime seemed to darken a moment before returning to normal.

“I… lost,” Liora feigned surprise, holding the back of her hand against her forehead. “Whatever shall I do?”

Levi groaned and held out his hand, shaking hers and smiled. “You know if I had to kick someone’s butt first, I’d rather it be you,” he teased. 

“True… but the good news is I can sit in the stands now with my parents and listen to my mother complain about how I lost to a commoner.”

“She still can’t see past that, can she?” Levi asked.

Liora’s face couldn’t hide the frown he had seen her wear too many times. “No… My father isn’t as concerned with it, but she has high hopes for me and a few prospects in the coming years I’ll need to consider. But…”

Liora wrapped Levi in a hug and then pulled back a second later. “Go kick their butts,” she said.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” he said, feeling his cheeks redden. 

“That’s what friends are for,” she replied, making her way toward the stairs that led up to the stands. “Good luck!”

He watched as she walked away, her Academy outfit with its tan and red colors quickly vanishing amongst the other students who were leaving the floor.

“Do you need help collecting your creation?” the attendant asked.

“Oh, no, I’m good,” Levi said.  He moved to the area his slime had started and pulled out a moldy piece of bread from a pocket.  Tapping the crystal near it a few times, he called his creation. “Arin… here you go. A treat.”

The red slime appeared to bounce a few times before rolling toward the staging area and quickly moving on top of the bread, the piece starting to dissolve immediately.

Levi took another piece of moldy bread and put it inside his jar.  He then put a translucent glove over his right hand and set it next to the slime.

“Arin, one more snack. Back to your home.”

It looked like the slime was not going to do anything but after a few seconds, it rolled onto his hand, where Arin was quickly lifted to the open jar and placed inside, claiming the piece of bread as another victory treat.

“You… trained that?” the attendant asked, his eyes widening. “How… slimes aren’t… well, they respond to foo,d but they’re not known for being very intelligent.”

“Do you want the short version or the long one that my friend turned down?” Levi asked.

The man chuckled and shook his head. “Maybe you can tell me tomorrow. We’re about to start the next matches in a few and you’ll need to head over and see who your opponent is. Congrats, by the way. Very ingenious.”

Levi gave a mock bow and smiled. “I’d take all the credit but it’s Arin more than it is me.”

Undying Blood - Chapter 62

Chapter 62

Francis willed his body to fight against the magical thread. 

As the lightning coursed through him, causing his muscles to tense, Francis pushed back, clenching everything even tighter. His teeth ground against each other as he fought with all he had.

He could feel it, see and sense the thread having to work harder to exert its destructive magic. Every second was a battle, and Francis was finally starting to see a chance at victory.

Dozens of attempts since the talk he and Trina had passed, and yet, for the first time, Francis believed this was the path.

Oidrun had no advice to give. The manuals that were kept locked away weren’t going to be shared for one of his birth rank. Those who spoke of secrets or techniques had no answers about how one gained these skills other than rumors of enduring training like this. Every defensive or resistance skill, it seemed, required some form of pain. Acquiring one required an individual to stand up and endure whatever it was they sought to overcome.

Pain Resistance had come from all the abuse he had faced against those beasts.

Strong bones had been earned by allowing himself to endure the crushing blows of Cutter’s fists.

Even the Poison Resistance had been won through enduring being stabbed repeatedly by a poisoned blade..

Francis had overcome each of them without knowing what was possible. This time was different. 

Another spell barrage came and then another. Francis felt the magic doing less damage. It might not be physically noticeable on the outside, but he could feel that it was not able to penetrate as deep as the earlier spells. It was almost as if his body rejected the magic.

Francis’ mind formed a wall, pushed out from his core, and into his muscles and bones. It was like learning to block Cutter’s fists with his arms, enduring the pain, knowing what would happen and that he needed to learn to endure it.

“HEAL!” Oidrun called out.

Francis wanted to beg them not to stop, to let the pain and suffering continue. He was close and he knew it.

“We’re almost done!” Oidrun shouted. “Five, maybe six heals left!”

Those words felt cheap. They felt hollow.

“I gained another point,” Trina called out. 

It was like someone stuck a knife in his gut. She was so close. 

Two more and she’ll be free to choose whatever she wants to do… 

Applause and cheers rang out and Francis turned, clapping himself and smiling at her.

She didn’t cringe like the others who saw him. The four mages who followed like ducklings barely glanced at him. Francis believed all they saw was a crazy man. A ninth son who wasn’t worthy of being here other than to provide skill gains for his sister. Francis felt they considered him trash, and each would end his life if his value to Trina ended. Especially the newest one. Something about her was off. Her hair was cut short, unlike the others who often kept it long.

She felt different. She felt dangerous. Those black eyes of hers watched him with a predatory gaze.

It reminded him of a night he and Michael had been camping between towns, lying near their fire when a scream sounded out in the woods. Both of them had bolted up, grabbing a stick and igniting it.

From the darkness emerged a puma, eyes reflecting the flames. It had screamed dozens of times, trying to force them to run. To flee the safety of the fire. All night it had stalked them, and both were exhausted the next morning when it finally took off.

All the beast had needed was a moment it felt it could attack.

Her eyes were just like that.

“Add three seconds!” Francis shouted.

“No!” Oidrun exclaimed, moving toward him. “It’s too much! Francis, you don’t understand the risk–”

“I do.” His voice was firm.

One eye locked with his, and they stood there, separated by the burnt, frozen, wet slush of his body that had been torn free.

“I understand the risk,” Francis said. “Every day, I know what I am risking. Look around us. Each healer and my sister knows it. They come because they risk something to be here as well. Just like you do. I know you risked a great deal to let me do this. So don’t tell me I don’t understand.” Francis stood there, still feeling power inside him as the strength given from Deaths Dance faded away.

“You risk permanent damage,” Oidrun said. “Things that cannot be healed, like your mind. Another day and you could–”

“Another day may not come,” Francis stated, moving to the edge of the carnage, looking up at the towering man. “You can see the ones amongst us who wish for me to fail. Those who wish for me to die. It’s obvious to those who know what to look for, and we both know you do.”

Oidrun gave the tiniest bob of his head. “Which is why you should tread carefully. A small push could… kill you.”

Francis spoke the truest words he knew beyond the love for his brother. “I do not fear dying.”

Oidrun’s one eye blinked a few times, and the man who had encouraged this training started to smile. His massive hand reached out and touched Francis’s bloody shoulder and squeezed. “I know. You are a true warrior. Four more. Three seconds longer. I cannot promise the healers will be able to do it a fifth time.”

Francis gave a simple nod and turned, letting the hand slide off his slick skin.

“Three more seconds, Trina,” Francis said. “Don’t hold back.”

“Francis…”

Her voice faltered, and for the first time he could remember, there was a sense of tightness in it. He paused and turned, looking at her face, seeing her jaw muscles clenching and relaxing.

“I love you,” she said.

So many times in his life, Francis had been struck by weapons. He had been beaten to death, killed by his father. Pain was a constant thing. Yet the blow that struck his chest in that moment hit with more force than any of them.

His legs felt weak and strong at the same time. And then he felt it. 

Not a single tear had fallen through all this pain and suffering. Now, however, a tear formed, rolling down his cheek. “I know. I love you too. We’ll accomplish this together.”

Her lips flinched, and she nodded. The rest of the courtyard was silent as they looked at each other for a second before he turned.

“Three more seconds. Use lightning on all these,” Francis said.

No reply came, but he knew she would do as he asked.

Francis moved to the spot where he had been standing. There was a blank space on the stone compared to everywhere else. Some blood had seeped into where he had always stood, but this was his spot. This was his place.

This was his crucible. 

Closing his eyes, Francis focused and held up his thumb. “Ready.”

It came. 

The thread attacked, tiny strands started to splinter right before it struck him. He willed every part of him to resist. It was there, and for a second, he thought he had it, thought it would stop, but the threads ran around the barrier he made in his mind and body. It wormed its way through holes in his defenses. Each strand attack and Francis focused on the ones he could, blocking their path, cutting them off.

It was agony and yet there was no pain.

His body felt alive as his skill sent strength through him.

[ Deaths Dance Activated ]

It allowed him to fight harder and cut off more strands. Each second was a boon as his body roared with the gift of fighting back. Dozens of tiny threads were stopped; more weren’t allowed in.

“HEAL! NOW!” Oidrun’s voice echoed off the stone walls.

Francis wanted to shout and roar, but his voice wouldn’t work even though he felt like he could climb a mountain. Relief washed over him like a spring shower, taking with it the blessing he felt.

[ Deaths Dance Increased - 5 ]

His body returned to normal, and Francis panted, breathing hard, feeling the truth of how close that had come.

“Francis…” his trainer said.

“No. Again.”

Oidrun grunted but didn’t argue.

Steadying himself, Francis prepared and gave the thumbs up. “Ready.”

He pounced on the thread; his body seemed to understand how it would attack. Francis was learning the pattern like parrying jabs, uppercuts, and standard punches from Cutter. He could see and feel how it worked. Even through the chaos of magic, it had a pattern.

Threads always moved and twisted, yet they were connected. He was an idiot.

Trying to stop a hundred tiny strands was impossible. For one to do that seemed like trying to kill every beast in an army on their own. The truth was you needed to cut off the head of the army. Then the rest would fall.

So Francis attacked the source. Choosing to let the tiny threads damage him, Francis assaulted the main one with his will. His skin served as the tool that fought back against the thread, bashing into the thick strand that splintered.

Francis felt the sensation of doing what needed to be done. Trina had been right. He had to fight his way out.

So, he swung with his willpower, punching and kicking against the magic that tried to electrocute his body. Every part of him roared to life when his skill became active and the flow felt as if it had reached a tipping point. The convulsions lessened, and fewer tiny threads existed. Now it was just one strand fighting against Francis, sending out the smaller ones to try and get past his attack.

It still hurt, but the spell lost some of its power.

[ Magic Resistance Gained - Rare ]

[ Magic Resistance - 8 ]

Francis’ mind faltered a moment, and the offense he was creating lagged. The thread assaulted him with renewed vigor, but even as it struck, all the tiny threads piercing into his body, the damage they did was less. His flesh had learned to fight against it.

“HEAL!” Oidrun called out.

Francis stood there, panting, overjoyed and dumbfounded.

Coolness came and his breathing got easier.

“Francis.” He turned and saw Trina looking at him.

When did she move there?

She was standing at the spot where they always spoke.

Without waiting, he joined her, feeling the threads wash over him as she cast her bubble of silence.

“What were you doing? Just then?” Trina asked.

“Uh… what do you mean?”

“My magic. It felt… like you were,” she paused, tapping her chin and frowning. “I could feel it. Inside me. Like feedback or unraveling. There are lessons taught on how combat works against another mage, and what you did was similar to that and yet different. Do you think you can do it again?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed.

“Good,” Trina said. “And congrats on acquiring Magic Resistance.”

His head snapped back and his jaw dropped as he stared at his sister, her face a blank slate as always.

“How… how did you know?” Francis asked.

“I could tell. I’ve used the same spell on you hundreds of times. It changed near the end. Not just in what I felt, but how it affected you. Besides, you weren’t injured as much as you were before. That alone is proof you resisted a good bit of damage.”

He wanted to hug her, wanted to reach out across the few feet and wrap her in his bloody arms, yet he didn’t. Instead, he bowed.

“I am grateful for you, Trina Lancaster. You are the noblest of nobles within your house.”

“It is true,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Now let’s finish this up. I have studying to do.”

She turned and walked away, leaving him bent over slightly and looking like a fool.

“Two more!” Oidrun announced as Francis made his way back, shaking his head, smiling to himself.

[ Magic Resistance ( Rare ) - This skill mitigates the magical damage the user takes from any magical attack. Strong enough levels of Resistance can allow the user to nullify all magical damage. The skill decreases the speed of damage done via magical methods. The current rank of the magical skill & power of the offensive spell assaulting the user will also determine if Magical Resistance has any chance of decreasing the damage done. ]

Another round passed and Francis fought back harder than before, now understanding some of what he was doing and how it worked best.

[ Pain Resistance Increased - 35 ]

[ Magic Resistance Increased - 12 ]

“HEAL!”

Francis felt alive. His body tingled but not from the lightning that had been coursing through it. He had gained twelve points in two spells. Every death, every injury, each loop was for a purpose, and this one felt sweeter in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Boy! Did you get what I think you did?” Oidrun’s question had the whole place go silent as the healer did their job, standing in the viscera around him.

“Perhaps,” Francis called out.

“Well done! Well, fucking done! Finally, we can stop this and–”

“No! One more!” Francis shouted. “You said it yourself. The healers are here and I can see if I can squeeze out another point. Besides, I want Trina to use the original starting power. I want to see if I can feel a difference.”

Laughter echoed over the applause of the healers and Oidrun nodded his head.

“Foolish and headstrong. I love it. One more! Let’s get Mr. Lancaster another point!”

Francis turned, smiling as he set his feet and prepared for one last go. “Ready!”

The lightning came. The thread was thicker, and Francis fought against it with all his might. He slammed his will, his entire being, against the strand. Smaller threads came, each of them also thicker, and Francis endured the pain of it all, lashing out at the spell.

[ Deaths Dance Activated ]

Resistance or not, the extra mana or power Trina poured into it was increasing the damage the spell did, but Francis’ new strength helped him fight even harder. Once again, he reached a stalemate, holding it back as he felt the balance tipping slightly.

And then he sensed another thread of magic. It was four times the size of the one he was currently fighting, dark and twisted.

His mind ignored the lightning, slamming everything he had into it.

Pain blossomed in a different way as his bones seemed to melt.

Deaths Dance roared with power as his body and life reached their absolute limits.

Taking all that power, he directed it back at the spell that sought to kill him.

A scream came as his life flickered out. It wasn’t his. It had sounded feminine.

A single notification appeared before the world went dark.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 60

Cordellia touched another bush that was overgrown and not taken care of. 

This is the eighth one on this path. Who is failing at their job?

She stood up, and scanned the section of the forest, seeing that Alarin was correct in his assessment of the area. “Tell me, Alarin, how many other areas are like this?” 

Her herald glanced down at the roll of parchment and scanned a few lines. “Based on the knowledge I have, you’re looking at at least a hundred acres, possibly a hundred and twenty-five that are like this. It gets much worse in the area near the level fifteen dungeon.”

“And why are they not clearing this space? Has Naelith given them the order not to?”

“She has not,” Alarin replied. “In fact, she reached out to me asking that I notify you of this, as there have been some changes in your people these last few years.”

Cordellia frowned and nodded. She had sensed it, seen it, and thought it was a phase. Now she knew it wasn’t.

Something has to be wrong… I’ve given them everything they need to grow and be successful… Why are they so lazy now?

She pointed in the direction of the Embergrove. “I’ll meet you there in a little bit. I want to see how bad this has gotten.”

Alarin nodded and vanished a moment later, the white disc that appeared under him taking him away.

Cordellia started running, dodging trees and weaving between the overgrown sections of the forest. Her world flew past her eyes as she ran so fast that creatures couldn’t react to her approach or departure. Everywhere she looked the forest had become overgrown. As she neared the border of the dungeon, a pack of wolves appeared.

Without any effort her blade appeared, slicing through the three of them, ending their life and still moving before the wolves even knew they were dead.

More packs appeared, and the density of creatures that were spilling out from the dungeon meant that no one had come and cleared it in a while.

It’s not an event or something else causing it… just my children not doing what they’re supposed to.

Cordellia spent a few minutes eradicating the presence of the wolves over a few miles, thinning the threat to whoever might venture out here. If anyone actually ventured out here.

***

“I have tried to encourage them to be productive,” Naelith said, pointing at the different groups of elves who lounged by the stream that ran through the capital. “None of them care. It seems like every day this sickness of apathy or whatever this is spreads. Most of the older elves are immune to it, but the younger ones seem most likely to catch it.”

Cordellia grunted as the queen of her people took the list she handed back, detailing the different things that had been attempted. 

“And all they do is gather and fool around?” Cordellia asked. 

“Yes,” Naelith replied. “They’ll wander to the food court or into one of the wine halls, fill themselves, and then return to the hole where they have wallowed in the forest. You can see that some of them have gotten… thicker.”

Cordellia’s fingers drummed along the wooden rail, seeing strewn cups and plates littered around the edge of the water. Rage boiled inside her, and she wanted to go down there and slap some sense into them, but Alarin’s warning held her back.

“I see… Let me ask for some advice, and then I shall return.”

Naelith bowed and moved to join her herald, the two of them discussing some other options.

Alarin knows the answer… None of the other kingdoms has this problem except mine.

Without wasting another second, she used her transport ability, returning to their meeting room and preparing to find the one person who could help her.

***

“You’re too soft on them,” Sog said after only watching the elves below for half a minute. “Why do you keep feeding them and giving them a drink if they don’t do anything?”

“I’m sorry, what should I do? Not feed them? Let them starve?” Cordellia asked, her cheeks feeling warmer. “They’re my people! I’m responsible for them.”

“And yet you coddle them like a baby,” Sog replied. “If one doesn’t make a child crawl, they’ll never learn to walk, and your elves don’t have to do either. Look, here comes an elf now with a tray full of drinks. Why are they bringing those who do nothing wine?”

“Because…” Cordellia’s voice stopped working as she acknowledged that Sog was right. Inside her broke. She had wanted them not to experience pain or hardship. She wanted her people to enjoy safety. Everything she had done was to ensure their lives were as easy as possible. And now, those who fully embraced that reality weren’t contributing at all.

“Are you telling me I have to force them to do something to eat or drink?” she asked. “Is that all I have to do to fix this?”

Sog shook his head and chuckled once. “Yes and no. There is no simple solution. You can offer them food and drink, but make it be water and just bread. If they want to eat and enjoy the wine, they need to show proof of actual work. If no one clears that forest, you may have some of your children die because it wasn’t maintained. Whose fault would that lie upon?” 

He turned and pointed at Naelith, who was down below, having a conversation with a trio of elves that appeared thicker than the rest. 

“You’ve bound her to rules that don’t allow her to rule,” Sog said. “When is the last time she’s disciplined someone?”

“Naelith’s never had to discipline someone,” Cordellia replied. 

“And that’s the problem right there,” Sog stated. He dismissed the chain armor he wore over his chest and turned around, displaying scars that traced across his back. They were tiny, barely there along his black skin, but he knew she would be able to see them. “I bear the marks for the first major offense my people made. Their actions were a direct result of my actions. So I took the first stripes, and do you want to know how many demons have been whipped since then?”

“None?”

Sog laughed and equipped his armor again, turning around, shaking his head the entire time. “Wrong. Over thirty times. Do you know why? Because my people push against rules. They want the easy life, and so they will be stupid and do the very thing they know will get them in trouble. Ask Max or Tanila how many of their people have been punished. I believe that number is over a hundred.”

The large demon leaned in, and his smile grew before he spoke. “Talk to Rakonath. Four dragons have felt the sting of punishment. None is immune to it. Not even the great dragons who boast about their wisdom,” Sog declared. “Like all other creatures, they desired themselves first and didn’t do what was required. Unlike you, the other gods have given their kings and queens the power to resolve these problems. You haven’t.”

Cordellia took a step back. She wanted to glare at Sog but couldn’t. Her mind told her everything he said was on point. She took a deep breath and moved to the rail, looking down again at her queen, who wasn’t having any luck convincing the trio to move.

“So what? I just whip them, and it will change?”

“No… that isn’t how it works,” Sog replied. “You have to figure out the right consequences for their actions. Do you whip a child for telling a lie? Or do you simply explain the consequences and teach them the right way? Better yet, what if one of your people kills another? Do you do nothing?”

“Of course not,” Cordellia grunted. “None of those things is the same.”

“Exactly,” Sog said. “You have to find what works based on the laws you set. Sharazael doesn’t whip every demon who breaks a rule. She employs a range of strategies to discourage the offender and others from following suit. I cannot just give you a list of what to do, but you must figure that out on your own. All I can do is give this warning.” 

He paused, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “What I did just now is center myself. I let the rage and anger I might have vanish. So now when I must decide on how to correct someone it’s done through a mindset with wisdom and not anger.” Sog pointed a finger at her. “You’re the one who taught me how to center myself. You helped me change the way I wanted to find pleasure. Do I still sometimes struggle with wanting to gamble and the thrill of it? Yes! But I also remember the cost of my actions. I temper myself, center myself, and think about the consequences.”

Cordellia stood there a moment, her eyes aching as she tried to let the frustration she felt go away. Seeing the forest and how it wasn’t cared for, watching her people abuse her love, all made her furious.

“Breathe, slowly,” Sog said, his hand slowly coming and touching her arm. “Let it go. If you need to cry before you can, I’m here.”

Cordellia laughed and then covered her mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“No, you’re fine,” Sog replied, smiling. “I know I’m not the first choice most make when they think about needing a hug or crying over something. But even if I’m not the first choice, I’m okay being your last choice if it means you still come and do what you need to.”

Cordellia tapped her chest with her free hand and nodded. “It hurts… so much… I gave everything and they just… take it without seeing why I did what I did.”

Sog nodded and squeezed her shoulder. “I understand. I grew up in a world of taking what you wanted by force. Thankfully, I had someone who taught me a different path. Am I perfect? No… but I’m trying to be better. We’re all learning this god thing. Max, Tanila, Fowl, Batrire, Rakonath, they’ll all tell you they’re not perfect. I think that’s why the system gave us Jazzjak… or well, Alarin, in this case.”

She stood there, frowning, when a cough came from behind. Glancing over her shoulder, Cordellia saw Alarin standing there, hands behind his back and a small grin on his face.

“What’s so funny?” Cordellia asked.

“Nothing,” Alarin replied. “Just smiling at how much Sog has changed. You do realize he’s right though.”

“About?” 

Her herald tapped his chest. “About me. I’m here to help you. I want you to succeed for selfish and non-selfish reasons. Could I have told you what you were doing wrong seven or eight years ago when I started to see this happen? Sure. But that wouldn’t have been the right moment for you to learn the lesson you just learned.”

“And what lesson is that?” she asked.

“That you can’t set something in motion and expect it to hit the mark you were aiming for without nudging it along the way,” Alarin said. “Every god… Every god hits this problem. They come in with ideas, thoughts, beliefs, or whatever you want to call it, and expect it to be perfect. The world you came from had problems. All of you commented on that. Only one race seemed to have it better than the rest, but it wasn’t perfect.

“How old are those gods Max talked about? 500,000 years. If you get a chance to talk with them when you reach the Archons, ask them how many times they have had to adjust the worlds they create.”

“So do I need to do what Sog recommended?” Cordellia asked.

Alarin shrugged. “You need to do something, and some of the advice he gave you rings true. I’m not here to say do this because if it goes wrong, I get blamed for it. All I can do is offer advice and help show you what is going wrong. I’ve shown you. You’ve seen it. Now the question is, are you going to fix it, or is it going to continue to get worse?”

“And it won’t get fixed overnight,” Sog said. “Trust me. It takes time to change the hearts and desires of your people, especially after you’ve planted a seed in it.”

Cordellia groaned and rolled her eyes at the demon who smiled back at her.

“What? Don’t like it when someone uses one of your analogies?” Sog teased.

“Am I that bad?” she asked.

Sog’s and Alarin’s laughter filled the canopy, ringing out through the forest.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 59

It took a few minutes before his sister let go of him, her eyes wet from all the tears she had allowed to flow.

“You did it!” she exclaimed. “You beat it… does that mean anyone who defeats the tower can come back?”

Max winced and shook his head. “I’m… not supposed to be here. I need to leave soon before I cause problems, and none of you can tell anyone I came.”

“What? Why can’t I tell—”

“The system,” Max said, interrupting her. “Phaius or I might get punished. I don’t have long. I just… needed to see you all.”

“How long has it been?” his dad asked. “Over forty years and you haven’t aged a day. Your mother and I…”

His father paused, turning his head to look at the woman lying in the bed.

“How is she?” Max asked, a pit in his stomach rising.

Stacy cleared her throat, wrapping her arm around his and led Max to the side she had been sitting on. “Mom’s nearing the end. I offered some healing. She said no. She was ready. All these grandkids were more than she could hope for.”

A smile appeared on both his sister’s and dad’s faces at those words.

Max freed his arm and moved to kneel by the bed, reaching out and gently holding his mother’s hand. It felt so cold, the veins showing through her skin. Her hand was mostly bones, all the padding and muscle gone. Yet it filled Max with a warmth that went beyond physical things.

I’m sorry, Max. I really am.

Thank you.

Bob’s words helped him to stand strong against the storm that wanted to overwhelm him.

Max slowly rubbed his thumb against her skin.

“I’m here, Mom. I missed you.”

A trickle of power flowed from inside him, and Max immediately knew what Bob had done.

Death Magic?!

It is the only way I could do what I just did.

His mother’s eyes twitched, and she let out a small groan. Max could sense his father and sister shifting, each of them drawing closer to the bed.

“Maaax?” his mother got out, her voice weak. “Is… is it really you?”

“It’s me, Mom,” Max said, struggling to keep his voice calm. “I’m here. I beat the tower. I came back to tell you I love you.”

Her head tilted toward him, the eyelids slowly opening as they broke the small mucus that had hardened over them. A wet washcloth was put on them gently by his sister, and when she removed it, Max saw his mother staring at him.

“My boy… it can’t be… is this a dream? You haven’t aged.”

“No, Mom, it’s me,” Max said, leaning close and gently brushing her hair with his hand. “The gods were kind. They let me come and say goodbye. To tell you I’m okay and that I love you.”

He leaned closer, kissing her head before whispering in her ear. “You have another grandchild. A girl. Miranna. She’s amazing, just like you.”

A small gasp came, and then his mother somehow smiled. “Oh, Max… my boy!” She tried to lift her hand, so Max helped her, bringing it to his face as she cupped it. “I miss your hair… such fine hair.”

Laughter filled the room as his sister, father, and Max all chuckled between the tears. 

“It was good hair, but Tanila likes me without.”

“That’s good,” his mother said, voice weakening some. “Tell her… I always liked her… tell my granddaughter… to be… strong… like you…”

Max felt the life starting to fade from his mother. Her eyes struggled to stay open, and her lips opened and closed, her breathing becoming labored again.

I cannot do that again without drawing attention from the system.

Thank you, Bob… for more than I can ever tell you.

Max cried, squeezing his mother’s hand against his as she fell back asleep. Every part of him ached, and yet he felt like he had been blessed with something he never knew he needed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t force you to say goodbye,” Max whispered, kissing his mother’s hand. “I shouldn’t have let you have your way.”

“It’s okay, son,” his dad said. “She didn’t regret much… that was one of them. Her pride and her heart hurt too much to see you go. She was afraid you’d never return. Like the day they took you away from us.”

Max nodded and kissed his mother’s hand once more before slowly rising.

He turned and saw that his sister had the same problem he had right now. Both of their eyes leaked, and he grabbed her, pulling her close and enjoying the moment.

You need to hurry. I can sense something… It’s faint, but the system… It felt what I did.

Max sighed, pushing his sister back, looking into her eyes. “I have to go. Like now. The system knows. I love you, sis. Thank you for taking care of them and for being the woman you are.”

She sniffed and nodded. “You can’t stay? See Callie? She—”

Max…

Bob’s word rang true. He felt a buildup of some kind coming toward them.

“I can’t… It’s coming, I have to go!”

He moved from his sister who held out a hand toward him but didn’t chase.

“I love you two. Always know that!”

[ System Travel - Planetary ]

He felt the portal take him, a presence of some kind growing larger as words came.

“I love you, son! Thank you for—”

The noise of a chair shifting was the first thing Max heard. The next was footsteps coming across the stone tiles. He opened his arms, turning, and felt Tanila press herself against him, meeting his embrace.

“What’s wrong, Max?” she asked. “Your face.”

He nodded and sniffed, knowing she would be waiting for him in their room. “Long story but a good one. Can we sit? I need a moment.”

***

Tanila continued to run her fingernails against his scalp. For all the power Max held and the creatures he had defeated, this moment was one he wouldn’t trade for the world. Lying against her chest, one of her arms wrapped around him, the other massaging his scalp, Max set himself for what was going to take place soon.

“I forget how fast time has flown by,” Tanila whispered. “Just the other day, our Star was born. Now she’s supposed to enter the last dungeon before she and the rest of her group enter the tower. Can you believe it?”

Max nodded. “I can. For a little bit, I wished I had more time to stay there and talk. To see my niece and her children. Even to talk to Caleb… what a story that must be. Yet now, I realize it’s better I didn’t. What I need to focus on is this world and everyone on it.”

He sat up slowly, smiling at her as he shifted on the bed. “You and I are forever. Our daughter is forever. Those crazy other five gods in our world, they’re ours forever. Even Jazzjak, I hope, is forever.”

Max cleared his throat and then shook his head. “What we have to realize, though, is our people aren’t. At some point, Edward and Lanyra will pass away. Each of those we help will suffer the effects of aging and death. No matter what we do, we cannot forget that time passes for them differently than for us. Out of the party we helped build for Miranna, only Shale Spark and Vraxion will live long enough lives to be with her for any real amount of time.”

“So how does that change you?” Tanila asked. “How does that change us?”

“It doesn’t change us,” Max replied. “It changes how I start to see the bigger picture. Bob and I discussed it, and Jazzjak tried to help us understand. Even Sog kept reminding us that we’re not thinking in the right terms of time. What we’re facing is beyond our understanding. To know that Phaius and Ockrim are both over 500,000 years old makes me wonder how old some other gods are. How do I… we… compete and go against that? What kind of power do they have?”

Max pulled out a piece of paper and then a book to set it on. Next came a pen, and he made a tiny dot in one corner. Then he spent time filling in half of the other side of the page with ink.

“We’re the dot. One of those other gods is on the other side of the page. When Yukoreek killed me, it wasn’t even close. I’m not sure I could have drawn blood. Only now do I really start to see it. Listening to Ockrim and Phaius talk about spending all those years together gave me hope about us and our friends doing the same. It also told me that we need to start thinking bigger and longer.”

“So what’s your plan?” Tanila asked. “I mean, besides all the stuff you, Bob, and Jazzjak already came up with.”

“It doesn’t change the plan, but more of the way we carry it out and why we do it. I hate to say it, but I was a fool going to that world and trying to save the people there. It was a bad decision. Had I gone instead to fight and keep what is mine would have been a better reason.”

“But you would have lost,” Tanila said, frowning.

“I would have, but the reason would have been better. I can’t save everyone. I couldn’t save my mother. Let’s say I saved those hawk people in the world and a disease came and killed them anyway. Was the risk worth the gain? The answer would normally be no. I need to change how I look and assess things because as of right now, this world and you all are my main focus. I’ll do what I can to hold on to the planets I get DP from but unless the risk is worth it, I’ll try to be less reckless for the next thousand or so years.”

Tanila chuckled and smiled at him. “Seems you’re getting smarter. And who would believe that Fowl was going to bet otherwise?”

***

Jazzjak’s foot tapped on the stone floor as he stared at the numbers for a third time.

“Will it work?” Max asked. “I mean… I’m not sure I can get them there.”

“Not on just this world alone,” Jazzjak replied. “Where this planet sits now DP income-wise and adjusting slightly for the increase over time, they’ll only earn 700,000,000 DP in the next two hundred and fifty years.”

“Which leaves them 1,200,000,000 short of tier five,” Max grunted. “How do we bridge a gap that big? I mean… I know how, but they would have to risk everything when the opportunity comes.”

Jazzjak nodded, his fingers tapping on the tablet, the frown that had been present lessening slightly. “So… they have two options. They can currently bet a maximum of 20,000,000 DP, as they are at tier 2. If they reach the next tier, the amount they can wager is 80,000,000. That will give them a chance to risk more, but it’s still not enough. Especially when we consider you are only able to challenge two more times before the three-hundred-year period expires.”

“Which means a tougher opponent where the odds aren’t in my favor?” Max asked.

“Yes… which also means you would have to seek out someone that no sane god would bet on you, thus creating a more favorable betting risk. That does mean you would also be putting yourself at risk of actually losing.”

The risk versus reward.

I am curious about what kind of god he thinks we might face who could create such odds. 

Max nodded, frowning to himself as he considered the options before him.

“Would that god need to be the first fight or the second?”

Jazzjak grimaced and shrugged. “If you face them first and win, you’ll never get good odds again, and you’ll most likely never get challenged by another. If you face a weaker god and win, you might see a few more challenges.”

Max nodded, doing math again as he tried to consider how he could get his friends where they needed to be in the next two hundred and fifty years. “Make me a list of both options. We’ll keep coming back to it. It’s not like we’re in a hurry or anything.”

Jazzjak snorted. “You’re learning, Max… you’re learning.”

Undying Blood - Chapter 61

Chapter 61

“Sir,” the guard at the gate said, “I cannot bother her, nor are you permitted to enter the dorms. You know the rules. You shouldn’t even be here.”

The guard stationed at the gate leading to the dorms for the mages wouldn’t budge, no matter how much he had pleaded.

“I know, but my sister–” Francis said.

“It does not matter, sir,” the guard cut him off. “Without orders, you cannot enter here. Rules are rules. Beyond this gate and these walls, none may enter who are not gifted in the art of magic.”

As Francis continued to plead his case, he saw a young boy dart past the other guard, holding up a folded piece of paper. The messenger passed untouched or slowed down, continuing into the grassy courtyard beyond the stone barrier.

“I understand,” Francis said, sighing. “Forgive me. I should have known.”

“Yes, you should have, now begone.”

Turning, Francis trotted off down the street, ignoring the looks he got from the mages who watched him turn tail and run.

As he made his escape, Francis smiled, glad to have unintentionally found a way to get his message through.

***

“That’s not cheap,” Samuel whispered as the two of them stood tucked away in a door frame half a block away from where dozens of other young boys waited to carry messages. “Normally, you’d have to register that letter with the mail master. He tracks all correspondence we carry… well, almost all of it. That way, if one doesn’t get delivered or something happens to the letter, he knows exactly who to blame. It shouldn’t be a problem as the guards seldom stop us, but if one did… and later it was checked… and nothing showed on the record, I’d be fired at best.”

“And he wouldn’t deliver a letter from me to my sister?” Francis asked.

“No, sir,” Samuel replied. “I doubt it, rumors or not, letters and packages in there go through a strict inspection checklist.

“But the other messenger that ran by, they barely gave him a second glance.”

“That’s because you were causing a scene,” Samuel stated. “If they’re bored, they’ll give us a hard time. It just depends upon their mood, sir.”

“It’s Francis. Call me by my name.”

“Habit, sir… er, Francis, sir. Bah!” the young boy exclaimed.

Chuckling, Francis nodded and handed the letter with a bit of wax he had melted down from the one Avelis had sent. “Don’t worry, I think I can help with the distraction. Tell me, if you were a guard, bored and tired of watching pompous noble children look down on you, what would you want during your shift?”

Samuel smiled and started to laugh a second later. “Si… I mean, Francis, I know exactly what they would want.”

***

“You realize we’re not going to let you in, even because you’re giving us these,” the guard said, an eyebrow raised as he stared at the box in Francis’ hands.”

“I understand completely, sir,” Francis said, giving a slight bow. “I simply thought about how my actions probably frustrated you two. You’re just doing your jobs and as one in training to be a soldier, I should have known better. I could have just come and said I was sorry, but that seemed inadequate, so instead I asked around and was told that these sandwiches from The Grinder are the best in the Spire. I even asked for a little extra of the spicy sauce on the side, just in case you two prefer that.”

Francis had increased the volume of his words, holding out the paper box to the guard he had originally engaged with. Francis watched the other guard slowly approach from behind. As he did, Samuel started his approach, jogging toward their post.

“Are those really the Mothercluckers?” the second guard asked.

“That’s what I believe they were called,” Francis replied. “Candied bacon, baked chicken, pork ribs, smoked brisket and…”

“A fried egg on top?” the first guard asked.

“Yes!” Francis exclaimed. “A fried egg, all on a freshly made roll. I mean, what I smelled as they made these two sandwiches was beyond anything I had imagined something could smell like.”

Finally, the guard before him took the offered gift, having glanced at his partner, who nodded immediately. “Thanks. I uh… am sorry if I was a little hard earlier.”

Francis shook his head as Samuel ran by holding up a letter, neither man bothering to pay him any attention. “Again, my fault and I hope you two enjoy them! Now, if you don’t mind, I need to head out. I’ve got a training program to follow and don’t want to be late.”

Both guards gave him a nod as they started tearing into the boxes, groans and moans coming from the first guard as he bit into the sandwich.

As he moved away, Francis heard the second guard say, “I swear, we need to piss off nobles like him more often.”

***

Oidrun tapped his foot, frowning as he and the thirteen healers waited. “You’re certain she will be here. No one does anything today… If it weren’t you, I wouldn’t be here, and these healers wouldn’t be here if the promise of coin and a chance at growing stronger weren’t so highly coveted.”

“She’ll be here,” Francis said. “Trust me. If there is one thing I know about Trina, it’s that she never turns down the logical thing.”

“And her doing this on–” His instructor stopped mid-sentence as the mage in question appeared through the large courtyard opening, accompanied by a trio of mages.

“Weren’t there only two last time?” Oidrun asked.

“Yup, but who knows?” Francis replied. “Mage stuff, who can tell?”

A snort came from the grizzled trainer before he clapped his hands. “Alright, you lot, get ready. We’re about to see some pain turn into wondering chance of skill gains. Rotate often and don’t hold back. This is going to be fast and furious!”

Francis moved to his usual spot and started taking off his top, smiling as his sister approached.

“I got your letter,” Trina said. “You are much smarter and far more cunning than I remember. The boy was adamant, I read it immediately before taking off like a lightning bolt. He didn’t even wait for a tip.”

“That’s because I paid him well,” Francis whispered. “Now then, who is the new one?”

Trina frowned for a second at that question.

“No doubt a new watcher to report my actions. You’re right, we have limited time if I am going to have a chance for this kind of growth. Father is not thinking logically. The potential gains could be a boon for our family. If he allowed others the chance to do this, he could garner favor with other families.”

“I’ll pass,” Francis said, shaking his head. “I’m not going to be turned into some training dummy for his personal gains. I’m doing this for you and for me. Plain and simple. Now, if you’re ready, let’s get started.”

“When am I not ready? Same intensity and duration?” she asked.

“No,” Francis said. “Increase it by a second. I can handle the pain. The hardest part right now is that by the time you stop, I feel like I can’t concentrate on what is being done long enough to figure anything out.”

“And even when I use the same spell four or five times in a row, it doesn’t help?”

Shaking his head, Francis frowned, holding his shirt in his hand before tossing it on the ground. “You said it's possible to lower the intensity of what you’re doing a little. If you did that, how much longer do you think it would last before the same amount of damage was done?”

Her eyes twitched briefly as Francis watched her consider his question.

“It’s a good idea,” Trina said. “Based on what I’ve learned from studying the techniques Instructor Oidrun implements. I can decrease the spell by about ten or fifteen percent at best, and that should give you another four seconds before I’ll have to stop. I mean, I could keep going, but then you risk draining the healers faster due to the extent of the damage your body suffers. Still, it’s remarkable that you can stand, and sometimes I would believe you seem… sturdier the more damage my spells cause.”

“Probably because my whole body is tense,” Francis lied. “Let’s go for ten seconds. I guess we can eventually try the other if it doesn’t work?”

His sister nodded and moved to where Oidrun was waiting, snapping her finger and causing the trio of mages to give him a sideways look before following her.

One day, she will have her own army at her beck and call. Still, at least two people in my family don’t hate me.

Dropping everything but his underclothes, Francis stood before the gathered people. He took a deep breath and held up his thumb.

Heat struck his back, his skin burning what seemed just as fast as every other time Trina used her spells on him. Muscles began to harden and then vanish as the magic turned them into ash. Pain came as the flames ate away more, his Pain Resistance minimizing it as it lingered longer.

[ Pain Resistance Increased - 34 ]

[ Deaths Dance Activated ]

[ Deaths Dance Increased - 4 ]

Power surged through him, and Francis fought to find the thread or connection of the magic that assaulted his body. He could sense it, like the barrier around him in Avelis’s office. 

“HEAL!” The booming voice of his trainer called out and snapped him from the thought he was having.

Cool healing came, and the healer behind him muttered about how impossible it was to watch this.

Yet Francis realized that he could somehow sense magic now. It was there, and if he could sense it, then perhaps he could learn how to resist it. Until he had trained with Trina, that wasn’t possible. Something had changed, and he was going to find out how to unlock the Magic Resistance skill.

Laughing like a madman, Francis held up his thumb. “Again!”

***

Days blurred into another week, and it was the seventh day again.

Tens of thousands of sword thrusts had been made, and more flesh and blood had fallen from his body, permanently staining the area of stone that had become known as his spot.

A few had tried, wanting to see if they could endure what Francis did. One warrior almost died, and the other said it was pain unlike anything he could have imagined.

Yet every day, Trina came. Four other mages were standing next to her, while twenty healers were lined up, ready to do this for free now.

Over a dozen of them had gained a point in their skill, one had even gained two, and Francis no longer had to pay for them to do this on their day off. 

Part of me thinks they’d pay me for this chance.

Coolness washed over Francis as the healer did their job. Suddenly, a cry of joy erupted behind him.

Applause and a few grunts were heard as the others celebrated the healer gaining a point.

It was a whisper from the healer who had just done their job, yet Francis didn’t even bother to acknowledge it.

His mind was focused on one thing.

The touch of magic was real. 

He could sense it. 

He could feel it.

Yesterday, Francis was certain he could grab it. It was so close and yet he couldn’t manage to get his mental fingers around it. It felt greasy, almost like it didn’t want to be controlled.

Pain Resistance had gained six more points, and Deaths Dance had acquired two more. Each point made enduring what came easier and gave him the strength to stand up against it.

“Add two seconds!” Francis called out.

“That’s too much!” Oidrun shouted. “Maybe one, but–”

“Two!” Francis shouted louder. He ignored his instructor's response. The man had given him a path to growth. Francis had embraced it. He knew Stenson had sent him here for a reason. This right now was one of them, and he wouldn’t give in. Even if it meant death.

“Again!”

Francis ignored the pain of his body tightening under the lightning bolt coursing through him. He barely cared or gave a thought to the pain. Instead, Francis was focused on the thread that assaulted his body and coiled around him. Francis could now see it. Thousands of tiny threads came from a main one coursing through every fiber of his body.

It was there, and Francis mentally willed himself to grab it, but once again, it evaded him. He tried over and over, and every time, it slipped away. 

And then it vanished.

“Arggg!”

His voice rang out and the sensation of someone healing him almost pissed him off. He could sense the healing magic. Francis couldn’t see the thread or whatever it was because healing magic was completely different from the magic of the spell’s mages used.

Damn gods and their different styles.

“Trina, I need to ask you something,” Francis called out.

He moved, leaving a bloody trail of footprints, coming to the same spot they always spoke now when he had questions, trying to learn about magic and mana.

“I’m not sure what more I can tell you,” Trina said after joining Francis. “To wield magic is to hold onto the power of one's mana and shape it. To transform that thread into a tapestry of whatever spell they desire or can create.”

Huffing, Francis nodded, glancing at the others who were watching him, standing there, wrapped in a blood-covered towel as the magic had destroyed his undergarments.  He was simply talking with his sister, while she did her best not to stain the yellow robe she wore.

“This… thread,” Francis said. “How do you defend against it? When someone else casts a spell at you.”

“I already told you. We weave a shield and make it stop it. Either your thread or theirs is stronger. One breaks the other doesn’t.”

“But how do you know whose is stronger?”

“Either your spell stops it or you die,” Trina replied. ”Sure, sometimes it’s not all life and death as one might bind another, but either you win or lose. There is no middle ground.”

Francis groaned and shook his head.

They had discussed this before. It hadn’t helped him accomplish anything, as Francis couldn’t weave the mana as she described it. It took at least a year for most mages with the ability to sense before they could learn to grab it. From there, it only got harder once they learned to hold onto it, because making it do what they wanted was many times harder.

And then an idea came. Something he hadn’t considered.

“What if someone cast a spell around you, like a… bubble of sorts. Similar to the one for silence, but a spell that says… doesn’t let you breathe?”

Trina’s eyes widened slightly, and her pupils dilated.

“That isn’t a spell you should know about,” she replied gravely. “One cannot use that without true power, as it is… difficult to close off a weave. I know of a few who can do that, but no one would ever tell you about that spell. How do–”

She stopped, her eyes twitching the entire time. Her fingers sparkled, and he felt a sensation spread around them. “You’ve felt it.”

“The bubble of silence?” Francis asked.

“Could you feel it or recognize it?” Trina replied.

“Both,” Francis stated. “But between you and me and no one else, Avelis used something like that on me once. I could sense it after you and I attempted this training. I don’t know how to describe it other than knowing it was there, and I struggled to breathe. Every breath became harder to take and felt like it did less.”

“Yes, it is a very dangerous spell, and even casters who are not paying attention can find themselves surrounded by that weave. One must always be aware and strong enough to resist it. That is one of the reasons why I have those two with me. If someone attempted something like that, say the Master of the Spires, or an instructor or a mage I wasn’t aware of, those two could help free me.”

“So, how would I escape it?” Francis asked.

Trina frowned and then chuckled.

“I’m sorry, did you just laugh?” Francis asked in shock. “I mean–”

“Stop it, but yes, I did,” Trina admitted. “My idea was ludicrous, but I imagined you doing it your way and it was… humorous. Now, you would have to fight your way out. Punching, kicking, or piercing, for example. You would have to disrupt the threads and tear a hole. Doing that would cause the weaves to unravel. 

“A stronger mage could puncture it with a compressed spell,” she continued, “if they were still able to breath by the time they realized what was around them. “Once that hole is created, then they would take revenge. Even a powerful mage would struggle to patch that spot before a weaker one could escape. Many mages have found out the hard way that using that spell on someone stronger than them is a terrible idea.”

Francis nodded, realizing he was probably going about this the wrong way. He wasn’t a mage. He didn’t need to try and control the thread. What he needed to do was stop it.

Smiling, he motioned to his gore-covered spot.

“I think I’m ready,” Francis said. “Let’s go.”

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 58

Max floated high above the city, surprised to see how much of it had been improved. Buildings that had once been only a single or two stories were now three or sometimes five stories tall, stone bricks showcasing rapid growth in such a short period of time. Beneath him, the city was moving like ants, each street bustling with carts and people. 

One section was his focus, the area where the Golden Axe Faction was located. It had seen major growth. The building they had been constructing when he and the rest of the team defeated the tower was finished. It wasn’t the only addition now; two other long buildings, each over five stories tall, now took up a significant portion of the grounds. Everywhere he gazed in the compound was teeming with movement. Multiple sections of training areas gave off magical lights as people practiced their spells.

You’ve stared long enough. Phaius’s tone seemed hurried.

Max nodded and used his Illusion Magic, altering his body size, scent, and giving himself a head full of blond hair.

They dropped down on the street along the outer walls, finding a few additions to the statues that had once adorned them.

The gates were open, six guards watching as people came and went.

“Halt!” a dwarf guard called out. “Who do—”

Max summoned the badge that would identify him as a member. “Sorry, I’m from the Nalgrun branch. Hadn’t put it on yet.”

The dwarf nodded and motioned him in. “No worries. Welcome home.”

Max nodded, his fake hair moving with it.

He strode through the gate, glad the illusion kept a straight face as his eyes followed the path, cut from stone he recognized from the dwarven capital. Each one was laid perfectly, leading directly to the Faction house, which had gotten some updating. 

Sounds called from everywhere, people shouting, laughing, and groups in full gear talking as they moved along the walkway. Many nodded at Max, their eyes scanning his equipment he had created with illusions. A few even said hello.

Reaching the main doors, he entered, finding the Faction house buzzing with even more noise. He paused, finding a painting of himself and the rest of his team on the wall that faced the door. It looked so lifelike, each of them smiling, dressed in their armor.

Someone got Fowl’s height wrong. He’s not that tall.

Chuckling to himself, Max moved on, finding the stairs, and when he was certain no one was looking, he activated stealth.

He moved through the halls, finding his way to where Everett’s office would be and paused, a row of pictures lining the walls on both sides. One had the man he had expected to talk to on it. A gold plate under it.

Never Forgotten

Those words felt like someone had punched Max in the gut. He blinked a few times, thankful for the stealth as he scanned the walls, trying to find out if another picture was there. One he didn’t want to see.

Tom’s isn’t up here. Or Dexic.

Good, but you need to keep moving. This isn’t the time or place to waste time.

Max knew Bob was right, so he set aside his feelings and moved to the large doors that stood outside the office of the Faction Leader. He knocked and heard the words come in through them.

He pushed it open, a sense of nostalgia washing over him as Max’s eyes fell upon a green couch he remembered well. As the door opened enough, he saw the face of someone he remembered but with a lot more wrinkles.

Two eyes stared at the door, and when it closed, Max dropped stealth.

Tom barely moved but Max’s sonar told him the man was ready to react.

“Coming in here stealth isn’t a wise idea,” the older man said. “Who are you and what do you need?”

“Forgive me,” Max said, bowing slightly, the Illusion magic keeping his voice changed. “I have a message for someone and needed to deliver it personally. I was instructed to ask you, but I was told to keep it a secret. I’m looking for Stacy Hoste.”

Both eyes barely shifted, and Tom nodded slowly.

Max dodged to the right, sensing walls of air trying to box him in.

As he moved, Tom was over the desk, both hands holding a sword, golden armor now equipped. There was a slight look of shock shown as a pair of eyebrows rose on the Faction leader’s face. 

“Who are you?” Tom asked, his voice carrying a tone that Max knew meant danger. “No one asks for that–”

Max let the illusion fall, held out both hands, and smiled. “It’s me, Tom. I don’t have long. Where is my family?”

A pair of swords clattered against the wooden floor as Tom’s mouth fell open. Tears started to flow as the one who had trained him to be a better warrior took a half step forward.

“Max… is it… Really, you?”

“It is Tom,” Max replied. “I saw the picture outside. Everett? Is he?”

His friend took a moment, cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. “You… here… how? It’s not supposed to be possible.”

“I can’t talk about it, and I don’t have much time,” Max said, moving toward his friend and holding out a hand. “I need to go before I get in trouble with the system and Phaius.”

“But—”

“No one can know, Tom. No one,” Max said, grabbing the older man, who still hadn’t taken his hand. “It’s good to see you.”

A pair of arms squeezed him, and Max felt Tom shudder. “It’s good to see you, boy,” the man whispered. “We’ve… we’ve done good. I… So many questions, but I still can’t believe it’s you.”

Max gently pushed the older man back and smiled. “It is… but again, my family. Where are they?”

His heart skipped a beat as Tom’s mind must have caught up with his face. The older man’s lips pressed together in a pained look. “Southeast corner of the Faction grounds, where you and your dragon always landed. A small house is there. But…”

“Do I want to know now or find out on my own?” Max asked, noticing his friend’s behavior.

“Uh… go. You should go. Stacy should be there. And Callie, too! She’s grown. They’ve all…” Tom stopped himself and slapped Max’s arm once. “You should go. It’s good to see you! Will you visit before you… leave?”

Max winced and shook his head. “No… I’ve spent more time than I should here. I just needed directions and wanted to see you and… Everett.”

“He’d understand. He was so close… so close to the dream,” Tom said softly. “He’d reached the…” A hitch stopped Tom, and Max squeezed the Faction leader’s shoulder.

“He did what he wanted and chose his path,” Max said. “I don’t need any more news. Be safe, my friend.”

Tom nodded, and Max had to free himself from the older man’s grip before giving a small wave. “Don’t tell anyone about me, please,” Max said. “Phaius wouldn’t like it.”

A small laugh came from Tom, and then it grew when Max winked at him.

“Be safe, son,” Tom said. “Tell the others I miss them.”

Max nodded, changed his appearance again, went invisible, and summoned a portal to the spot he knew Tom had talked about.

The scent of lavender struck first as Max found himself crushing a few flowers in a garden. The area he and Rakonath always used was transformed from flat open grass to a stone cottage with a small fence and a couple of gardens. A new wooden door sat in the stone, and it looked like it hadn’t been used much. Multiple pairs of boots were lined up on the stone steps to the side, with dirt and some dried mud caked on them. 

There are six different sizes of boots, including children’s boots.

It’s been almost fifty years, Max. Are you ready for what lies behind the door?

Max’s chest ached, and he winced.

No… but I don’t have a choice. I can’t walk away now. I’d never forgive myself.

Then go. We are risking trouble by standing here crushing their flowers.

He moved to the door, deactivating stealth and summoned a box he had considered enjoying for decades. The purple cardboard container was a memory he would occasionally look at. It reminded him of one thing. A small bakery in Alundra, his hometown.

He knocked, finding it hard to gauge how hard to strike it, emotions tugging at his entire being.

The door swung open, and a small boy, perhaps nine years old, with brown hair and eyes, looked up at him and then fixated on the box.

“Treats? Did someone get a delivery?” the boy asked.

Max smiled and shook his head. “Sorry, Faction Leader Tom told me to deliver these personally to Mrs. Stacy. Said it would be a good thing for right now.”

A sigh came from the boy, who nodded, frowning a little bit. “Figures… no baked good before lunch,” the kid muttered. “Follow me, and make sure you don’t track dirt in. Grandma will kill you… or me… or both.”

Max stomped his feet and winked, noticing the child before him only had socks on. He followed his escort inside, a light smell of baking bread and oranges drifting through the air. A larger room than he expected was inside, filled with two slightly older kids on a couch, each reading a book. They looked up, eyes widening till his guide shook his head.

“Those are for grands… Tom’s being mean.” 

Groans came from the pair as the younger of the three motioned for Max to follow.

He walked along the outer room, able to sense the warmth and love that filled it. Paintings were on the wall, and Max had to force himself not to stop, seeing images he hadn’t expected.

Caleb… and Stacy… and that’s Callie?

She’s grown into a beautiful woman. Just like her sister. Now focus.

Max stayed behind his escort and soon found himself at a door where the child knocked before opening it.

“Gran’s, package for you from Mr. Tom.”

“Let them in.”

Max nodded and moved past the young boy, stopping in the doorway at what he found in the room. The smell hit him: age, decay, and death. His sister was beside the bed, her hand holding his mother’s. She had aged. Fifty years had passed, and he could see that each of them had left its mark. Her hair was thin and completely white. Each breath seemed labored as her eyes were closed.

On the other side sat his father. Gone was his hair, and wrinkles had taken over his scalp and face.

Stacy looked different and yet the same. She was stronger, her body carried power, and he could sense the hint of an aura wanting to be released. Still, all she wore were simple clothes, and her eyes studied him for a moment before landing on the box he carried.

“Tom sent that?” she asked.

Max sensed the slight shift in her voice as she spoke.

He shut the door behind him gently. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t. Tears fell, and he didn’t stop them with the illusion. Each one plopped onto the purple cardboard top of the box as he slowly stepped across the room to where his mother lay.

Max could sense Stacy’s body tighten, her hand on her lap flexing. His father blinked a few times and stared at the box.

“I remember that… somewhere back home. A bakery,” his father said, voice weaker than Max could ever remember.

“Yes,” Max said softly, opening it, tears still falling from his eyes. He pulled out a blueberry muffin.

A gasp came from Stacy, and her eyes widened.

“Ahh, blueberry!” his father exclaimed, taking a few seconds to rise to his feet, having to use the armrests of the chair to stand. “Those were Max’s favorites. Some red-headed hussy there made them.”

Max laughed, unable to stop himself. 

His father came over, took the muffin, and bit into it. A slow moan exited the older man’s mouth after he chewed a few times. “Tastes just like I remember.”

“Who are you?” Stacy asked, an edge to her voice. “Why bring that gift? And why are you crying?”

Blinking back the tears, Max set the box on the end of the bed, turned to his father and smiled.

The illusion vanished, and a gasp came from his sister, while his father suddenly choked.

Max didn’t wait, moving quickly and patting his father’s back a few times, dislodging the piece of muffin as his dad tried to turn and stare at him.

“Maax,” his father said, voice struggling to work.

“It’s me, Dad. It’s me,” Max said, unable to hold back the tears any longer, spinning his father around and embracing him.

Sobs came as they stood there, each of them drenching the other’s shoulder as occasionally a laugh came, followed by another round of crying. Both of them hugged over and over, never breaking the embrace lest the moment might vanish altogether.

“Son? How?”

Those words had no answer that Max could come up with. He shrugged and slowly pushed himself back, staring at his father and the trail of tears that had turned both eyes red.

“I was given a chance, and I took it. I won’t get another. I’ve missed you.”

“The tower! You beat it then!” his dad exclaimed, a large grin forming, showing a few teeth to be missing.

“We did. We’re fine. We’re all fine. I… I can’t—”

He stopped talking, sensing the object charging at him.

A pair of arms enveloped him, sliding between his father’s chest and his. 

“You bastard, I’ve missed you!” Stacy said, burying her head against his shoulder.

Max nodded and kissed the top of her head, bringing her into an embrace that his dad became part of as well.

“I missed you, too, sis.”

Undying Blood - Chapter 60

Chapter 60

The week ended without any major conflicts or problems. 

Francis wasn’t sure what Avelis had said to both of his brothers, but neither approached him. It also helped that he was a floor below Derrek and not forced to live across the hall.

Being the seventh day of the week, each student had one day off to rest or work on anything they desired. Some went into the other areas of the city, while those who needed a little extra reading time or practice did what they could to complete it. Reading wasn’t his best skill but it was becoming easier, and as he slogged his way through his textbooks, Francis heard a knock on his door. Opening it, he recognized a young boy.

“Samuel! The greatest courier in all the Spires!”

“Uh… how do you know who I am?” the young boy asked, his faced bunched up in a confused look.

“Why does everyone in this dorm speak about you?” Francis whispered. “They talk about how you’re the fastest courier and capable of doing almost anything one needs. For a fair tip, of course.”

Samuel puffed out his chest and grinned. “Aye, that I am, Sir! In fact, I have something for you!”

Samuel held out a folded piece of paper.

Francis took it and stared at its wax seal. Two staves were crossed, and a chain of what he guessed was lightning was set in the hardened yellow seal.

“Well, give me a second,” Francis said as he took it and moved to his desk, retrieving a silver coin. “Now, I like to reward those who can help in other ways,” he continued, watching the young boy lick his lips, eyes fixated on the silver mark. “Are you able to help in other ways besides just delivering letters and packages?”

“It… uh… depends on what you want, sir.” A small wince came over Samuel's face as he said those words, his eyes drifting off the coin and to him.

“Just information. I’m certain you hear more than most would believe, and all I want to know is what people are saying about me.”

“About you?” Samuel asked, grinning. “The one who likes to be cooked alive with magic and has somehow reached the third weapon training class within a week? You’re a Chosen is what you are!”

Francis smiled and bent down, getting to eye level with the young courier. “While all that might be good, and possibly true, I’d love more… specific details. If you overhear anything from someone talking good or bad about me or perhaps planning on doing something I might not like, I’d gladly pay for a warning.”

Samuel swallowed and nodded slowly. “So just keep my ears open and see what I can find out. Would you want me to enlist the help of some of the other couriers?”

Chuckling, Francis nodded.  “Are you able to do that and still be discreet?”

“Oh heck yeah, sir!” Samuel exclaimed. “Most blabber about all the good stuff in the waiting area. When we’ve got nothing to do, we either play games, gamble, sleep, or gossip.”

The young boy glanced down the hallway and then leaned forward. “For a few more copper, I could probably get a couple of them to work for me. I mean, if that’s okay, sir.”

This kid is a fricking genius.

Keeping his face neutral, Francis nodded. “Tell you what. Get me the information I need, and I’ll add some copper to what I was going to give you. If I’m not here, just slip the paper under the door, okay?”

Samuel stood tall and gave a sharp nod. “Yes, sir!”

Flicking the silver mark to the boy, Francis watched as deft hands snagged it easily. “Be safe, and remember, don’t get hurt because of what I asked. I don’t want you taking unnecessary risks. Got it?”

“Okay,” the boy replied, unable to take his eyes off the coin in his fingers.

“Now go, and thanks again,” Francis said, closing the door as Samuel turned and ran off.

That kid is hilarious.

Breaking the seal, Francis felt something familiar. It was something similar to what he endured when Trina tore his body apart with her spells, running through his fingers before vanishing.

Magic… interesting.

Unfolding the letter, Francis blinked a few times, finding only a few words on the entire sheet of paper.

*****

Mr. Lancaster.

Please report to my tower. We need to discuss certain things.

A. Crestfall

*****

With no knowledge or warning of his father coming, and the fact that this was different from the previous loop, Francis tried to consider what it might mean. Based on what other students said and the progress he was making, it might have to do with the class changes or the use of his sister. The question was, were any of those things enough to garner the attention of the Master of the Spires?

Rather than putting it off, Francis decided to head there now and get it over with, hoping to enjoy a little bit of his first day off since arriving.

***

“Ahh, Mr. Lancaster. Thank you for coming so quickly,” Avelis said.

He gave a small bow upon reaching her actual office. It wasn’t the space he had first met her in with all the bookshelves, but a room beyond it. Unlike the empty one he had met his father in, this room was packed with enough items to sell and purchase a noble's house.

Paintings, weird objects in glass cases, a set of armor, glowing gems in a display case and more lined the walls of the round room. He knew some people like to flaunt wealth and power. His Father had a room similar to this but there were maybe a third of the number of items in his compared to hers. 

Forcing his eyes onto the white-haired woman sitting casually on one of two couches facing each other, he smiled when she pointed at the couch opposite her.

“Can I get you something to drink? I have many things, from simple teas to coffees and other beverages, I would deny offering many of the other students here.”

Her voice seemed a lot friendlier and casual than Francis had expected, but he shook his head. He sat gently on the light purple couch, feeling it almost change to fit the contours of his body.

“No, thank you. This… is nice.”

She laughed and shrugged, running her nails along the arm of the matching couch.

“A gift from a crafter who specialized in making things like these. A few minutes resting upon it can help reduce hours' worth of fatigue. Well worth it for someone who spends as much time as I do working to ensure the Spire runs smoothly. Now then, I’m guessing you're wondering why I called you here.”

“Am I that easy to read?” Francis asked.

She smiled and shook her head. “No, but it’s the obvious question. Believe me when I say many would wonder why I even requested this meeting, but the truth is we need to discuss a few things, and I felt it was best to do it here, away from prying eyes and ears.”

From the sleeve of her red robe, she pulled out a few rolled-up pieces of paper and tapped them against her knee.

“I’ve received multiple requests for you to advance into higher classes, often designed for students who have been here four or five years. While this isn’t the first time I’ve received such things, you do have me in a difficult position due to your birth order as well as the rumors swirling around this place.”

Francis did his best not to fidget as he listened, fighting to keep his eyes on her and not look away. “Am I doing something wrong?”

She frowned, then let out a sigh.

“Your sister… she helped you with some training with Instructor Flistrave. That has caused some problems as her… both of yours Father isn’t happy. He has found out and asked me to put a stop to it. I told him I would investigate it and would prefer not to have him come here due to any potential problems his visit might cause. Tell me, is there any reason why you cannot use another mage? I know of many male mages and perhaps even a few women who would gladly undertake that task, especially since word has gotten out that Trina has gained a point after a single training session.”

Our Father is always going to be a thorn no matter what I do it seems.

“Is his reasoning because I’m causing problems or simply because Trina and I working together potentially injures the family name?”

“Lord Lancaster did seem to hesitate upon hearing of her gaining a point… but your father was very adamant he wanted me to try to ensure it doesn’t happen again. I told him I would see what I could do, but your sister does not want to stop, and she is almost to the point where forcing her to would be going against rules and traditions. A few more points of growth would make it very difficult for me to stop her from doing something if she desired to continue it.”

“So… if she managed to get some extra training in the next month–”

“Weeks,” Avelis said. “So my sister would need to hit that milestone in the next few weeks,” Francis said. “If Trina did, then she would be able to choose her torture of me as a form of study.”

A soft chuckle came from the older woman as she smirked and nodded.

“You are very sharp for a warrior. Another reason why General Stenson must have selected you. Which brings me to a second problem. The rumor of being a Chosen is not one I can simply ignore.”

His butt cheeks puckered slightly when he heard her mention that, and Francis controlled his breathing, staying as he had been a moment ago.

Neither spoke for half a minute as they played a game of waiting and staring at each other.

“Do you deny being a Chosen or is there another reason why Stenson sponsors you?” Avelis asked, her eyes narrowing just a little.

“I won’t lie,” Francis replied. “I am gifted, and Stenson knows of my talent. I’m not a Chosen one, though.”

The Master of the Spires blinked twice before she leaned forward slightly.

“And this skill… I know decorum would have me not ask what it is… yet I cannot wonder what it must be for Stenson to send you here?”

“I learn things fast,” Francis replied. “Sometimes I learn skills quicker than most,” Francis replied.

She nodded slowly, and Francis felt a sensation of something surrounding him, like pressure pushing on him. He hadn’t realized until that moment that his breathing had been just slightly harder. 

Was she using a spell on me? Ready to do something based on what I said?

Stenson’s warning had always made this woman feel dangerous. He knew killing him would be easy for one with her power and position. Having watched her sit idly by, sipping on her drink while his Father had killed him meant she didn’t have a problem watching him vanish.

“So you’re simply gifted when it comes to learning new skills,” Avelis said. “We have seen others, and I can understand why he might be inclined to have you here instead of the battlefield. A gift like that can be a blessing if given guidance.”

“And that is why here I sit, trying to grow stronger so that I can be more useful to the kingdom,” Francis replied.

She nodded slowly, just the slightest hint of biting a part of her lip as the bottom one looked off slightly from before.

“The next question I have then is, how are you hoping to be useful to the kingdom?” Avelis asked. “Do you desire to stay here and find a position within the kingdom or return to the battlefield and the General?”

He wasn’t certain, but Francis felt that if he reached out with his hand, he might touch some sort of barrier, as the air around him had grown thinner after a few more breaths.

”I’m not sure,” Francis replied, sensing a threat he wouldn’t be able to overcome. “Perhaps if the Spire found a way to accept me, I wouldn’t mind a life here.”

Taking slow, steady breathing, Francis smiled and tried to look weak, posing no threat at all.

Every second that ticked by, the air felt like it did less, and he had to take deeper breaths to avoid feeling faint.

And then the next breath suddenly felt wonderful. The air had magically returned to a state that felt full of life.

“Perhaps we can find a place for you and your ability then,” Avelis said, a tiny smile forming. “For now, I have other things to attend to. You may go, Francis.”

Undying Blood - Chapter 59

Chapter 59

“Francis.”

“Trina.”

His smile did not elicit a reaction from her as she sat at the table that had officially become his spot. The pair of boys who had been asking questions about getting stronger faster departed upon the arrival of her and the two other mages.

He watched her fingers work again. “Sound bubble?”

The slightest look of confusion flashed upon her face for a second before it vanished like every other emotion. “Is it true that General Stenson vouched for you?”

“Well, I’m here, sitting across the table, where a ninth son would never be allowed unless it was washing dishes. Now tell me, sister, why are you really here?”

“Aiden told Father that you are here. Yet from what I understand, he isn’t coming. Something doesn’t add up and the only logical thing I can think of is that it has to do with General Stenson. I’ve heard the reports of your ability to fight and it appears you have managed not to cause problems. The brother I knew wasn’t like that. You don’t act like you did when you were young.”

Not many people could read his sister as she gave very few clues via body language, but Francis had picked up on a couple.

“I love you, too,” Francis said.

“No… that’s not what I meant.”

“It is,” Francis replied. “You’re concerned and yet curious. You don’t know why I’m here, yet everything you expected upon my mere presence hasn’t happened. So, you’re wondering why. Even now, you came to warn me about Father. You didn’t have to worry, though. Neither Derrek nor Aiden would have told me, yet, as always, you come to my aid. That is a sign of love.”

“One might care for a stray cat, but that doesn’t mean they love it,” Trina replied. “Perhaps all they desire is something to keep the mice or insects away, so they feed it and give it a place to sleep.”

Francis chuckled and then purred. “Well, either way, thank you. Now I can’t tell you what you want to know, but how are you doing, Trina? How goes your training?”

“Do you care, or are you trying to change the subject?”

“I do care. You know that,” Francis said. “Out of everyone in our family, you know I care for you.”

She stared at him for a moment before shrugging once.

“I’m top of my class and advancing faster than expected. Soon, I shall be free to choose whatever branch of magic I wish to attempt next. For now, I am forced to endure the presence of the two behind me.”

“Guards?”

“Of a kind,” Trina said. “I was told talent like mine should not be put at risk, so these two from lesser houses follow me everywhere. Each is gifted in a way, but they are nothing compared to me. I have deduced they were promised something for this service. I am glad they finally stopped trying to get me to engage with them.”

“Well, at least you are safe. Now, can I ask a question or perhaps a favor?”

“You just asked a question but what favor do you want?”

He sighed, nostalgia washing over him as she always answered that question the same way.

“Later, I might want to do some training that involves being attacked with magic. Would you be up for burning or freezing my flesh off? You could also use water or lightning if you wished. Perhaps you could gain a point or two in whatever magic you use.”

Trina sat there expressionless for a moment as her eyes moved slightly. “You wish for me to cause you pain? Is this an attempt to gain a skill?”

“It is,” Francis replied. 

“That is highly unlikely on your side, but I would be willing to attempt it for the chance to see if I could gain improvement in my own. When would you wish to do this?”

“I’ll have to get permission from Instructor Flistrave first,” Francis replied. “But I will tell him you are willing to help.”

“Hmmm… yes, that one has a reputation for trying things that seem… painful to spur on the acquiring of skills. Still, some of the methods have proved effective, so I could see him being willing to attempt this. Tell me, did you develop this all on your own?”

“Does it matter?” Francis asked.

“I guess not,” Trina replied. “Still, I look forward to showing you what I can do with my magic. Be safe, Francis. It was good talking.”

Before he could say goodbye, she was on her feet and moving. The pair of mages with her studied him briefly and turned, following like ducklings do their mother.

She never changes… which is good.

***

Francis endured the next few days, doing his best to repeat each thing as he had before, minus almost killing Derrek and seven other boys or pissing off instructors by asking questions.

Instead, he focused on what he could. 

“Faster! Attack faster!” his instructor shouted.

He did what Captain Lucan commanded, thrusting his sword as quickly as possible at the two boys he was facing. Each of them on their own would be an easy fight, but facing two of them head-on was a lot harder.

Even under pressure, Francis focused his mind on a single thought.

Faster… I must be faster!

Hundreds of thrusts turned into thousands as pairs of students were swapped in. Anytime he was struck by their swords, Francis shrugged it off, not caring about the blows his armor stopped. None of their weapon was sharp enough to seriously cut him and Francis’ body easily handled the power behind the attacks that came.

He had hurt more than five of his opponents, the power of his thrust exceeding their bodies' ability to handle even the blunted tip of his wooden sword.

“Take a break! Everyone get water!” his instructor called out.

Sweat poured off Francis as he backed away and bowed to the two teens, who gave him the smallest of acknowledgements before moving to join the others to get a drink.

“Lancaster, you’re almost there, I can sense it!” Lucan exclaimed. “Your body is fighting from a better position and your sword work is much quicker than the other day. It’s amazing to watch. I can only guess what your Endurance must be at, seeing how long you can last compared to these boys.”

Francis nodded, taking the offered water skin and drinking it all.

“General Stenson gave me some tips and I think I’m beginning to understand how to merge your teaching and his,” Francis said. “It’s about becoming the blade rather than just swinging it.”

“Exactly!” Lucan exclaimed. “So many don’t realize that no matter what weapon you fight with, it is an extension of you. A mace, a staff, a glaive, or even a fist all require you to move similarly. It’s not the motion, but how your body moves.”

Francis nodded, half listening while thinking about what Stenson had told him.

There are dozens of other skills that all build off these two… Riposte requires the Quick Attack skill most of the time to acquire. The speed of deflecting and attacking-- 

A hand came at him and Francis dodge, lifting his arm to block the strike.

“Where were you just now?” Lucan asked.

“Sorry, I got focused on what you said and lost myself in that moment,” Francis lied. “But I’m ready whenever to go again.”

His instructor laughed and nodded. “Rest, they need it more than you. Next week, you’ll be in the intermediate class. Perhaps you can acquire the skill then.”

***

“You’re certain you want to go ahead with this?” Oidrun asked. “She’s your sister, and it seems weird that you’d want her to hurt you like this.”

“Actually, she’s the perfect mage for the job. Tell her exactly how much power to use or how much to hurt me and she’ll obey completely. Even better, she won’t complain and I doubt she’ll need to take a break before you run out of healers.”

“There are ten healers here,” Oidrun said. ”Ten. I mean, you paid for the extra four, but I’m already fielding questions about why I need so many healers. You do realize people already think I’m crazy and sadistic.”

Francis nodded and smiled at the man. “I do, but that’s okay. I’m a bit crazy as well. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to strip and do my best not to make too much noise.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Standing there, in his underclothes, his back to Trina, Francis readied himself.

Resist… find the magic. Sense it. Try to block it out.

Stenson had given him some advice on the things he was attempting. The general hadn’t heard of anyone acquiring the magic resist ability in over a hundred years. He had cited multiple reasons, one of which was that someone able to withstand the pain and barrage of spells it seemed to require the skill.

“Go!” Francis shouted.

No sooner than he had said those words, the very skin on his back began to burn away. Searing agony of a different kind, a purer kind, flooded every nerve on that side of his body as the six seconds of magical flames washed over him.

“Heals!” Oidrun called out.

The cold sensation flooded him and the pain of what he had just endured faded away. Francis could feel the difference in power between his sister and Claudius. 

“She’s too strong! I’ll have her decrease the time!” his trainer called out.

Francis shook his head and turned to look at the pair standing fifteen yards away. “No! I can take it.”

Oidrun’s frown vanished in a heartbeat and the mountain of a man smiled, bobbing his head. “That’s what I love! Someone who enjoys pain!”

“He doesn’t enjoy it,” Trina said. “Francis has just endured enough and told me he has the Pain Resistance skill.”

Allowing himself to chuckle, Francis gritted his teeth and nodded. “Again.”

This time, the sensation of absolute cold came as his skin froze, cracking and chunks falling off as the wintery blast washed over his upper torso and legs.

[ Deaths Dance Activated ]

“Heal!”

Francis wanted to laugh, fighting against the part that wanted to cry. The pain was bearable. He didn’t come here to give up. No matter what was thrown at him, he would endure it or die, coming back again to try another time.

***

“I underestimated you, brother,” Trina said as he joined her and Oidrun after washing off and getting dressed. “Even these two guards have admitted that neither had expected you to survive the first spell.”

Her two tag-alongs winced, but neither lowered their heads as he smiled at them. It didn’t matter if they were pretty, had their hair in a braid, or looked interested. He could feel the chasm that separated him from them.

I’m a ninth son… they’d never dig that deep into crap to find me.

“Your sister is amazing,” his instructor said. “She isn’t even tired and all of the healers are spent. A few also mentioned they gained a point in their skill. You’ve lasted far longer than I imagined, Mr. Lancaster.”

“His name is Francis,” Trina stated.

“Ahh, yes, forgive me, but the whole teacher and student relationship has some very strict rules.”

“Does it?” Trina asked. “Last I heard, you were very open about sleeping with any mage who was willing, even if they were students.”

Oidrun didn’t miss a beat, giving her a smile and a shrug. “They’re not my students. That’s the only rule.”

“I guess that makes sense,” she replied. “Still, I did gain a point, which is exceptional at my level.”

“A point? You gained a point?!” one of the girls behind her exclaimed.

“Yes, Rose,” Trina replied, her lips turning slightly downward as she spoke. “I told you that was the main reason for attempting such a thing. Still, it looks bad when you act like a child who just got a toy and is filled with excitement that they cannot contain. You need to learn to be more like me. Even now, I am overjoyed at the growth I achieved today; I can barely contain it.”

Francis glanced at the red-headed girl, whose cheeks now matched her hair, before looking at the blond-headed one and, finally, Oidrun.

Both men started laughing, pointing at each other until Trina snapped her fingers, sending a shockwave through the area.

“Please, you two are insulting Rose. It isn’t right to laugh at her mistake.”

Francis was glad his Endurance was so high, as his jaw hurt from laughing so hard after that comment.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 57

“Wekime is concerned. The game we play has changed. The little I could see has been shattered,” Phaius wrote. “Know that he sent me to tell you to get stronger faster. You and he need to have a chat.”

Max set down the journal he had picked up after they had moved chairs and frowned. Both of the other gods were taking their time, reading his description of what had happened with Miranna and Wekime. 

Why send Phaius to speak with me and tell me this? Does this mean we were right or wrong about whether that was a trick or not?

There is no way of telling, but it would appear we are still so important that Wekime made such drastic moves to create this moment.

“Ahh, I miss my old seat. Mind if we swap?” Phaius asked, standing and then stretching.

Max nodded, setting the journal back down on the stone chair and traded seats once again.

“You know, I remember when the game felt much easier.” Ockrim grunted, tapping his pen against the outside of his journal. “I even remember being bored at times, hoping something would happen.”

“So it does get better?” Max asked, smiling. “Waiting forever just to have DP be earned so I can immediately spend it is so tedious.”

Both of the other gods chuckled and smiled.

“You have no idea,” Ockrim said. “Wait until you’re… how old am I?”

“Easily over 500,000 years,” Phaius answered. “It’s obvious by the gray hair.”

“Bah, I have no gray hair, and you know it,” the dwarf god replied. “Still, I’m older than you by a few years.”

“Twenty-two years older,” Phaius muttered. “And every time it comes up, you bring it up.”

“Wait, so you both are friends? Like a real friend?”

“Oh yes, I’ve known this one for longer than I wish I did,” Ockrim said. “He and I go back to a time when defeating the tower felt easier, but I can’t say it was. Phaius, of course, cheated. He has a spark.”

Max felt his eyes widening as the human god shrugged, a smile stretching across his tanned face.

“Sorry you weren’t the chosen one. Perhaps it was because you were so short.”

As the two gods sat there for a moment, poking at each other, a small glimmer of hope grew in Max’s chest.

I guess you can keep friends that long… I guess…

“Wait, so if you two were friends, how did Thuyj—–”

“Let’s not discuss that,” Ockrim said, the playful tone gone. “Instead, we need to think about something else. We need to consider why this meeting happened and the purpose of it.”

Max glanced at Phaius, who shrugged.

“I was summoned, and it was the kind that makes me drop whatever I am doing and come.”

“Like a dog,” Ockrim muttered.

“And you would just as quickly if he whistled your name,” Phaius replied.

The dwarven god sighed and nodded. “Aye… we all would.”

Phaius leaned forward, focused on Max for a moment. “Tell me… your daughter… You mentioned a run-in with another god. Ockrim and I warned you that she would be different. Just how different is she?”

Be careful. Sharing the wrong thing, even to gods we trust, can be dangerous.

“A combined bloodline? Two parents who are gods? She’s strong, but I mean it took her five years to reach level fifty.”

Ockrim’s bottom lip protruded as his face looked slightly pained, head bobbing from side to side. “Five years is fast, but not broken fast. Defeating one of the trial dungeons is a big deal but…” 

Max watched as the god’s throat moved, and no words came.

A low grunt was the only sound the dwarven god made as he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“Seems we’ve hit a place of what cannot be discussed,” Phaius said. “So soon and on such a small matter.”

“Small matter?” Max asked. “What is a big one?”

Phaius shook his head. “I won’t even try. I like not feeling pain like that. Trust me, the longer you’ve been around, the pain you feel when you are chastised for trying to speak on something you shouldn’t is far worse.”

“And yet, the god I ran into didn’t seem concerned until the very end,” Max replied. “Was he bluffing or?”

Phaius held up his book and started writing. Max wanted to groan as he waited.

“So how are Batrire and Fowl? Is their kingdom in order?” Ockrim asked.

“Uh, yeah. They’re doing well. I mean, besides Fowl wanting to drink a lot and figure out the perfect ale, of course.”

Ockrim chuckled and then burst out laughing. “Oh, that one never goes away… in fact…”

Max watched as the dwarven god’s eyes flickered a moment before a metal barrel appeared in both hands. 

“Give this to him. Tell him it only took me about 200,000 years to get here. Now mind you, this isn’t my best stuff, but to give that… well, that would drive the poor dwarf mad, not being able to have any more once it ran out.”

Max took the metal barrel from Ockrim and could feel that it was chilled.

“You keep it cold?”

“Maybe… trade secrets,” Ockrim replied, winking at him. “Just know there is so much out there to learn and trade across all the worlds. If I remember right… you like baking.”

Ockrim summoned a glass box, and inside it was a cake Max had never seen. An aura of something magical seemed to dance along the sparkling frosting, almost as if fireflies were trapped inside with it. A small river of stream of blue coloring flowed like real water, and a dwarf figurine with a fishing line moved, pulling up what looked like a candied fish before it fell back into the water.

“What in the world is that?” Max asked.

“Something I paid a large amount of DP for,” Ockrim replied, holding it out for a moment longer before storing it. “Just know that some gods aren’t known for fighting with weapons or spells. The items they create can sway others to earn favors, and one god might be willing to fight on their behalf, just to earn one of those gifts.”

“I feel like I need to try your chair again,” Phaius said, interrupting their conversation. “I’m almost certain it feels nicer than mine.”

Max traded chairs and picked up the journal, opening it immediately.

“The Nine are different than any other gods. The rules affect them differently, and yet they have rules that all lesser do not. No one knows what rules, though many believe they do. All I know is that the Nine play their own game. We have all heard and know the story of the system and the Nine. We know the history. The black skills are part of the game they play. To hear that Death would seek out a black skill holder and try to trap them through their child is foreboding. It most likely means they are well aware of who all the other skill holders are as well. None of the gods I have spoken to through… different channels, know of the names of the other black skill holders, but some proclaim they do. I do not venture into the other two realms often. Doing so weakens me. Every god learns when they reach a certain tier that crossing between realms is a game played at a much higher level than any can believe.”

Max reread that paragraph even though he didn’t need to a second time.

The layers of complexity of all this are sometimes staggering, and yet I feel a way past it. A thread I can remember but not see or feel yet. I’m not sure what or when it might appear in a way we can grab hold and use it, but I know it will come.

The question is how long must I wait? How many of my friends or family—

A pain in Max’s chest came as that word and the space he was sitting in collided.

“Phaius… my… my family. My mother, father, and sister? Can… can I visit them? Here?”

“Ahhhh…” Phaius held that word for a moment, wincing. “Perhaps… I’d ask that if you desired it, you do it quickly and without causing too much of an uprising… In fact… if you word got out that you were here, I’m not sure how the system might handle that.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not supposed to be here,” Ockrim said. “Technically, we shouldn’t allow you to be here, but the fact that you’re here and we haven’t attacked you or cast you away could be seen as… going against certain rules. You’re given a three-hundred-year safety period for a reason. To avoid manipulation.”

“But I don’t have that safety period,” Max replied. “I’ve fought in the arena multiple times.”

“We know,” Phaius said. “That is why I might have written what I did, completely surprised that you showed up, of course.”

“Of course,” Ockrim repeated, rolling his eyes.

“So wait,” Max said, glancing at the two gods before him. “How does my doing what I did impact both of you?”

“So far?” Ockrim asked. “Nothing as of yet. Only time will tell… which is a good moment for me to step out. I was in the middle of something when I was notified that one of my worlds was under attack. Since I have solved that problem, I shall be returning to my previous obligation. Phaius.”

Max watched as the dwarven god stood and grabbed Phaius, the two of them doing a quick hug and embrace. 

“Be safe, friend,” Phaius said. 

Ockrim shrugged. “Provided you don’t drag me into anything major, I shall. Try not to get on anyone’s bad side yourself and be careful.”

“Never,” Phaius replied.

Ockrim gave a small nod toward Max, and a green portal appeared behind him. 

“Perhaps I’ll find a young man I know who always causes problems on one of my worlds in a few hundred years,” Ockrim said.

“Seth Pendal?” Max asked.

A scowl appeared on the dwarven god’s face before he chuckled. “No… I hope I do not run into him… that wouldn’t be a good thing for either of us.” With those words said, Ockrim stepped back, vanishing as the portal winked out.

“So… should I ask about Seth Pendal and you two?” Max asked.

“No.” Phaius grunted. “Now then, are you going to cause problems if I give you permission to visit your…” 

Max saw how the frown that had been present at the mention of Seth Penal vanished, replaced by tight eyes and a pained expression.

“What’s wrong?” Max asked.

Phaius took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He moved to where Max was and put his hand on the younger god’s shoulder. “You’re new to this life. I forgot that. Go… go and see your family. Remember that time is different for us. Just try not to turn the city into an uproar.”

Max felt a twist of knots forming in his gut as Phaius clapped his shoulder once.

“For what it’s worth, Max Hoste,” Phaius said, his eyes softening. “Know I’ve never been more proud of one of my children who has defeated the tower.”

A green portal appeared behind the god of this world, and he stepped back, nodding once at Max.

What does—

Go.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 56

“What do you mean you can’t show me how the game works?” Miranna asked, frowning. “I was told to ask you to do so.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, or am not willing.” Jazzjak sighed, waving his hand at the gods in the room. “It’s that I can’t. The system won’t let me show it until one of them reaches tier 5.”

Max put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder as she grunted. “Let it go, Star. Trust me, it only gets worse the higher you climb in the tower.”

She grunted, threw her hands into the air, and stormed her way to the chair beside Tanila. “What’s the point, then, of the tower? Is it really worth all this if you can’t even share stuff with me?”

“Maybe,” Fowl answered before anyone else did. “It depends on whether you want to spend more than a hundred or two hundred years with someone you love or with friends. Otherwise, maybe not.”

“Seriously? That’s the advice you give her?” Batrire asked. “If you want to spend time with someone?”

Fowl nodded. “It is, because you know that’s the only reason why I did the whole tower thing. Out of everyone in our party, which of us cared about getting stronger just so we could rule over people and have whatever we desired?”

Max chuckled as the room stayed silent.

“Exactly!” their warrior exclaimed. “None of us cared about being strong just to be strong. I didn’t want to be in charge of a kingdom! You know how much I hate having to be responsible. The only reason I wanted to beat the tower was to help keep you all safe and get to spend as much time as I could with the woman I love.”

Batrire growled, and Max prepared for what was coming.

“Come here, you wonderful, handsome dwarf,” Batrire said, grabbing Fowl’s beard and pulling him till they were kissing.

“And that’s the funny thing about godhood,” Cordellia stated, wincing as she spoke. “All this power, and that still makes my stomach roll.”

Miranna sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry… I’m just… tired. You all don’t mind if I go and rest? The plan is to attempt the next dungeon in a day or two, and I need a moment.”

“You’re fine,” Tanila said, patting Miranna’s hand. “We all understand. Trust me. There’s not a person in here who doesn’t understand how you feel.”

His daughter grunted and rose, waving at everyone as she made her way toward the portal that would take her home.

After Miranna was gone, Sog rapped his knuckles against the table. “So, we’re going to talk about the dragon in the room? Aka, her story?”

Max glanced at Rakonath and saw his dragon’s frown deepen.

“I don’t like it, even though part of me wants to,” Rakonath said. “Max and I spoke about how it would be a beneficial thing for the two of them to share. Both the growth and the power they would possess, along with their innate enjoyment of each other, make it desirable. The part I don’t like… is how it happened.”

“So what changed?” Fowl asked. “I mean, why would the dragon act like that? And did he really intend for them to fight against Shale Spark?”

Max rapped the table as Sog had and waited until everyone was looking at him.

“I don’t know, Rakonath doesn’t know, and even Bob isn’t sure,” Max stated. “The problem is we were just told about a game we thought we had some idea of and the fact we don’t.”

“And knowing that multiple gods, especially the Nine, are playing with our child’s life,” Tanila said, her voice almost a growl, her hair and eyes starting to illuminate, “makes me angrier than I want to admit.”

“Let it go,” Cordellia whispered. “Getting angry will make us do foolish things.”

“Do you…” Tanila snapped and then stopped herself, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Her hair and eyes dimmed to their normal color. “Sorry… I’m just worked up.”

“We’re all worked up,” Batrire replied with a soft smile. “She’s our girl too. Each of us cares for her, and we’ll be right there beside you, fighting anyone who wants to harm her.”

Tanila nodded, clearing her throat, and mouthed thank you.

“Can I interject something?” Jazzjak asked. 

Max motioned for their helper to go ahead.

“I think you all are finally realizing what I warned and hinted at. I can’t come right out and say certain things because it’s not allowed. As you ask specific questions or reach certain tiers of power, I can talk on things that I am aware of, but there will come a time when my knowledge ends. Most of what I know comes from the one god I assisted, who only reached the sixth tier. Hearing what I am now makes me wonder about things I know or thought I knew. I—” 

Jazzjak stopped talking, his mouth moving, but nothing came out. Max could see the pain and frustration on their helper’s face as he gasped once and then snapped his jaw shut.

After clearing his throat, Jazzjak sighed. “I’ll teach the game when I can. For now, all I can tell you is to go back to our original plan. Each of you needs to get stronger, and you need to reach the highest tiers possible before you end the protection period.”

“So we’re just tabling this discussion?” Sog asked. “Like, done with it for now?”

“There is no point in continuing it,” Jazzjak replied. “All it will do is raise more questions we don’t have answers for and upset some of you more than others. The last thing we need is—”

Max felt something calling to him in his dimensional storage, and it caught him off guard. He ignored Jazzjak and the others as they talked, finding the item that was calling to him. A book he hadn’t touched in what felt like forever was there. It vibrated, hummed with a power that couldn’t be ignored.

Tanila’s voice pulled him back as he held the book in his hand, hearing her call his name. “Max?”

“The book… the one Phaius gave me.”

The room went silent at his words, and he opened it slowly, unsure what he was going to find inside. It would only allow a single line of conversation once from each of them.

****

Meet me. Now. At the place we first met.

****

Max’s heart raced in a way it hadn’t in ages. Even in some of his greatest battles, it didn’t match the speed at which it beat right now. “I… I need to go,” he said, glancing up at Tanila.

“You’re sure that is a good idea?” she asked, wincing. “Right now?”

He held the book so that she could read it, eyes widening slightly, and then nodded slowly. 

“Go,” Tanila whispered.

“Go where?” Sog asked.

There is no time for discussions. Everything is happening too fast and sudden. 

But I need to go… right?

I believe Phaius is one god you can trust. He earns much from your rise, and I believe he has solidified his position of support. We do not have time for a discussion.

Max didn’t want to have a discussion. He wanted answers. “I’ll be back,” he said. “Sorry.”

[ System Travel - Planetary ]

[ Warning - System Announcement - Travel to this world will notify the gods of it that a threat has entered their world. Proceed? ]

[ Y / N ]

The room folded as he stepped through the purple portal; the space he and his friends had discussed everything of importance was gone, replaced by a field that had just been planted.

Thunder and electricity erupted around him as he stepped into the world.

A quarter of a mile away, he felt a presence of the god who had sent the message, standing there, clothed in purple and light radiating from him.

Another peal of thunder rang out, and a boom erupted that tore the freshly planted field apart, sending dirt and seed scattering for a half mile.

“WHO DARES…” the dwarven god Ockrim roared, his golden armor radiating power as lightning sparked from it, a massive two-handed hammer drawing a bolt of lightning from the sky, appearing beside the human god Phaius. “Max? Phaius? What in the heavens is going on?!”

“Calm yourself,” Phaius said, holding up his hand. “I called him.”

“Called him?!” Ockrim shouted, twisting to face the nearby god. “Without asking me?! Why would you—”

“Wekime.”

One word cut off the dwarven god, the power and energy that was radiating from around him almost vanishing in an instant.

“Wekime? Why… why would—” Ockrim asked.

“I’m here to deliver a message,” Phaius answered. “Put away your aura and your equipment. We need to talk, and this is the only place it could happen.”

“I… you… argg!” Ockrim grunted, his hands clenching the weapon so tightly that Max wondered if the shaft might shatter under the popping of his knuckles. “Fine!”

The dwarven god’s armor and weapon vanished, replaced by the same purple-robed toga that Phaius wore. 

Max watched as the two gods turned their attention toward him, one set of eyes having questions, the other seeming to hold answers Max wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

“We need to talk. All of us,” Phaius said. “But not here. We cannot do it here. Now come.”

A portal appeared beside the human god, and Max didn’t wait, moving through the ruined field. As he drew near the two, he stopped, seeing the destruction, and sighed. Twenty gold coins with the image of Phaius appeared in his hand. He dropped them on the barren soil.

“Seems the least I can do after having ruined this person’s field twice now,” Max said.

Ockrim grunted, and a small grin appeared. “Always the kind one I see. Forgive me, I—”

“Later,” Phaius said. “We need to move.”

Max stepped through the portal and found himself inside the room in Phaius’s temple that the god used when coming to this world. Three chairs were already set out, and he sat on one.

Ockrim appeared next and grunted, dropping his body into another. 

Phaius came, the portal closing behind him, and he stood for a moment, staring at Max before shaking his head and taking his seat.

“So… what was so important you made me think Thuyja had returned?” Ockrim asked.

“Yeah… I knew you’d come. Sorry, but it’s that important,” Phaius replied. “Part of me wishes she would return, but it appears she is still in hiding. For now, we have bigger things to discuss, and I’m not sure how much I can share or what we can talk about without… being prevented from doing so.”

The dwarven god grunted and nodded. “One of those talks. You and I have had a few too many of these in the last few decades.”

“Blame him,” Phaius said, pointing at Max.

“What have I done?” Max asked. “I’ve been busy on my own world.”

Both of the other gods chuckled at his words, and he watched as they glanced at each other, smiling.

“You have no idea the chaos that is taking place in the godhead,” Ockrim replied. “I don’t blame you for not knowing, as you shouldn’t know but need to know.”

“Need to know what?” Max asked. “I swear you two are being awfully… weird. Talking like this because you can’t speak about it straight forward… I’m finally experiencing what my friends felt sometimes.”

Both gods slowly nodded, each of them smiling slightly.

“You’ve learned to notice that… good. Tell me is your skill giving you any advice right now?”

Besides being worried these two might age us before saying something useful? Whatever it is they have to say, it must be bad if they’re going to act like this.

“He’s a bit concerned about how bad things must be that you need to share if you’re speaking and acting like this. Could you please be straight with me on one small thing? On a scale of one to ten, how—”

“A thirty,” Phaius said, his smile gone after having given a number. “We’re going to show you something, and you’re going to learn a trick that will only work for a short period of time. I’m not even certain it will work because it appears the focus of so much is centered around you and your daughter.”

“What does—”

Phaius held up his hand and put a finger to his lips. “Don’t say her name. Right now, I hope that the focus is mainly there. For now, it’s best if we just take a moment and write down our thoughts. You know… to help get things straight.”

Max watched as both gods pulled out a normal-looking journal, a pen appearing in each of their hands.

It’s like what I did with Everett and my book on the tower.

Seems you’re not the first one to find a loophole in what one is allowed to tell others.

Chuckling to himself, Max pulled out a journal and pen, wondering what game was about to take place.

Undying Blood - Chapter 58

Chapter 58

[ Status ]

Francis Lancaster

Age 17

Strength: 29

Endurance: 31

Agility:   29

Wisdom:  15

Perception: 21

Magic:    10

Skills

Swordsmanship (Common) - 53 Advanced

Shield Use (Common) - 39 Proficient

Tracking (Uncommon) - 11 Novice

Stealth (Uncommon) - 11 Novice

Traps (Uncommon) - 3 Basic

Rock Throwing (Common) - 7 Basic

Mental Resist (Uncommon) - 25 Novice 

Blood of the Undying (Unknown)- 100+ Sage

Fast Learner (Epic) - 1 Basic (Locked)

Mace (Common) - 6 Basic

Horseback Riding (Common)- 8 Basic

Horseback Handling (Uncommon) - 6 Basic 

Pain Resistance (Uncommon) - 33 Proficient

Poison Resistance (Rare) - 13 Novice

Power Strike (Rare) - 9 Basic

Brawling (Uncommon) - 25 Novice

Strong Bones (Rare) - 19 Novice

Death’s Dance (Epic) - 3 Basic

Francis smiled as Stenson sat there, listening to him tell the story again.

“So, it appears you learned what I’m assuming I attempted to do in your previous attempt.”

“That you’re all alone and fighting not just the beasts across the battlefield but also against the advisors in the tent?” Francis replied.

Stenson nodded and sighed for a moment. “And many more enemies,” the general replied. He started to chuckle and then shook his head. He closed his eyes and tapped his chin.

“Should I ask what is funny?” Francis asked, a little confused.

“You can, and I’ll tell you but the truth is it’s only funny to me most likely.” Opening his eyes, the older man studied him. “I’m trying to think about what I must have thought when we had this conversation. After everyone you mentioned and the names you gave, I know what you say is true far more than I could have imagined last time. Which means I did send you there to get a crash course on our kingdom and the problem we face.

“That Concord of Staves no one talks about… I was there. I was young. Over three hundred years ago, I watched the destruction that took place when the battlemages who went rogue wiped out two bloodlines. We were on the verge of civil war, mages against mages, warriors against warriors when an agreement was finally made.”

Stenson shifted and frowned. “As strong as I am, from a distance a mage can kill me. They know this. I know this. Even the weakest one we have can cast spells that could end my life if I wasn’t careful. The flip side is that they know that without warriors, they are weak when they sleep or aren’t aware of someone with a bow or able to sneak up on them.

“Sure some can summon shields and maintain them for long periods, but trust me, most of them have to sleep at some point. Yet none of them wanted to be at the beck and call of a King, ordered to kill a fellow mage because they did what they felt was deserved.”

“Was it deserved?” Francis asked. He was excited to hear something concrete about the Concord. His books mainly discussed its meaning, not why it had been made.

“Yes and no… but none of that matters,” Stenson replied.“King Baxter’s father, King William, saw the danger of the situation and made a choice. He offered the mages a deal. Help put down the rogue ones, and in return, they could refuse a call to arms unless two-thirds of the Council of Nine Staves approve. 

“He offered them freedom in exchange for saving the lives of countless others. They still pay taxes and have other obligations to the kingdom, but it allowed them to resist the summons no one else can.”

“I don’t understand why he didn’t just make them help?” Francis replied. “I mean, surely he was strong enough if he’s the king.”

Stenson snorted, shaking his head. “Being King doesn’t mean you go around killing everyone without impunity. Do that too often and everyone will rise against you. At that point, you would have to be the strongest in the kingdom to hold back those who would come at you. No… that was about the last time most grandmasters got involved in politics and outright war. They agreed that the decision not to interfere was the best place for the kingdom. Had they become involved and found themselves on opposite sides of each other… the damage they would have done is… hard to describe.”

Stenson paused, picked up a cup, and flicked the water around the room. “Like my drink, towns would be wiped out with a single spell. Armies would be cut down by a single blade. As skilled as I am, my master would dance around me like your father danced around you.”

Both of them sat there momentarily in silence, and Francis tried to consider the true power of a grand master. All the stories he had heard seemed impossible, yet now, hearing what Stenson had just said, it seemed there was truth to those tales.

“That tiger-kin that kills you… Would it be grandmaster?” Francis asked.

The general frowned and took a moment, eyes twitching as his head moved slightly.

“I would say probably not, because you said I injured it. It would most likely be close to a grandmaster rank in power, but it's not quite there yet. If I had to guess, there is probably another creature or beast that is stronger than it. Even though you believe I’m the strongest here, I’m not. Strength isn’t measured just by their stats or skills. Destruction-wise, Priscilla is a bigger threat than I am.”

“And yet she does nothing,” Francis stated.

“No. She waits. She’s the trump card that is held back. If things come to a point and she has to get involved, she will, but remember she is here when other mages aren’t. Why do you think that is the case?”

“You mentioned she was bound to the king,” Francis replied. “What does that mean?”

A smile grew as the general reached for his cup.

“King William made one clause in the Concord for himself. He was wise and shrewd. The Council had always to give one Master Mage to accompany the king and any future one. Bound by an oath to assist when asked but still able to choose not to cast unless the king's life was in danger.”

“And it isn’t?” Francis asked, his mind trying to understand how such logic worked. “I mean, there is a war and if the kingdom loses, then Baxter’s life is in danger.”

“I do hate when you so casually use his name like that,” Stenson replied. “Still, his life isn’t in danger from her point of view. There is a powerful spell on he,r and she must help when the time comes, but tell me, if the battle is lost, the army is destroyed, and the king is forced to return to Caereenal, then what? What happens to a king when the kingdom is lost?”

Lines began to connect, and Francis understood what was happening. “There would be a new kin,g and those nobles and families whose children were trained by the spire would follow that path.”

Stenson nodded only once. “To speak of that out loud is to ask to be silenced. That is why the instructors at the Spire silenced you. It is also why they did not like that you had my blessing or the king's. Only a few are still loyal to me, willing to dance between the fires that rage around them, doing what they can to ensure the growth of any who come, so that a piece of the Kingdom of Reevotort remains.”

Groaning, Francis rubbed his face a few times. “This… all got way worse. It’s not just keeping Michael alive or a single battle. Now I have to stop my father, and a whole kingdom?”

“No. The kingdom side isn’t what you need to worry about right now. If you get strong enough to do the first three, you can choose a side then. Until then, just learn and become stronger. Find who you can trust and who you can’t. You, Francis, can learn more about those you meet than anyone else. For instance, you’ve spoken with me three times now about this matter and multiple other times before. Has my personality changed at all? Do I do things any different?”

“No.”

A smile and a nod came at Francis’ reply.

“Thank you. That means more to me than you might realize,” Stenson said. “I try to ensure I am who I am at all times. Now you must find out who is the same way. When your power grows and you become a different threat or a new potential ally, see who changes.”

“And you don’t think you ever will?”

Laughing, Stenson shrugged. “I pray I do not. All I care about is this kingdom winning this war. You have shown yourself attempting to accomplish the same thing for your own reasons. As such, I have always acted one way. Now, if you came and threatened the kingdom, me or a few others, you would find I would act differently, yet not change who I am.”

Francis rose and held out his hand. “Thank you for being who you are every time.”

As the general shook it, the older man cocked his head to one side. “You’ve got something on your mind. A plan?”

“I do. Send just me this time to the Caereenal. Keep Michael here. While I understand you can’t guarantee his safety in the middle of a battlefield, I believe you will be far more likely to do so than at the Spire.”

“So, you do listen and learn. I already told you this, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Francis replied, sighing. “Still, I’m a bit stubborn, hard-headed and temperamental according to my father.”

Stenson put his hand on Francis’s shoulder and squeezed. “Listen to me, Son,” the older man said, emphasizing the last word. “That noble doesn’t realize the man standing before me. I would take a dozen of you and charge into any battle because I know the mettle of your soul. You, Francis Lancaster, are a warrior, a friend and a brother. Any man with half a brain would be proud to call you his son.”

Francis blinked, trying to stop the tears that started to appear and Stenson smiled, shaking his head.

“It’s okay to cry. Trust me, I’ve done it hundreds of times. There is nothing wrong with tears. They are only wrong when one cries and doesn’t change. As my father used to say, if you’re tired of smelling like crap, stop living in it.”

Francis wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand and nodded. “I guess it’s time to go clean out the Spires.”

“Go, clean them out and have fun. Just remember, each time you die, I’m here.”

***

[ Mental Resist Successful ]

Francis smiled as Avelis Crestfall looked at him, her head cocked sideways, and her blue eyes lost the glow they had just had.

“Do you always start every conversation with mental manipulation?” Francis asked. “If you ask me, that’s quite rude.”

Her lip twitched, and she shook her head.

“Impressive. Surely this must be one of the reasons the General has put his seal on this letter. Tell me. Is the hair natural or colored?”

“I’m a Lancaster in name only. Open the letter, you’ll find what it says to be… inspiring.”

She snorted, and yet Francis could see her eyes narrow as she did as he had told her to. Crow's feet appeared at the corners of her eyes as she took in the last few lines that Stenson had shown him.

*****

… Know that Francis is gifted and I would call him my son. To any who might think of hurting him, make sure they understand that such an action would be as if they attacked me or my family. You know my place is here on the battlefield, but I would leave it for him.

*****

“Well… I guess we should get you settled in,” Avelis said. “Tell me, is there anything I can help you with?”

“I’d rather keep the drama between my brothers and me as quiet as possible. Perhaps if you spoke to them individually or together and explained the potential ramifications of such acts, they might find a way to leave me alone so that I do not have to cause problems that will most definitely summon Lord Lancaster.”

“A wise request,” Avelis replied. “I will ensure that happens. Now then, if you would, Kaelith can assist you in finding a place to stay.”

He gave a slight bow and smiled. “Thank you for your help. I’ll make sure to mention this to General Stenson the next time I speak with him.”

The slightly glimmer in her eyes returned and she gave a slight nod of her head. “Thank you, Mr. Lancaster. Be safe and welcome to the Spires.”

He spun on his heel and moved through the rows of bookshelves, smiling as the door opened and knew Stenson was right.

Everyone here has multiple faces… all I have to do now is find out which ones are worth trusting.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 55

Something flipped inside Miranna. A rage, a hunger, a power she didn’t understand but grabbed onto with everything inside and embraced.

[ X9a3B7kT2gQ5rL8zV0 is Awoken ]

[ System Analyzing ]

[ … ]

[ … ]

[ … ]

[ X9a3B7kT2gQ5rL8zV0 Thread Detected ]

[ Echo Found ]

[ Pinging ]

[ Thread Located ]

[ Processing ]

[ Entity’s Power Limited ]

[ 1% Unlocked ]

Miranna gasped, her lungs feeling like they had never felt so wonderful as the message played out before her eyes and the power that washed within her took over.

She could feel everything. Her friends, the floor her feet stood on, and the dragon that had just shifted back unexpectedly.

“No… not yet!” it roared. “You cannot do that yet!”

Her friends fell to the ground, yet Miranna stood.

She let go of the fear that had always held her back. Miranna lifted a finger, sensing the power that flowed through it. She stored her gloves, seeing the gold light that emanated from her skin.

“You have broken the contract!” Miranna announced. Her voice sounded different. There was a power to it. “You…” A name appeared in her mind. She wasn’t sure where it had come from, but it was there. Almost as if she had written it a million times, made songs about it, and understood the force behind it. “Wekime has injured my allies and friends.”

She saw the large gold eyes flick from her to the four behind her. Miranna could sense the change in the god’s being. 

“I…” A single word was all Wekime said. She watched as his eyes dulled and the dragon took a step backward, lowering himself to the ground. “I have broken the contract. I will make amends.”

Miranna heard his words, yet they seemed like a whisper in a windstorm. All around her, lines of power found Miranna and seeped into her.

“What do you desire to make amends?” Wekime asked quietly.

Millions of things flooded Miranna’s mind as she felt as if everything that could be had was offered. Worlds spun in her eyes, power like she couldn’t imagine. And then a whimper came from the right. She turned, seeing Shale Spark holding her chest, the glow that had been there a moment ago gone. Everything she could bargain for vanished in that moment. 

Her breathing felt different as she stood there, eyes fixated upon the friend she loved like a sister.

She turned her gaze back to Wekime, jaw tightening as she clenched her teeth. Something inside her wanted Mirana to scream and ask for any of the things that would grant her more power. She fought against them, focused on the one thing she really wanted. Something she had desired for so long. 

“You… will… release… Shale Spark,” Miranna said through clenched teeth. “Let us… bond.”

With the last word spoken, the desires in her vanished. Somehow, she knew there would be no more to bargain for. Yet Miranna didn’t care.

“Done,” Wekime replied immediately.

A gasp came from beside her, and Miranna spun around, seeing Shale Spark starting to shimmer. An aura of red surrounded her friend. Miranna reached out, her fingertips brushing against it.

[ A Bond has been offered with Shale Spark ]

[ Do you wish to accept? ]

[ Y / N ]

Miranna’s selecting of yes was faster than thought.

Her body trembled upon doing so.

Tears began to fall as she felt the change inside her and saw the words that came next.

[ You have become Bonded with Shale Spark ]

[ Bond ]

*****

You are bonded with the young dragon Shale Spark. In time, as the bond grows and he matures, more information will be available. Know that Wekime is watching. ]

*****

[ Bond ]

*****

You are bonded with Shale Spark. 

Rank 1 of Bond Unlocked: Shale Spark gains 20% of your stats.

Rank 2 of Bond Unlocked: You may now communicate with your thoughts alone.

Rank 3 of Bond: Pending.

Know that Wekime is watching. 

*****

Miranna?

As the voice flowed through her mind, Miranna somehow knew how it all worked.

Shale!

Tears formed in Shale Spark’s eyes and Miranna rushed toward her, grabbing her friend into an embrace. Both of them sobbed, laughing between them, wiping each other's tears, before crying and laughing again.

It’s real… It’s really real!

“It is real,” Wekime said, his voice sounding displeased. “Come, take your prize. Claim my boon.”

Blinking and wiping away the tears, Miranna started to speak, but her body felt weak. Even though a moment ago she felt ready to war against an army, just as quickly as the power had come, it departed.

[ Echo Silenced ]

[ Thread Cut ]

“Miranna!” Vraxion shouted.

She felt the spell of her friend go off, knowing that Thergar had cast a heal on her. She knew it wouldn’t work. All she could do was grab Shale Spark’s arm and smile.

Then the darkness overtook her.

***

Miranna looked around, trying to understand what she saw.

A place of darkness and of light. Threads of energy flowed everywhere, a tapestry of power weaved around everywhere she could see.

What is this place?

Her thought sent pain as she voiced it. As if someone was standing by her ear with a megaphone and shouting those same words back at her.

She wanted to grasp her head, but nothing worked.

Lights appeared in her vision. Different ones. Small ones. Some were bright. Others were not. Like water on a window, they raced downward, yet each came in her direction.

Fear seized her heart.

One light, dimmer than the rest, appeared beside her from nowhere.

A voice. Her voice spoke in her mind.

It is not time. Too soon. Return!

Miranna wanted to ask what the voice meant, but the light touched her and everything vanished.

Darkness came again.

***

“Mir!” Shale Spark shouted.

Grunting, she tried to sit up, finding a pair of hands against her shoulders.

“Wait,” Thergar said. “Take a second.”

“I’m fine,” Miranna grunted, her eyes finally working as she looked up at her four friends staring down at her. “What happened?”

“You awoke what was not time,” a voice she knew as Wekimes echoed around the room. “It is too early. We are lucky you returned.”

“What did she awaken?” Vaelithrea asked. “How is she–”

“No more,” Wekime said, his voice louder and cutting off their mage. “I cannot speak of it. Even I am bound by rules. So many pieces have changed. The game… it…”

Miranna took the hand Vraxion held out to her and rose, turning around to see the god whose snout lay against the stone floor.

“Tell me, what did I awaken? What were those–” Miranna felt her throat tighten. She tried to speak, growing angry as nothing came. Finally, different words came forth. “You cannot do this to me! That is–”

“It is not me, Child. It is the System. Speak with your parents and their friends. They will tell you there is much they cannot speak of. Trying to is impossible. Forcing yourself to push past is suicide.”

A talon tapped the stone once, and a gold orb appeared in a bone stand.

“Touch it and depart. There is much I need to do,” Wekime said.

“Is he okay?” Shale Spark asked. “He seems… broken.”

A snort came from the gold dragon. “No, little one, I am not broken. To explain the game is impossible, and the current boards have all been reset. Ask your parents' helper. He can show the game in time. For now, take my boon. I must go. Some things demand my presence.”

Miranna started to speak. She wanted to ask a question, and yet she couldn’t find the words she knew were there.

Is this the system’s doing? Stopping me from this?

Swallowing nothing, she set her shoulders. “Is this all because of your actions?”

Wekime stared at her. She could feel the pressure for a single moment before it vanished.

“Some of it is,” the dragon replied. “I had a plan and it… didn’t work as I expected. Know that even the greatest plans, set for ages, can be undone by a single piece. I thought I had accounted for every piece, yet it appears I was mistaken.” 

Marina saw a weird smile on Wekime’s face.

Is he… smirking?

“Touch the orb. Please. And then do as you wish. Enter the next dungeon or don’t. Just know you will be better off if you do.”

A cough came from Thergar and Miranna turned, seeing him motioning toward the orb with his head.

“Our healer is right, it’s time to go. We got what we came for,” Vraxion stated.

“And more,” Shale Spark added, a hint of joy returning to her voice.

The five of them moved together and before they touched it, Miranna whistled. Each of them froze a few inches from it.

Wekime sighed and then rose from the ground, plunged his talons into his chest and pulled out a different orb. Blood dripped from it, burning against the ground.  With a puff of wind, the orb was dried clean and the dragon held it out toward the party.

“He told you everything and you listened,” the gold dragon said with a smile. “This game is going to be better than I imagined.”

“Did he–” Vaelithrea started.

“Don’t, let’s just finish this,” Miranna said, not wanting to get into another conflict with the dragon his father had warned him about.

This time they touched it and the orb glowed immediately. Power flooded into her arm and Miranna smiled as she saw the notification.

[ Defense of the Dragon Acquired ]

“Now leave,” Wekime said, placing the orb back in his chest.

“With pleasure,” Vraxion replied, jogging toward the portal a little bit away.

Right before Miranna touched the portal, she heard her name.

“Miranna Hoste…” Wekime said slowly.

She turned, looking at the dragon who was studying her. “Yes?”

“Did your father tell you my name?”

“No, why?”

She watched as Wekime tilted his head up toward the sky, his eyelids narrowing till only golden slits showed through.

“It appears the game has really begun,” the dragon stated. “Thank you and good luck, Child. Know that I am watching.”

“Yeah, about that… It’s kind of creepy. Is there any way to not?”

A booming laughter filled the room, and the dragon shook his head. “No Child, there is not. Ask your father. Ask Rakonath. They will tell you that my thread is always there.”

She frowned and turned, leaving the dragon as he laughed again, joining the other four who had already gone through.

Miranna felt arms wrapping around her, shouts of joy echoing off the room.

“You did it!” her mother exclaimed. “I knew you would.”

Her vision returned and Miranna saw her friends laughing and nodding as the other gods spoke with them. One person smiled different and she knew it the moment she saw it.

“Well done, Star,” her dad said as he came to hug her. “I’m glad to see you did this on your own and in your own gear.”

She glanced down, having forgotten she had changed and nodded. “I did. Still… it was nice knowing I had it if I needed it.”

Her dad nodded and squeezed her shoulder. “We’re always here. We’ll always be here. Our love goes with you like that armor. It can shield you from a lot but at some point, you’re going to have to forge your own path and find a way to defend against the things it won’t.”

“What kind of elven philosophy junk was that?” Fowl asked as he came toward her. “My love is like a dragon’s breastplate I forged with my special gift.”

Miranna couldn’t help but laugh as her favorite dwarven uncle did the best impersonation of her father’s voice. “You do realize you sound nothing like him?”

“Aye, I do,” Fowl replied, holding out his hand. “But know that you are just like both your parents. And that makes you twice as special to me.”

***

You sensed it, didn’t you?

Max smiled as everyone kept chatting, the five champions all taking turns sharing what had happened.

I did. The connect I felt was so brief, I wasn’t sure it had happened at all. 

What was it? I mean… You reacted, and then they started pouring out of the dungeon.

I’m not sure. Whatever happened in there… something is different. You can see it in your daughter's eyes. And I’m not speaking about the bond she now shares with Shale Spark.

Max saw his daughter look at him, her eyes flickered for a moment and he knew she was doing what he was. He gave a different smile and a tiny nod. He watched as she returned it before being pulled back into the conversation by her childhood friend.

Perhaps she’ll share.

Maybe. Why did Wekime do what he did? Surely you don’t think…

Max knew the thought Bob had and he was torn by the question that never came.

Did he sacrifice another piece? Was everything that happened in there just a play he had planned? Or could he have made an actual mistake?

I’m not sure. For now, we need to do as he told her. Speak with Jazzjak. It’s time to learn this game.

Undying Blood - Chapter 57

Chapter 57

No amount of Pain Resistance could help with the situation Francis now found himself in.

His father sat in a chair in the waiting room, his silver eyes glaring at him, while Avelis Crestfall sat in a chair near him, sipping something warm from a small cup.

“Ahh, I was wondering if you would arrive on time, Francis,” the Spire Master said. “Please, come have a seat.”

Steadying himself, Francis nodded and moved to the only chair in the mostly empty room. 

He couldn’t help but notice that only a single rug, three chairs, and one table near her decorated the place. 

I guess it’s to limit the potential of breaking things.

Sitting on the padded chair, Francis kept his back straight, meeting his father's glare.

“Now then, Lord Lancaster. I believe you wanted to speak with your son.”

“In private,” his father replied. His strong jaw lost the tightness it had a moment ago, and the older man leaned back into the blue padded chair he sat on, acting as if he was watching grass grow.

Francis wanted to spit, seeing the fine clothing with the gold and silver embroidery, but even worse was the family crest on his jacket—the gold and silver hammer and bolt of lightning—a sign of power and magic—something that had been cultivated for generations at the cost of other children.

“Ahh, yes. Unfortunately, I cannot do that as General Stenson has sponsored him. If I were certain that nothing… bad might happen to either of you, I would gladly choose to have this meeting in the other room, but we both know the reputation your son Francis now has.”

Francis wanted to blow up at the mage and curse, but he bit his tongue.

“He’s always been hard-headed and stubborn,” his father replied, a disapproving tone not hidden at all. “I appreciate your concern, but we both know he isn’t a threat to me.”

“Still, rules and all. You know how they bind us all.”

He saw a small smile on the mage's lips as she sipped on her tea after speaking.

“Very well, I won’t push the issue any further,” his father stated, standing. The motion caused Francis to stiffen slightly, yet Avelis didn’t flinch.

Adjusting his coat, the older man with his silver eyes and white hair frowned at Francis. Every bit of his white beard was trimmed to perfection, adding to the frustrated look Francis knew well.

“I have heard the stories of what you have done and what you might be. Tell me, Francis, is it true?”

“Is what true?”

Knuckled cracked as his father clenched his hand and set it on the dagger's pommel tucked in his belt. “Are you a Chosen?”

“Does it matter?” Francis replied. “ What do you care?” Francis asked, rising to his feet, yet he didn’t let his face show any emotion. He wouldn’t give the man what he wanted. “When can you honestly say you cared about me? The time you almost killed me because I didn’t let you kill Michael?!”

His voice echoed off the stone walls and his father stood there, shaking his head slightly. “You’re a fool. The fact you’re still alive means I cared. Even when you protected that bastard from another man.”

His father’s voice had become a growl and a slight hint of red flooded his cheeks.

“I let him live. I let him play with you. Your mother begged me to forgive her. The only reason she is alive for the slight she did to me on that day was because you were already inside her, or I would have killed her then!” A finger was raised and wagged in the air. “You know nothing! The disgrace we experienced every time someone saw that bastard within our house! And then you chose to align yourself with him.”

Francis tried to comprehend the words being said. These were more words than his father had ever spoken to him at one time. 

“Please, where was the training my other brothers got?” Francis asked. “You say you let her live because I was inside her, but the truth was you were hoping I was a girl. Only that hope kept her alive. We both know you’ve never looked at me with concern or love. I’ve seen your facade enough to know this is all a lie!”

Francis was struggling to hold back the anger inside lest he charge his father and try to hurt him. He knew that would be suicide. The man was strong and had killed over a dozen men in duels if half the rumors were true. 

The way his father looked at Francis suddenly and a smirk appeared.

Sighing, his father chuckled and shrugged. “It seems you have gotten smarter. You’re still a stubborn pain in my ass and it appears you will continue to be one for some time.”

Francis almost stepped back when the man he hated moved toward him, stopping only a few inches away. Francis was just a few inches shorter than the head of his family, yet he didn’t back down or cower like most might. Instead, he stared right back at those silver eyes.

A noise came from the side, a cup being set down on a wooden table.

“This is the only warning I will give you, Francis,” his father said, not paying attention to Avelis. “Do not touch your brother again, and do not bring any more dishonor to our family. If you do, Michael will die.”

Francis felt the wall that held back his emotions crumble. Both of his eyes widened and the smirk on his father grew.

“Yes, I know where he is. Pretending to be someone else. It might have worked had you both not come together, but I have friends in this city, and they tell me everything. Ignore my instructions and I will personally rip his heart out–”

[ Power Strike ]

The punch Francis threw was stopped by a single hand of his father, catching it before Francis had gotten close to connecting.

“Foolish boy. Sometimes I wish I had killed you when you were born.”

Pain came as bones shattered in Francis’ hand, his father squeezing so hard they pierced the layer of flesh that had encased them.

Yet he didn’t cry out. Francis ignored it. Swinging with his other hand, he watched as the man he hated more than anything caught it.

[ Power Strike ]

Francis’ head came forward, forehead slamming into a nose. It was like headbutting a wall, almost as the impact dazed Francis before his body was sent flying backward. Francis felt his head and back crash into the stone wall, the pain of it all diminishing as a notification flashed before him.

[ Deaths Dance Activated ]

He landed on his feet, coughing up blood.

“Lord Lancaster, please–” Avelis said.

“He attacked first,” his father growled. “By the rules we are bound to, I am permitted this.”

Francis blinked, trying to take in what was happening. It was like when he had fought the second rhino-kin. He had known his father was strong. Yet to feel it firsthand left no doubt about the gap between them.

Avelis sighed and nodded once.

Francis watched as his father smiled, pulling a dagger free from its sheath, wiping a single drop of blood from under his nose.

“Always the hot-headed one. Your strings were always to play. Michael made you weak.” Francis’ father spoke without emotion, each step like he was taking a stroll through a garden.

Yet his father’s eyes told the truth. He was excited for this moment. They sparked, radiated with joy. Each of them had widened and both edges of his lips were curved upward.

“After I’m done with you, just know, I’ll make sure your brother suffers far more.”

Filled with the power of his Deaths Dance, Francis knew nothing he did would bring the result he desired. He was going to die and that woman was going to sit there, pretending nothing was happening before her eyes.

Stenson… you knew… damn you old man, you knew!

Roaring Francis charged his father, ignoring the look of satisfaction as the head of the Lancaster family bent his knees and got in position.

Broken hand or not, Francis fought with every bit of skill and power he had.

Somehow, he willed it to happen again, drawing upon the power Deaths Dance gave, using the ability that he knew wasn’t available. Deaths Dance answered and the energy he needed came.

[ Power Strike ]

Still, it wasn’t any use. His father danced around him, the eight-inch blade slicing tendons, causing his arms to stop working.

A few seconds later, both of his Achilles tendons were severed, and Francis dropped face-first to the floor, crashing into the carpet.

It stank. 

He could smell it. 

He could taste it.

The copper of blood that filled his mouth.

“Finally, I can end the weed that has plagued our house for so long,” his father said. A hand grabbed Francis’s hair and yanked his face upward. The blade hovered a few inches from his eyes. “You were always nothing. Even now, as strong as you are, you’re nothing.”

***

The sound of the morning bell rang.

“God damn asshole!” Francis was out of bed, slamming his fists against the stone wall, and ignoring his brother's words.

All the anger and rage he had bottled up, the feelings he had held back, came out. Bones shattered, stone chipped, and Francis kept punching, ignoring the pain, welcoming it.

“Francis, stop!” Hands pulled against his shoulder and after a moment, Francis turned, seeing the look of concern on his brother’s face. “What is it? What's wrong?!”

Unable to hold back, he grabbed Michael and wrapped him in bloody arms and hands, gasping for air as he started to cry. A lifetime of pain and hurt washed through him and the truth of what he had to become and what he had to do was now absolute.

I have to get strong enough to kill him… not just strong enough to end a war but also put an end to him.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked, his brother’s hand holding his neck.

“That asshole… our father… he… I… it doesn’t matter,” Francis tried to speak, but the pain in his chest made it impossible to form a complete sentence.

Francis leaned back, staring through tear-filled eyes at the only one he loved. A noise was coming, and soon, the door burst inward, and other teens from their group came to see what was going on.

“Are you okay? What was… your hands?” Henry asked.

Francis saw the look on everyone’s face and took a moment to assess what he had done. Both of his hands were mangled. Each was pulverized and busted.

No healing from the ones we have here is going to fix this…

“I need to go. Excuse me,” Francis said.

Michael tried to stop him, but Francis pushed past him and through the group of teens before him with ease.

“Taking the coward's way out?!” Malcomb jeered. “He’s going to kill you for–”

[ Power Strike ]

[ Power Strike ]

Even with busted hands, using the skill twice in a row was unnecessary. The bully’s face gave way against his strength and the skill, looking like a tomato someone had stepped on.

All of them cried out as Francis bent down and grabbed the ankle of the teen he had just killed and wrapped his arm around it. Dragging Malcomb’s body as best he could, unable to use his fingers, Francis strode out of where they slept and moved to where Phillip was standing.

“What the hell is going on?! Lancaster?! What do you think you’re doing?! What happened to Malcomb?”

Francis laughed, glancing at his appearance. His chest and arms were covered in blood, his hands dripping his lifeblood everywhere. He was barefoot and his feet left red prints on the dirt as soil stuck to his soles. Only his pants he always slept in, were on and a look of concern was on his trainer’s face.

“Kill me, Phillip. Kill me or I swear to you I will make you suffer like he did,” Francis said. Letting go of the ankle, he stood there, holding his arms out to the side.

“Are you crazy?” Phillip yelled.

“I’m going to count to ten and then I’m going to come at you,” Francis replied. “Look at my eyes, Phillip. You know I mean it. Strike me down or you’ll be just like Malcomb.”

“Ten… Nine…”

He never got past that number before a man he had stopped hating charged. The sword was free of its scabbard and Francis closed his eyes, lowering his arms and putting them behind his back.

The blade came, and he felt it against his neck. It banged against his spine. He winced, unable to breathe, feeling Phillip pull the weapon back as his legs started to buckle.

“How in the gods did you grow?” Phillip asked.

Opening his eyes, Francis smiled. Fear was present in his trainer's eyes as he swung the sword again, severing his spine. 

***

The sound of the morning bell rang.

Francis sighed.

"It's earlier than usual," Michael said, sitting up. "What gives?"

“Just Phillip being himself,” he replied. “Now, let’s get dressed. We don’t want to be last.”

Undying Blood - Chapter 56

Chapter 56

Francis had endured two days of ugly looks, snide remarks, and neglect. Classes were unremarkable, and Francis chose to remain quiet, simply listening to the lecturers discuss topics he had never encountered before.

His instructors seemed content that Francis had learned his place, and the books he was supposed to have read became new challenges at night.

Lunch and dinner were always the same. He sat alone. 

Whatever had been said to everyone, they didn’t come to the table that was now known as Francis’. Derrek had stared him down once before turning away, his brother’s misshapen ear a sign to all that Francis had won that battle. Even when the place was packed, due to some special roasted meat and desserts, none of the students who couldn’t find an empty seat risked joining him.

That ended when Francis stood before Oidrun Flistrave and seven other people he didn’t recognize.

“Ahh, just on time! I have been waiting for this moment!” his instructor exclaimed.

Seeing the smile on the large man’s face, Francis felt a little awkward as the rest of his class wasn’t there.

“Did I miss a note that class was canceled?” Francis asked.

“Hah, if only! No, they are all off running. I had them informed that today would be the worst day of running they’ve had in a while. But don’t worry, Francis, I’ve got something special for you.”

The man turned and pointed at the group behind him.

A frown was on most of their faces but what stood out was the one man who wore mage robes.

“Before you stand, Claudius Farhnoum,” Oidrun said. “A gifted son of the Farhnoum family and versed in the ways of magic. The others are all healers, here to aid you in what is to come.”

“You realize I think this is foolish,” the dark-haired mage said. “What you promised me better come.”

“Oh, it will, just give me a moment,” Oidrun said as he grabbed Francis’s shoulder and led him a few yards away. “Now listen. How would you like to try and acquire a special skill?”

Francis nodded slowly. “Why do I feel like a wolf leading a lamb into the woods and saying everything will be okay?”

Laughing, his instructor banged that massive hand on Francis’s back. “Because it’s true! You see, Claudius is going to hurt you with magic and they are going to take turns healing you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Francis coughed.

“He hurts you and they heal you. The goal is to see if we can’t get you magic resistance.”

“Wait… what?” Francis stuttered. “How… how did you decide this was something we should try?”

“Honestly, Mr. Lancaster, I didn’t until after your little altercation with those boys the other day. While some of the other instructors and I were discussing that and a few other things, someone mentioned how you’d be gone if a mage had decided to attack you. I might have laughed, and they glared at me but didn’t retaliate because they know I’m different.”

“Different how?” Francis asked.

The large man laughed and shrugged. “I’m crazy,” Oidrun said. “Pain is something I see as the gateway to growth. Very few are like you and I.”

Francis shook his head, certain he was dealing with a crazy man.

“So what now? Claudius will hurt me and I’ll get the skill? Like how quickly?”

“Oh, maybe four or five months if things go quickly,” his instructor replied. “These things take time.”

“Four or five months?” Francis gasped. “You’re going to have him do magical attacks on me for that long?”

“Oh no, I’ve got a few others who will help. Trust me, you’ll hate every moment of it until the day you acquire the skill.”

“And what makes you think I can?” Francis asked.

“Call it one crazy man to another,” Oidrun stated. “I see the way you move and how you act. The fact that you fought off eight, twenty, or the entire dorm from the rumors swirling around means you can endure the pain. Toss in how long you lasted on my little contraption and I think you’ll have the tolerance and mental fortitude needed for something like this.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You’ll get it soon enough,” Oidrun said. “Now, do you want to take a chance to try and acquire something that can save your life, or do you want to stick with the same routine all the others are doing? Do you want to stand out, or fade into the background?”

The decision was easy, even if the method seemed insane. Francis had come here to get stronger and acquire new skills. Even if the method seemed off, it made sense to try it, knowing that he could always repeat the process.

Sighing, Francis nodded. “Let’s get it started.”

“Excellent! Now, strip to just your underclothes and stand over there,” his instructor stated.

“I’m sorry, what?”

We don’t want to ruin your clothes, and I’m not going to waste armor on this.”

Without bothering to put up an argument, Francis started taking off his clothes, soon standing in just his underclothes at the spot marked with an X on the stone.

“Good! Now turn around so Claudius doesn’t accidentally hit your face! If it’s too bad, just let me know and I’ll get a healer to help!”

Taking a deep breath, Francis turned and held up a thumb.

Before he could lower his hand, Francis’ back felt like the skin on it was being ripped off by hundreds of fingernails. Unable to hold back, he cried out in pain.

“Helaers!” Oidrun shouted.

One of the summoned healers ran up, and Francis tried not to groan as the man sent a wave of cold through his body.

“You two are crazy,” the healer muttered. “Absolutely crazy.”

Catching his breath, Francis nodded. When he was alone on the spot again, he reflected on what was about to happen.

I need to get stronger. I need to be strong enough to save Michael. Save this stupid kingdom.

Holding his thumb up, Francis clenched his jaw and butt cheeks, knowing what was about to come again.

***

“No more!” Oidrun called out as the last healer gave out after taking care of the wounds he had suffered.

Francis glanced at the stone around him. Burnt flesh, frozen muscle, a slurry of blood and gore were everywhere around the space he stood.

Claudius was panting, sweat running down his face, and his black hair was matted to his head. “I… I gained a point. Impossible,” the mage said between breaths. “Do you know how long it’s been?”

“Yes, which is why I made that wager,” Oidrun replied with a grin. “I guess you’ll be content to come the next time I ask?”

“Yes, of course, “Claudius replied. He moved to where Francis was and bent down. “For what it’s worth, that was… incredible. Even with me taking it easy, you managed to withstand what most couldn’t.”

“I doubt that,” Francis replied.

Multiple times during the thirty or forty minutes of torture, people had come to see what was causing all the screaming. None stayed more than a minute before leaving.

“No, I’m serious,” the mage said. “We’re not often allowed to practice on others because of… how bad it hurts.”

“Which is why one has to have the skill he has,” Oidrun said. “Now then, if you will excuse us, I need to get Mr. Lancaster washed off and dressed. He’s got another class in an hour, and I still have some things I want to do with him.”

Francis shook his head, seeing an evil-looking grin on his physical instructor’s lips. “More?”

“Yes,” Oidrun replied. “Now get dressed. We need to talk while we walk. The water is over there. Just jump in a few times and use a rag to wipe off the blood. And don’t bother to dry off too much. You’re just going to get dirty soon enough.”

Nodding, Francis moved toward the giant container of water that constantly drained. Everyone came here to wipe down or wash off the sweat, blood, and dirt that had been acquired via the painful lessons. As instructed, Francis just climbed in, dunking himself a few times and rubbing his body as best as he could with his hands.

The cold water made his skin tingle, but it didn’t bother him after the training he had endured.

Four more points of pain resistance… And the next tier. It feels incredible. Deaths Dance also leveled up twice.

Toweling off quickly, Francis got dressed and jogged to where Oidrun was waiting.

“You reached a new rank, didn’t you?”

“Not going to buy me a drink first?” Francis asked.

“Sorry, it’s frowned upon for instructors to drink with students,” Oidrun stated. “Only for really special occasions, but we both know you hit a new tier as you stopped crying out as much. Claudius had to cast longer than I had anticipated before I made him stop multiple times.”

That’s because my Deaths Dance ability kept activating…

“Yeah, it ranked up,” Francis said. “What I want to know is why you have scars all over and I don’t?”

His trainer grunted, still walking toward a weird, grey wooden box in the corner of the courtyard near the walls.

“Because most of my suffering was done when a healer wasn’t nearby,” Oidrun said. “I know you and the rest think those lessons on battle first aid are worthless, expecting some healer to come and take care of you, but trust me, knowing how to keep a wound clean, cauterize someone, use maggots for an injury, or just learning to sew flesh together can save your life or someone else’s. Don’t ignore it. I’m living proof.”

Francis knew Oidrun was right. Michael had gotten hurt on one of their travels and Francis had found different plants that he knew would help keep an infection away. Traveling and working as they did meant they couldn’t afford a healer to tend any injury they acquired.

“Now then, let me show you the next little thing on my list,” Oidrun said as he tapped the four-foot-tall container on top. It was at least ten feet long and six feet wide, but tiny holes were drilled into different spots. A small opening with a metal plate and lock was on the side facing the courtyard.

“In here are a few… insects that are not ones most want to play with. Their bite can be… painful, but that isn’t the real problem.” Taking a key out of the pouch on his hip, Oidrun removed the lock and then grinned. “Watch.”

He opened the plate and a screech came from inside even before he stuck his hand in the opening. The scampering of multiple things moving along the wooden box sent chills up Francis’s spine, as he immediately knew what was inside the container. Oidrun gave a single grunt, and after a few seconds, he shook his arm multiple times before quickly pulling his hand out and sliding the plate back in place. Holes were on his fingers and hand, purple liquid mixed with the red blood dripping onto the stone tiles.

“Those are skarver spiders,” Francis muttered. “You… let yourself get bitten by them? Poison Resistance?”

“Smart boy,” Oidrun replied, leaning against the box and taking a few large breaths. “These are not as strong as some others as they are older and I have workers who feed and drain their poison at regular intervals. Still, it packs a punch and if I’m honest, it sucks. Just be glad these aren’t wild ones or a newly hatched pod. Those would inject so much poison into you that your heart would stop. Now then, do you want to give this a go?”

Francis found himself blinking at the oversized man. “You just… with no healer? How many students do you do this with?”

“Bah, it’s not that bad and I only let you keep your hand in there a few seconds. At worst, you’ll be down for the day. Just don’t let more than one or two bite you before pulling your hand out.”

Even though he wasn’t concerned about the poison having the same impact as he already had the skill, Francis couldn’t believe what Oidrun was casually trying to get him to do. “How high is your poison resistance?”

A chuckle and a smile appeared on his trainer's lips. “Why, Mr. Lancaster, aren’t you going to buy me a drink first?”

Laughing, Francis shrugged and moved to where the metal plate was. 

“Now, don’t be a fool and make me yank you free,” Oidrun said. “If one of these escapes because I have to babysit you, we’ll have fewer of these moments, do you hear?”

Francis nodded and slipped the metal plate up, hearing the same shrill sound from before.

Plunging his hand in, fangs quickly bit down on Francis’ finger and the side of his hand. Another bite came and then another.

[ Poison resisted ]

[ Poison resisted ]

“Pull it out!” Oidrun shouted, reaching for him.

Not wanting to upset the man, Francis did as he was told, pulling his hand free and sliding the metal plate back into place.

Five sets of fang bites were scattered along his fingers and hand, and his trainer cursed, moving to the side of the crate and fumbling with a key and a lock.

[ Poison Resistance Increased - 13 ]

“Stupid fingers,” the man muttered, the poison obviously affecting his coordination.

“I’m fine,” Francis said, shaking his hand, which was covered in red and purple liquid. “Look.”

Francis started to dance and then jumped a few times, watching the older man’s eyes widen. Oidrun was kneeling next to the wooden crate, key stuck in a lock Francis could now see as he got closer to him.

“You… how…” Oidrun choked on his words and then jumped to his feet, almost falling over as his coordination seemed off. “You have it already!”

“Perhaps,” Francis said with a grin. “Though, to admit that would mean you’re probably going to find other ways to make me suffer.”

The loudest laughter the oversized trainer Francis had ever heard echoed off the stone walls near them. “Boy, I changed my mind! You and I are going to have a drink, and we’re going to test all the things I’ve wanted to if you’ll let me!”

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 54

Miranna held her breath for a moment, giving her mother and father a nod as she pointed at the blue portal before her and the rest of the group. “Vrax, Shale, and I will go in first. You two come ten seconds after.”

After Vaelithrea and Thergar both acknowledged her words, she went first, touching the portal and taking a deep breath.

Her eyes adjusted a second after she caught the scent of the air.  Both swords were drawn, and she was in a lowered position. Soft green grass was around her feet. Then she saw a portal fifty yards ahead of her.

“Mir… It’s this one!” Shale Spark exclaimed. “I can feel him.”

“So we’re certain,” Vraxion asked.

Turning around, Miranna tried not to react as her eyes saw the large mountains which rose up around them in a tight bowl, disappearing into the blue sky above.

Dad told me about how their dungeon looked like this when the moment came… Can it really be the same one? 

“You’re certain?” Miranna asked, eyes flickering to her friend, who had transformed back to her dragon state. She could see the way Shale Spark fidgeted, not something she did unless there was a reason to.

“Yes! It’s like when you know your Dad has baked your favorite muffins. You can smell it in the air. I can do the same, but it’s different.”

“Holy dragon balls,” Thergar cursed when he and their mage arrived. “You've got to be kidding me!”

Miranna shrugged, weapons still held outward to her side. 

“Could it really be that easy?” Vaelithrea whispered. 

“We’re not taking any risks, we’ll keep our weapons and armor on, following the same plane,” Miranna said, motioning to the portal she had first seen.

“Uh… do you think we should change our armor first?” Vraxion asked, his weapon stowed as he motioned to his gold dragon armor. “I mean… this could be taken wrong.”

Very aware of how she looked in the same gold dragon armor, Miranna frowned and asked their resident dragon, “Shale, what do you think? Is it bad manners to proceed if we’re wearing the scales of the potential creature we might face?”

“Uh… no. I don’t think so,” Shale Spark replied. “We’re not like that unless it’s family. I mean… he’s family but not like family.” The dragon paused and then glanced at her own scales, which had a golden border around each of the shiny red ones that made up her protective armor. “Besides, I think the color looks good on me.”

Vaelithrea chuckled and motioned with her staff to the portal. “All we can do is see what lies beyond. I, for one, would rather be way overprepared than walk into a bad situation assuming it’s something else. Besides, we all know what assume spells.”

Nodding, Miranna moved toward the portal Shale Spark was staring at. “We move as a group, Shale in back. I’ve got a point. Three-second staggering between entering.”

Grunts came as they moved as one. Countless dungeons and years spent had made it so words often weren’t needed. Only when things were outside the norm did they discuss stuff like this.

Touching the blue portal, Miranna held her breath. A second passed and her eyes started to work again. As she spun around taking in the same view as a moment ago, a curse came from her lips.

“Holy elf–”

“Your mother wouldn’t like it,” Vraxion said, cutting her off. 

Grunting, the god child nodded and put herself between the portal behind her and the spot her friends were appearing on. As soon as Shale Spark arrived, she trilled in the same manner as she had the day they got the items they now wore from Max.

“He’s there! Behind the portal!” their dragon exclaimed. “Oh! Do I look good?”

Laughs came from everyone, cutting the tension and concern as their dragon spun around, agile enough now to move without hitting her own team, even if she was the size of a house.

“You’re fine. Except for that smudge on your snout,” Thergar said.

“Where?!” Shale Spark gasped, going crosseyed immediately.

“He’s lying,” Vaelithrea grunted. “Ignore him.”

Smoke rose from their dragon's nostrils as she huffed in the direction of their healer. “If I didn’t have to behave–”

“Stop you two,” Miranna snapped. “Not now. I’m fine with the fun, but we’re not playing here.” She could feel her eyes vibrating, knowing they were glowing because of her emotional state. “We faced down everyone back home to prove we were ready for this moment, and we’ll not mess up by joking around. Understand?”

Vraxion chuckled and nodded. “Just like her father.”

She glared at the demon, who wasn’t unfazed, still smiling at her till she broke eye contact. “Fine. Same pattern, once more. Be ready.”

Once again, they moved as one, Miranna touching the portal first.

A wave of power washed over her as she tried to breath, blinking rapidly, hoping her eyes might work just a moment faster.  

When they did, her heart paused. Before her was a dragon that didn’t match the description her father had given. 

It’s way bigger than he said.

Like a mountain appearing before her, two gold eyes narrowed, their gold scales reflecting the sun's light above.

“It’s you,” she whispered.

Thrumming came and it felt like some of the air attacks her father occasionally threw at her. Each second her body vibrated with the force of the sound.

“Holy elf–”

“Don’t,” Miranna growled as Vraxion spoke.

Gasps came until a high-pitched squeal rang out once more.

“It’s you!”

The thrumming increased and then stopped.

“Forgive me,” the dragon said, his voice a little softer than the thrumming. “I still forget how much that affects you. Please, come and sit. I have been waiting for this moment.”

Four stone chairs rose from the plain gray stones that covered the area they found themselves in. A large shelf appeared in the middle, and Shale Spark dashed past the rest of them, plopping herself onto the stone, red eyes fixated upon the giant dragon before them.

“Someone’s being weird,” Thergar whispered, and Miranna had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

“Child, you are fine,” the dragon spoke. “We shall talk in time but for now, please relax. Know that I am proud of you.” 

A trill came and then cut off suddenly. Shale Spark shook her head, blinking a few times. “What… what just happened?”

The gold dragon let out a low thrum that was much quieter than before and pointed a massive talon at Shale Spark. “I eased your mood. It has been a while since one so young has been around me and even those who are ancient have reacted… similar at first.” The dragon stopped talking, his gold eyes looking at all of them once before returning to Miranna.

She could feel the pressure of his gaze but didn’t look away.

“You are just like them both,” the dragon said. “It is fortunate you look more like your mother.”

A few laughs came from her friends, and Miranna felt her cheeks warm up. Clearing her throat, she asked the question that had been on her mind the moment they entered the first portal and saw what lay beyond. “Why?” 

“That question has many different answers,” the dragon replied, lips curling upward and displaying teeth that could easily kill them all in a single bite. “Why is the sky blue? Why do birds sing? Why–”

“Did you do this place as you did for my parents and their party?” Miranna asked.

“A better question,” the dragon replied, nodding his head slowly. “That answer isn’t one for you to know yet. None of this matters right now. All that does is that you get my boon and continue on to the next dungeon.”

“Uh… how do you know we haven’t done the other dungeon already?” Vaelithrea asked.

A warm gust of air came from those golden nostrils, washing over them all. “I know things you cannot imagine and your biggest concern is how I might know that? Perhaps I was foolish to do it this way. Would you have preferred fighting my children to earn the right to stand before me?”

“Yes,” Miranna said, leaning forward, without hesitation in her answer. “We didn’t come here to be treated this way simply because of who my parents are.” She rose from her chair, pointing a finger at the dragon, feeling a rage grow inside that had started upon entering this dungeon. “We didn’t train all these years… No, our entire lives to be handed this for nothing!”

Power came, and a force like no other assaulted her. Gone was the smile on the dragon’s snout. Two gold eyes glowed as its head drew near, the very breath that came as it spoke, almost hot enough to cause her skin to blister.

“Child… do you not wear the scales of my kind? Did you slay them yourselves? The weapons you brought in here have the scent of your father on them. Did you craft them or did he? You dare accuse me of playing favorites when you have no understanding of the things I do and why I do them.”

The dragon growled and Miranna fought against the force that wanted her to sit down, wanted her to bend a knee, to lower her eyes and not meet the gaze that felt hot like the sun.

“I… will… not… bow!” she shouted, struggling between each word until the last one seemed to shatter the overwhelming force. She could feel her own eyes burning, the rage of everything inside her manifesting as it did only when she let go of the control she fought to hold on to.

Years of being taught how to fight it were tossed out. She didn’t care right now. Miranna would shine so bright it would destroy any shadow someone thought she stood in.

“YOU!” she yelled, her arm and finger rising to point at the large gold snout before her, “are bound by the system! Choose one of your children to fight or give us the boon and let us pass!”

She huffed, breathing becoming easier even with the sweltering heat that washed over her as the dragon snorted.

A few moments later, everything vanished. Gone was the pressure and the weight that had tried to crush her. It was gone so fast, Miranna stumbled forward a step, righting herself immediately.

Gasps of air came from her friends and she turned to see each of them grunting, pushing themselves off the stone seats and moving toward her.  Shale Spark’s body shimmered and shrunk, taking on her humanoid form. 

Miranna could see the same look of defiance in the eyes of her friends. She could sense through the rings they shared that she wasn’t alone.

“I don’t need this,” Miranna stated, the dragon armor vanishing, replaced with the chestplate she had acquired from the 45th dungeon boss they had killed a month ago. “You don’t realize why we wore this or why it was given.” Once again, her finger rose, and Miranna let her rage run free. “Love. A love I’ve known since birth gave each of these gifts that I wore. Not because they thought I was weak or because I needed them. They were given because they want me and my friends to succeed. To stand against whatever the tower, or the System, or gods like you throw at us.”

She took a step forward, tilting her head back so she could keep the gold dragon in her vision. “I will not let you slander that love. Nor will I let you slander the work of my friends. I’m tired of having to prove I’m worthy with words or stories. Choose your champion and we will slay them with the blade I earned through my own blood, sweat and tears.”

Silence was her reply as two gold eyes stared back at her.

“Very well,” the dragon said after a moment. “Prepare yourselves. I have chosen my champion.”

A pained cry came from beside her, and Miranna turned, seeing Shale Spark drop to a knee, holding her chest. Light radiated from under the hand of her friend since the earliest days Miranna could remember. Shale Spark cried out in pain.

“I have chosen her,” the dragon said. “Kill her and claim my blessing. Fail that task and you will gain nothing.”

Miranna’s hand trembled. Her breathing grew hotter and she turned her eyes from her friend, seeing the smug look upon the god of this dungeon.

And then something clicked inside.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 53a

“It has been a while since you have sought me out,” Rhythis said. “Not only that but for a game we haven’t played in 218,862 years.”

Wekime nodded, his clawed fingers picking up a piece on the board and setting it down slowly. “It has been too long, but as I did the last time I came, the reason was worth it. Have I ever made a bad bargain with you?”

Two older fingers lifted a piece on his side of the board, setting it three boards higher, taking the square where one of Wekime’s had been.

“Once… but that was–”

“I don’t need the years counted off for me, Rhythis,” Wekime said, cutting him off. “We both know how long it’s been. Besides, you know as well as I do the game has changed much since then.” 

Wekime didn’t hesitate, picking up another piece and setting it on a different board.

“You’re giving me things and we don’t even have a deal… Or are you setting a trap I haven’t noticed yet?” Rhythis asked. Two fingers full of life took a piece and tapped it against young lips, removing another piece from his opponent's board. “What do I get from this bargain? Something has changed. We all know it, and yet I’m not sure what. You know how I feel when I cannot see what is coming.”

“You never see everything,” Wekime said, waving his three fingers in the air. “You and I both know the pattern changes all the time.” Once more, the god of Force picked up a piece and set it before his opponent, smiling as he did.

“You don’t seem to understand… the pattern, the skein, the image… it is all in flux. Unlike the other times, the threads are… different.” Two tiny fingers, barely able to wrap themselves around the piece, lifted one upward and once again captured another of Wekime’s. “What do you know that the rest of us don’t? Why have two of the others gone silent?”

A smile grew, golden scales along the snout as a pair of golden eyes glowed. “Rhythis, time might be running out. My offer only stands for so long.”

Sand filled the room they were in, cascading off the god who sat across the boards in the room. His image shifted slightly, a muscular bald man, glyphs burned into his skin, eyes glowing like the sun. 

“You dare say I am running out?!” Rhythis boomed. “You come seeking a bargain and then mock me?!”

Wekime sighed, glanced at the board, and selected a piece on a far-off board, moving it to the main board, near the piece that determined the fate of the game.

“I believe you’re about to lose,” Wekime said, his smile still present, a hint of smoke rising from his nostrils. “I make no threats. I never do that. I was wrong once. It won’t happen again. Now, end this show you are displaying. We both know you’re not a fool and only a fool would touch another one of us.”

Slowly, the fire that raged within Rhythis’s eyes dimmed, and the sand that had filled the room once again covered his body, like a robe. He stared at the board, focusing on the piece he had considered, but ignored it because no matter what scenario he ran, it had no value. “You sacrificed all of those things for this moment… You knew I would take each one.”

“Since I have known you, Rhythis,” Wekime replied slowly, “You have never changed. You are constant. That makes you easier than some to work with. I’ll leave you with this, a saying you once used to make me endure too many times. The sand is running out. Decide. Take my offer or don’t. My next move will end this game.”

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 53

“I think it’s a bad decision,” Batrire said, speaking out first. “We barely passed the 50th dungeon, and that was with Max being beyond broken.”

“But we’re just as strong,” Vraxion argued, refusing to back down. “We’ve defeated every boss we’ve faced as well as the practices you put us through. How is it a bad decision?”

Sog cleared his throat and shook his head. “You can speak freely, but remember who she is. Respect her and listen to not just what they’re saying but why they are saying it.”

The group's warrior sighed and bowed slightly, stepping back to join the rest of his party. “Forgive me for speaking to you in such a tone… I am just… frustrated.”

“I get it, and we all understand,” Batrire replied, motioning to the other six gods standing with her. “You want to do this, but we’re telling you why you need to possibly wait.”

Max could feel the frustration of the five champions they had picked as the group stood before them. Each one was outfitted in armor and weapons that proved they had made it through the past five years with meticulous precision. Every piece of their body was outfitted with trophies of the bosses they slew as they cleared dungeons in all the kingdoms.

“We’ve done what you asked,” Vaelithrea said, her eyes fixed upon Cordellia. “Our roots are strong and deep. We’re ready for this storm.”

Their archer shrugged and raised her hands. “I can’t argue that you aren’t. I’m just telling you what I know. I never attempted those two dungeons because the risk was so significant. All I can tell you is be willing to die for this.”

“I am,” Miranna said immediately. “We’ve trained for this moment. We all know what might lie in those dungeons.”

“No, you don’t,” Tanila argued. “None of us do.” She held up a hand, cutting off their daughter's reply. “Listen… I could be wrong. I might be right. None of us knows if those portals will take you to the same kind of dungeon or even to gods like ours. With that promise that was made by the one… we’re not certain what could lie behind the portal.”

Max let his sonar study the five champions before them, knowing it was better at picking up small things compared to his vision. None seemed to be scared or put off by the warnings they were being given again. Each of them stood there, not backing down against the gods who had chosen them to be the face of unity on this world.

It’s ironic, isn’t it? Five different races, all determined as one to enter a place they know might be their last dungeon.

It’s their choice. Hate me for saying it, but would you have listened to Everett? No, you wouldn’t have. Miranna has lived in Tanila’s and your shadows her whole life even though you both have tried not to do so. This is their moment to prove they are worthy of being the champions of this world.

And yet only Shale Spark has a spark. I find that almost funny.

Perhaps but no matter what you say, unless you take those five and throw them into the tower, I would expect them to sneak out and attempt it. Your options are limited. I can sense your desire for them to complete these two dungeons. The boons granted for defeating these two dungeons are one of the reasons your party survived the tower.  Would you deny your daughter and them the same opportunity?

Max sighed and realized he had done so, louder than he had intended. 

“Dad?” 

He smiled and turned to his daughter, nodding. “Give me a minute. I need to talk with the others in private, but I want you five to know that my answer isn’t no right now.”

A few grunts came from his allies, as smiles appeared on the party before them.

“I knew–” Miranna began.

Max held up his hand, cutting her off. “I'm not saying yes. I’m saying let me share something Bob and I discussed.”

“Whose Bob?” Thergar whispered.

A few chuckles came from those who knew as Max motioned for the group of champions to go. “Sit over there. We need a moment.”

“Maaaax,” Tanila said, drawing out the vowel after Miranna and her party had moved away. “I thought we agreed this was a bad idea.”

“It is a bad idea, but it’s also not something we can stop.”

“I told you,” Fowl whispered, elbowing Batrire. 

“Quiet!” their healer snapped. “Are you telling me you want to let them go in there? Even after how close we came to dying? After what Death did to her and you?”

Max shook his head and pointed at the five who were huddled up in a tight circle on the other side of the courtyard. “We can’t stop them and Bob is right. If we try, they might just go in on their own.”

“I don’t suppose you’d seal off the dungeons,” Cordellia said.

Shaking his head, Max shrugged. “If we tell them no and don’t allow it, what are we telling every other adventuring group that comes after? If the ones we chose to set the path aren’t permitted, are we then telling everyone who comes behind that we will determine if they are worthy of going further?”

“But they’re…” Tanila paused, wincing before taking a deep breath. “She’s our star.”

Max knew what she was going to say before the words left her lips. It had been the biggest hurdle for him as well. 

“Their all our stars,” Batrire added.

“Gods, we’re not going to cry are we?” Fowl asked, getting an elbow for an answer from Batrire.

“You all are interesting people,” Sog declared. “One moment I’m certain of the decision you all are going to take, the next half of you are crying. I would like to remind everyone that I thought it was a great idea.”

Max nodded and shrugged. “It’s because we care. You want them to go because you care and think they need the boons. Rakonath isn’t here because he doesn’t care. A dragon does what a dragon wants. Those were his words. The longer I think about it and the more Bob talks about it, he’s right. They’re adults. Each of them has been gifted by the system and they carry the items that prove they have defeated the bosses that led to this moment. All we can do now is let them decide their fate. We shared our opinion and, unfortunately, tried to drown out their voice.”

“When you put it that way, we sound like the bad guys,” Cordellia said.

“If we’re behaving like someone who only cares about how this affects us and not them, then yeah, that’s what we are,” Max replied. “We’re selfish and as much as it hurts to admit, my daughter… is grown up. The day I knew would one day come is here, and I would rather stand beside her, cheering her on than push her away because I didn’t let her fly.”

Fowl sniffed a few times, rubbing his eyes. “Did you practice that? It was really good.”

“Sometimes I hate you,” Tanila said, glaring at him for a moment. “Now I feel bad about being some evil mother who only wants what I want. But you’re right… It’s time for our… all of our stars to set their own path in the sky.”

Max moved to his wife and opened his arms, wrapping them around her when she drew close. He could feel her heart beating quickly. Behind him his sonar told him that Fowl was comforting Batrire who was taking this far harder than he had expected.

“Uh… do you need me to hug you?” Sog asked.

“Nooo,” Cordellia groaned. “But I’ll take it.”

They all chuckled through the sniffing and wiping of tears, the hardest moment of parenting finally hitting.

“Come on. With our decision made, it’s time.”

***

Max turned and smiled, stopping in the middle of a hallway between the kitchen he often baked in and the sleeping quarters he never used. 

“Uh, why are we stopping?” Miranna asked as her party almost bumped into her.

Down the hallway the door to the kitchen swung open and Rakonath appeared, a red-headed woman in a red dress, only a head shorter than him, following behind. 

Max smiled as he saw the young woman grinning from ear to ear.

“Is that–”

“Holy dragon tits, it’s Shale Spark!” Vraxion shouted.

Max and the others pressed against the stone walls as the four rushed toward their friend who was running toward them.  Laughter and more came from the group as they watched their dragon friend spin around a few times, her red dress twirling with her.

“You’re a good dad, you know that?” Tanila whispered, squeezing his arm as she stood beside him. “Rakonath was here pretty quick once you told him our decision.”

“That’s because he’s been waiting to give her that ring. I might have spent some DP on it.”

“Of course you did,” Fowl teased. “Always here to make the rest of us look like cheapskates.”

When the din of the celebration died down, Max’s dragon urged the five back to the spot where everyone else waited.

“Dad, did you–”

“I did, now wait,” he said, holding up a hand.

“I… I owe…” Shale Spark stuttered.

Max shook his head. “You don’t own anything but if you all won’t stop talking we can’t do this next part.”

“Next–” Thergar got out before Vaelithrea elbowed him.

Smiling, Max pointed at the wall behind him. “Take a step back.”

Bob began moving the stones that lined the wall, pulling each one out, storing them until a long hallway appeared. With a snap of Max’s finger, lightstone illuminated the tunnel.

“When did–” Miranna said.

“Just wait, let your dad show off a little,” Tanila said.

They followed behind Max, five adventurers and six gods, whispers coming from the party who had no idea where they were headed.

A hundred yards turned into a set of stairs cut from the stone in the floor and descended downward.

“Almost there,” Max said as he moved down the steps, motioning for them to follow. Minutes passed and soon they came to a giant stone door, magical glyphs set on it.

Tanila pushed her way past the party and stood next to Max. “My turn,” she whispered, putting both hands on the door. Orange light radiated around her hands and the runes brightened, illuminating the area they stood in like the sun at its peak. Then the runes vanished.

Max moved the door with a single push of his finger and revealed a large room that had five different tables, each with a single chest on it.

“You five will find your names written on the table,” Max said. “Inside the chest is a gift. That gift is far more than most should ever hope for or see and I hadn’t planned on giving them to you until you reached a certain stage in the tower, but…” he paused and motioned inside. “You get to decide if you want to use what is inside for this moment. We won’t stand in your way. All we can do is tell you to follow your heart and proceed as a group.”

He turned and smiled at his daughter. “You’re grown up. It’s time to shine on your own. So, if you'd like, take this gift we have for you and use it. Blaze a trail through those dungeons, collect the boons they offer, and then enter the tower. Whatever you choose to do, we support you.”

Max watched as the five adventurers shifted, a few sniffles and then a few tears came as the group cleared throats.

Miranna flew toward Tanila and him, wrapping her arms around both of them. “I love you! More than you’ll ever know!”

Both of them chuckled. 

“Oh we know and even more than that,” Tanila whispered. “Now, go, Star. Shine bright.”

Their daughter kissed each of their cheeks before letting out a squeal and rushing inside. A stampede came after as the other four followed her, the group yelling out names as they found them on the tables.

“I feel bad about how I give gifts,” Fowl stated. “I just gave a gift. I don’t make people walk for ten minutes before putting on a light show and then giving a speech.”

“Maybe you should try sometime,” Batrire said.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Laughter filled the area as the seven gods stood by, watching five champions let out shrieks of excitement and joy, their outfits switching as they tried out new armor and equipment.

A pain filled Max’s chest, and he smiled.

I felt that.

I didn’t say anything when you felt that.

True, but it means a lot to me to know you care about her.

A silence that felt longer than it was hovered there as Max waited, knowing Bob was trying to say something and seemed unable to.

I… I forgot what it feels like…

You forgot what feels like?

Love.

Undying Blood - Chapter 55

Chapter 55

[ Pain Resistance Increased - 33 ]

[ Strength Increased - 28 ]

It was hard to frown as Frown waited for Dorian to appear. Staring at those notifications and knowing he had gained them from surviving some crazy attempt on his life or a message Derrek wanted to send, had Francis wanting to laugh.

Maybe Stenson knew this would happen… if so, that man is a monster. Sending me here… knowing this would happen… I guess I’ll have to ask him about it at one point.

Francis’ eyes studied the room, looking at the books scattered around, and he saw that one was his Law & Governance textbook. With time on his hands, he grabbed it, making sure not to get blood on it as he read and turned the pages.

***

“You… have me in an awful position,” Dorian said. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?! Pray tell how so?” Kaelith protested, the pair ignoring Francis.

“You ordered this. I obeyed,” the older man replied.

“I didn’t tell you to allow such actions and any attempts to say otherwise will result in–”

“Fuck you and your threats, Loxmere!” Dorian shouted. “You know I’ll take you down with me, so don’t try that crap with me. Now deal with him! I’ve got seven other families to talk to, and I swear if you lay this at my feet, I’ll come for you, consequences be damned.”

With those words spoken, Dorian left the room, slamming the door as he went.

The assistant to the Master of the Spires cleared his throat and frowned, leaning against the desk and glaring at Francis.

“Oh, don’t try and tell me this is my fault,” Francis said. “My brother’s an ass and you know it. Having me put across the room from means you knew this was going to happen.”

The mage’s mouth opened for a second and closed before he sighed. “Sometimes, mistakes happen. You being here… has upset the normal way of this place. For a fourth or even a fifth born son to come is very unlikely, but it has happened; yet none of your predecessors have ever done so. Your father is an… important noble as his ore continues to support the King and his activities.”

“You mean the war?” Francis asked.

Fingers drummed along the side of the desk and a pair of brown eyes glared at him. “The things you speak of are not your place. You cannot begin to fathom all that is involved in such an action. Why, I…” Kaelith paused and shook his head. “No, we’re not here to discuss politics. You will refrain from fighting. Do you understand?”

Francis laughed and wanted to throw the book he held at the man. “Refrain from fighting? I just got attacked by eight men. Eight! I’ll defend myself, but I won’t start it.”

“That is a lie,” Kaelith growled. “You start it with every word you speak about the war and every time you disgrace your family's blood. Each time you act, you cause others to hate and dislike you, wanting to remove what they already detest even more. Simply by being here, you are baiting them to fight. And then you go and show off in the areas of battle, proving to them that you belong, infuriating them even more.”

Kaelith held up his hand, stopping Francis from speaking.

“Listen, I can see why General Stenson has paid and vouched for you to be here. Know that what each of these boys has fought for every day for years of their lives, you have displayed more power in a few days upon your arrival. The upheaval is… incredible. I have to deal with instructors who want to move you into higher rank classes or simply out of their class. We’re not even a full week after your arrival and my life has been a living hell because of your presence.”

“And this is my fault, why?” Francis asked, crossing his arms.

“Because you’re a ninth son! This would be much easier had you gone with that other one, Michael. That section of the capital is designed to take one like you and not care about blood, desiring rapid growth so that they may rejoin the army. Yet you would be cast back to the front line the moment you showed your potential there. Which is why Stenson sent you to me.”

The mage sighed and rubbed both of his eyes for a moment.

“Even after all the power that I have displayed, you and most of those here can’t see past the fact that I’m the ninth son of a noble. What does that say about you and the others?”

Kaelith stared at him and nodded. “It shakes the very core of everything we believe and profess. The only saving thing is that many believe you are chosen. In our history, there was one mention of a sixth son who was chosen and did amazing things, but a ninth…”

“Okay, well, I understand that part, having lived it my whole life. So now what?” Francis asked. “What happens now?”

Smacking his lips, the mage shrugged. “I have no doubt Avelis will choose to ignore you. Summoning you only feeds into the problem you present. So you’ll go back to your classes, and I’ll honor the request of those who have asked to transfer you into a more advanced one. I will also be forced to move you into a different set of dorms.”

Kaelith stood up and moved till he was towering over him. “You will be where men like your other brother, Aiden, are. Do not encourage them to act out as unlike Derrek, if they come at you, it will be for more than just a little blood.”

“And that’s not what happened tonight?”

With a shake of his head, Kaelith scoffed.

“No. They were sending a message, a painful one, but a simple one. At no point would I have expected them to kill you. The boys who were present do not have the same position of power that your brother enjoys. They wouldn’t have gone along with murder.”

Francis sighed and made to stand up. “Then I guess we should go.”

“Not just yet, Mr. Lancaster. I have one last bit of advice before we leave.”

Staying in his seat, Francis waited.

“Stop talking about the war. Some will not care that General Stenson supports you. I am not talking about students either. They will kill you and most likely leave no trace.”

“Wh… why?” Francis asked. “What is it that makes that topic so dangerous? You and I both know what is taking place on the front lines!”

“Politics is a dangerous game, Mr. Lancaster. You don’t know the rules, the players or any of the other pieces on the board. Just know this. Stenson used you as a piece. Right now, you’re a weak one, no matter how strong you think you are. If I wanted, you could die right here and now and I could make up a story of how you attacked me in rage when I told you about needing to pay compensation for attempting to kill two of your attackers.”

“What?!” Francis exclaimed.

Kaelith held out a hand, a white glow appearing the moment he lifted it.

“And just like that, this would be done. You were angry and upset,” the mage said, bluntly. “Control that temper, Mr. Lancaster, or someone else will use that story and you won’t be there to argue against it.”

Nodding slowly, Francis didn’t press the issue anymore. The message was clear.

Stenson… you bastard… you did play me and odds are you knew I’d eventually find out or figure it out… but for what game? If you know I’ll remember this and repeat all this, what is the end goal?

“Thank you for the advice,” Francis said, wrestling with his thoughts. “I’ll try to do as you have instructed.”

Lowering his hand, the mage nodded and motioned to the door with his head. “Let’s go. I can get you into the dorms while it's still dark. Have no fear, they’re awake, but no one will mess with you. For now.

***

Francis’ new living place made the old dorms look like a cheap tavern. There were only six rooms on each floor for the students to live in. The carpet, woodwork and stones used were far nicer than the other building. Gold and silver trim were everywhere and dozens of paintings hung like ordinary things one might find in every home.

Francis had to work hard not to let his jaw go slack as he followed Kaelith up the stairs. Leading the way to the second floor was Junar Chatsk, the master of this place.

“This is highly inappropriate,” Junar whispered. “The repercussions–”

“It's on me,” Kaelith said. “Now, ensure everyone here knows that I will not tolerate any foolishness like what just took place. Doing so will carry consequences they do not want to imagine. Bloodline be damned.”

A grunt came from the middle-aged man, whom Francis was certain could probably trounce him without breaking a sweat. Junar moved with a grace that spoke of agility and balance. Yet even when relaxed, the man looked ready to react.

I guess if you live in a place with spoiled firstborns, you'd best be able to hold your own against them.

Francis soon found himself alone in the last room down the hall. He was standing in the entryway to his new place.

“Holy crap, this is insane,” Francis blurted out, his voice echoing off the walls. He was glad the two men had dropped him off and let him explore on his own.

There was a tiny kitchen area, a couch and sitting area, a room with empty shelves, and a bedroom that was larger than the sum of the other two rooms combined.

In the middle was a bed that looked like it might rival what Francis felt the King might sleep upon back at the battlefield.

Glancing at his clothes and the blood that had stained them, Francis found the bathroom and fell in love immediately.

“A tub… and soap.”

Stripping off as fast as he could, Francis moved to the tub and found two faucets.

Frowning, he turned one, finding the water cold, almost too cold. Testing the other resulted in warm water.

“Seriously? Hot water? Where has this been my whole life?”

Playing with the two faucets, he found the perfect temperature, climbed in, and sighed as he could lie back with ease, stretching his body. He still had a few inches before his feet would touch the other end.

“Now I really hate the firstborns,” Francis muttered to himself.

Laughing, he started washing the blood off himself with a bar of soap resting in a small inset section on the marble.

Not caring if he was wasting water, Francis took the greatest bath of his life.

***

“Coming!” Francis shouted.

When he reached the door, he raced to put on his pants, not caring that they were still blood-stained.

Opening it, a young boy stood there with a giant bag in his hand. “Francis Lancaster?” the boy squeaked.

“Yes.”

“Crap, sir, you’re jacked! I mean… These are for you. They’re clothes, sir. I mean obviousl,y that’s what they’d send you. Especially since your pants look like you actually fought twenty students last night.”

“Twenty?” Francis asked, chuckling. He could only imagine the stories that were probably running wild. Deciding to have fun, he embellished a little. “It was actually thirty-two.”

Blue eyes widened, and the boy leaned closer as Francis took the package from outstretched arms. 

“Really? Thirty-two? I mean… how? The stories–”

“It was only eight,” Francis said, shaking his head. ”And the room was kind of tight. That helped me to fight them a couple at a time.”

The look of joy and adoration vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Only eight? Seriously… I… I guess that’s still good, but I hoped the twenty was right,” the young boy said, his face not hiding his displeasure of learning the truth.

Shaking his head, Francis stood there, holding the package. 

The boy stood there, smiling.

An awkward silence hung in the air for ten seconds.

“Anything else?” Francis asked.

Clearing his throat, the boy frowned and glanced down the hallway. “Well, it’s kind of rude for me to ask for a tip, but also kind of rude not to get one.”

“Really?” Francis asked. “People tip you? For doing your job?”

“Yeah! What kind of job would this be if I didn’t get tips for delivering this to you?”

“Uh… a job?”

‘Please… I have to deal with… I mean–” the young boy started, glancing back down the hallway.

“It’s alright,” Francis admitted. “I’d give you a tip, but I don’t have anything on me. Last night I came here with nothing but the torn and bloody clothes I wore. What’s your name?”

“Samuel, sir.” 

“Tell you what, I’ll get my coins as quickly as possible and then find a way to get one to you? How does that sound?”

“Like a load of manure… I mean… that sounds fine, Sir,” Samuel sighed.

Francis laughed and couldn’t help but admire the balls on the kid.

“You must be next in line to become a fighter with the guts you have, talking like that,” Francis said. “I mean, you’re giving the guy who just fought off twenty men by himself some lip.”

“You just said it was eight and that the room was tight,” Samuel stated. “You obviously aren’t nearly as special as they say… Sir.”

Tossing the package into the room, Francis bent down and held out his hand.

“I promise to get you a tip. On my honor.”

Samuel frowned for a moment and then sighed. “I’m warning you, break it, and no one will bring you anything on time for months.”

As they shook, Francis smiled and nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. Now, go and tell everyone I said it was thirty-two. That way you’ll make me sound better than I am.”

Laughing, Samuel stared off for a moment at the wall. “Tell you what, give me an extra coin and I’ll do what I can to have them singing songs about you.”

“Well, how big were the men I was fighting?” Francis asked.

“Depends on how big a tip I get. Sir.”

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 52

You’re going to have to do better than that.

Max ignored Bob’s teasing, focusing on the five who were attacking him. Ice tried to freeze his steps, but Max avoided it, smiling as he heard a ‘booo’ from Tanila.

“Resisted!” Vaelithrea shouted.

Good communication on the mage’s part.

A roar bellowed from his right, and Max turned, the effects of a Taunt skill by Vraxion not even giving him pause.  Still, he acted like a boss might, facing the demon who was normally three feet taller than him. In his Ultimate Form, Max now towered over the demon and brought both swords down at the warrior.

Max felt the strikes against his hamstrings and knees, sensing Miranna attacking him as Vraxion absorbed his blows. A green light appeared on the warrior as Thergar healed.

“Nice timing!” Batrire called out.

“Taunt’s over!” Fowl shouted.

Max roared, feeling foolish as he turned, facing his daughter who would have most likely gained the attention of any boss. When his back was turned, a pair of talons raked across his shoulders from behind.

Stumble…

Knowing Bob was right, Max pitched forward, taking the strikes from Miranna on the same knee, knowing that the level of creature he was trying to imitate would most likely have lost that section of their leg.

Kneeling on a single leg, he swung, struggling to stay upward as his momentum carried him around.  An ice spear struck his right shoulder, forcing him to go face down and receive a pair of blades along the back of his neck the moment his head was low enough.

“DEAD!” Rakonath shouted.

Cheers and laughter came from those on the practice field and on the edges.

“You were cheating,” Miranna said as she poked his side with her blade. 

“Me, cheating?” Max gasped, pretending to be hurt, as he ended his Ultimate Form, and his body returned to normal size. “How about next time I go berserk or use a power strike again? What then?”

“Yeah, let’s not,” Vraxion said as the demon came closer. “I can still feel how that struck even with you just hitting a little harder. 

“Bah, I kept your health topped up,” Thergar stated. “Even Mother Batrire said I did fine.”

A roar came from above as Shale Spark landed and made her way toward the others who were all gathering around Max. 

“Please, we all know I did all the work,” the dragon declared upon arriving.

Max shook his head and whistled, cutting off the conversations and joking that were taking place. “Alright, let’s chat and then you five can go relax. We’ve been at this for two hours and I’ve got other stuff to do. Besides, you’ve improved since the first time.”

He pointed at Batrire who stepped forward to talk. “Those heals were on point for that last fight, Thergar. You’re going to have to start considering pre-healing if you see that the boss uses an ability.”

“Aye, and don’t depend on that taunt,” Fowl added as he gave Vraxion a gentle poke. “You only get to use that once in a fight, and you never know when something you face won’t resist.”

“Speaking of resisting,” Tanila said. “While I’m sure your spell was perfectly placed, Vaelithrea, they do resist. Most bosses won't succumb to a root or ice spell for long. Your best use of spells is creating walls and obstacles to help your team until it’s safe to cast spells.

Max smiled, looking at Rakonath, who just shrugged.

“What?” the dragon god asked. “Shale Spark did fine. She didn’t set anyone on fire and she stayed out of harm's way.”

“See! Perfect,” the red dragon declared.

“I wouldn’t say perfect,” Max said, but he waved off the dragon who was celebrating. “Miranna, what do you think I’m going to say?”

His daughter groaned as everyone looked at her. “I hate when you do this.”

“But it’s better if you have an idea of what you think went wrong versus me just telling you what went wrong.”

“I would have been in trouble if the boss went berserk or used a skill on me that I couldn’t avoid. Even with my spells, I have to avoid casting them unless necessary as all that would do is draw more agro.”

Max nodded and winked. “See, you already knew what you did wrong. You came in a little early. Let the boss get mad at Vraxion. He’s a big target and can take it, but once he loses agro, it makes the team suffer for it.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Fowl muttered.

“Now then, where are you five off to?” Max asked.

The five of them glanced at each other. After a few hand gestures and nodding, Vraxion stepped forward.

“We’re going to be tackling the level fifteen dungeon today. It’s the tree and plant one.”

Max and the others nodded.

“Level fifteen dungeon in a week,” Tanila said. “Seems like old times.”

Max watched as the other gods gave their students gentle pats and hugs, waiting for the moment to end. “Alright, I’ll be the mean one. Based on what you’re displaying the level twenty dungeon is where you’re going to start being challenged.  Remember this isn’t a sprint. I know you're all riding high after clearing all those dungeons in one go, but this is where you’ll see things change.

“A level twenty-five dungeon is where the first change in monster tiers takes place. They’re going to resist spells more often and take less damage. They’ll also start hitting harder. Don’t underestimate them even if you feel you’re stronger and faster.”

Nods came from the champions they had chosen.

“Any questions?” Max asked.

“I got one,” Miranna said, holding up her hand. “If you all could do something different at these early dungeons, what would that be?”

Max was caught off guard by the question, glancing at his old party members and studying them. “The early dungeons? Like pre-twenty-five?”

“Yup!” his daughter exclaimed.

“Go slower,” Fowl said. “I’d take my time.”

“Fowl Hammerfall, when did you ever do anything slow besides get out of bed?” Batrire asked.

“Bah, woman, you know I like to take my time when drinking!”

Max smiled as he looked at Tanila, motioning to her with his head.

“I would agree with Fowl,” she said. “We blazed through the dungeons for a variety of reasons and missed out on a lot of opportunities to farm bosses and drops. I think we were so focused on getting to level fifty as fast as possible that we missed out on what could have been a safer and better-equipped grind.”

“Dad,” Miranna asked, studying him.

“They’re right,” he replied. “I know so many talk about how fast we went through the tower but it’s not supposed to be a race. Each of you has plenty of time to grow stronger. None of you has to complete the tower in two, five, or ten years. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, enjoy the moments you have together. Some of the best times we ever had were making fun of Fowl afterwards and his inability to go to the bathroom in a dungeon.”

“What? Really?” Vraxion asked, looking at Fowl.

“Bah, you all can go hump a troll,” their dwarf warrior growled. “I’m going back to my capital, where people don’t worry about my bowel habits!”

Laughs broke out as Fowl winked and turned, motioning with his head to Batrire.

“I guess that’s it,” Tanila said. “I’ve got things to do as well. You all have fun and be safe.”

Max waved and started to move away when he sensed his daughter coming toward him.

“Dad, you forgot something,” Miranna said, wrapping her arms around him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, hugging her back. “I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

She leaned back and smiled. “Trust me, you embarrass me in so many other ways, and hugging me isn’t one of them. We’ll be safe. I promise.”

He kissed her forehead and nodded, watching Mirana chase down Tanila and hug her as well before joining her team.

“They’re good kids,” Rakonath said, having moved to join him. 

“And yet their not kids anymore,” Max replied. “They’re growing up so fast. Even Shale Spark doesn’t waddle like she used to.”

“That is true. That wyrmling is growing faster than I had expected. It appears a spark does wonders for a dragon. It’s a shame Sog’s not here to watch his champion practice.”

“Yeah, he’s with Cordellia right now.”

“Meditating? Again?” Rakonath asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Yup. He’s taking the whole changing thing to heart. If I’m honest, it’s rubbed off on me a little bit in the last few days. I’m trying not to hover as much over Miranna, and I’ve stepped back a lot more on the city things, letting our king and queen handle them.”

Rakonath chuckled, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. “You surprise me more than you realize. I know the burden is heavy, but I’m here to help carry it. It’s also good that you decided to limit these training days to once a week for the first month.  That way they learn some things while also not feeling like we don’t trust them.”

“Have you been talking with Tanila lately?” Max asked, grinning. “She said the same thing yesterday.”

His dragon chuckled and shook his head. “No, anytime I come to visit Tanila, she finds a way to make me do something for that school she teaches magic at. Even though the students don’t scare me, I sometimes wonder if teaching them all the runes she does is a wise move.”

“And why is that?” Max asked, slowing his step and turning to face his friend.

Rakonath slowed and frowned. “Runes… they are stronger than standard magic. Understanding them is like a dragon unleashing its breath. Eventually, every dragon learns how to use what is inside them.  Many different factors can influence the power and strength of one's control over the gift we are given.  You might remember when I had to learn control early on with it.”

Max nodded and chuckled. “I do remember you occasionally using too much fire at first.”

“If what I am thinking is correct, it’s the same way with those runes. Magic operates off of the system's ability to draw upon certain powers. Those runes amplify it like you're crafting something. If a student doesn’t understand their true potential and how to control the magic they have, a rune could cause it to go out of control or do something they hadn’t considered.”

He’s right. 

“Of course I’m right,” Rakonath grunted. “Bob uses magic differently than others, as does Tanila. Even you, but that is because you interacted with magic through him. She learned runes at a young age and shaped her magic accordingly. The ones Tanila is teaching have had the system before learning the runes and it’s going to cause problems, I’m afraid.”

Max stood there, considering the way he cast magic. In his mind, he simply willed what he wanted it to do, never having considered what it meant.

“Bob?”

Watch, focus, and watch. Rakonath is right. I’ve done things different than most it appears and never thought twice about it. I’ll show you how I do it, and then I'll compare it to how he describes it.

Max turned toward the training area, now empty from everyone but him and Rakonath.  He raised both hands at Bob’s leading and felt magic beginning to form in each. A gout of flames shot forward, streaming across twenty feet, constantly putting out heat.

Now watch your left one.

The flames coming from his left hand grew about a third in size, shooting farther by a good five feet or more.

“And that one is…”

Feel it, close your eyes and watch the mana pour out of you.

Max did as he was instructed, sensing the mana that was leaving his body and the way the spell transformed it.  Two spells, both the same and yet one felt raw and stronger. 

Here, look. Right here.

Bob guided his study of the one on his left, and Max could see that there were traces of runic magic, things he could read and recognize, and things that he couldn’t wrap his mind around as the mana poured out of his body and became fire.

Opening his eyes, Max watched the spells fade out and frowned.

“Why didn’t I ever notice it before?”

“Why would you?” Rakonath asked. 

“I mean, you knew and never said anything,” Max replied.

“Actually, I didn’t till Tanila brought me to the school. You two use the same kind of magic. Bob and Tanila draw from the same source. The students did not and watching them attempt it was like… handing a new warrior a sharp sword and making them practice with it. Sure, they might be fine, but they also might injure themselves if they tripped or something happened.”

Frowning, Max considered what this might mean to Tanila’s pet project.

“So… you don’t want to talk to her about this?”

“Gods no,” Rakonath chuckled. “She scares me.”

Max laughed. 

Bob laughed. 

Rakonath laughed.

Yet all three knew how scary Tanila could be.

Undying Blood - Chapter 54

Chapter 54

Now he sat in the Lore and Governance class, feeling way behind, as they were already a third of the way through the book he had yet to start reading.

“So, when the citizens you are responsible for do not obey, one must decide early on the path they are going to take to bring them back in line,” Instructor Fenlow drolled on. “You might think that being heavy-handed is good and fear is a great motivator, but history shows us that approximately six hundred and twenty-seven years ago, what took place because of that leadership style?”

A few hands shot up from those sitting closer to the instructor and a red-headed boy was chosen.

“That was the Flendous Revolt, sir!”

“Correct, now as you all know, the revolt spread throughout a third of the kingdom and caused considerable loss of life to the working class and a few noble families. It is why one must ensure they care for their workers and not push them to a breaking point.”

Many of the boys murmured and nodded, some jotting down notes.

Francis couldn’t help but raise his hand.

“Ahh, Mr. Lancaster. Pray-tell, will you have some knowledge of this revolt none of us knows about?”

“No, sir. I was just wondering how the current conditions of the commoners and workers were being handled with the pressure of the war and the constant drain of their–”

“Ahh, excellent question,” Fenlow said, waving a hand and cutting him off. “As we all know the current mood of the commoner is good. Our King and the council have taken great effort to keep them excited about the success the army is having. We–”

His hand went up again and a glare came from the instructor who stood behind his lectern.

“Yes, Mr. Lancaster?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not right. I’ve been there.”

“Yes, we have heard many times already about you spreading false things about the army. While you think you know, the council has assured us multiple times that things are well in hand and should be wrapped up in the coming year. Now then–”

Ready to growl, Francis waved his hand again, and a few students turned to see it, causing Fenlow to glare.

“Last question, but if you continue with this nonsense, I will be forced to report you to the Master and allow her to deal with your lack of obedience.”

Part of him wanted to push the issue, but Francis refrained. Instead, he asked a question he had no information about. “So who is on the council?”

Laughter came from half the classroom and Fenlow rolled his eyes.

“This is why we do not take the report of someone like you, Mr. Lancaster. You have no knowledge of the Kingdom or how rules are made and kept. If you read the book you’ve been given, you might have discovered some of that information. Instead, you’ve wasted precious time on nonsense. Do not do that again, am I clear?”

The tone carried across the room, and Francis nodded once, not bothering to reply.

One day I’m going to prove you wrong… but today you can be an ass.

Without missing a beat, his instructor returned to the topic before he asked a question, discussing things that seemed trivial, yet Francis made sure to pay attention.

Stenson… you said this is important but I swear I’d rather keep dying over and over.

***

“Hold him!” Some one shouted from his doorway.

Francis felt multiple hands grabbing at him as he tried to sit up, having heard a board in his room creak.

Still he hadn’t reacted fast enough and the group that was assaulting him had yanked him off his bed and were trying to pin him to the floor.

Even with his stats being what they were, the numbers were overwhelming as eight shapes grabbed his arms and legs.

Punches struck, hitting his face and stomach between his attempts to fight back.

Someone had managed to get a piece of leather in his mouth and held his head against the wooden floor, preventing him from calling out.

“You don’t belong here!”

“Leave this place, sheetstain!”

Other curses and phrases were called out as the beating ensued, yet Francis didn’t give up, always thrashing.

His pain resistance was helping and then a different pain blossomed in his stomach.

Something sharp pierced his skin, thrust through into his abdomen. 

Another sharp prick came,  and then another.

Like a wild animal, Francis fought, angry and pissed at the onslaught.

Pain continued to come as something pierced each leg, flesh tearing as he fought against it.

“Give up you idiot!”

“Hurry before he bleeds out!”

A shape he recognized from a dim light inside his room.

Derrek!

[ Deaths Dance Activated ]

Francis’ body felt alive and the power that came from his skill flowed through every part of him.

The boys holding his arms found themselves wrenched forward as Francis brought them together, smashing heads and bodies into each other.

“How the hell?” 

Freed from the grips that had kept him pinned, Francis threw a punch at the one holding a leather strap in his mouth.

A crunching sound came when Francis’ fist collided with flesh, and the force holding his head down vanished immediately.

Francis was a wild animal, trapped and fighting for his life. He wasn’t sure if they were trying to kill him or simply make him suffer before getting a healer, but he didn’t care.

Each time his fist connected with one of his assailants with a cry rang out.

“Quiet!” Derrek exclaimed.

His brother came at him, a glint of metal in the faint light.

Francis yanked both of his legs toward his chest, driving the trio holding onto them into each other and cutting off his brother’s path to attack him.

Francis bucked and kicked like a wild horse, finally freeing himself from the hands that tried to keep him pinned to the floor.

More power flowed into him, a sign that his health continued to decrease, and not sure if this loop would end here tonight, Francis was ready to die making sure he took as many of these men with him.

Every bit of brawling knowledge came into use as he used the tight space of the room and the multiple bodies trying to get him, to his advantage.

Francis bit, clawed, kicked, kneed and used every other part of his body with no regard for who got hurt or in what way.

He bit a finger off when someone was foolish enough to try and hook his cheek, a loud wail ringing out as Francis spit the chunk of flesh and bone out.

Something solid crashed against his side, but all it did was break, sending shards of wood everywhere.

Roaring like a lion, Francis grabbed two pieces, shoving one into each of the boys nearest to him. They cried out as he jabbed the wooden pieces into their bodies.

More pain came as a blade struck his left shoulder, causing his arm to struggle to respond. It had to have cut something important for Deaths Dance not to allow it to still work.

Francis twisted, his right fist coming as a haymaker toward whoever had just cut him, and a moment before it struck, he saw Derrek’s face.

[ Power Strike ]

His brother spun like a top as the empowered punch impacted the side of his head.

One moment, Derrek was on his feet, the next, he was on the ground, not moving.

The sound of footsteps and his door being thrown open could be heard above the commotion. Francis turn his attention to the door where Dorian stood. Francis could see the old man’s eyes widen as the lantern he held flooded the room with light, revealing the scene within.

“What in the… HEALERS! I NEED HEALERS! EVERYONE TO ME!” Dorian shouted.

Only one of Francis’ eyes worked, and the glance of what his body looked like showed that blood was everywhere. Slick, red patterns streaked his wooden floor. Pained moans and cries came from the teens scattered around him in his room.

Even though his body was torn, bleeding and losing blood, Francis felt alive. The power coursing through him had him panting, and he couldn’t help but want to unleash it.

“Francis! Calm down!” Dorian ordered.

The old man slowly entered the room, bending down and checking one of the teens closest to the door.

“They… attacked me,” Francis growled.

“I know… I know… Gods I should have… Is he alive? Your brother?” Dorian said, his words seeming to change as quickly as his thoughts must have been.

Looking at the body next to him, Francis could see Derrek’s chest rising and falling slightly, a faint breathing or wheezing noise from the shattered jaw and face. An ear was missing, pulverized by his fist.

Glancing at his hand, Francis saw there were bits of flesh and bone impaled in it.

“Yes,” Francis replied. “He’s still breathing.”

A sigh escaped the older man as the clamor of boots echoed through the hallway and more people appeared, gasps coming from those who peered inside.

Every second that ticked by, Francis felt unstoppable and as the sensation grew, a moment came when he realized death was at the door.

Grabbing the sheet from his bed, Francis yanked it so hard the mattress flipped over, landing on one of the boys who wasn’t moving.

Wadding it up, he pressed it against his stomach and the holes where blood, bile ,and more seeped out.

“I’m not going to make it much longer,” Francis said, coughing as blood sprayed out.

“Healers!” Dorian shouted again. The older man moved with intent but hesitated when he stood between Francis and his brother.

“I swear I’m a fool,” Dorian grunted. 

He had a small pouch on his hip, and yanking a yellow vial out the man cracked the top and lifted it to Francis’ lips.

“Drink. It’s going to hurt–” the old man started.

Francis didn’t wait; he grabbed the man’s hand, forcing the liquid into his mouth, and swallowed.

“Half! Just half!” Dorian called out.

Still sucking, Francis almost ignored the request but forced himself to stop after two-thirds of the liquid was gone.

A bonfire roared within his core, and even as strong as Francis—even with Deaths Dance activated—the pain almost brought him to his knees.

Every part of his damaged flesh began to regrow, and none of the soothing or kind sensations that had been present when Dawn had healed him were present. Each second instead was like being burned alive—from the inside.

“Damn, stupid arse kids,” Dorian muttered as he bent down to tend to Derrek.

More shouts came, and soon, a trio of men in healer robes appeared. Each of them displayed the same look of shock as they entered before rushing to different teens around the room.

“I need you!” Dorian yelled.

The healer, who was about to help someone who was most likely just unconscious based on how his chest was rising and falling, came over and started working on Derrek.

“Do not let him die.” The older man growled.

No one else spoke as the trio moved quickly, stabilizing and then returning to the others. All of them stared at Francis, none getting close until Dorian spat and cursed. “Someone heal the one who got attacked! He’s still bleeding and you can see the open wounds.”

“Sorry,” one of the healers muttered, his lips pulled back in a grimace.

“No worries,” Francis replied, biting his tongue; the pain of his body healing from the potion was about to overcome his Pain Resistance skill.

Coolness flowed through Francis and the combination of the healer and whatever potion the master of this house had given him seemed to clash, creating a whirlwind of agony inside his chest. Francis roared, unable to hold back the cry of agony as he grabbed for his chest, wanting to try and tear a hole in it so the pain could escape.

“You gave him a potion!” the healer shouted.

“Because he was going to die!” the older man yelled back.

The healer grunted and closed both eyes, almost acting like he was trying to ignore Dorian’s reply. 

Francis jerked as he felt the heat being washed away, like someone opening the door to a house where a warm fire raged inside, allowing it to escape.

Soon, all that remained was a tiredness when a notification appeared.

[ Deaths Dance Expired ]

All the energy that had been allowing Francis to stand dried up, and his body felt heavy.

“Whoa, take a seat,” the healer said as he helped Francis sit down on the edge of his bed.

Francis nodded and obeyed, finally able to focus on what his room had become.

Pieces of blood-covered wood lay on the floor and grown men stared at him, eyes wide and trembling.

None spoke, all of them shifting away as they gazed upon Francis. It was apparent that those who had attacked him and had no conscience had not anticipated that Francis would be able to resist their numbers as he did.

Slowly, Derrek stirred, and finally, both eyes opened. A silver glare came from his brother for a moment and then vanished. Every second Francis and Derrek stared at each other, his older brother’s eyes lost some of their light.

“Next time, kill me or I’ll kill you,” Francis growled. 

“No, there won’t be a next time,” Dorian said, moving to stand between the two of them. “Francis, to my office. The rest of you, head to the Master’s tower. She will want to talk with you.”

Some of them started to protest, but Dorian’s hands produced a dagger from nowhere, and he pointed it at them.

“It’s not a request. It’s an order. Don’t obey it and I don’t give a flying fuck who your parents are. I’ll cut off…“ He stopped and noticed one of the boys who was holding his hand, the healer re-attaching a finger with magic. “I’ll cut off more than just a finger and not let them heal it. Now go.”

The sound of boots moving and the squelching sound of blood between leather and wood filled the room.

“AND DON’T WALK ON MY FUCKING CARPET!”