AuthorShawnWilson

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 51

Sog stood on top of an obsidian building, gazing down at the pair of large demons who stood outside a door in an alley. “So this is the place? You’re certain?”

Voktraz nodded and adjusted her suit. “You do realize I have the ability to oversee the entire city and what all the citizens do? Nothing takes place that I am not aware of. It’s a shame you’ll only get me on this world and none of the others.”

“Why is that?”

“Because, if you don’t learn to watch out for these things here, they will run rampant on the other worlds,” Voktraz replied. “Part of being a god is finding leaders who can manage these things for you. A time will come when you cannot be on every world, and the demands to manage them all are impossible, even for a god. You’ll find yourself spending years in other areas, making deals and trying to build alliances. Right now, you need to realize that what you allow and promote will have a larger impact than someone else.”

Sog huffed and yet knew his helper was right. She was always right and it sometimes bothered him. 

Changing the way I do things isn’t easy. I think I finally understand what Max was complaining about. Part of me wants to be good as Max calls it, but the other part just wants to slaughter everyone.

“Well, I guess we’ll see how this next part goes, won’t we?”

Voktraz only nodded as the two of them stood there, waiting for the real show to begin. 

A minute or so passed when shadows appeared on the other buildings and the two demons who were guarding the doorway glanced up.  Each of them grunted at the same time, their heads smashed together as a shape appeared above them, stuck to the stone wall.

Both guards dropped like bags of grain as the demon with six legs and four arms, clad in black shifting armor, glanced to the end of the alleyway.

Sharazael appeared around the corner, a pair of hulking demons behind their queen as she strode toward the unconscious duo.  Her armor had been colored black, matching her skin. She could change colors at will. Four of her arms held weapons and she looked ready to go to war.

“She does seem like the right choice,” Voktraz chuckled. “I almost pity the ones she’ll find inside.”

“Almost?” Sog asked, glancing at his herald. He could see a slight grin as she nodded. Glowing red eyes stared at the building that the Queen of the city was about to enter.

“Almost. If there is one thing I’ve learned from you all and from Max is that weeds need to be pulled out quickly. To quote something Cordellia might say, your garden needs a good cleaning.”

Sog grunted, turning his attention back to the scene below where Sharazael kicked in the door, rushing into the room.  Shouts came from inside and the sound of a few pained cries rang out.

“Don’t worry,” Voktraz said as Sog felt himself gritting his teeth. “I can see inside and she is handling herself quite well. With your bloodline and spark, she’s well above them even without the…” His herald paused and winced before chuckling. “Well, that is going to leave a mark.”

“A mark?” Sog asked. “Should I go down and see?”

“No, let her handle this. You asked for my advice; it’s time to let the one you picked do what you commanded. Just know one of your children is missing both arms. Unlike their queen, they only had two to begin with.”

A low laugh echoed from the rooftops as Sog nodded. “Fine, let us go to the keep. She’ll be there soon enough I expect.”

***

The mantle of leadership is far harder than I imagined… Max gave me advice but I didn’t expect it to come to this so quickly. 

Before him were five corpses, each one missing limbs that appeared to have been removed by force alone. A trio of demons, two small imps and a sucubus were bound and bruised. One of the imps was missing its tail, but didn’t seem to be complaining anymore after seeing the pile of bodies Sharazael had deposited next to them.

“So… you sit here before our Father and still don’t have an answer for why you chose to break the first rule he made? The oath we all swore by?” Voktrax asked, pacing before the three.

None of them replied and the truth was Sog didn’t expect them to. Each of them had lost that light inside them. He could see that there was an aspect of acceptance of their fate.

This is my fault… I caused this. My greed… the thrill of betting and winning… always chasing the hope I’d come out on top. 

Lost in his thoughts, Sog blinked when he heard Voktrax cough.

“Father, what penalty do you wish for them to face?” his herald asked.

Sog turned and looked at Sharazael, seeing her sitting on the obsidian throne, which had been crafted to fit her. She looked the part of a queen, her skin now blood red, her armor still black, arms folded across her chest.

“I’m trying to consider what the right punishment is,” Sog replied. “This is our first real breaking of that rule. None have abused their own kind as these have, leveraging loaned money for gambling, giving beatings and worse. Tell me, Sharazael, what do you feel is just?”

She smiled and bent her head slightly. A wicked grin, displaying her dagger-like teeth, appeared.

“The worst ones have been slaughtered already. These three individuals facilitated and kept track of the debts. Part of me believes that death would be a mercy. I am not fond of mercy if it doesn’t have the outcome that is desired.”

She rose, moving toward the three who were bound. Sharazael leaned over, a hand reaching under one of the imp's chin, forcing the creature to look up at her. “Tell me, what do you think would be fair?”

“I… labor? Earning back the debt we held?” it gasped.

She scoffed and removed her hand, glancing at Sog.

He could feel the connection with her, sense the frustration and the bloodlust. 

She’s struggling to hold back. Part of her wants to tear them apart. The other part knows that doing so doesn’t teach others a lesson.  Even worse… she told me the idea wasn’t a good one and I still made it happen.

“I find it hard to believe that anyone would want to hire you for anything besides manual labor. Your gifts don’t lie there and I won’t turn you three into something that degrades our own kind. Slavery, as you are aware, is not allowed. You three made your brothers and sisters into that very thing. Forcing them to do things to survive.”

“But–”

The sound of Sharazael’s hand striking the sucubus on the cheek echoed in the hall they were in.

“Do not speak unless you are spoken to,” Sharazael growled. “You have lost that right. Trust me, the rage I feel inside makes me want to skin you alive.”

Wimpers came from the two imps and Sog felt their pain somehow. In his chest, he knew this would happen.

Can I really expect our kind to change? To be different? It’s my fault… it’s…

The answer came to him and Sog winced.  He saw Sharazael cock her head, staring at him for a moment.

“The punishment. What do you feel is right and will teach all my children that what was done was wrong?”

Sharazael tapped her chin as she walked to her throne and took her seat.  Two pairs of hands interlaced, her sharp nails clicking together. “I believe that we should summon our people, lash them in public, let them live but let their scars be a reminder to all that we will not tolerate this kind of behavior.”

Sog saw Voktraz nod slightly.

“Then make it so. Set the date for in two days from now. We’ll use the amphitheater.”

A sob came from the imp without a tail as guards came and lifted them all like sacks of grain, tossing each one over a shoulder.

“I will make it so,” Voktraz said.

When none remained but Sog and Sharazael, he turned to the one he had given his bloodline to and moved to stand before her. 

“This falls on me. I pushed for that place of gambling. I am the one who planted the weeds that sprang up. Remove it. Distribute the funds to those who lost and make it known that no more will be allowed in the city.”

He watched her study him, waiting for an answer that didn’t come.  Minutes passed before Sharazael nodded.

“You surprise me, father.”

“Sog.”

“Sog,” Sharazael corrected herself. “I did what you instructed because who am I to argue. Even when I knew it felt wrong and would potentially cause problems, I did it anyway. I went once, felt the desire it brought, and never returned. I can see you realize the truth also. I let go, inside that den of greed, and slaughtered those on the floor. I should have ended their lives quicker, but I did not. I savored it. Now I am wary of that.”

“The hunger never goes away,” Sog replied. “I feel it every day. Change is hard… much harder than I imagined.”

She nodded, eyes glancing at the floor for a few seconds before looking back at him. “Thank you for this. For trusting me and admitting the fault. I will do what I can to end this infection before it spreads too far. Know that it might take a while, even a few generations, before it might truly be gone.”

“What are a hundred or a thousand years to our kind?” Sog replied. “Thank you, Sharazael, for being the queen our people need. I shall see you in two days.”

***

Sog sat there on the highest point of the keep, looking down upon his capital.

“Tell me, Max. Is what I think the right choice?”

He felt his friend's hand on his arm and turned, seeing a soft smile on the man who had changed his path. 

“I think you’re showing that you’ve grown and understand the weight of what it takes to love and care for others,” Max replied. “ Even more than just a party or a loved one, but a city, or a race. Every day, I am scared I might fail, that I’m going to make mistakes and it will lead to a problem, yet if I do, all I can do is admit it and try to fix it. You’re doing that. Most aren’t strong enough to even admit just that they were wrong.”

Sog nodded, the sensation in his chest still hurt as he wrestled with understanding it. “Thank you. For listening and your advice. And for everything else.”

Max laughed and punched him. “You forget that you saved me. When I was in Igarra’s tower and needed some rest, you came and gave me that time. You pushed forward when I was at my end.”

“I did… I did save you, didn’t I?” Sog teased.

“Yes. Now then, go do what you feel is right.” Max replied.

***

Three demons were bound, each of their hands wrapped with rope and attached to a stake.  They were topless, facing away from the gathered demons who had come and filled the amphitheater, where they had agreed to abide by his rules. By his laws.

And yet I broke it.

No one spoke as he stood there, having removed his upper armor and clothes, showing the scars that had never fully gone away on his back.

“Father… I cannot,” Sharazael stuttered. “What you ask is–”

“Required,” Sog bellowed. He turned his attention toward the crowd, but his eyes fell upon the three who were facing him, their eyes wide and mouths open. “I broke the first rule! I harmed you all by desiring a place that would feed my appetite and lusts! I allowed this thing to enter our city even when your Queen said it was not wise!”

None still said a word as he moved to where the imp on the right was bound, grabbed the rope that held him, and snapped it with ease. 

“These three and those who died for their actions did so because I forgot that first rule. I gave in to the lust and the hunger we all feel. Inside each of us is something that yearns for that which we know isn’t good.”

He moved to the second imp and freed him as the first.

“So today, I will take their stripes. Today I will bear the marks for this mistake. Today is the day that I will reaffirm my desire for how we should live and how we should behave.”

Sog paused, staring at the sucubus who stared up at him. “This is your one chance for redemption, daughter. Do not make that mistake again for next time I will not take your punishment,” he whispered. He summoned a blanket and handed it to her.

“Today I will accept the blame but know this,” Sog shouted, his voice turning harsher. “If you break the rule after today, I will not stand here ever again to absorb the whip that comes for your hide. I will not plead for your case.”

He turned and nodded at Sharazael who stood there, blinking rapidly as her arms trembled. Four hands each held a whip, yet she appeared ready to drop them.

“You must deliver the blows. Each of them as you had meant to upon them, daughter,” Sog said. It took effort to keep his voice steady. The pain that would come from the whips wasn’t going to be a discomfort, and yet he knew this would hurt elsewhere.

“But Father–”

“Now. Show them a Queen who does what is right for the kingdom, even when it might not be what we want to do.”  After speaking, Sog turned his back toward the gathered demons, spread out his arms and grabbed the top of the poles closest to him.

He looked at Sharazael once more and nodded. She took a deep breath and sent four whips cracking through the air as she moved toward the spot where she would dispense justice.

Sog looked upward, staring into the clouds. He knew Max was up there, even if he couldn’t see him. Their thread was connected. 

A tear fell and then another before the first strike came. Some were shed for what he had done. Others were shed because his friend watched him endure this. Most of what escaped from his eyes were tears of joy. Joy that he had a friend who wouldn’t let him endure this alone.

Undying Blood - Chapter 53

Chapter 53

“Trina said you realize you’re ruining our reputation,” Derrek growled. “Father’s on his way. You’re going to regret believing you belong here.”

Choosing to ignore the obvious attempt at provoking him, Francis followed his brother’s back, content to watch the bustling of students who moved in every direction.

The one thing he noticed more than anything was how the few women who were out were always in packs. None of them walked in groups smaller than two, and often he would see a group of five, giving glares that made everyone else get out of their way.

A few glanced at him, which made him assume that word had spread about everything happening in the Lancaster family. None had extended more than a quick glance, choosing instead to keep their resting stay out of my way, expressions plastered on their faces.

The next strange thing was the one young man he had seen wearing green robes, clearly marking him as a mage. He talked and laughed with others but did not interact with the women who wore the same kind of robes that he wore.

“Why does that guy not talk or walk with them?” Francis asked.

“What?” Garret replied.

“The mage, that guy. Why does he never speak to any of the girls?”

A grunt came from Derrek as he glanced for a second before continuing the breakneck pace they walked at.  “He’s a male mage. They don’t like him because he’s gifted.”

“That doesn’t make sense. How is that different than–”

His brother spun around, coming to a halt immediately. Once again, that oversized finger pointed at him. The same scowl Francis remembered from his childhood was present on his brother’s face. “Listen, I’m not here to tell you how this place works. Only those who belong should be here, and you,” Derrek said, stopping an inch before touching his chest, “don’t.”

With that declaration made, Francis’ brother turned and took off again.

Always an arse… Just how badly could I kick his ass before I got in trouble?

Unable to help himself, Francis smiled as he continued behind his brother, ready for whatever came next.

***

I lied… These people are crazy.

The instructor, Oidrun Flistrave, laughed as he made each boy present gather around the metal orb object in the training area.  It had eight long metal poles as thick as their hand protruding from it, shaped like the spokes of a wheel.

“Pain… what is pain?” Oidrun asked.

Someone started to raise their hand, and the almost-seven-foot-tall, one-eyed man cursed.

“No! I’m not looking for an answer, you moron! It’s rhetorical! Now go run four laps!”

Without hesitating, the lanky teen took off running.

“I swear this instructor is short a few bricks for a finished wall.”

A couple of the boys near him commented that as the teen started the loop each of them had already run ten times. 

Clearing his throat, Oidrun glared at them again. “Pain is a teacher. It is a warning. It is a lesson. Today you shall learn it another way. Tell me, how many of you want to run through the cockabur bushes again?”

An evil grin came over the man as he waited a few seconds, not a single one moving at all. “Or what about when I force you to sit in the ice tanks? Nothing like wondering if your manhood will freeze right off!” 

He roared with laughter and then slammed a hand on the metal contraption. “Well, this is another way each of you will learn about pain.  Everyone one of you will grab onto the bar simultaneously, and when I activate it, you will realize that pain comes in many forms.”

He pointed a finger at one boy. “Some of you feel it from being teased because your teeth are crooked. Or perhaps you’re the son of a noble who just got killed for being an idiot,” Oidrun declared, having moved before another boy and leaned in.

No one chuckled or laughed. Every few boys, the man made his way past, he paused, finding something to comment about or bring up a shortcoming.

Finally, he reached the spot where Francis stood. The man’s grin grew.

“But this one… this one is a real winner. The ninth son! Imagine the shame and pain he has endured! Why, the rumor is his daddy is coming here to take him home and give him a beating.”

Francis looked straight ahead, not flinching as Oidrun made a pouty face.

The large man snorted when no reaction came and shook his head. “Get in a circle and grab the rail. Do not let go until you must. You’ll understand why immediately. Those who give up first will find themselves wishing they hadn’t. They will learn what real pain is when I kick their arses for being weak.”

Everyone moved as one, not fighting for any particular spot. 

“Remember, when you’re in a fight and someone has stuck their weapon through your leg, shoulder, or chest, you must endure the pain and continue to fight! Today is another chance to practice that lesson. Now brace yourselves!”

Francis watched as Oidrun ducked under the rail and moved to the small metal orb.  The man put his hand on it and closed his eyes.

Something seemed to be happening, and then every nerve in Francis’ body started to tingle.

Each second, the sensation increased—he saw two boys yelp at the start, letting go immediately.

“Laps! Now! I’ll deal with you later,” the instructor shouted.

Grunts and clenched teeth started to form on those around him, and Francis wondered how long these other students would last.

The sensation didn’t feel good and his muscles were constricting, getting tighter.  Even his jaw felt ready to smash his teeth together, but it he were being honest, it wasn’t that bad. He had endured worse.

With each second that passed, the pain began to grow and soon only a dozen remained.

“These are real men! Now for the fun!” Oidrun exclaimed.

Francis watched as a few boys shook, looking ready to pass out, their legs forcing them to jump up and down as the surge of energy pulsed through his body.

Another let go before crashing into the stone bricks.

Closing his eyes, Francis embraced it. 

His skill was mitigating most of it. Doing his best to breathe, he let his mind remember all the times he had been killed. 

Every claw that had cut him.

The jaws that had bitten his neck or face.

An oversized fist or leg from a rhino-kin that flattened him.

One memory came that hurt more than the rest.  A hand was wrapped around his throat. Something inside him ached and the pain he then felt was beyond anything else. The priestess had seen something inside him and killed him, yet that grip had lingered even after death.

A cry filled his ears, and it took a moment to realize it was his voice.

Wetness ran down his face.

Blinking, he saw there was a red haze to everything. On top of that, he couldn’t let go.

Notifications wanted his attention, but his mind was trying to understand why every part of him hurt.

Suddenly, he flew backward, something large and flat striking his chest.

A cry escaped his lips, not from the pain but the need for air. Warmth started to fill him and slowly his vision returned when his lungs started working again.

“What… who are you?”

The voice sounded familiar but there was an echo until a popping sound came.

“Uh… what?” Francis asked, looking up at the faces above him.

Two healers were bent down near him; next to them was Oidrun. “Why didn’t you let go, boy? How? How could you endure that?”

Wincing, Francis sat up slowly, ignoring the concerned words of the healers to take it slow.

“It wasn’t that bad until the end.”

Roaring with laughter, his newest instructor turned and motioned at the crowd of boys, who stared at Francis with expressions on their faces that were anything but normal.

“Do you hear that?” Oidrun called out. “It wasn’t that bad? The ninth son outlasted every one of you by a full minute! Most full warriors I know couldn’t do that. Even more impressive, it’s his first day!”

The giant of a man turned and held out his hand. “Get up, boy.”

Francis obeyed and was yanked to his feet, every joint in his body aching at the sudden movement, but he managed to stay standing.

“Let this be a lesson. However he did it, I do not doubt that this one has endured far more pain than any of you have. No gold spoons, no women sent to tend to your balls, nothing but hard work and rejection. Fear the one who knows pain, as they are often the ones who won’t give up until they take their final breath.”

Clapping his hands, Oidrun pointed at the starting point of the lap that ran around his small courtyard. “Everyone, ten laps. Last one to finish does ten more.”

Francis started to move and a massive hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Not you, Lancaster. You earned a break. Tell me, do you have Pain Resistance?”

“Uh… no. I guess that’s a skill?” Francis lied. 

Blowing air through his lips, Oidrun grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him close as the man bent his knees slightly. “You’re a decent liar, but I can tell. No one does what you did without that skill. I had to knock you free or you would have died. Even now, you don’t realize you look like crap. Blood from your eyes, ears, and nose has stained that pretty face of yours.”

Touching his cheeks, Francis pulled back red fingers and stared at them.

“So then, don’t tell me what rank your skill is, just confirm that I am right.”

“And why would I do that?” Francis shot back.

Chuckling, his instructor pointed around the courtyard, where a variety of obstacles, weapons, tools, and other things were set up. “Because I can help you level it and perhaps even help you acquire other skills. Word travels fast, Lancaster. I know you have Power Strike. Every instructor here knows you took down your older brother, which should be impossible. The way you fight, and the determination you have… it is the only reason we all believe General Stenson sent you and the story is not some fabrication.”

Francis wanted to scream for various reasons but reined in his temper. “Am I measured by who sent me or what I do? All I care about is getting stronger and acquiring any skill that I can.”

Oidrun glanced around at the boys running and then motioned for Francis to follow. They walked about thirty yards to a section of wood set up in a long tunnel. Thick sticks with padded caps were partially inside holes that lined each edge.

“This was what I had planned for today’s lesson on pain, but when I heard about you and found out you were coming, I might have changed it at the last minute.”

Francis couldn’t help but frown, seeing what was an obvious chute meant to run through while others slammed the poles into the person.

“Why would you do that?” Francis asked.

“One can measure a lot about a person by the company they keep, the words they say, and the things they do. You don’t talk much or spend a lot of time with others, but what you have done speaks volumes. Tell me, Francis, how much pain are you willing to endure to get stronger?”

It caught him off guard to hear the instructor call him by his first name, but his response came naturally.

“I’m willing to die for it,” Francis stated.

Oidrun slapped him on the arm, sending him sideways a little bit, and smiled. “Then you have come to the right person. I, myself, enjoy inflicting pain—not because I’m some sick and twisted person like everyone of the other students will say, but because I have been in hundreds of fights.”

As he spoke, the instructor started undoing the leather vest he wore and dropping it to the ground. Then, he did the same for his shirt before depositing it on top. “One learns to endure pain, and the proof is marked on their body.”

The large man pulled his undershirt off and stood there, naked from the waist up.  Slowly he spun around, showing off what had to be fifty scars that covered every part of his bare skin.

“Pain comes from experience. Trust me, Lancaster. I have more experience than most men will ever want to acquire. I believe the General was right; you’re worthy of his seal. Now, do you have the skill?”

Francis nodded, not holding back that truth.

“Excellent,” Oidrun said, grinning from ear to ear. “Let’s see how high we can get it in the coming years.”

Francis smiled back at the man, finally checking the notifications that wanted his attention.

[ Pain Resistance Increased – 32 Proficient ]

[ Endurance Increased - 31 ]

Four points to that one skill?! And one in Endurance.

Suddenly, the idea of suffering seemed far more bearable.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 50

Max stared out over the city, the light of the torches flickering as Tanila sat beside him.

“You really think that’s what they meant?” Tanila asked. “That you would have been better off without us after the tower?”

“I don’t think it was about me,” Max replied, squeezing her hand that he held. “I think it was because they knew what it would put you at risk of. For all of you.”

“Look at me,” she said. 

He turned and saw her gold eyes glowing softly. 

“Listen, I love you but you can’t worry about us like this all the time,” Tanila said, placing a palm against his cheek. “This isn’t a fight you’re going to fight alone. My bloodline should be a wakeup call to you that even the System understands that I’ll need to defend our daughter at some point.  Each of us wanted this. Batrire and Fowl have told you many times how they set off since the beginning to be adventurers and defeating the tower was always a dream. Cordellia endured everything she did because she wanted to complete something like the tower. She wanted to be strong enough to overcome all the things that had happened to her. Out of everyone here, she knows true pain. How many party members had she lost before she came to us?”

Max started to respond but she put a finger to his lips.

“Listen, we get it. It’s hard being you. You’re the one who was hunted. You’re also the god with a black skill and a destiny to die…” Her voice cracked on that last word and Max felt his heart ache as she shook her head, not taking her finger from his lips. “But you, I and every other friend you have is going to do everything we can to ensure that doesn’t happen. So stop playing this card. Do you hear me?”

Max nodded slowly and kissed her finger. “Forgive me. I just–”

“No, just. All you can say is you’re right my love, I’m an idiot,” Tanila said.

“Forgive me, my love,” Max replied. “I’m an idiot.”

She nodded and leaned forward, placing her forehead against his. “And I love you regardless. Now then, tell me, what’s your plan for dealing with our daughter? You know she’s a bit upset about missing out on being in a dungeon today since you were fighting.”

Max winced, knowing how much today had meant to Miranna and that she had made the whole team wait a day because of him.

“Yeah… I’ll take care of it.”

Tanila stood and winked at him. “You'd better. Now then, I have some things to take care of around here. Not all of us get to play around in the arena like you.”

Watching his wife leave, Max stayed seated, waiting for Bob to chime in.

She’s right. Your daughter is going to make you suffer.

Bah you’re avoiding the other topic. 

That’s because she is right. In 10,000 years, will you still whine about this? Or will you finally let it go?

I’m trying. I’ve been good for what, twenty or more years? Sorry if I got caught up like that.

Don’t apologize to me. You’re the one who acts like that when you do. Tanila is frustrated. You can feel it oozing from her. For a man with so many intelligence points, you keep letting this one thing be your weakest point.  I understand better than anyone the power of who you are, but you, Max, need to listen to the advice I gave since we first spoke and really consider it.

If Phaius and Ockrim were warning you of what may happen to your friends and loved ones and the risk they’ll face because of you, that means you have two choices. Either abandon them, move to one of your other worlds and never see them again, hoping by doing this you can minimize their risk.

Or harden yourself for what is coming. Stop looking at every god you meet as a potential ally. Don’t view the life of every being you suddenly are connected to because you defeat another god as one you must protect. No one is that strong. Not even the Nine. Wekime showed you that by serving his own children up on a platter to make you stronger.

Max frowned, wanting to argue with Bob but deep inside his core knew his skill was right.  

It’s like I have to choose between being the person I’ve always –

You’re not a person anymore, Max. You’re a god now. That means life as you saw it and understood it is no longer the same. Come, let’s go bug Jazzjak. Ask someone with 80,000 years of existence their thoughts.

Rubbing his eyes, Max rose and used his skill, transporting himself to the room where the table they had kept from the faction was.  

“Max? Is everything alright?” Jazzjak asked the moment Max appeared.

“Not really. I got a question, do you have a moment?”  

Max watched as an eyebrow raised on his helper's white furry face.  

“That’s kind of my job. To answer questions and always be available.”

Snorting, Max moved to the chair closest to his helper and pointed at the one next to him. “Sit if you would. This isn’t an ‘I’m your boss’ or something like that kind of moment. More like a friend asking another friend for advice.”

Jazzjak slowly nodded, leaving his tablet at the end of the table, and then moved to the chair next to Max. He took a seat and cocked his head. “So what do you need?”

Max shared what Bob and Tanila had just said, as well as explained how he felt and the struggle he faced about abandoning his life and others.  When he finished, he sighed, pulled out two cups from his storage, and filled them with a bottle of alcohol his old Faction leader had given him, pouring some for both.

“So what’s your thoughts?” Max asked.

Jazzjak sat there, white fur-covered hands gently turning the crystal glass before him, studying the green liquid. “I’m… finding myself in an interesting position. 99% of the time, if a god asked me whether they should be hard, ignoring lives and seeing them as nothing more than currency to trade or bet on, I’d say yes. But…” The rabbit paused, picked up the drink, took a sip, and grinned. “Right now, I’m enjoying a moment I haven’t had in over 80,000 years.”

A few tears formed on Jazzjak’s face as the rabbit stared at the cup in his hand. “It’s been so long since someone has treated me like a friend. I mean… since I’ve experienced common decency and concern for my own well-being. Max, I can’t tell you how hard it has been sometimes to be treated as nothing more than a tool or some object to be abused.  You and your friends… they… they treat me as if I have value and not just because of the knowledge and aid I give.”

“That’s because you do,” Max said.”

A chuckle came from the vorpal rabbit as he set the cup down on the table carefully and leaned back in his chair, interlocking his fingers. “No… I really don’t, Max. If I die, the System will simply bring me back to another new god or gods. My value comes from being able to help guide you and those before and after you. If I fail, it delays the promise I was given to pursue something I was too afraid to chase long ago. Sometimes I’m jealous, wishing I still could go back in time and redo the choice I made of not finishing the tower. Part of me would rather fail and know I died trying. The other part of me is scared, even now, after all these years of dying. Not like dying once, as I’ve been killed multiple times, but just knowing that who I am… or was, is gone forever.”

“Kind of how we all felt when we learned our belief in what happened when we died was a lie,” Max said.

“Yes… a hard truth for many,” Jazzjak replied. “Still… I’m older than most gods and yet weaker than all of them. The only value I have is the knowledge and aid I provide, yet you, Max, saw me as more than some faceless being. You gave me a body of someone you cared about as a sign of my worth.” A big sigh escaped from their helper as Jazzjak closed his eyes. “And now you want me to tell you that you should stop caring about others besides the ones you hold close. I don’t know if I can, even though every part of me believes your friends are right.”

Did you know he would say these things? I can sense some amusement coming from you.

Not exactly… I guess I underestimated the power you have over someone like him. It seems I’m not the only one good at corrupting others and turning them into what I desire.

Which is what?

A friend. Someone who sees themself as how you see them. With potential.

Max smiled and saw Jazzjak looking at him, head cocked to the side, one ear flopped over. “Sorry, I was just talking with Bob. He wasn’t expecting your answer.”

Jazzjak laughed, shaking his head, and smiled. “No… I doubt the skill I possess would allow me to say such soft things.  I agree with him and Tanila. You need to be harder but at the same time I understand what you struggle with. So let me present this differently.  What is your plan for the world you acquired by defeating Sirocco?”

“Well, there is no way I’m going back to Naga Reef. Not now.”

“Not even if they send you a summoning through the system?” Jazzjak asked.

“No. I’m pretty certain Gyr Quill made it clear that it was a foolish mistake that I came to try and save those hawk people.”

“It was… as I believe I and the others had commented. Still, you somehow came out ahead,” Jazzjak said. He leaned forward and his tablet appeared on the table before him. “Let me show you this. I could have bothered you but I wasn’t sure yet if it was a problem.”

Max glanced at the screen where Jazzjak had pulled up a report.  On it was the population he was now god of on Naga reef. The number was slowly declining.

“They’re killing Sirocco’s kind?” Max asked.

“I think so. It’s not as quick a decline as the previous time against the hawk people, but it seems that way. Tell me, are you going to defend those birds as you did the others?”

Grunting, Max sat back and shook his head. “No… I might have defeated Sirocco but I do not doubt that facing those other three would be a fight I might not come back from right now. Before… Bob and I considered ourselves strong enough to possibly win, but now I know. Facing a creature who had talents and skills along with strength and speed I didn’t possess made me realize how dangerous every god might be. Especially those who are older.”

He’s still avoided answering our original question.

Max rolled his eyes and waved off the look Jazzjak gave him. “Sorry, Bob was mentioning that you still haven’t given a solid answer for my original question.”

“That’s because I’m smart enough to know you already know the answer,” Jazzjak replied. “Tell me, Max, can you imagine living 80,000 years or more and looking back, realizing that you no longer care for others? How long till that outlook changes the way you feel about your friends? You might argue and say that could never happen, but a small rift, over something that might seem petty, has led to gods waging war upon each other. I believe a good example of this would be seen from the world you came from. What could bring three gods together to create a world and then cause them to end up fighting each other later on?”

Max had many answers to that question.  As he considered them all, one kept rising up above the rest, over and over.

“The desire for power.”

Jazzjak nodded slowly. “What would you do if say Cordellia changed? What if, after 10,000 or 20,000 years, she suddenly was consumed with a desire to acquire power no matter the cost? What if she attacked one of your friends or perhaps Tanila or Miranna?”

A pain grew in Max’s chest as his answer came immediately. “I’d stop her… but I also know your next question. If I had to… and there was no other choice… I’d kill her.”

Jazzjak didn’t say a word, simply returning to his tablet and tapping on it.  Above the table, a number appeared that made Max frowned.

“27,410… that number isn’t what I expected,” Max said.

“That’s without Naga Reef. That is the amount of DP you’ll earn per day from the worlds you acquire by winning in the arena. While it is still higher than your friends can imagine, I would prepare yourself for the truth.” Jazzjak leaned toward Max, his red eyes glowing. “If you’re not careful, you won’t reach the 5th tier before your friends' period of safety ends. For the next few hundred years, you need to be prepared to do things that are going to seem hard and ruthless. If you want to protect your friends as you say you do, then you need to become a god for a while that doesn’t let a world or two put himself or them at risk.”

“So if someone challenges another one of my worlds? Then what?” Max asked, feeling the urgency of his plan kicking in.

“Either go and risk everything to make sure it doesn’t slip away or find other gods to kill and collect their planets.  You’ve got two more challenges to make in the next few hundred years. Be ready to make them good ones.”

The glow in his helper's eyes faded as the vorpal bunny sat back in his chair.

“Thank you,” Max said. “For the advice and being willing to give it as a friend and a helper.”

Jazzjak shrugged and smiled. “Thank you for listening and for the friendship. Now unless you’re wanting to pour me some more of that drink, I need to get back to work. Sog’s gambling enterprise is causing me some problems.”

“Problems?” Max asked.

“Yes… it appears that he is too successful and some of his citizens are finding themselves… short on funds and addicted to gambling as he is… Which means there are a few demons who have taken it upon themselves to loan coins to other demons…”

“Wait, you’re telling me that Sog has crime in his capital?”

“Yes… not a full-blown problem yet, but I’ve seen it before. Don’t worry, we’re working on it. His plan to fix it… is unique.”

Laughter echoed inside his head as Max rubbed his eyes.

A demon with a gambling problem… oh this should be comical.

Undying Blood - Chapter 52

Chapter 52

Francis cracked his neck before the fight began. He pressed his boot against the stone beneath, glad it didn’t feel slick.

Captain Lucan looked relaxed, thumb idly rubbing the guard on his sword. His padded armor looked well-worn, yet there wasn’t a single fray or mark on it.

Francis moved first, knowing this was what his instructor was hoping for. Kels had done the same, letting Francis show what he had before the real training could begin. 

His shield punched forward, an obvious feint as he tried to draw the Captain’s guard left, while his sword swung down in a low diagonal attack at the man’s thigh.  Metal rang out as Lucan angled his shield, stopping the blade completely.

Even as his attack failed, Francis moved to the side — Lucan’s sword traveled over the top, the flat of the blade coming at Francis’s head.

He wanted to shout and protest that just moments ago, the man had clearly stated he wouldn’t go for the head, but didn’t bother. Two could play at that game.

Setting his feet again, Francis slid back just a bit, using the momentum of his movement and his hips to press the attack.

No wasted energy… don’t show off…

Lessons drilled into him by Kels and moments on the battlefield.

His shield slammed into Lucan’s, and he brought his foot down at the man’s feet, watching the Captain slide backward, never losing his balance or position as Francis attacked..

Francis moved to his right, trying to get around the older man, but even with his stats, he couldn’t get a free attack on Lucan’s back or side.

The Captain’s blade thrust forward multiple times, vibrations coming through Francis’ shield; each strike grew in power, another obvious test to see what Francis could handle and deflect.

A slight noise tickled his ears as those gathered around cheered and shouted, but there was no time to focus on that. Like the fights with the beastkins, he had to keep his attention on the man who was now unleashing a combination of sword strikes.

Francis used combos, slicing down and across. His blade then turned into a sideways slice that stopped mid-swing and thrust forward. Each attack was parried or deflected as Lucan used the space they had to shift his position.

“Come at me! Stop dancing!” the older man called out.

Knowing that if he continued to play on the defensive, Lucan would easily take him down at some point, Francis obeyed the command and went on the attack.

He worked through every combination he knew, as well as some that came to him in the moment.  At the time of his choosing, Francis found the chance he’d been hoping for and took it.

[ Power Strike ]

The sound of his sword striking the Captain’s shield rang out, and he could see a smile form on the older man’s lips.  It provided just enough room for him to shove his shield into the Captain and swing again. Francis played his trump card again, having only learned in the last few loops that he had the physical strength and endurance to use it twice in a minute. 

[ Power Strike ]

[ Power Strike Increased – 10 Basic ]

The drain of the skill, used in rapid succession, was overwhelming.

The older man’s sword moved to parry, but the force behind his attack forced Lucan’s blade downward. Francis’ blade struck the Captain’s thigh.

A small cut appeared on the armor, and red began to appear.

Before Francis could celebrate, Lucan’s blade moved so quickly he couldn’t track it—pain came from both thighs as the tip of the blade pierced each in succession.

“STOP!” his instructor roared.

A gong sounded, and each man stepped back, blood on their armor and a smile on both of their faces.

“Impressive!” the Captain roared. “Healers!” Lucan stepped forward, smiling. “You not only have the Power Strike ability but also can use it back-to-back. Most cannot imagine the toll it takes to do that.”

“What… what was that?” Francis asked, catching his breath, “What did you use on me?”

“Ahh, Quick Attack. It’s a valuable skill that can evade someone's defense. While it won’t do as much damage as Power Strike, sometimes you just need to make them bleed. Had I wanted to make you suffer, I would have used it in conjunction with Power Strike. That combination is one that can end lives.”

Francis felt a hand grab his arm and saw an older woman smile. “Let me heal you, and then you two can talk fighting once that is done.”

“But I’m older!” Lucan teased. “Fine… heal him. The rest of you take five minutes and consider what you saw. Think about the skills you witnessed.  When you fight, think about overpowering your enemy with a strong attack or being quick and sacrificing damage for speed. If you focus on one of those for long enough and practice, you might just acquire the needed skill!”

When the sensation was gone and the woman patted him on his arm, Francis waited for the Captain to be healed.

Think… focus. I wonder if all the skills are like that.

“So, the General sends me a student with abilities and skills who says he shouldn’t be in this class but the one after it,” Lucan said. “It makes me wonder why he has you here instead of in the battle, but I can also guess why.”

 “What do you think his reason is?” Francis asked.

“He sees potential and would rather not waste the talent. I haven’t seen him do something like this since a blond-haired and blue-eyed boy came through.”

“Knight Kels?”

Lucan chuckled and nodded. “He wasn’t a Knight then, and that title is a bit… overdramatic. We don’t actually use that term often for many reasons.  Still, know that the General sees something in you worth growing.  Now, don’t come to this class again. Talk to Dorian and tell him I want you in the intermediate version of this class.”

“Yes, sir!” Francis exclaimed.

The older man patted Francis on the shoulder before turning and yelling again.

“Two minutes and then prepare to go again!”

Standing there, Francis wondered just what the other class might bring.

Still, I did get a point in Power Strike, which is always nice.

Content with that moment, he turned to see his previous sparring partner frowning.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hit you like that,” Francis said.

***

“Where did you learn to fight?”

“How long have you been training?”

“Do you have any other skills?”

Francis did his best to smile and ignore most of the questions asked. The group of students gathered around him seemed not to care that what they asked was considered rude.

“I just go all out every time,” Francis said. “No secret except that. Every fight is a fight to the death in my mind.”

A few grunts and groans came from the ones gathered at his table, but some nodded, giving thoughtful looks to his advice.

From behind the group came a cough, and then the young men parted upon whatever figure was behind them.

Francis froze, seeing a trio of women in robes standing there, the one in front someone he hadn’t been sure would ever show up.

“Trina,” he said with a slight nod of his head. “You look well.”

She frowned and then looked at the boys standing around. “Go.”

Like animals before a predator, they took off, a few losing plates or trays, but not stopping to pick them up.

His sister moved toward him and did something with her fingers, the tips glowing for a moment as she sat across from him. “Why are you here, Francis?” she asked.

“Nice to see you too. For a moment, I thought at least one of my siblings would be happy to see me.”

Her frown deepened as her lips pressed together, and she sighed. “You do realize that Aiden has already told Father you are here.”

“I don’t give a crap. I don’t care if Father knows. This has nothing to do with him.”

She cocked her head sideways and shook it slightly. “You… always fought against the norm. So many accept it, but not you.”

“He tried to kill Michael.”

“But Michael’s not his son,” Trina stated.

“And yet Michael saved my life. That should have been enough.”

“That is the only reason why Father let him live as long as he did,” Trina replied.

He was always amazed at her lack of emotion. She could understand things from multiple perspectives, but in the end, she always went with whatever was most logical.

“How is Michael?” she asked.

“He is well. Do you really care?”

“Only because you do,” she replied.

Groaning, Francis picked up a piece of meat with his fork and pointed it at her. “So I hear you’re good with magic. Rumor is, you’ve progressed to the advanced level in something.”

She blinked a few times as he deposited the food in his mouth and chewed.

“I have grown stronger, and the family is enjoying the perks of my growth. Still, there is much for me to learn. But thank you for telling me that word of my success has spread.”

Swallowing his food, Francis pointed the empty fork at her. “You’re still the same. You can’t even smile when something would make most people grin like a fool. I don’t think you even cried the one time you got hurt.”

“I’ve been hurt many times, but n,o I’ve never cried. What is the point? I was healed, and the pain taught me to prepare for life and how to overcome what others quit at. It is one of the reasons I’ve come to understand the path I am on.”

“So does this mean you’re soon going to go help with the war?”

“That is not a wise choice,” Trina said. “Please stop talking about the war while you are here, or things will get… harder for you.”

“Harder? Is it worse than being across the hall from Derrek? Or having Aiden come and threaten me in public? How much worse can this get?”

“You could die if you're lucky. Worse, you could get maimed in a way you cannot be healed from.”

He sat there, stunned, watching his sister keep a blank face through the description as if she were reading off a shopping list. “You’re serious?”

“When am I not?” Trina asked.

“Like… I mean…” He paused, rubbing his forehead. “Why? Why does no one talk about the war?”

“Do you know about the Concord of Staves?”

“That’s the second time someone’s mentioned it, but no, I know nothing about it.”

“I assumed as much. You won’t receive any real knowledge about it for a few years. The lectures they give at your level are basically filtered history. Just know a charter was signed and the mages are not required to fight even when summoned by the King. Yes, there are some consequences for those actions, but none of them are worse than fighting in a battle where one might die.

“Besides,” Trina continued, “most of the sect of all mages agree to limit their obedience, thus diminishing any potential punishment lest all stop assisting.”

Her silver eyes seemed lifeless, yet they held a wealth of knowledge behind them.

A thought rose—so with nothing to lose, Francis went for it. “Pricilla Obst… Obstou…”

“Obsterano. Yes, what about her?”

“She’s bound to the king in some way, and it sometimes feels like she resents it. Does that have anything to do with the Concord thing?”

The slightest lip movement appeared, which made Francis nearly laugh, knowing that was the closest she had ever come to a smile.

“You’re smarter than I expected,” Trina stated. “Yes. She is bound by something signed in that charter. While I cannot say if she is resentful, I can imagine if I were forced to do the bidding of a King and not be allowed to pursue my own path, I too might be resentful after two hundred or more years.”

Francis coughed, clearing his throat a few times.

“She’s over two hundred years old?” Francis gasped.

“It is for this reason I cast a silence spell around us. You were always so… loud. But yes, she is. While I cannot be certain, I think I remember…” His sister closed her eyes, and he could see them moving behind her lids. Seconds passed before she opened them.

“Yes, I remember reading a book I don’t believe I was supposed to have when I was in a section of the library where most are not allowed. She was there at the charter's signing, which means she is well over three hundred years old, actually.”

“Holy shi--wow.” 

“Thank you for that attempt. You haven't forgotten how much I dislike that kind of vulgar language. Derrek never stops himself, and it is a chore to endure his childish behavior.”

Francis leaned forward and smiled. “You know, out of all my siblings--not counting Michael--I probably liked you the most.”

“I know. It’s because you always knew where I stood. Besides, you told me those exact words eight years ago.”

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 49

Max’s blood dripped all over, sliding off the feathers he couldn’t grasp with his fingers. Bob had figured out he could use magic to remove them but it required them to stay still and not dodge as he currently was.

It appears he’s slowing down on that feather attack. It’s been over fifteen seconds since he last used it.

We need him to land. I can’t lock him in place without showing more of our abilities. 

Sirocco came at them again, doing another dive bomb attack, both swords taking chunks out of the stone floor before the falcon god swooped upward and away.

He’s a bird and fighting like one. I can try my best Fowl impression.

Do it. I’ll set up another small trap, but I don’t think he’ll fall into it again. He’s avoided the areas we’ve tried before. Almost as if he can sense it. I’ll spend the power to help keep you going.

[ Cooldowns Reset ]

Max appreciated the aid and used his friend's uncommon ability to upset others. “I guess you’re just a chicken!” he taunted. “Perhaps that’s why you had to obey the real rooster!”

A screech echoed above, and Max kept weaving around columns, doing his best to keep the bird from making straight attacks.

“You know nothing! I shall pluck your–”

“Sorry, I only talk with the alphas!” Max shouted, dodging past a pillar.

Sirocco came at him, and when he did, Max knew that the bird had employed some kind of skill. Power began to swirl around the falcon god as it dove toward him, and a reddish hue surrounded Sirocco’s body.

A terrifying screech emanated from the falcon god's beak, waves of power and pressure all calling for Max to kneel and accept his defeat.

[ Formidable Mind ]

For a brief moment, Max bent a knee, as if he were about to do what the shout had intended. Sirocco came at him, swords held wide, ready to cut him down. There wouldn’t be many chances like this one, so he took it.

[ Haste ]

[ Power Strike ]

[ Ghost Strike ] 

[ Quick Attack ]

Max hated burning four skills, hoping that the speed of them all would be confused for something different or fewer but the truth was this fight would only get worse the longer it went on.

Sirocco’s approach slowed down, not because the god had been affected by any spell, but because the gains of Ultimate Form and Haste had changed the dynamics of the fight. Max was finally faster than the bird that had made him bleed. When the chance for the falcon to dodge was gone and both blades were coming at the spot he had started to kneel, Max lunged upward, his weapon transforming.

[ Blind ]

It was a spell Max rarely used due to his skill’s rank being so low.  There was only the slightest darkening of those yellow eyes, not enough to have worked completely, but just enough to help set up this next part.

Max’s artifact transformed into a weapon that he felt embodied him. A simple spear, yet with a tip that didn’t hide the appearance of a bone. Air and wind from Bob sped him up even more.

Sirocco’s body tried to react, the bird swerving to the left, his body going upward as a pair of wings flapped downward for lift. Against most gods at this level, it might have been enough, but Max wasn’t most gods.

Max’s artifact drove home with precision, piercing a layer of protection that had given him the tiniest bit of resistance before shattering under his attack. The tip traveled into the god’s chest, finding his heart, the shaft continuing until Max’s hand, still gripping the weapon, butted up against Sirocco’s feathered chest.

Together they flew upwards, twisting sideways, two gods almost face to face. The falcon god careened towards a pillar, his body having gone rigid.

Max would have pulled back, freed himself from this spiral, but he couldn’t. His hand was clenched like a vice around the shaft of his artifact as a cold he always hungered for washed over him.  

Max’s body and mind struggled to react as the only notification he ever got that something had died by his hand, ran through his body.

[ Consume has…]

Max blocked it out, feeling himself suddenly slam into something.  Pain came as the feathers that were still in his body exploded. Those wounds quickly healed as Regeneration was finally able to seal the damaged area of his body.

He blinked a few times, finding himself under a wing, the scent of blood filling his nostrils as he tried to stand.

You did it. One hit.

The weapon did it. I just –

No. A weapon can only do as much as the one who weilds it. You set the trap and used his own ability against himself. Now finish this part and we shall look at the rewards in a minute.

Freeing himself from the embrace of Sirocco, Max glanced down at his defeated foe. The feathers had already lost some of their luster. Gone was the healthy appearance, the dark colors turning muted by the second.

Looking around, Max saw one of the swords nearby and went to pick it up. As his fingers touched it, the weapon vanished, and Max cursed internally.

Bound…

They’ll pay you for them, eventually, Jazzjak said. For now, wave at those watching. 

“It appears Max Hoste has done it again! To those of you who took the risk and bet on him, congrats on your gains! For those who didn’t, well… better luck next time!”

Looking up and seeing his face on the large screen that appeared overhead, Max waved once and waited.  A few seconds later, a disc of light appeared under his feet and he was back in the waiting room.

A cough came from Jazzjak as the rabbit approached. “That was… closer than I had expected. Probably closer than those in charge had expected, also.”

“You mean you don’t think I was holding back?” Max asked, turning his attention toward the wall he knew would change in a moment.

“I hope so because it looked like you were getting hurt out there.”

Max nodded and held up a finger.  Three seconds later, the door formed in the stone, and a red gelatinous being moved inside.

“Ahh, Max Hoste! You win again!”

I have no clue if this is either of the two I have met before…

Nor do I, which means something.

“Uh, thank you…” Max replied with a pause. “Forgive me if I offend you, but can I ask your name? I appear to have problems getting it right.”

A wet laugh came from the creature before him as it jiggled slightly.

“Ahh yes, I am Hoekamona. I believe Houkeeno mentioned a mix-up last time. Don’t worry, I do not get offended by this. It does happen more than I prefer to discuss, but that is not why I am here!”

The gelatinous creature moved toward Jazzjak, two eye stalks focused on the rabbit. “I will have details of the equipment sent over after we have identified what can be traded or sold. Any special requests?”

Max stood there, watching the pair.

A few moments passed, and Jazzjak coughed. “He’s asking you, Max.”

“Oh, sorry. After battle fog,” Max lied, telling Bob the truth. I couldn’t tell he was talking to me! “So I guess anything with bonuses to all stats, or is there something I’m not aware of yet that might be worth keeping?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Hoekamona replied. “This is your first run-in with loot in the arena. Well, never fear, I’ll have your helper here get you a list in the coming days, and you can learn some things from it. You do realize that sometimes there are racial items that just won’t work for others?”

Max nodded, not aware of that but knowing it made sense.

“Good,” Hoekamona said. “Well then, I congratulate you on winning your 20,000,000 DP wager again, and also regret to inform you that Sirocco had no DP on him upon his defeat.”

“Wait, what?” Max asked. “How is that possible?”

A small gelatinous nub formed and moved slightly. “It would seem that all of his DP was spent before the battle. Some do do that to try and be as strong as possible or to stick it to the one who defeats them.”

Max felt Jazzjak’s head moving up and down. “So…”

[ 20,000,000 Divine Points has been deposited ]

The notification came and Max sighed slightly. “I guess that will do.”

“We are happy to be the mediators between all of these battles! Just know you did well and we are grateful it ended how it did.”

“That I won?” Max asked as Hoekamona started moving toward the open door.

“Yes, of course!”

“Don’t believe that,” Jazzjak whispered after the stone sealed shut. “Come on, it’s time to go home.”

***

Max stared at the notifications that he had waited to look at.  Everyone was waiting to hear what he had gotten and it was easier to just do it once.

You do realize that we may face another fight in a week.

I do. Hopefully, this might help.

[ Consume has Consumed 13 Skills ]

[ 8 Skills Do not match entity type ]

[ Consume is attempting to adjust ]

[ Failed to adjust skill - Power Stored for future use ]

[ Consume has Consumed a Higher Rank Skill ]

[ Skill adjustment in process - Godhood detected - Updating skill ]

[ Intimidation has been upgraded from Legendary to God Tier 1 ]

[ Consume has Consumed a Higher Rank Skill ]

[ Skill adjustment in process - Godhood detected - Updating skill ]

[ Melee Mastery has been upgraded from Legendary+  to God Tier 2 ]

[ Consume has Consumed a Higher Rank Skill ]

[ Skill adjustment in process - Godhood detected - Updating skill ]

[ Dual Wield has been upgraded from Legendary+  to God Tier 2 ]

[ Consume has successfully Consumed a skill ]

[ Would you like to learn [Ghost Blade]? ]

[ Yes / No ]

[ Consume has Consumed a Skill ]

[ Would you like to learn [True Flight]? ]

[ Yes / No ]

[ Bonus Stats Consumed ]

[ 150 Strength Consumed ]

[ 150 Dexterity Consumed ]

[ 150 Constitution Consumed ]

[ 150 Intelligence Consumed ]

[ 150 Wisdom Consumed ]

“Holy elf tits,” Fowl muttered. “It never gets old.”

“I knew it was good because I felt the growth the moment you landed the blow,” Rakonath said, a permanent smile etched on the dragon’s face. 

“DP and stats!” Sog exclaimed. “Who can argue with that?”

Max shook his head but smiled. “It’s hard to complain about anything except the fact I had to show more of my tricks. That battle was far closer than I wanted to admit.”

“So what do the skills do?” Cordellia asked. “I mean, one seems obvious.”

[Skill Description - True Flight]

*****

True Flight - God T1 Skill: The user has an innate ability to fly, not dependent upon magic or racial type. Their speed while flying will match their top speed naturally. This ability can be aided with other abilities and spells to increase speed. As with all movement spells, restrictions may apply based on the location used in and physics.

*****

[Skill Description - Ghost Blade]

*****

Ghost Blade - God T1 Skill: When activated, your next attack will ignore armor. Damage is decreased by 75%. Cannot be used with any other offensive spell capability. The cooldown is 5 seconds. Drains 2% of Max mana every use.

*****

“Ignores armor?” Fowl gasped. “That’s broken!”

“Not really,” Jazzjak answered. “While it looks to be dangerous, the damage mitigation part is troubling. I’d have to do research but I think one's natural resistance to damage can also impact it.”

“So, like I could say not take any damage if my resistances were high enough?” their warrior asked.

“More like… it would be lessened. It’s something I’ve pondered for quite some time, how certain skills work versus others. The truth is, unless one spends lifetimes stabbing someone over and over, measuring each one with…” Jazzjak paused as he saw Max grin and raise his eyebrows at Fowl.

“No! No, I’m not going to do it!” the dwarf exclaimed, standing up from his seat. “I don’t want to be a pincushion for learning. Use Sog! He likes pain!”

The group laughed as their helper shook his head a few times before joining in.

“So, can we relax for a moment?” Tanila asked.

“Not completely,” Jazzjak replied. “Maybe you can ask one of the other gods who are older after you reach the Archons. Maybe they will tell you that you can, but I doubt it. If I’m honest… life before the top of the tower was easier.”

And yet that wasn’t an option for me.

It was not. Worse, it's that your friends wouldn’t let you do it alone.

As Bob said those words, Max remembered what Phaius had told him. He shivered, a realization of what he thought the god had really meant.

He wasn’t warning me about the last floor of the tower… he was warning me about what would happen if we defeated it together.

Undying Blood - Chapter 51

Chapter 51

The dining hall was loud and chaotic as men and the occasional group of women ate dinner.

Francis had simply followed the crowd when the bell sounded, chuckling to himself when Derrek hadn’t appeared like the rest.

God, that felt so good…

Multiple stations with a variety of food were set up. Having simply copied the rest, Francis had two plates filled with different meats, vegetables, fruits, and bread.

He found a table off away from most of the others and sat down, content to consume the food before him.

Halfway through, a figure he had assumed would show up approached. Next to it was one he would have bet money on being with it.

While Derrek was well built and carried himself with all the patience of a bull surrounded by heifers, Aiden was the pinnacle of calm grace.  His stride matched his taller, lean frame. Two blue eyes were set on Francis as Derrek and Aiden approached. Other students scrambled out of the way of the pair as quickly as possible.

Choosing not to stand, Francis waited, noticing the sound in the dining hall getting quieter the closer they got.

I swear I don’t need another pecker-wagging contest…

Unlike Derrek, Aiden had barely involved himself with any of the Lancaster children. Being heir to the family, Aiden had other things to worry about. Once, Francis’ oldest brother had told him he was nothing but a bug. If anyone here understood tact, it was his oldest brother. But Francis also knew the dark side Aiden kept hidden.  Multiple boys had died to his blade. While Derrek would come at you, Aiden would set you up and then cut you down, all under the protection of the law.

“Francis.”

“Aiden.”

Hearing his name from a pair of lips he was certain had said it maybe five times in his life felt funny.

“I take it the rumors are true?” Aiden asked, frowning.

“I’m not sure which one you’re referring to. But if it's the one where Derrek threw up all over himself in the hall, then yes, that one is.”

“You little–” Derrek started.

A hand stopped the charging bull, and whatever glance the two of them shared, Derrek backed down instantly, though he didn’t hide how his body shook at whatever feelings he was suppressing.

Aiden sighed and pitched the ridge of his nose. “No… that story will sully our family name. What I’m asking about is the rumor that General Stenson himself has backed you and that is why you are here.”

“It’s true,” Francis replied, smiling.

His brother’s lips tightened momentarily, those icy eyes studying him. Francis was certain that if someone dropped a silver mark, it would sound like a thunderclap with how silent the room was. His older brother leaned against the opposite side of the table.

“And why would the General do that?”

“Because some people don’t care about birth order? Perhaps he saw something in me? Or maybe it’s because I have dangerous secrets he doesn’t want to be exposed. Regardless, it’s true. Why does it matter?”

A few chuckles came from those around them, and his oldest brother gave the closest ones a look that silenced them.

“You…,” Aiden started, pausing before leaning closer, “do you have any idea what being here has done to our family name?”

“I don’t give a pile of steaming crap about our family name,” Francis replied, pushing his chair back and standing. “The family hasn’t done right by me or Michael. So, if you're here to ask me to leave or anything else, forget it. I’m not leaving until I’m ready to.”

He could feel Aiden's controlled rage as his brother stared at him, both of them locked in a battle of wills.

“That is… unfortunate. You do realize that many here suffer horrible injuries.”

“I do, which is why I told Derrek if he screws with me ever again, I’m going to break his jaw.”

Laughter erupted from one table, and even when his oldest brother glared at them, the six men at the table, all similar in age to Aiden, didn’t back down.

“We’re going to talk. Just you and me. Know that,” Aiden said.

“I’m not hiding.”

Fingers drummed against the table before his oldest brother turned and started to walk away.

“What? That’s it? I–” Derrek roared.

Aiden grabbed Derrek’s shoulder and pulled him close to whisper something that cut off whatever complaint was being raised.

Noise immediately rose in the room as the pair walked away.

About ten seconds later, a short but squat young man stood where Francis’ brother had been, tray of half-eaten food in hand.

“Can I join you?”

Sighing, Francis nodded and sat down on his chair.

“I’m Tharen. Welcome to your first day at the Spires. If I’m honest, you’ve done way better than most on their first day.”

“Thanks, I think,” Francis replied, studying the dark-haired man across from him. 

He was easily about three inches shorter than Francis, but his arms were about as wide as Francis’s legs, and those shoulders had mountains growing on them.

“I can tell you’re checking me out. Everyone does,” Tharen said, flexing his arm. “What can I say, I like the physical side of things. Spend a lot of time moving heavy stuff and eating everything in sight and you can look like me in a few years.”

Francis scoffed and shook his head. “Do you really believe we have a few years? I mean, there’s a war out there and if something doesn’t change, the kingdom will fall.”

Tharen frowned and shook his head slowly. “I… I don’t think that’s true. The King will either win or retreat here. Even if the enemy reaches the capital, we’ll be fine. Ain’t nothing going to breach the Ringwall. Trust me.”

Francis set down the piece of bread he had been ready to eat and tried to absorb what he had just heard.

“You really don’t think it’s that bad? Do you have any idea how many people have died in the last year? Six months tops, and then the army will fall. If our enemies surround the capital, how will you support all the people here? What will you do for food? Clean water? I mean, what about those outside Caereenal? What happens to them?”

“The advisors and teachers say it’s not that bad. What makes you think you're right?”

“Because I was there!” Francis shouted, banging a fist on the table.

People looked in their direction, and he realized he had been louder than he’d intended.

“Listen, I’ve watched the soldiers die. I’ve seen the beasts we fight. Do you have any idea what they can do to a soldier?”

“I call bull,” Tharen replied, leaning back in his chair and giving him the stink eye. “Aint no way it's that bad--the instructors say it isn’t. You’re telling me that everyone here is lying?”

Francis was about to open his mouth and then stopped. A tingling sensation washed over him; across the giant dining room, he saw someone he hadn’t expected to see again for some time.  Kaelith appeared to be frowning, eyes locked on him.

“All I can say is I’m here to get stronger,” Francis stated. “The size of one’s arms isn’t the only way to measure power.”

Blowing a raspberry, the stocky man stood and grabbed his tray. “All you Lancasters are alike. Crazy.”

Watching the man return to the table from which he had come, Francis ignored the looks and stares he received from others. No one else approached his table, and that suited him just fine.

***

“It appears we have a new student in our class,” the instructor said, nodding to Francis. “Welcome to Basic Fighting Techniques. I’m Captain Lucan, and what I say goes. Do you understand?”

Francis nodded and a few chuckles came from the other students. All of them, except Francis, were already wearing armor.

Gods, Derrek is an arse…  of course he wouldn’t tell me to come dressed.

“We’re going to pair up and spar with shields.”

About a third of the fifty students gathered groaned and the Captain shrugged.

“I know… It’s not flashy but today we’re focusing on using a shield correctly. I’m going to be occasionally swapping out with your partner. Today, I want you to try and focus on getting the ability you want. Remember, it takes hours upon hours of intense concentration and fighting to unlock them and most of you, if you’re lucky, will have one by next year. Those who are truly gifted will have two by graduation.”

Two in ten years? Just how hard is it to get skills? And what’s the crap about thinking about the skill you want?

“I’ll pair you off. No trading till I say--stop switching spots, you fools.”

Some chuckles came from a few in line who were moving every other person away from each other.

As the instructor moved down the line, Francis tried to think about his acquired skills and how he’d gotten them.  

I suppose I took this approach for Strong Bones… Same with Brawling. I mean, after I knew it was possible and there had to be some--

“Two!” the captain shouted, breaking his train of thought.

Blinking, Francis nodded.

“You'd best get dressed instead of standing here, Mr. Lancaster. Trust me when I say the armor helps when you get struck, and you’ll want all the help you can have.”

“U,h yes, sir!”

Unsure if the man's knowledge of his name was good or bad, Francis dropped his backpack to the ground and started pulling out the padded armor, quickly getting ready.

***

“Go!”

A loud gong sounded and twenty-five pairs of students started attacking each other in the ten-by-ten squares they had been placed in.

His opponent wasn’t charging as some did; instead, the older teen was holding his ground, shield and sword at the ready.

“Truburn! No skill comes from standing still!”

As the captain’s voice rang out over the fighting nearby, Francis’ opponent moved forward, weapon slashing in a low-to-high attack before thrusting out with his shield.

Francis parried and blocked, letting himself get pushed backwards a little to minimize the force and get a feel for his opponent. Attacks came in combinations Francis had seen Kels use a few times in his early training.

Truburn or whatever the boy's name was didn’t use his hips as much as Francis had expected, but the attacks came with fervor. Even better was how often a kick or shield strike came.

“Lancaster! Stop taking it easy on him! Do something!”

Not wanting to get on the instructor’s bad side, Francis obeyed the captain’s orders and attacked. He knew he was far stronger and faster, and without making it look too bad, he had the young man on his back, the tip of his sword to the boy's chest in a dozen or so strikes.

“I yield!”

Nodding, Francis sheathed his sword and held out a hand.

“You… don’t belong here,” Truburn said.

“What do you mean?”  Francis asked.

“The Captain is right. You were toying with me. For a moment, I thought I could hit you or overpower you, and then I realized that you were not even trying. Just how good are you?”

“You going to tell me your skills and their levels first?” Francis asked.

His opponent winced. “Sorry… I got a little carried away. Names Truburn.”

“Francis.”

“Yeah… we all know. Seems all you white-haired ones are freaks of nature. I mean… did you really make your brother puke from a single punch?”

Chuckling, Francis nodded.

“What in the world are you two doing?” the captain called out. “You’re here to train, not to kiss and tell stories!”

Francis spun and found the instructor glaring at him.

“Draw your sword, Lancaster. Let me see what the General sent me.”

The Captain whistled and a gong sounded.

“Back up! We’ll use nine squares for this. You all pay attention, and someone get two healers over here now!”

Francis wanted to smile, but he knew that whatever happened, a beating was likely about to ensue. He stretched his shoulders, keeping his eyes on the instructor and moving to where the Captain now stood.

“Rules are simple. Hit me and don’t bleed too much,” Lucan said. “I’m going to test you and push you--most likely punish you as well. If you've got a skill, use it. Don’t go for my neck, head, or heart and I won’t go for yours. Got it?”

Nodding, Francis set his feet, wondering what kind of fighter the Captain was.

“Begin!” the man shouted.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 48

“You were that much outclassed?” Sog asked, his eyes widening. “By an owl?”

“One's race doesn’t dictate their power,” Jazzjak said. “But if the owl was truthful and he was a tier four god, then I wonder what path he took.”

“What do you mean?” Fowl asked. “He told Max to take a path similar to the one we’re following.”

“Jazzjak’s correct,” Max said, setting his pen down after writing a few more notes in a journal he always carried. “Just because he said that was the path I should take, doesn’t mean it was the path he took.  Something tells me that Gyr Quill spent points on other things besides just his tier. I think he’s looking back with the wisdom of having gone down a different path for a while.”

I wonder how many of their kind were on that world at one point.  I’m also curious how many gods that owl has eaten.

You could sense that as well. I could feel a primal hunger from Gyr Quill. Something tells me he isn’t one to let a meal escape unless he isn’t sure of the outcome.

“Correct,” Jazzjak stated, motioning to the screen where their current plan was laid out. “You all have done the first part of getting bloodlines and sparks in place. The obelisks weren’t on the plan but they’re just as fundamental as the rest of the stuff. That leaves us with–”

Their helper grunted as his tablet flashed a light blue color.

“Something wrong?” Sog asked.

“Impossible,” Jazzjak muttered, tapping his screen and swiping.

“What is it?” Tanila asked.

“One second,” their helper said, padded fingers dancing on his tablet. “Max… you have a challenge.”

“For the arena?” Sog asked, smiling immediately.

“Yes… for the arena… the interesting thing is who it’s from.”

Max frowned, knowing one of his eyebrows was trying to climb to the top of his bald head. “Who?”

“Sirocco,” Jazzjak replied.

Laughter erupted inside his head.

That bird… it seems he was upset about something, and I wonder if this is his decision or Gyr Quill’s.

Max frowned, seeing the confused look on Tanila’s face. “He’s got to be within one tier of me to challenge me,” Max said. “Still, he didn’t seem that much stronger.”

“I’m not worried about that. I’m more concerned with why he would even challenge you,” Tanila replied. “What kind of god does that after you did what you just did?”

“A dangerous and crazy one,” Rakonath said. “The gods Max spoke of sound like dragons in some ways. If an alpha gives the order, they won’t go against them right there, especially if they are weaker. A dragon might try to cause problems behind their back, but if the power gap is too strong, they usually aren’t foolish enough to try.”  Rakonath pulled out a couple of six-inch-tall wood carvings. Each one was a dragon in different forms of flight.  One was larger than the other at twelve inches, resembling what Rakonath looked like in dragon form. “I’ll use this as an example. This one here knows I could tear it apart easily. But if they can defeat these two and get away with it, in time,” the dragon paused, swapping out the three for another twelve-inch figure of himself. “They would hope to be strong enough to challenge me.”

“Besides the fact you’re carrying around toys of yourself,” Cordellia grunted, “are you saying Max is about to face a god who is trying to use him as a footstool to challenge the alpha in their pack?”

“Flock, but yes.”

“Flock, pack, flight, whatever,” their ranger muttered. “That’s stupid.”

“No, it’s the way of everything,” Sog stated. “Demons do it. You elves did it back on your world, and Max’s people did it. Very few species that I know of don’t feed upon the weaker ones to get stronger.”

Cordellia started to respond and stopped.

Max sat there, listening to his friends discuss why this had happened and so soon.

We can win this, right?

I believe so. There wasn’t anything that seemed as overwhelming as Gyr Quill.  My biggest concern is what happens if you win.

Because I would possibly own the same world again? Or because I might have to kill Sirocco?

Both. If the bird puts that world up for collateral, you would need to forsake it immediately.  The problem is that appearing there is dangerous, especially since we now know that Gyr Quill can detect and see you. I tried to analyze the thread he had tied to us, but it moved around and was slippery. 

If you have to kill Sirocco, it should only be done after the offer of mercy. 

And that won’t make us look weak to others?

But you are… the problem is we have entered another pool of water and I’m guessing we’re at the outer ring of being safe from those below and above. I’m not certain how things work exactly after tier five but we both know that Gyr Quill could challenge you if he wanted. 

But then I could just forfeit and give away another world.

Making it harder to reach the tier you want before the three hundred years for your friends' end.

Max grunted and focused on the gazes he could feel.

“Good discussion?” Rakoanth teased.

“You heard it,” Max shot back. “I have to take it. There’s no other option.”

“Yes!” Sog shouted, banging his hand on the table and cracking it. “Uh… sorry, just excited about free DP.”

Max ignored his demonic friend and turned to look at Tanila who was frowning again. “You’re worried.”

“I’m always worried,” she replied. “The problem is you’re the center of things… and that means… Miranna is going to be as well.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her,” Max replied. “You know that.”

“That’s the problem and the solution,” Tanila said. “But I don’t want to do this discussion again. Have Jazzjak set the fight. We both know it needs to happen if we’re ever going to get our DP back from the last fight we bid incorrectly on.”

Knowing it wasn’t the time to press the issue, Max turned and nodded at Jazzjak. “Get it set up for tomorrow.”

“You’re crazy like that,” their helper replied. “Never wanting to wait.”

***

Max ignored the announcer, studying his opponent who was three hundred yards away.

“This just goes to show you’re weak to make the arena like this!” Sirocco shouted.

Glancing at the arena he had chosen, Max just shrugged. It was only three hundred yards tall and about a mile in diameter.  Black stone covered the entire floor, walls, ceiling, and columns that appeared every twenty yards.

I guess I was supposed to make this a fight in the sky?

It would appear that using his brain isn’t something he does often. Still, we’ll need to play it smart. Again, we don’t want to tip our hand about all our skills.

“Still not going to tell me why you initiated this challenge?” Max called out once more.

Sirocco didn’t say a word and banged his swords together, letting the sound of them echo through the arena.

I guess the 1:1 odds tell us what those in charge feel this fight is worth.

And we’ll have to see if they were right.

When neither Max nor Sirocco spoke, the sound of the bell that marked the start sounded.

Max dashed sideways, both weapons out as the falcon god flew toward him.

A pair of oversized swords slammed into the space he had been standing as the bird reached him in less than a few seconds, even winding through the columns. 

He’s faster than I thought.

Max’s weapons were swords, moving with blinding speed as he parried and dodged the blades almost as tall as he was.  Sirocco’s dark feathers shimmered with silver, purple and red as he sent combos at Max. 

[ Demonic Teleportation ]

What was that?!

Max knew Bob had moved him as over a hundred different feathers, had come at him at the same time, creating a wall of projectiles that had barely given Max’s skill time to react.

I’m on it, focus on fighting, don’t just dodge and play defense.

Max grunted, dodging around another column as Sirocco bounded upward into the air.

“Stop running, little mouse!” the falcon shouted. “I’m hungry!”

Bob began forming a wind blade near them, hidden behind the column, barely above the surface of the arena floor.

Lure him around, stay close, we’ll use this and see what we can do.

Swapping to his bow, Max sent two shots toward the bird who deflected both, now flying toward his position. Seeing Sirocco coming toward him, Max dodged to the side, both weapons out and forming an X as he parried an overhead strike.

Sirocco flew past, turning quickly and Max left the ground, going airborne as well.

He can’t turn fast, it’s a–

Like a ball, Max bounded from column to column, avoiding strikes as the falcon god continued to streak toward him. Each time the god moved with a speed that felt faster than Max’s own, yet once he was to the bird's side, he gained a few seconds of relief before it was able to turn and come again.

Almost there, like ten more seconds. Be ready.

Max changed directions, playing around the area he knew Bob wanted him to lead Sirocco, watching dust and stone fly up as the bird cleaved chunks of stone from the barriers he had chosen to select in this arena.

Five more.

Another attack came and Max moved as he had the other time, when Bob took over again.

[ Blink ]

Two walls of feathers created a minefield of pain at the spot Max dodged to.

A sensation of pain radiated in Max’s left arm and leg.

[ Poison Resisted ]

His sonar told him that seven of the six-inch-long feathers had managed to penetrate his armor, somehow not impeded at all by the metal.

[ Regeneration ]

“I can smell your blood!” Sirocco shouted as the bird flew upward to the ceiling of the arena, its wings held outward as it gazed where Max now stood. “You don’t know what real power is!”

The falcon god came again and Max moved toward the spot he knew Bob wanted him to go. As he raced toward it, the feathers didn’t push themselves out like most weapons did from his flesh. There wasn’t time to talk about it as Sirocco came at him again, both swords coming in a left-right attack.

Max held his ground, swapping out his left weapon for his gorgon shield, blocking and parrying both as the two gods slammed into each other. At that moment, Bob unleashed the trap he had set, a thick blade of air slicing at the falcon god from behind. It struck the left wing and lower back, the feathers where it hit shimmered a soft green.

Sirocco bounded to the side, finding that an airwall had been summoned there. Max didn’t wait. They were evenly matched in strength, but the speed difference was going to be troublesome. Even worse were the feathers that wouldn’t come free.

[ Ultimate Form ]

His body grew, and for the first time since Sirocco had entered the arena, Max could see the yellow eyes tremble slightly. Max pushed upward with his shield, forcing the falcon god’s weapon off it, his bone shield swapping in an instant.

[ Bone Rain ] 

Fifty bones surged forward, striking Sirocco in the chest, arm and face as Bob pinned their opponent with air walls.

Another shimmer came from the plumage of the falcon god, and Max sensed the incoming of more feathers. He adjusted his shield, holding it up to block, only to find that each of them passed through his defenses as if none were there at all.

Over a hundred feathers struck, sinking three inches or more into his flesh.

“OH, we have a close fight on our hands, folks!” the announcer shouted as Max fought through the pain and notifications that flew by.

[ Poison Resisted ]

His artifact was parried by Sirocco but his strength pushed the bird god back.

“I’m going to enjoy eating your heart,” Sirocco screeched before shooting upward at the ceiling.

These feathers!

I know. Focus. We showed one card; we’re going to have to show more. This isn’t a fight like the others.

Max grunted to himself and moved to track his opponent. For the first time in a while, he realized this fight wouldn’t be an easy one.

Undying Blood - Chapter 50

Chapter 50

The position of the sun had surprised Francis. It was not as high as it had been when he left the army. Upon mentioning it to Kaelith, who was leading him across a large stone courtyard, the man sighed.

“You do realize that the sun and our world… no… obviously you don’t, otherwise you wouldn’t ask that question. How… how did you convince the General and the King to send you here if you don’t even know how the sun works around the kingdom and the rest of the world?”

“I’m good with a sword,” Francis replied.

“And I could kill you before that sword ever reached me,” the man shot back, not bothering to look at him as their pace increased. “Do you realize that weapons are only useful in certain situations? Magic has power that can be used in multiple ways.  Sometimes I wonder why we bother training such large armies. I mean… I know why, but still.”

“And yet the Kingdom of Shenzen is struggling just as much as we are against this enemy, while having the strongest mages in all four kingdoms,” Francis replied.

Kaelith spun far quicker than Francis had anticipated and thrust a finger into his chest.

“Do not speak of that or say such lies!”

Francis didn’t want to back down, no matter how much the man’s nostrils flared or his eyes looked ready to cast flames at him.

“Forgive me, sir, I was only repeating what the General had told me.”

Kaelith's lips began to twitch as he prepared to reply, but the man clamped his mouth shut. There came a hmph as the man spun and began walking purposefully toward a street.

I guess he didn’t like that reply.  Seems Stenson was right. These people really do try to get under your skin.

Without missing a beat, Francis quickly caught up and stayed just a step behind, not wanting to find himself deeper in a hole he hadn’t planned on digging.

***

“Forgive me, sir, but are you sure that is wise?” A voice from inside the office reached Francis’ ears.

Still pretending not to listen, Francis stared down the hallway at the teens and young men moving through it. Some were carrying armor and weapons, while others had backpacks that seemed ready to burst.

“Avelis herself ordered this. Now make sure this is done, Dorian or so help me, you’ll find yourself wishing you’d never been born.” Kaelith’s voice could be heard over the men in the hall.

A grunt came from the room; a second later, Kaelith exited and faced Francis.

“You are in good hands,” Kaelith said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other duties to attend to.”

With that, the mage strode off, leaving Francis standing there outside the office of the one who had just been told to make his life difficult.

“Lancaster, get in here!” a voice shouted from within.

Ignoring the looks that some of the others in the hall had been giving him, Francis turned and entered, amazed at how disorganized the room was.

This is almost as bad as Dexter’s room.

Papers, books, weapons, armor, and other objects were scattered everywhere. A chair and a long couch were covered in supplies, and standing behind a small desk with more paper stacked up than seemed possible was a thin man pushing up his glasses as he moved.

“I’m Master Dorian, and you will do whatever I tell you. Is that understood?”

Francis nodded, not wanting to argue but feeling he could snap the older man in half.

He’s so thin, I swear a strong breeze could knock him over.

A grunt came from his new master of pain as the older man scrutinized him.

“Where are your other clothes?” Dorian asked.

“This is all I have,” Francis replied. 

“Weapons? Armor?”

“No, sir,” Francis said. “My coming here was rapid enough that I didn’t get to prepare.

Snorting, the master of the dorms groaned. “I guess that is why I have been instructed to ensure you have outfits and equipment. Why no one ever brings anything is beyond me,” Dorian muttered as he began digging through different piles. Hold this!”

A backpack was tossed at him, and Francis grabbed it without missing a beat, holding it open.

Clothes were deposited quickly. Next came leather armor, which was also stuffed inside.  Six books were added to the growing pack before the gift giver stopped.

“What weapon do you use?” Dorian asked.

“I’m best with a sword and can use a shield, but don’t always. The only other weapon skill I have is a mace, but that’s not worth mentioning.”

The weathered man's face showed a slight look of surprise, and he had to push his glasses back up his nose.

“You… actually have the mace skill?” 

“I do,” Francis replied.

“Interesting. Still, I’m only required to give you one weapon and it wouldn’t be worth either of our time giving you a mace.  For now, take your bag to your room and I’ll ensure you have a weapon tomorrow when you show up to sparring.”

“And my room is…”

Grunting, Dorian moved past Francis and toward the door.

“Come, I’ll show you,” the man said, not waiting for Francis.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Francis followed the keeper of what he knew was a dorm. He watched the older man take long strides. Each step was silent along the carpet that ran the length of the hallway.

Everyone present watched as the two of them made their way to the stairs and began to climb.

Dorian took them two at a time, not missing a beat, and Francis followed. Two more flights of stairs led him to the fourth floor; it quickly became obvious that the rooms and levels got nicer with each subsequent flight of stairs.

“Never go to the fifth floor,” Dorian said, motioning toward the left. “You do not possess the value, money, or blood that allows for one to reside up there.”

“Understood,” Francis replied, not bothering to worry about that right now.

I don’t have time for that kind of drama. I mean, I do, but I really don’t want it.

Someone had announced their presence as a few doors opened and older teens and young men stepped out, each getting a look at Francis as they walked down the hallway.

A few murmurs came, and then as Francis and Dorian neared the end of the hall, a door swung open, and the sight of an emerging person made Francis miss a step.

“You?! What the hell are you doing here?!”

Francis turned, seeing his oversized brother puffing out his chest, and the scowl that always seemed present during his childhood, still in place. Derrek’s white hair stood against his tanned skin and a pair of silver eyes was hidden between furled brows. It had been years since Francis had seen his brother, but he had put on at least forty pounds of muscle since they last spoke.

“I guess it’s good to see you too, Derrek,” Francis said, grinning.

His brother’s jaw tightened and two fists formed as they approached.

“Now would not be a good time for this,” Dorrian said as he stopped at the door across from his Derrek’s. “Francis will be staying directly across–”

“WHAT? Why is he–”

The older man’s hand rose and Francis watched as his brother was thrown back by nothing, slamming into the wall with a thud.

“Do not ever raise your voice to me, is that understood?” Gone was the tone the keeper of this place had used this entire time. Now, it had an edge; Francis knew whoever Dorian was, the man had magic capable of causing harm.

A grunt and a nod came from Derrek as he was still pressed against the dark wood walls.

“Very good. Now as I was saying, your brother will be staying across from you. I expect you to help him find his classes tomorrow. After that, he is on his own. Do you have any questions?”

His brother’s eyes bulged, but a single bob of his head was all that Derrek gave.

Immediately, Derrek’s body fell from the wall.

A key appeared in Dorian’s hand. “Do not lose this, as it costs a gold each time. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Francis replied. 

“I suggest you get moved in. Today you will have no classes. Feel free to explore the Spires, but do not enter any of the Magical classrooms, dorms, or leave this area. Mealtimes are listed on the paper I put inside the top book.  Your schedule is also written down. The bells will ring to announce the call to wake up, lunch, and dinner. Beyond that, try not to get in trouble.”

Taking the key from the outstretched hand, Francis nodded and moved to the door, slipping it into the hole and turning it. A click sounded, and the door opened.

Retrieving his key, Francis stood in the open doorway; he was surprised to find a bed with a thick mattress, blankets, an empty desk, and a chair along with a window that had light streaming in.

This thing is bigger than the room I shared with Michael at the inn!

Lost in the moment of appreciating his new room, Francis was sent lurching forward after being pushed from behind.

“What in the gods are you doing here? ” Derrek growled.

Catching himself mid-stumble, Francis set his bag on the bed and slipped the key into his pocket, turning to see his brother approaching.

It had been six years since he had last seen Derrek, and the man had put on some serious muscle since then. Whatever he was doing to improve his body had been paying off.

“I’m talking to you!” his brother roared when no answer came immediately.

“General Stenson personally sent me–” Francis started.

“Lies! You’re nothing but a–”

Having been bullied by Derrek for most of his childhood, Francis believed he knew how Derrek felt about him. What made things worse was that each of his brothers had endured beatings whenever Derrek felt slighted. In fact, if Derrek was upset in any way, someone got the brunt of the deal. 

So, like any sibling who finally grew up and was ready to show they wouldn’t take it anymore, Francis did just that.

He sent a punch at his brother’s stomach, glad that Derrek had felt the need to get close. A poor attempt at a block came, but Francis wouldn’t let that stop this moment of revenge. Having beat Cutter to death, Francis had a pretty good idea how hard he was about to hit his brother and was okay with that.

[ Power Strike ]

Derrek flew backward and rolled into the hallway, where he landed on his back for a moment. Then a hand found his stomach as he started retching on the carpet.

Laughter, followed by a single whistle, silenced them all. There were only the sounds of retching until Dorian stood over the one making a mess on the floor. “You’re going to pay for this mess, Mr. Lancaster.”

“I’m fine with that,” Francis replied.

Dorian turned his head and stared. “No, Francis. Your brother will pay for this mess. If you bleed, ensure that you do not stain my carpet. If you shit yourself, do not dirty my carpet. You can destroy your possessions and I won’t give it a second thought. However, if you track mud or any other debris on this carpet, I will hold you responsible. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

A single nod came from the man, and for a second, Francis swore a tiny smile had appeared on the older man’s face.

“Now then, Mr. Lancaster, please clean up your mess and then ensure that my instructions are carried out. Do you understand?”

Francis’ older brother gave a weak grunt, and the keeper of this building left, leaving Derrek in a pile of his vomit.

Wanting to make sure he took a moment to convey how this would go down if anyone else felt the need to be an arse, Francis moved to the door and stood over his brother.

“Next time you try to be a jerk and bully me, I’ll break your jaw. I’m not your bitch, and I often wish I wasn’t your brother, but family or not, so help me, by the gods, if you screw with me, I will make you regret it. Understand?”

His brother blinked multiple times, pain and rage filling his face, but Francis didn’t care.

Glancing at the other men in the hallway, Derrek finally nodded. Francis turned, quickly shutting the door behind him to hide the wide smile on his face. 

Life Update

Hey all - not trying to be silent on the comments - just been a crazy week.

Our family has a history of A-Fib (I've had 2 proceedures and they've done well). Our 3rd son started having some racing heart stuff, we tossed his apple watch on. After watching him and it for a bit, we spoke with a dr and ended up getting a heart monitor device for him to wear for 2 weeks.

It's just been a bit heavy on my end - not here to dump, but I'll try to answer some of the comments you all made in the coming days.

The good news is all the chapters for UL1 and Time Loop are locked and loaded and will keep on releasing (provided patreon doesn't do something wrong...)

Thanks again for the support.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 47

Cold wind whipped against Max’s face, and yet he didn’t even feel it.  Beneath him was a world that he had only visited briefly years ago to see what it contained.

Large reefs absorbed giant waves that crashed into them before rushing against the stone cliffs that rose a mile into the sky.  He could smell the salt, and a hint of something else he hadn’t yet figured out.  Birds were everywhere.  

There was a city carved into the stone mountain and along it were corpses, thousands of them lying inside the area that had served as the capital for the creatures he called his own. They were humanoid-shaped beings that resembled hawks. Their curved talons, sharp beaks and dark feathers were scattered around the city as they fought against an overwhelming amount of opponents.

The sky was filled with falcons, albatross, owls, and kite raptor beings. They too shared the same humanoid shape but had different feathers and sizes.  Each carried weapons and wore armor.  Clashes between the ones that had given him DP for these last few years were over quickly, surrounded and killed, often sent tumbling into the sea below.

It’s a massacre.

Like what would have happened to Peltagow if you and your allies hadn’t stopped the elven army? Perhaps I was wrong. We should depart. I can see and sense one of the gods of this kind and they do not feel weak at all.

Max nodded internally, his eyes studying the god that resembled a falcon. The god was almost three times the size of the other birds, with large muscles rippling under wings that didn’t beat to hold it airborne. Some kind of metal armor coated each feather, making them look similar to Rakonath’s scales when he wore armor in dragon form.  A pair of swords was stored on its back.

It hasn’t seen through our stealth. I need to try. You’re certain it isn’t a tier 5 god?

I cannot be certain as my time around any gods of that level has been none. There appears to be no other gods nearby and if you are planning on talking or fighting, now is the only chance you will get. Otherwise we should go.  You cannot stop this slaughter.

Part of him wanted to attack, the part that had become thirsty again after killing Kherbann. Max felt that itch, the desire to scratch it, and knew it would only grow as he killed more like him.

Let’s try. If we need to we can run. I will not think twice nor do I wish to risk myself and you.

A hint of agreement came as Max flew through the air, still stealthed and stopped about twenty yards from the god before him. Up close, the amount of power he sensed coming from the bird was difficult to measure. Had his attempt to end Eyorakoa’s life and steal the death from Yukoreek been successful, he might have attempted a sneak attack here. 

Kherbann had fallen so easily and yet he didn’t feel this would be the same.

A pair of yellow eyes glowed and widened, and talon hands grasped two swords as Max appeared midair between the god and the battle below.

“You!” the hawk cried out. 

“Don’t!” Max shouted, his two weapons appearing in his hands. “I could have attacked you from behind! I came to talk!”

“Bah, only weak ones talk! I will not–”

“Sirocco, stop!”

Max shifted his position, sensing an incoming shape, and flew so that he wasn’t pinched between the arrival.  An owl-shaped god sped toward them, wings tucked, red eyes burning like lava. 

“We should–”

“Listen!” the god screeched as it came to a stop next to the other god. Its red eyes were locked upon Max, a single clawed hand held out before the falcon that looked ready to strike at any moment. “He spoke the truth. He could have wounded you… Yet he didn’t.”

“You let him get near me?!”

He saw us? Where was he?

Before Bob could respond, Max felt something through the gaze of the owl god. It was almost as if the bird had tied something to him.

“I will not fight you unless you attack,” it said slowly, still holding up its talon hand. “I am Gyr Quill. This one is Sirocco. Why have you come?”

“It’s obvious!” Sirocco shouted. “He has–”

Whatever power Gyr Quill had, when the god’s head turned 180 degrees and looked back at the falcon, it silenced Sirocco in a heartbeat.

That is interesting. The owl is smaller by a good three feet and yet commands with such power that the other god submits. You can feel it, coming off the bird. I don’t know what this thread is but I’m trying to disconnect it.

Is it harming us?

No… It’s more of a… way to track and sense us.

As Max and Bob spoke, the owl’s head slowly returned to face forward, red eyes now locked on him.

“You came. Why?”

“Because I abhor the slaughter of innocents,” Max replied, frowning. “Why didn’t you just summon me? Why not ask me to give over my control before killing so many?”

Sirocco scoffed, still staying behind the owl god whose feathers seemed to bristle at that sound.

“Why would we think you would come if we summoned you? And why would we think you would come now? Surely you realize you are outnumbered. We know your strength yet you do not know ours. To come here is… foolish or… admirable.”

“Admirable?! Gyr, we have given up so much for so–”

Max almost flinched as the owl’s wing flew backward so fast he couldn’t track it. The falcon god was sent tumbling through the air for a hundred yards before it stopped, wings flared out. 

The one called Sirocco flew toward the owl and then froze ten yards from the bird, who simply held an open hand toward it.  The yellow eyes of the falcon glowed as it screeched. 

“Let me go! Who do you–”

“I AM THE ONE!” Gyr Quill screeched, and the sound it made felt like it had pierced Max’s ears with knives.

That one is the alpha.

Max watched as Sirocco shuddered, its two ready-to-strike weapons vanishing as the bird lowered its beak.

“Forgive me… I misspoke,” the falcon almost whispered.

“Do not do it again,” Gyr Quill said.

The owl lowered his hand and the falcon moved back about a hundred yards, still hovering in the air, eyes locked upon them.

“You show honor,” Gyr Quill said, his red eyes dimming some as he spoke. “You could have attacked while I was focused on the other and yet you did not.”

“I don’t need more blood on my hands,” Max replied, pointing a finger at the battle beneath them. “Those who are technically mine below are still dying.”

A few seconds passed and then the owl let out a cry. It radiated with power and Max glanced at the scene below.  The four kinds of birds that had been killing the hawk ones broke off, climbing higher into the sky and then moving to the edge of the stone cliff as if waiting for orders.

“For now, I have called off the slaughter,” Gyr Quill said. “In the arena, you showed yourself to possess some honor. You show bravery now. Perhaps some foolishness as well, but since you are a newer god, I would expect nothing less.”

“How do you know how old I am?” Max asked.

A weird chuckle that was high-pitched and sharp came from the owl’s chest. “I have been around for over ten thousand years, and you act as a fool. Those with the kind of time I have do not act this way. Surely you still have your helper?”

“I do… are you saying I was a fool for coming here to defend those whom I am responsible for?”

The owl’s eyelids blinked a few times and it shook its head. “Yes. You came to a world with four gods, hoping to talk to us and convince us to stop. Had you come seeking to kill us, you would haven’t revealed yourself to Sirocco. You would have attacked him from behind. I wasn’t certain what you would do at first.”

“You would have let me do this?” Max asked. “Attack a friend?”

“Friend? Sirocco is not my friend and if it was not for…” Gyr Quill stopped for a second and his head rotated side to side a few times. “Our business is not yours. So we return to the business of you, Max Hoste. You have come to give up your claim on this world?”

Max had a hundred other questions and could feel Bob wanting to ask a few as well, but could sense the difference between him and this god.

It would be a fight worth attempting if it were just the two of us and the falcon wasn’t present. 

I’m not sure we’d even win. You saw his speed.

“An answer, now please or I shall reconsider my choices,” the owl screeched. “Why are you waiting to answer?”

“Sorry, I was just thinking about questions I had,” Max replied. “Yes, I’m new at this and I realize my mistake now in coming here as I did. I am willing to give up my claim on this world. Can I ask a few questions in return before I do so?”

The owl’s beak started to open and then it stopped, his head turning to the left.

Max saw the shapes approaching and felt Bob holding back at the edges of their Planetary travel ability.

A large albatross, four times his side, drifted toward them, white feathers lined with purple edges. Behind it came a kite raptor, smaller than all the others, but its gold feathers made it shine like a second sun in the light.

“It appears the others have finally come,” Gyr Quill said. “They will not attack. I am honor-bound to keep my intent, and they will not break it.”

If things change, I will not hesitate to get us out of here.

Understood.

The other two bird gods descended, almost comically slow until they hovered in the air a few yards behind the owl god.

“The white one is Zephyrine, and Kite-Edge is our smallest friend,” Gyr Quill said.

“Smallest friend?” Kite-Edge asked, his deep voice sounding like a creature three times his size. “I’m easily the same size as this featherless beast!”

“Silence,” the owl said. “He is relinquishing his claim on this world and came to stop the slaughter of our friends' children. I have accepted and will enforce this agreement as you both know what our friend meant to us.”

Max watched the pair’s eyes darken, gazes turned to the scene beneath them.

“Honor is earned through actions,” Zephyrine said quietly, the god's voice soft and gentle like the wind. “We are grateful for being able to keep a memory of our friend.”

Max bowed slightly at what he thought was one from the albatross.

“Two questions, no more, no less,” Gyr Quill snapped. “Ask them quickly, though. I must deal with the one behind me who pouts like an eggling and forgets he is old enough to not let rage make him do stupid things.”

“That will never change,” Kite-Edge muttered.

Two questions… which two…

Max felt that the two Bob believed were best to ask when pressured for time. “What tier are you?”

A huff came from the three gods at the same time.

“One does not ask that question unless they are a fool or young,” Gyr Quill replied. “I said I would answer two and so I shall honor this one. Do not ask another foolish one or I shall consider this question worth both. I am tier four.”

Max nodded, filing away what he could, sensing the power he felt from this god compared to the others he had encountered so far.

“Forgive me for my foolish question,” Max said. “Last question, if you had it all to do over again and had to focus on one thing with your DP above all else, what would it be?”

The owl’s beak curved into what Max believed must be a smile.

“Well done, young one. A question worthy of an answer, though the answer is not as simple as it sounds. We have been discussing this topic for some time.  Fools initially focus on skills and stats, unless they choose the path of hiding. Some can swim in the shallow pools, devouring others like themselves, emerging in hundreds of thousands of years, strong and dangerous. Most do not as they tire of the wait.

“Others focus on racing to the highest tier possible, forsaking all else, trying to escape the shallow pools and not be noticed by those in deeper water.  For a few, they succeed; many others eventually fall.  DP does not come easily and a god who stands alone will find this next section a dangerous place for them. Even though we don't always see eye to eye, the four of us work as a cohesive murmuration. We help distribute the burden and the weight.”

“You’re rambling,” Kite-Edge interjected.

“Bah, forgive me,” Gyr Quill said, waving a hand at the gold-feathered god. “He is right. I do love a good discussion. My answer to your question is this. You have made claims in the arena; you do not fly alone. As a flock, you must focus on your world first. Grow stronger and then push for the tiers. Some will fall from the sky in time. It always happens. Their gift to the world will continue on, helping to rise above the currents. Even now…” The owl gestured to the scene beneath them. “This is not the first time we have had to do this. I am glad that we waited, though.”

“Why did you wait?” Max asked.

Gyr Quill shook his head. “Two questions. No more. Where did you put the crystal?”

Max chuckled and couldn’t help but smile. “You saw that… you saw me even when I was hidden.”

“Perhaps I did,” Gyr Quill replied. “Now then, give it here, please.”

Max summoned the crystal he had retrieved upon coming to the world earlier. It had been hidden deep in the mountain, and only his connection to it had told him where to go. The fist-sized gem seemed dull, its yellow glow not as bright as the one back on his world.

“As promised,” Max said, tossing it to the owl, who snatched it easily in his talons. 

“Then we are done here. Go, Max Hoste. Perhaps one day we shall meet again and not above a battlefield.”

Max sensed Bob activating his travel ability and gave a nod, feeling the purple portal pull him back to his world.

Undying Blood - Chapter 49

Chapter 49

He had wanted to scream as they moved through the magical gate, yet no sound escaped his throat.

One moment, they were in that tent, and the next, his boots met solid stone. It took a second for his eyes to adjust, but there, across from him, was a young boy, fourteen, if he was lucky, in a brown robe, staring wide-eyed at them.

“You… welcome! I shall announce your presence!”

“Wait!”

Even though Francis shouted, the boy exited through the wooden door and disappeared.

“Where are we?” Michael asked.

Glancing around them, Francis saw they were in a circular stone room with lanterns that illuminated the ten-foot-wide space.

“I’m guessing Caereenal.”

“No crap,” his brother replied. “I mean–”

Footsteps rang out from the hallway where the boy had taken off--both of them stopped talking, waiting to see who was coming.

The young boy, now red-faced, arrived first, having only been gone maybe twenty seconds at best.

Behind him came a bald older man, huffing while holding his green robe up to prevent himself from tripping.

“Welcome… I am… Alfred. Can I see…  your papers?”

Francis nodded and stepped forward, pulling both letters out from his jacket and handing them to the man, who was out of breath.

Wiping a sleeve across his head, Alfred took the letters and examined the seals on them.

“General Stenson’s personal seal… Welcome! Come, let me take you to the Keeper of the Spires and she shall personally see what these letters say.”

He motioned for his brother to move as the older man turned and started waddling off.

The teen stared at them wide-eyed as they walked by the young him.

Francis tried not to laugh as his brother silently mouthed ‘what the hell’.

***

It took them about five minutes to walk through hallways, rooms, and doors, not once leaving whatever building they were in. Three sets of stairs eventually led them to a large room with a man sitting at a desk outside a very-expensive-looking metal door.

“Why are you here, Alfred?” the man asked, only glancing up once before looking down at the paper he was reading.

“Pardon the intrusion, Mage Loxmere,” Alfred said. “These two came through the gate and have letters with General Stenson’s seal. I thought–”

“Give them to me now,” the man snapped, holding up his hand while keeping his eyes fixed on his paper. “I shall see to them.”

The older man bowed low and then moved quickly to hand the letters to the man, stepping back almost in the same motion.

Francis studied the room, which had two open windows. Fresh air flowed in. Two bookshelves, a desk, and a single table with cups and a pitcher were all that decorated it. Beyond that, there was nothing else save stacks of paper on the large wooden desk.

When the brown-haired man brought the letters near his face, he froze for just a second before looking up, a smile that looked almost real forming.

“Ahh, these are indeed the seal of our esteemed General. Forgive me, I needed to ensure they were real. I am Kaelith Loxmere, assistant to Avelis, the master of the Scholars’ Spires. Welcome.”

Francis moved as if he belonged and approached the desk, inclining his head.

“I am Francis, and this is Michael. General Stenson said we would bring the letters to the Master of the Spires and let them alone see them.”

He watched as the man’s left eye twitched briefly before his head nodded an inch or two at best. Taking a deep breath, Kaelith let it out slowly.

“I can see if she is… available, but are you certain you wouldn’t prefer me to open them now and see what the General needs?”

“That is not my place to say,” Francis replied. “I just know the General was very specific about the instructions he gave. He and the King were discussing this decision.”

Francis wanted to laugh, watching as the assistant rose from his chair, eyes now locked on the two letters in his hand--the only thing stopping him from reading them was a seal and the words just spoken.

“Give me a moment, then. I shall see if she is available.”

Kaelith pulled a glass orb from a pocket hidden in his robe, and it turned blue.

A few seconds passed, and then the metal door with words and symbols etched on it began to open.

“Master Avelis says to please come inside and bring these to her,” the man said.

It took a little more force than Francis had expected to pull the letters from Kaelith’s fingers, but once he had them, he gave another bow and moved toward the door.

Light filled the area within, and the scent of musty paper struck his nose as he went inside. Rows and rows of books were lined on shelves that ran along the room they had entered.

Each shelf had a glowing gem that gave off a yellow light. Some areas had scrolls stacked upon each other, and across the room, through the middle row of shelves, was a white-haired woman in a black robe.

She smiled at them and motioned for them to come forward, yet Francis felt his feet wanting to stay put.

“That’s one scary woman,” Michael whispered as they made their way to her.

Francis didn’t respond to his brother’s words, though he felt the same aura coming from her. She had something similar to heat radiating from a fire, which made his body almost lock up.

Her smile never left her lips as they drew near and she held out her hand.

He put both letters in it without realizing it and stood there like a statue.

“The King and General sending me two young men and a letter for each,” she said. “Not what I was expecting at all.”

Her fingers ran over the wax seal, and Francis saw a slight shimmer before they broke. Without waiting, Avelis opened the first one and read it. She frowned after finishing it.

“Which one of you is Michael Quinnor?”

“Uh… that would be me,” Michael said. His brother bowed.

“It appears you will be moved to the barracks and receive training from a specific instructor. Tell me, why has the General asked for this?”

“I… don’t know,” Michael replied 

Francis felt pressure against him, similar to the sensation he had experienced when Priscilla had been talking to him in the tent. His brother looked unable to think, and his voice seemed distant.

A tsk came from the woman’s lips and she frowned. Without waiting, she moved to the second--he saw her eyes widen as she read it.

“Francis Lancaster… I know that name. Yet it doesn’t make sense that you would be here. Three of your siblings are already here. For the King and the General to personally vouch for you… Tell me, Francis, why did they send you to the Spire?”

[ Mental Resist Successful ]

[ Mental Resist Increased – 26 Proficient ]

Like a fog blown away by a strong wind, his mind returned, and the room snapped back into clarity.

Before him was an older woman who looked much less intimidating than she had been a few moments earlier. Her black robe showed a few dust marks, and her blue eyes had a yellow light in the pupils.

“Because both of them believe I’m worthy of the training,” Francis replied.

Her eyes widened and then the woman cackled, folding the papers, the glow vanishing from her eyes.

“Impressive. You have the ability to resist, and he does not. I thought I recognized the white color of your hair, but many invest in things to make it look that color.  You stand out but not so much as to make one defensive.”

The master of the Spire began to move around him and he followed her, seeing his brother starting to breathe more normally, obviously no longer under whatever spell she had used.

“I can sense… potential… power… strength. Even more, what this letter says is… impossible and dangerous.”

He said nothing, waiting as the older woman returned to the spot she had started her pacing.

She handed Michaels the letter meant for him.

“Go, take that to Kaelith. He will get you set up. For now, I must talk with Francis.”

Francis nodded at his brother, who was blinking rapidly and chewing on his lip. 

“Thank you,” his brother said. 

Another chuckle came as his brother seemed to stagger for a moment before regaining his stride and reaching the door, which had started swinging open.  Once it had shut, Francis could feel the woman doing something again.

“A sage… here, and from a family that already has three with potential… Tell me, have the gods marked you?”

“Forgive me, ma’am, but all I can say is I am where I need to be. If we are to win the war–”

“Yes, yes, I read that… ‘make sure he is trained in everything combat-related. This one will help us win the war. Stenson is never overdramatic and the man is direct to a fault, so if he is convinced you are special and the King agrees, there must be something special about you.  Still… to capture that fool like that… is impressive.”

“Why do you call him a fool?” Francis asked. The words had come forth before he realized it, and he immediately grimaced.

“Bold, are you? Well, I like that in a student, but we’ll break that from you quickly,” Avelis said, smirking. “Did Stenson warn you of what you will face being here?”

“He did.”

Frustration was beginning to rise inside him; Francis couldn’t help but feel pissed. He had been here only a few minutes and had already been assaulted by mental magic—and the man he entrusted with his secret was being labeled a fool.

“Well, that warning the general may seem to help make things easier for you, I, however, won’t. You’ll be in a section of the Spire with other nobles. One of which contains a brother of yours.”

Internally, Francis groaned, knowing that it didn’t matter which brother it was--life had just gotten much worse.

“Do you have a preference?”

Oh no… I’m not going to give that away.

“No, ma’am. Either of them is fine. Or both. Just tell me, am I allowed to defend myself if they attempt to bully me?”

Laughter echoed off the walls and shelves as the woman held her stomach momentarily.

“Oh… to be young and foolish! Yes, you can defend yourself, but you might want to consider the fact that both of them have been here for years. Your oldest brother, Aiden, I believe, will graduate at the end of this year. He is almost an advanced-level warrior, if I recall correctly. A gifted one, really. I would be cautious about incurring his anger.”

“And Derrek?”

Her smirk returned, and she shrugged. “Another fine man. Two years from graduation now--again, not a person I would want angry at me if I were in your shoes.”

She sighed and folded up the letter. “You can defend yourself, and you will get healing from any injuries suffered. Just know that all this means is they might continue to beat you every day.  As long as they don’t kill or maim you, it’s just another lesson to learn here. In fact, you will find that some of the training sessions Stenson has asked you to be part of will make you wish you were dead. The physical demand is… brutal.”

“I’ll be fine,” Francis replied, holding out his hand. “Neither one of them will bother me.”

She shook her head and narrowed her eyes.

“You are different. I can tell, not just because you could resist my ability to make you speak, but because you hold yourself like you… belong here.”

“I do belong here. Trust me. I’ve earned this right through blood, sweat, and worse.”

Her head moved up and down slowly a few times before she put the letter in his hand.

“You believe that. Only time will tell if it is true. Now, do you have any questions for me? After this moment, you will most likely never encounter me again until graduation. The only other time a student gets a chance like this is after breaking a major rule or accomplishing the impossible.”

Francis wasn’t sure what to ask. He had hundreds of questions that he wanted answered, yet none of them seemed worthy of her time.

In the end, if I have to do this a thousand times to learn everything I must, none of it will matter.

“I’m good. All I need right now is a little food and perhaps a short nap. It’s been a long day.”

Chuckling, Avelis pointed toward the door.

“Then go out and wait for Kaelith. He will return shortly and take you where you belong.”

Francis nodded, ignoring the way she had said belong and bowed. 

“I look forward to seeing you soon, Master Lancaster,” Avelis called out.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 46

“So a world is revolting against me?” Max asked.

“Not the world, just the other gods on it,” Jazzjak replied, motioning to the image displayed on the wall. “As you can see, it is the planet we named Naga Reef. Four gods and the lives you are responsible for are over 50% gone since yesterday.”

A few grunts came from his friends, who were all still dressed in their outfits from the party they had just left an hour ago.  

“So you’re saying this is why most gods won’t be present on a world multiple other gods control after winning it,” Fowl asked. “This was the warning you gave years ago?”

Jazzjak nodded. “Exactly. Just because you win a world in the arena doesn’t mean you can hold onto it. Every time you acquire a new planet, you must face the dynamics of who else reigns there. Sometimes it might be a single god on that world, but most planets typically have two gods that join together for the sake of growth.”

“But they can’t come here,” Cordellia said. “That is a good thing.”

“It is,” their helper nodded, pointing at the image of the world.  “This one has more land than many other worlds, but these sections of seas are dangerous and covered with reefs and storms.  From Max’s only visit, we found that four avian gods were similar to you all. The one who died by Kherbann or some other god's hand was like them.”  The vorpal rabbit paused, his padded fingers tapping against the table a few times before he sighed. “Every time you appear in the arena, other gods take notice. Depending on how the fight goes, they will make moves if they feel something is to be gained.”

“And they feel they can defeat me either through combat or by removing an entire race,” Max said quietly. 

“So what’s the plan?” Sog asked. “You going to go and fight?”

The demon’s question had been asked already by Fowl earlier and Max had avoided answering it then, and frowned, still not wanting to make a decision.

“It’s just DP,” Tanila said. “You realize that. I can see you know that.”

“You’re right,” Max replied, doing what he could to not get frustrated at what was happening. “Still… people… some race… those who had no choice and are caught in the middle of this are being slaughtered. All so that someone can remove my claim and gain more DP for themselves.” He banged his fist against the table softly, making sure he didn’t break it. “I… Part of me wants to go there and ravage that world but I don’t know what I’d be facing. Four other gods… the planet is a tier 3 so it gives a good chunk of DP every day. Jazzjak said that means they’re strong and probably able to put up a  good fight even if they aren’t tier five.”

“Wait, you’re thinking about taking on four gods at once?” Rakonath asked, his silver eyebrows raising. “That’s not a smart idea, even for you.”

“No, I’m not,” Max answered. “I asked Jazzjak what I could do to stop the slaughter of those under my name. The only way to do that is to relinquish my power and to shatter the core each of us has inside our special room.”

Max felt each of his friends sit back some in their chairs, shoulders rising at the mention of the shard he spoke of. His and Tanila’s were hidden deep inside a section of stone, far beneath Sunreach, near the magma that filled the center of their world. He had created a special box of stone. Getting to it wouldn’t be easy for anyone, even if they knew where to look.

A thread of disagreement came from Bob.

You still think we should fight…

I think you should destroy one of the other gods. With your speed, power, and our abilities, killing one and escaping before the others arrive should be possible. 

Unless they are tier five gods. If they are, then we would find ourselves in a situation like the one we faced with Savantus. I’m not ready to be locked in another god's domain and fight against them. We both know how the fight against Yukoreek went after he broke free from Eyorakoa’s domain.  I’m not strong enough, and we both know it.

Which is why killing another god and taking their power would be a benefit to us.  I understand your hesitation. Your helper is also correct in his assessment. Either way, we both know this next moment is not going to work out as you hope. Tanila’s expression tells you she knows it too.

Max steadied himself and gripped the table, doing his best not to be the next one to break it. “I’m going to surrender the claim. If I have to fight and there is no other option, I will fight, but I will attempt to flee if I am allowed,” he told Fowl. “What we did last night with our chosen means more than a world that I’ve only been on once and have come accustomed to the power it gives. Yet it is also the reason why I cannot sit here right now, knowing hundreds of thousands of living creatures will die because of me. Because of something I never knew would happen.”

“Does it matter, though?” Cordellia asked. “Think about it, Max. You and I… we know what pain is. We worked side by side to help those who were hurting.  Everything you did before we defeated the tower was to acquire strength and protect those you love. Can you not for a moment just let these people–”

“No,” Max said, almost growling, his fingers snapping off a chunk of wood as he clenched his hands. He sighed, holding the broken piece, seeing the splinters that had flown in different directions. As everyone sat there in silence, he used his Wood Mastery to fix the broken spot and then stopped as two small splinters were waiting their turn to be added. With care, he grabbed the tiny pieces and held them up. “I’m like this table. I’ve been damaged, broken, beaten, and torn apart. Not always because someone was angry or upset, but because circumstances happened. And yet each time I was mended, made back to my original form but sometimes… pieces are missing. Like these two. I’ll never be the naive guy who just wanted to bake.  I’ll never be the man who wished he had never had to fight. This table didn’t get a choice of what it would be used for or its purpose when it was formed. I get to decide, though, what I’ll be used for. And right now, that part of me says I still have to fight for the innocents.”

Max used his magic to float a splinter toward Sog. “Tell me, if your people were being slaughtered and I knew it, should I come to try and stop it?”

His demonic friend nodded slowly, two large fingers grasping the wooden sliver before him. “I would expect nothing less from you.”

“But what if they were other demons? Not yours but perhaps demons created on another world? What if they were my demons and yet didn’t have the same attitude and outlook as yours do? Should I let them be slaughtered? Would you think less of me if I did so?”

Sog’s face shifted as he frowned and grimaced. “I… would expect you to go and help them. Anything else wouldn’t be you.”

“And what does Bob think?” Fowl asked.

Their dwarves sudden question made the room go silent and Max turned to see his friend staring at him, frowning. “Do you really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t. Besides, I know others are probably wondering the same thing if I asked it,” Fowl replied. “I know you… I know what it feels like to have the burden you carry. Even worse, I know you well enough to know you carry more than you should. You’ve always told us that Bob cares about your survival more than anything else. So what did Bob say?”

A chuckle echoed inside his mind.

Common sense sometimes can come from the one you least expect it.  Answer him.

Max sighed and nodded. “Bob said I should go and try to kill one of the gods on the world before departing. The possibility of what they might have would be a boon.”

“And you have a problem with that?” Batrire asked, putting her elbows on the table, resting her chin on them. “You don’t sound like you agree.”

“It’s not that simple,” Max replied, feeling the frustration of all the questions and opinions. “If one of them is a tier five god and I pick a fight with them, I could find myself in a domain far worse than what Savantus had. I managed to escape a domain granted to an elf, not an actual domain from a true god.”

“So don’t go,” Batrire stated. “It’s that simple.”

Max could sense the frown on Tanila’s face and the slight bob of her head at their healer's words.

“It’s not that simple,” Sog chimed in. “You’re talking about Max not being who he is. That would be like telling you not to heal someone sick or injured. Would you have told Max and Tanila no when it came to healing Miranna because you could get stronger or be safe by not doing so?”

“That’s not the same,” Batrire growled.

“It actually kind of is,” Rakonath said, holding up a hand between the demon and dwarf who were glaring at each other. “We’re asking Max to change. We've all changed since we met. Even since we started on this world forty years ago, we’ve changed.  Am I not right, Jazzjak?”

Max watched as everyone’s attention turned toward their helper, whose head snapped back slightly.

“Uh… yes. Yes, you have,” Jazzjak replied. “I gave Max my honest opinion and I’ll tell you the problem you all face.”

Before anyone could speak, the rabbit’s fingers were dancing along his tablet, tapping and swiping.  Numbers appeared before them.

“Right now, Max gets 11,620 DP per day from this world we’re discussing. In a year that’s over four million DP. Giving up that much power, with roughly two hundred and fifty more years of protection left, means he's giving up a billion DP.  A little over half of the DP needed for tier 5.”

Some grunts came from his friends, and Max nodded, choosing to remain silent a little longer.

“I don’t like his odds against four gods,” their helper continued. “I also don’t like the fact that he is being pushed out of so much potential power, but now you see why those four are willing to do so. They stand to gain a substantial amount of DP in the coming time.”

“But why now?” Cordellia asked. “Why does this feel so… sudden? I mean, right after Miranna was affected the way she was, and Max’s interaction with one of the Nine. Surely if the god swore he wouldn’t interfere, he hasn’t broken it already.”

Jazzjak shook his head. “No, I don’t believe that Death is doing that. If you want my opinion… I think it’s happening because of Max’s fight in the arena.  Or perhaps the better way of saying it is the lack of his fighting.”

“So he’s being attacked because he didn’t kill another god?” Cordellia asked, her eyes blinking rapidly. “What kind of stupidity is that?”

“It’s the law of nature,” Rakonath answered, giving her a hard look. “Those who do not attack or kill are sometimes seen as weak.  The problem is that they often don't realize they are wrong until it is too late, but they will test someone they think is weaker. It is like… those lions I read about in one of your books. A lion attacks whoever it wants, whenever it wants. Most do not attack the lion unless they think he is weak. Animals will only usually attack if they have larger numbers.”

“And that is what these gods are doing,” Jazzjak interjected. “You have four gods, all working together, seeing someone who didn’t fight and feel they can remove Max’s claim without any risk.”

A moment of silence passed before Fowl broke it. “So what is your plan?” 

“I’ll go. Bob and I will use whatever skills I can to ensure that I stay alive, but my plan isn’t to fight.”

Max sensed his wife’s lips tighten for a moment before relaxing. 

“Then go,” Tanila said. “I expect you home in a few hours.”

Undying Blood - Chapter 48

Chapter 48

The sound of the morning bell called out.

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

“Just another day in paradise,” Francis replied, sitting up and grabbing his boots. “Let’s get moving. Today’s going to be fun.”

Ignoring the grunt from his brother, Francis considered the fight just a moment ago.

Well, I know the sword can cut and do actual damage, but I’m still not strong or fast enough to last against that specific rhino-kin.

He had managed a single cut along the arm, thought it had still caught him.  The rhino-kin had shrugged off his strike, seemingly unfazed by the injury.

Francis had heard Kels shout, but before the knight could save him, the beast had killed him again.

[ Status ]

Francis Lancaster

Age 17

Strength: 28

Endurance: 30

Agility: 29

Wisdom: 15

Perception: 21

Magic: 10

Skills

Swordsmanship (Common) - 52 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) - 31 Proficient

Poison Resistance (Rare) - 12 Basic

Power Strike (Rare) - 9 Basic

Brawling (Uncommon) - 25 Proficient

Strong Bones (Rare) - 19 Novice

Death’s Dance (Epic) - 2 Basic

I guess I should try what Stenson said. Right now I’m dead so fast that I can’t gain skills against the creature and this might be the best path right now to get stronger.

“Your face tells me you’re thinking, which we both know is unusual,” Michael said, having finished getting his boots on. “What’s up?”

“Just wondering what it would be like to live in the capital.”

“Caereenal? Seriously? What kind of dream did you have? We both know that would never happen. Heck, we’d barely get past the gates before being scooped up again and sent off to the front line, provided we even made that far.”

Francis nodded and stood, slipping on his shirt. “Yeah. Still, a man’s got to dream, right?”

His brother snorted, shaking his head in disapproval. “Might as well dream something real. Now let’s go, I don’t want to be late.”

***

Stenson’s face had displayed shock only twice in the entire retelling of events after Francis had asked for a moment alone and said the phrase harvest of red leaves. The phrase had prompted the first expression of shock, and the explanation of the time loops had caused the second. 

“So… I can’t argue with everything I’ve heard, because the only way you would know that phrase and everything you have told me is if you’re telling the truth,” the general said, slowly spinning his cup in his hand. “Though now I need to convince the King to send you and your brother to the capital. It’s doable… but I’m wondering what I was thinking that previous time.”

“Well, you had mentioned I was missing a lot of potential skills and actual training. I’m curious if I’ll find out why more nobles' children aren’t here en masse and the mages don’t come.”

The older man spat, then scowled for a moment.

“You’ll learn about that, have no doubt. The Concord of Staves tied Baxter’s father’s hands. We don’t have time to discuss it all, but know the odds of them risking their life for us are almost non-existent unless the enemy approaches Caereenal’s walls. And if they did… the city would survive for a while, but eventually would fall.”

“You mentioned me getting training and an education. Are they really going to allow that even though I’m a ninth son? I mean… I’m also older than most when they first arrive.”

“Don’t worry about that. A letter from me will handle all those problems, though it might cause several others. Your brother is the biggest issue. With no real talent, he’s basically the weakest link. Did I advise you not to worry about him and just let him… die?”

Francis frowned but nodded.

“Not going to happen. At least not this time through.”

Setting his cup on the small table near him, Stenson leaned forward.

“Listen, son.”

Unable to help his reaction, Francis winced but the general didn’t apologize.

“The capital is in bad shape. While it continues to operate and send supplies, the inner section of the city you two would be living in is the Scholars' Spire. The other sections, such as the Ringwall and the Old Quarter, are merely people crafting the items and supplies the army needs every month.  Even now, the Rivergate Docks have become nothing but a haven for smugglers and refugees who have fled there, trying to escape the draft and hiding in that section of town.”

Frances’ mind swirled as so many different things came at him quickly. 

“I can get your brother a place in the Barracks Row. He’ll be trained as a low-level soldier, but if he ends up in the Spires and word gets out you two are related… they will use him against you.”

“Who?” Francis asked.

“Everyone. Teachers, trainers, other students, nobles, even some of the servants,” Stenson replied. “Trust me when I say that there is a reason I prefer being a fighter. Politics isn’t my focus. I come up with battle plans and lead armies but the constant backstabbing, bribes, and other games that take place require time and energy I do not have. You, Francis, must learn this art.”

“I thought I was going to get stronger and learn skills.”

Stenson sighed and leaned back in his chair, scratching his chin for a moment.

“What good is that if you don’t understand how to work within the group that surrounds the King? Tell me, how often have those in the tent or on the platform been against you?”

Francis frowned and began to see what the older man was saying. “Too many.”

“And I’m guessing you and Priscilla have butted heads?”

“Is that a lucky guess or…?” Francis asked.

“From what you told me and described, I know for a fact that she would go against most of what I want to do. That was until you mentioned the anti-magic area created when two spells collide. She can be an ally if you know how to get her on your side, but that is only going to happen if you understand who she is and why she does what she does.”

“Can’t you just tell me?” Francis asked.

“No. We are all bound by promises, as I am to the one I made you today… and I guess the time before this. I’ll do what I can to help you get stronger and learn the ways of the kingdom.  You’re strong and smart and show a willpower most don’t possess, Francis Lancaster. Now, you need to utilize those things to improve further. When you do die, come to me before attempting anything else. No matter how badly something might pull you in a direction, come find me. We can discuss the next step, depending on how much you grow.”

Having spoken, the general stood and held out his hand.

“Now come, it’s time for you and your brother to go. I have a battle plan to show the king and I must convince him you’re worth sending away.”

“Thank you,” Francis said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m glad I took a risk and told you the truth.”

The older man laughed and shook his head.

“Part of me wishes you had done it sooner, and the other part is glad you didn’t. Knowing how strong you have become and what you have acquired proves what you’re willing to endure. Now, we need to hone you and turn you into the weapon that will cut off the head of our enemy. Good luck, Francis.”

***

“You were serious!” Michael exclaimed, even though he was trying to whisper. “You can see the future!”

“Quiet,” Francis replied, pointing at the two guards a few strides ahead who were leading the brothers through the maze of tents. “We’ll talk later. But yes, I was. And yes, I can.”

His brother’s face contorted a few times and eventually stopped as he chewed on his lip.

Francis touched the letter in his jacket with a smile-- the outfit each brother wore was worth more than either could even fathom. Stenson had given Francis a letter for each of them and clothed them; a few minutes after Francis discovered that a pouch with five gold crowns in it.

What would possess a man to give away this much money?

Considering that thought, Francis quickly realized that the general must have faith that Francis could eventually become the weapon to help defeat the beastkin army.

“We’re here, sir!” a guard announced.

The pair of guards had stopped outside a blue tent. It was odd—not just in the color but also because it was boxy, about ten feet wide, and only ten or twelve feet tall. No guards were stationed outside, and the pair motioned to the flap covering the opening.

“We just go in?” Michael asked.

Their reply was a nod. The pair of guards bowed once and then turned, leaving them standing there in the dark.  

“That’s weird,” Michael muttered.

Shrugging, Francis glanced around the area and the light coming from the torches.  Thousands of lights illuminated the camp, all like fireflies announcing their presence.  One small torch was burning near the opening, casting its glow.

“No point in waiting, let’s see what’s inside,” Francis said. 

As he pushed the flap to the side and stepped in, Francis felt his stomach tighten.

“Ahh, the young sage and his brother. Fleeing to the capital, are we?”

Priscilla had turned around as they’d entered the space, her blue eyes studying him.

“Not fleeing, just obeying the gods' commands,” Francis replied. “Still, why are we here? Aren’t we supposed to be headed to Caereenal?”

Scoffing, the woman pointed at a section of ropes that formed a rectangular shape about five feet wide and eight feet tall.

“You really don’t know anything, do you? You somehow give precise details about so many things, yet you don’t know what this is.”

“It’s a teleportation string,” Michael answered.

“Very good,” the mage replied, nodding her head at him. “Perhaps that’s why he is here. Yes, this is a teleportation string as you called it, but we call it a gate. Only those who aren’t trained in magic, or perhaps those who are common, would call it such. Still, it allows me to send a few people to the one located in Caereenal quickly. Likewise, those in the city can come here if needed.”

“But why are you here doing this?” Francis asked. “Surely there could be someone else with that power ,so you don’t have to.”

“You would like to believe that, but the answer is no, Sage Francis.”

Her tone at his title left no doubt in his mind that she wasn’t doing this of her own volition.

“Only three of us in the camp have the knowledge or power to do this. I do not need the assistance of magical items to make this work. But before I send you two, I need to ask something.”

When Francis and Michael didn’t reply, the woman frowned slightly and took a step toward them.

In the light of the tent, she seemed imposing. She was slightly taller than Francis, and her red robe looked eerie in the blue light of the tent. Pricilla moved with the knowledge that she possessed power and could kill them both with ease if she wanted.

“What is the purpose of all this?” she asked. “Why come now with this information, and then scurry off like rabbits to a city you have no clue about? There has to be a reason why Stenson somehow convinced the King that you two needed to be sent away like this. Now tell me why?”

Francis could see his brother shrink back a step, but he stood tall, then stepped toward the woman he knew was the strongest mage in the camp.

“Because the kingdom only wins the war if we go there.”

A glimmer of something yellow illuminated the pupil in her eye for a moment. Something touched him. Like cold water being dumped on him, his skin tingled and Francis had to fight back from shivering.  A pressure grew for a moment in his chest and then vanished a second later.

Slowly, she nodded.

“I cannot imagine how that must be true and yet…” Priscilla sighed, turning and raising her right hand.

Light began to form around her pointer finger as she traced the shape of the rope.

Where her finger moved, the rope began to glow gold, and when the entire outline had been illuminated, a white box appeared between the ropes.

Glad the woman’s back was turned, Francis forced his mouth closed and elbowed Michael, whose mouth was open as well.

“Go, I do not want to waste the mana it takes to keep it open,” Priscilla said.

Tugging on his brother’s new jacket, Francis pulled his brother toward the portal. The pair moved on either side of the mage, yet her eyes only focused Francis.

“I pray to the gods,” she said, “that whatever reason they have for doing this happens soon. For your sake and the kingdom.”

Another sensation struck his back and Francis felt a burning pain between his shoulders as he stepped through the gate.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 45

Seven gods stood side by side. Each of them was dressed in their official god garb. They looked like a dazzling display of power and majesty, wearing the armor they had worn to defeat the tower. Each piece radiated with a power that none in this world yet could fathom.

On a small platform below them stood the five Kings and Queens from each kingdom. They too were dressed in fine clothes, weapons and jewelry on display.  

Surrounding them all was a half-mile amphitheater of stone that Max had created for this moment.  Every stone seat was filled with all the races of the world. For the most part the spaces were mixed. High above, over two hundred dragons soared, watching the scene below.

Five adventurers stood before the Kings, Queens, and gods.  

Miranna stood there in a set of red dragon scale armor for this moment. Each scale was outlined in silver, creating a dazzling display of light when she moved.  Two short swords were crossed across her back as her golden hair was braided, hanging over her shoulder.

Beside her, Shale Spark sparkled as well. Her red scales had been washed, polished and a small sheen came from the extra attention given to her.

A hulking demon, nine feet tall, skin black as night, stood in the middle of the five gathered.  Vraxion Keld was their main warrior and had a reputation of shrugging off blows that sometimes staggered other tanks. His two horns protruding from his head drew attention, each a ruby red. He also wore a set of red dragon armor crafted for him by Max.

Thergar Runehand was a dwarven healer picked by Fowl and Batrire. His blond hair and beard were braided, rings set within. His healer's robe was simple but the staff he carried had a green gem set near the top that reflected the light anytime he moved the staff.

A tall mage, a foot taller than the dwarf stood on the end. Vaelithrea was hand-picked by  Cordellia, possessing elemental magic. Most parties would never be blessed to have this ability, let alone two. Her red hair had silver leaves set amongst her braided hair, a dazzling silver robe shimmering in the sun.

Jazzjak wore a black suit with red embroidery and moved past the Kings and Queens.

A low hush rolled through the amphitheatre when the vorpal rabbit lifted his hands.

“Today marks an auspicious day!” the herald proclaimed. “Today, our gods, our Kings and Queens, have chosen a group like no other! Today, we have selected five who will represent the unity that all races strive for. Behold your chosen champions!”

Thunderous roars came from within the stone area and above.  Gouts of flame, bolts of lightning and more filled the sky as dragons showed off their power beyond just making a lot of noise.

When enough time had passed, Jazzjak raised his hands again and the crowd quieted.

“Today we mark in stone, bark, obsidian, metal and our hearts these five names. While many shall rise to new heights in the coming years, our hopes and prayers fall upon these five. May they rise to the top of the tower, showing a path for all who follow to mimic that which our gods have done for us!”

More applause came and as the crowds shouted out in joy, each member of royalty moved to stand before the one selected from their kingdom. Each held a small box. 

As one, they opened the box and showed what was inside. 

Max smiled as the eyes of those five seemed to sparkle.

“They have no idea,” Tanila whispered. “I wonder what it will be like when they put it on.”

Max gave a small shrug and winked. “We can ask Miranna later.”

Vaelion was the only one who pulled out the ring, a massive arm band for most and slid it onto Shale Spark’s front claw. It shrank the a slight trill came from the red dragon.

Each member took the offered gift and slid it onto their finger, each of them gasping at what they were given.

“The five have been gifted with an item unique to them and that will most likely never be seen on this world again,” Jazzjak announced, his voice carried across the entire area via the magic he possessed. “Each ring is connected, letting the members know the status of their allies. It also shares a small portion of their stats with each other. As they grow, their gains will be their teams as well.”

Ohhs and awes came from the crowd as the five glanced at each other, smiles on all of their faces.

Jazzjak held up his hand. Once more, the crowd was silent, waiting to hear what came next.

With some practiced work, the rabbit wove his hand and made motions, small balls of magical energy swirling around until he thrust it upward into the sky above.  

Max let out a chuckle, having coached their helper on showmanship and seeing he had done it well.

A large display formed in the air for all to see.

“Vaelithrea, chosen one of Cordelia. The one selected to be the magic which binds their foes.”

Her name glowed and sparkled, staying where it had appeared as another set came into view.

“Thergar Runehand, chosen of Batrire and Fowl. Every party needs a healer to tend to wounds and mend heart and soul.”

Small pockets of applause kept popping up as the names appeared, each time falling silent when the next one was announced.

“Vraxion Keld, chosen one of Sog. A warrior carries the party, putting their life on the line to stop that which comes.”

Max felt himself choke up a little bit, sensing a small tear coming from Fowl. The weight of a warrior was sometimes so overwhelming. He knew, though, that Vraxion could endure that weight, based on what he had witnessed.

“Shale Spark, chosen one of Rakonath. A dragon protects and watches from above, burning all who threaten.”

The sky erupted with spells and roars again as the dragons above saw the name of their own appear.

Jazzjak waited a moment, holding his hand up, cutting off the celebration above.

Finally, the last line that would appear began to appear.

“Miranna Hoste, chosen one of Tanila and Max. The one who fills multiple roles understands the weight of them all.”

Max felt his wife's hand squeeze his. She had a tear that had escaped, just as he had.

“Your champions!” Jazzjak shouted. “Let them know a world stands beside them!”

Unlike all the other times, the noise of the celebration was so overwhelming that it seemed to radiate through their bodies. Max could feel it even with his sonar turned off.

When almost a solid minute of celebration had taken place, Jazzjak held up his hands.

“Now, children of this world, your Kings and Queens along with your gods have set up a feast like no other kind.  Go, mingle, form relationships and prosper! A new age has come and you are the ones who will be remembered in the thousands and ten thousands of years to follow.”

***

Max smiled as his daughter finished hugging her mother and came toward him. Arms open wide, he felt his heart pumping when she wrapped her arms around him.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you and will make you proud.”

Max squeezed and pulled her back slightly, his eyes fixed upon her golden ones. “I will always be proud of you no matter what. Remember, Star to shine brightly. And if you need, I am always here to answer questions. The path you are about to walk isn’t an easy one.”

She nodded and kissed his cheek before running off to join the other four, who were already celebrating.

“Makes me want to cry,” Fowl said as the dwarf joined him and Tanila. “Watching kids with that kind of excitement. Reminds me of when I left home.”

“Please,” Batrire snorted. “You were only that happy when you won that stupid drinking contest.”

A chuckle came from Fowl as his trophy appeared on his head, ruining the fine outfit he wore. Two gold tankards, each upgraded from what they had once been with tubes that ran to where his mouth was set in a silver hat.

“Did his hat change?” Cordellia asked as she joined the party. “I mean, I’ve drunk some wine, but that thing looks worse than the other.”

“Bah, go hump an ogre,” their dwarf grunted. “I’m a god! I deserve a proper drinking hat!”

Each of them laughed as Fowl emptied his current mug into one of the ones on his head and started sucking on the tube.

“Is this something all dwarves do?” Sog asked, arriving and clapping Max on the back. “Because I’d be happy to try one based on how happy Fowl looks.”

“Exactly–” Fowl started before a loud burp escaped.

Max laughed, rolling his eyes and nodding at Rakonath who was coming toward them.  “How goes things with the party?”

“They’re good,” his dragon replied. “Each of them is ready for tomorrow. We all know they’re going to destroy the early dungeons. I think once they hit the thirty-level dungeons, they’ll start to slow down.”

He nodded and motioned to Sog. “You ready for next week?”

The demon laughed and summoned a giant wooden sword. “I cannot wait to crush them beneath this!”

“You’re not supposed to kill them,” Tanila groaned. “It’s training. Not killing.”

“I know,” Sog said. “It’s just been so long since I’ve had that kind of fun. To say I’m probably more excited than they are about our training sessions is putting it mildly.”

A wooden weapon appeared in each of the other gods' hands, and everyone laughed. 

“Seems we’re a weird group of gods,” Batrire said. “Nothing like trying to beat up the five you just chose to be the best.”

“Tom would say we’re doing it the right way,” Cordellia stated. “Still… every day I train others, I think about that old man and how much I sometimes hated him. Little did I know just how smart he was and how important those moments were.”

Grunts of affirmation came from the others.  

As they stood there, watching the celebration of their champions, Max sensed Jazzjak coming toward them.

He turned and felt his eyebrow raise as he sensed the way the rabbit shook. Motioning with his head away from the others, Max felt his stomach tighten when their helper nodded. “I’ll be right back. Don’t tell too many stories about me while I’m gone.”

He waved off Tanila’s questioning look, heading to where the rabbit was standing.

“What’s up?” Max asked.

“Trouble… one of your worlds…” Jazzjak replied slowly, his eyes darting around as he tried to look composed. “It appears the gods on one of your worlds are wanting to overthrow you and take what is yours.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Max sputtered. “They can do that?”

“Yes… it does happen. Imagine if the two gods you know, Phaius and Ockrim, had defeated Thuyja and cast her from the world. They would be able to split the power she got. All it would take is killing off 95% of the elves of the world.”

Max felt his heart drop at hearing that. “You mean their doing genocide? Doesn’t that hurt them also?”

“Yes, but there’s a bonus for such a thing also. I’m not sure what’s going on, but you’re going to have to decide what you want to do. Either sacrifice the world, or fight to defend it. I know you, neither option is good.”

“And fighting? That’s not a one-time thing, is it?”

Jazzjak shook his head. “Unless you can kill the gods, no. If they have other worlds, they can flee. Then you have to stay there and defend your people.  Most don’t do what it appears they’re attempting to do unless they’re certain you won’t defend.”

“But why?!” Max asked, his frustration growing.

“They want to get stronger,” Jazzjak replied, his red eyes glowing. “And they think they can do it faster by removing you.”

This isn’t a fight we need right now. You know that.

Max grunted, knowing Bob was right and feeling frustrated at the same time that some kind of race was dying right now because he was their god. He felt a gaze upon him and turned to see Rakonath staring, those silver eyes narrowed.

What fight is Bob talking about?

Tonight. After this celebration, we’ll all talk. Everyone. Today won’t be ruined by whatever is taking place on one of my worlds. Our champions need this moment as does our world.  

Rakonath nodded once at him, turning back to the others, a smile having replaced the grim expression earlier.

“Max?” Jazzjak asked.

“Tonight. We’ll do it when the party is over. Find out whatever you can and have it ready.” Max paused, reaching out and stopping their helper who was starting to depart. “Wait… enjoy yourself. Don’t worry about it right now. We can find out together tonight. You deserve this celebration just as much as we do.”

Two red eyes blinked rapidly at him for a few seconds. “Thank you.”

Max nodded, having heard those words spoken so softly they were almost swallowed by the noise of the celebration around them. 

“Don’t worry. Remember Jazzjak. You’re our friend and family. We owe a lot of this to you. I’ll never forget that.”

A smile grew as the vorpal bunny’s head moved up and down.  

Max let their helper go, turning back to join his friends.

I can sense your thoughts. Sometimes I’m not sure who’s more stubborn. You or Fowl.

Me. Definitely me.

As Max moved toward his friends, Rakonath suddenly burst into loud laughter, and a look of question appeared on all those around him.

“Forgive me,” the dragon said as Max arrived. “Sometimes I forget how funny Max can be.”

Undying Blood - Chapter 47

Chapter 47

“I have so many questions,” Stenson said, “but I also must admit, I’m impressed.”

“By what?”

“You, Francis. You’re a ninth son, gifted with something incredible, yet instead of using it for your own gains, you have risked your life, endured death multiple times and tried to find a way to stop… this.”

Francis shrugged as the general waved his hands all around them. “I told you: all I care about is my brother. In order for him to remain safe, the kingdom must win. We both know that if we ran, eventually he would die, and then I’d be back in the same spot as before.”

“Which is why I feel we need to consider some things,” Stenson said. “You mentioned that you barely go a week before dying. I’m still a little concerned about how many times you can really die.  I’m also… concerned that you cannot get aid from the gods. Baxter would take you to the temple if you told him this and I have no doubt you’d die again or they would find some way to… fix you.”

“Which would eliminate my ability and guarantee we lose.”

“And that is why I recommend you don’t tell anyone but me and your brother,” Stenson replied. “Instead, I think we need to focus on something else. As you’ve learned, gaining skills is exceedingly difficult. With your ability to die, that Fast Learning skill, and starting over, it has occurred quicker than others can. Combined with being in real peril, you will eventually reach a skill in the elite category but after that… things become exceedingly slow.”

“And yet you’re a master. You can’t be that old, can you?” Francis asked.

Chuckling, Stenson tapped his stump. “Somehow, I have managed to avoid death, even when making foolish mistakes. But you don’t know how old I really am. Most don’t and I won’t share.”

“I’m not guessing,” Francis replied.

“Another sign you’re a smart man. Let’s just say I’ve lived well past two hundred years.”

Francis choked as he considered that knowledge. 

I mean, I knew some could live that old… but to see how great he looks…

Stenson smiled, apparently noticing Francis’ shock.

“You… how are you in such good shape?” Francis asked.

“If you ever discover a way out of this loop, I have no doubt you’ll find your body will be like mine. You recover quicker, and you age more slowly. To know you’re already at a proficient Endurance… that is something most would give obscene amounts of gold for. Why, the nobles and mages spend more money than you can imagine on potions or elixirs to shore up their weak endurances, all for trying to add years to their life. I know of one who's spent over 50,000 gold so far in their life.”

He felt overwhelmed knowing that people were cheating like the rich. Francis knew his father had purchased items for his oldest three siblings, all designed to help them become stronger, but hearing that it was a normal act for the elite frustrated him.

How significant can the difference be? I mean…

“I can tell you’re confused and trying to absorb just the few things I’ve said. Don’t do that. Let’s focus on what you can do in this moment and what you can do in the… life to come. Part of me wants to send you straight to the capital. Baxter might argue against it, but if you always come to me and do what you are doing now, I could convince him it is needed.”

“What would I do there? The fighting is here, and I can’t abandon Michael.”

Sighing, Stenson shook his head. “Think big picture, Son.”

Francis winced at that word and the general held up his hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize how much that word would pain you. Francis, your brother is going to die. Over and over. I’m going to die. The only one who isn’t is you, and that’s all that matters.”

The older man leaned forward and pointed a finger at him. “You need to become what I would give anything for in this moment. You’re ability to learn and keep the gains between deaths means you need to maximize the potential with each life. What happens if you only get another hundred deaths and you throw them away trying to kill something you know you can't? What if instead you were able to spend weeks, months or years before you died? Even then, doing it your way… dying like that… I’m not sure I have the same willpower you have demonstrated.”

“What do you mean? The fact I’ve died just to learn skills or acquire items or–”

“All of it,” Stenson interrupted. “You ran headfirst into a battle against that catkin until you defeated it. Then you did the same with that rhino-kin. I can’t even imagine how it felt to get beaten to death by that man, Cutter.

“Regardless, in the capital, you could learn some things that will matter. There is a history of our kingdom and others that could aid you. You could learn other skills and potentially unlock new skills and abilities. I… I mean, I have a few, but you have ones I’d give so much for. Which, by all accounts, is insane. The potential you have is… beyond comprehension.”

Francis watched as the general grew increasingly excited the more he spoke.

 “There would be trainers who could teach you multiple weapons and styles. You might also be able to learn about magic, though I would not recommend you focus on that right now.”

Magic? Could I learn magic?

“Is that even possible?” Francis asked.

Frowning, Stenson shook his head. “Yes… But that would be… difficult. Then again, with the ability you have, I shudder to think about what wouldn’t be possible for you. Still, if you can reach the higher end of the elite skill with a sword, I would be willing to teach you a few of the movements and techniques that I follow on the path. Just know, I’ve spent almost a hundred years practicing them and I still have improvements that can be made.”

Francis felt an overwhelming feeling inside him grow at realizing what was possible.

“You would train me? I mean… just how good is the Way of the Shifting Seasons?”

A chuckle came from the older man. “That is a question many have asked. It isn’t just a few swings or thrusts that win a battle. It’s about learning what the sword can do and how to use it effectively. It’s about balance. There are four seasons in the technique. Then there are three different styles that all flow from that season. Spring is about overwhelming one's foe with light strikes, while autumn is about brutal, heavy ones.  Winter is how ones evades and perfectly counters attacks. The amount of time one must spend to learn a single season isn’t something we have right now, even with your loops. What you could gain from the academy is far greater for now.”

“So… what now? Just head out to the battle tomorrow and fight?” Francis asked.

“That is the path you have set in motion. Part of me desires to send you away right now, but the other part knows the knowledge you gain in the coming battle will be useful. I will warn you, though, Francis: do not take death too lightly. How you have managed to keep your wits and not go crazy tells me you have a strong purpose. Cling to it, but don’t let your brother be your sole anchor. Ask what it is you really could become and if you want it.”

Francis's head bobbed as he considered that question. He had only thought about it a few times before setting it aside and charging headfirst back into all these deaths.

Stenson rose and held out his hand.

“We’ve kept Kels waiting long enough. Besides, the day will start soon and you’ll need to be ready.  I’ve got things to take care of as well. Still, thank you for entrusting me with this knowledge.”

“Thank you for keeping your promise,” Francis replied. “Is there a better way to do this the next time without having to bring our favorite knight into this?”

“Yes. Do what you did, summon my daughter, summon me and Nehemiah. Lay out the same information you did earlier, and then tell me ‘harvest of red leaves’. I’ll know to listen when we’re alone.”

“And that saying means?” Francis asked.

“Something you’ll learn one day. Now go. Part of me wonders if I could be doing something better by doing something else. Especially since I know you’re about to die and all of this is going to be reset.”

“What would you do with that in mind?” Francis asked.

A soft smile formed and the older man’s lips.

“I’d spend a little more time with my daughter.”

***

Francis smiled as he cut down another catkin, knowing that friends he had made from Phillip’s camp were still alive, thanks to him and Kels.

Shouts rose from the entire line; the lizard that had tried to make them flee no longer stopped after the second attempt.

I guess they got to it quicker this time when I highlighted the importance of killing it.

Bodies of beasts lay everywhere, and the knight tasked with keeping him safe cut down anything that got within range.

“Don’t make it look so easy!” Francis shouted. “We’re not trying to get taken out by a spell!”

“Seriously? I’m honestly doing almost nothing. These aren’t strong at all.”

Ignoring their occasional banter, Francis focused on the path where the female catkin would be.

She appeared, and a few seconds later he had run her down and taken off her head, then began moving in the direction of where the rhino-kin would be.

The sword he wielded sliced with ease, its edge a perfect combination of sharpness and weight. Stenson had sent it to him, replacing the one Kels had acquired for him..

Makes me wonder what they enchanted this thing with.

Hacking his way through the enemy army, Francis heard the sound of the incoming beast.

“That it?” Kels shouted.

“Yes, just stay back with the men, you’ll see!”

Francis moved through the horde. The claws of any beastkin that managed to land did no real damage, as the armor Francis had been given stopped the attacks with ease. 

Finally, space appeared between the army of beasts — the rhino-kin was charging him.

Setting his feet, he prepared for the charge, having seen it a hundred times. He could almost do the next part with his eyes closed.

Maybe another time.

It ran past him intentionally, swinging its horn in his direction, yet Francis was fast enough now to dodge without giving up the needed space to stay near it.

[ Power Strike ]

Unlike all the other attacks he’d done with those other swords, this one cut like a scythe through reeds. A giant gash now ran the length of the creature's side.

The rhino-kin slid along the ground, a bellow of pain muffled by the dirt shoved into its face.

With new speed and strength, Francis spun, racing toward the fallen creature and not giving it a chance to stand.

[ Power Strike ]

Once again, his new sword met little resistance, hacking through the back leg of the rhino-kin, striking the bone, and sending a shockwave back into his arms. In surprise, he stood there, surprised at how much damage it had done.

A leathery arm came at him, and Francis barely leapt back in time, feeling the breeze from the swing that missed him by inches.

Focus!

With precision, he continued to hack at the creature, removing chunks of flesh. Finally, he delivered the finishing blow less than a minute after the fight had started.

“Impressive!” Kels shouted. “Look out!”

Dozens of cat-kin and wolf-kins came at him, yet right before they were within striking range, a roar froze the approaching beasts mid-stride.

“What is–” the knight started to say. Kels had drew near, ready to assist against the incoming beasts. He stopped beside Francis. “That thing… It’s what you talked about.”

Nodding, Francis motioned at the tiger-kin that towered over every beast.

The ones near them moved away, snarling and growling.

Unlike the other times, the rhino-kin took its time approaching. Francis could hear the thuds as the beast that had killed multiple times strode toward him. Another roar announced the large tiger-kin's acknowledgement of whatever was being said.

“Uh… you sure about this?”  Kels asked.

“I need to try,” Francis said. “Just watch, don’t die, and don’t help. All I need you to do is let me know if any spells come this way.”

“Spells. You’re worried about spells and not the giant rhino-kin in full armor?”

“Correct. Now backup or I’m unsure what it may do if both of us are here.”

A slap struck his shoulder and he turned to see Kels smirk.

“So when you die? Then what do I do?”

Francis laughed and shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

Give away winners!

Alright - the bad part is I only had 4 sets to give away at the moment...

But i'll do more as I write more books - so don't get too discouraged.

Now to the winners (I messaged you).

Devan Gibbs
A (Yah... A... just A ;) )
Kyle (lots of 'Kyle' but only the one I messaged wins)
Dontblameme (I won't)

Congrats - Send me what I asked for and I'll get those sets in the mail!

Enjoy your weekend all and thanks as always for supporting me!

Undying Blood - Chapter 46

Chapter 46

“Those are some very specific questions, Sage Francis,” Kels said. “None of which I expected if I’m honest.”

Francis shrugged and held up another sword from the training area closer to his face to inspect it. “I understand, but there are things that not even I can see, and one of them is where to find a quality sword that won’t break against enemies with thick hides or armor. The sword you and General Stenson have is not of the typical quality, if I’m correct.”

He watched Kels nod slowly out of the corner of his eye. 

“Again, that is not a question or statement I can speak about. Asking about another man’s blade without having earned their trust is almost like walking up to someone and asking them what their skills are.”

Sliding the weapon he had been holding back into the rack, Francis said nothing; instead, he moved to where the sword, which weighed more than seemed possible, rested.

A chuckle came from his blond-haired trainer, but the man said nothing as Francis bent down, inspecting it for clues he hoped to find.

Everything about it looked the same as the others, but only after taking his time to study it did Francis find the slightest markings along the blade.

“I’m assuming this is enchanted, and that’s what causes it to weigh as much as it does?”

“How… you…” Sighing, the knight rubbed both eyes. “I don’t understand how you can know some things and not others, but then again, I’m not privy to what the gods share and what they don’t.  You speak with authority, yet you ask questions that seem simple. Somehow, you know about my father and what is going to happen tomorrow in battle. On top of that, you demonstrate a talent for weapons far beyond what I expected and you move with a speed and strength that tells me you have surpassed the novice rank in your Strength and Agility.  That alone is… beyond imagination. All these things point to you being a Chosen, and yet you want me to find you a sword that every one of our advanced troops uses. Why?”

Francis smiled as he grabbed the weapon at the end with both hands and pulled. It moved slightly, threatening to tip over the rack if he wasn’t careful. “I’m not at liberty to say,” he replied. “The gods have asked me to stay silent on some things. Not because I seek to keep things hidden, but because that is what they will. Now tell me, how hard is it for me to acquire such a thing?”

“I can have one for you in twenty minutes. My other question is why? I can see that you have something on your mind. Dare I ask what?”

“I’m not sure I can reveal that just yet,” Francis replied. “But you also need to find me some armor. I know it won’t be perfect, as it won’t be custom-made for me, but it should do. Tomorrow, I need to be ready to fight. One never knows what might happen when we change the plan.”

“Wait, are you saying you don’t know what’s coming?”

Shaking his head, Francis pointed at the entrance to the tent they were in. “If you flip a gold coin one hundred times, do you always know which side will come up?”

“No…” Kels replied slowly. “Still… how is that relevant?”

“Tomorrow, we’re going to flip a coin. Everything that I know that will happen is going to change. When the king doesn’t do what our foe expects, what will the enemy do? 

Kels opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it a moment later with a sigh.

“Very well. Give me a few and I’ll return here with what you need. Anything else?”

Francis considered the crazy idea he had, knowing he was going to die but wanting to test as many different things as possible before it happened. “Yes, actually. Please have someone tell the general I need to see him.  I know he’s busy, but tell him this is something new I’ve seen.”

Those blue eyes studied him, yet Francis just stood there, acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Dying a few hundred times makes lying a whole lot easier.

“You, Sage Francis, are a peculiar man. I look forward to seeing how the battle shifts in our favor and getting to know you more, if the gods allow it.”

He nodded as Kels bowed slightly. Once the man left, Francis grabbed his tunic and pulled it on.

“Stupidest thing I’ve ever done…” Francis muttered, turning his attention back to the swords. “Well, perhaps not the stupidest.”

***

Stenson cleared his throat again, eyes narrowed.

“You expect me to believe that the gods want you and one of my best warriors to join the seventh line of soldiers?”

Francis nodded, smiling as Kels froze while helping him put on the armor that had been acquired.

“You know what is in the forest,” Francis said. “We both know your men will take it out.  I had a vision. The gods haven’t revealed why, but as sure as I stand here today, having used the pass phrase that both you and your daughter know means something, I need him.

“He and I need to be there on the front line. I need to have the best weapon I can, and we’re going to push deep into the enemy lines in a way you can’t imagine.”

Both men frowned momentarily and glanced at each other before turning their attention back to Francis.

“General, we’ve only encountered the rhino-kin once, and you saw the carnage they caused to that group of warriors,” Kels stated. “I’d love a chance to repay them for that, but while Francis is indeed skilled, you’re not strong or talented enough to deal with them.  There’s no way you’ll be able to accomplish what you say.”

“That is where you are wrong,” Francis replied. “These creatures are honor-bound in some way.  You and I will fight together. All I need you to do is keep my back safe and ensure that none comes near me. We’ll move through the battlefield, picking out targets and slowly making our way through the enemy.”

“And that’s where we’ll encounter this beast that can kill the general?” Kels asked.

“Yes and no. I’m going to hunt down a female catkin who tosses daggers and then face a rhino-kin alone before fighting one in full armor.”

Stenson grunted and shook his head. “But why you? Why this… risky endeavor?”

Here goes nothing…

“Can I have a moment with just the general?” Francis asked Kels.

Kels glanced at the older man, who nodded and adjusted the piece of armor he was helping Francis with before stepping back.

“As long as you don’t challenge him to a fight, you should be fine,” the knight joked. “If you need me, I’ll be outside.”

Waiting until Kels had left, Francis turned and pointed at the chairs near them. 

“Can we sit a moment? I’m going to say some things which may… surprise you.”

Stenson roared with laughter and shook his head. “Surprise me? As in, describing our entire battle plan, location of troops, and spells we have, and also using the phrase you did? Part of me is intrigued, and the other part is wondering if I need a drink to go with this.”

“Perhaps, but let’s talk,” Francis replied. “What I’m going to say, I need you to swear upon whatever is the greatest thing you can. It would cause even more problems in the kingdom if word got out, and neither of us needs nobles or others trying to use me for their own end. Just know that everything I’m about to tell you and all I have done is for the kingdom and my brother. Just as you desire for the mages and nobles to have less sway over the King, I desire to find a way to end this all before our kingdom is overrun. We are sending our troops to be crushed against a wheel that never stops grinding.”

The smile that had lit the general's face for a moment vanished and his face hardened, eyes turning dark as he grimaced.

“You speak of things that echo in my heart. Almost as if you were told just what I would need to hear. Do you likewise swear that what you are doing is truly for the kingdom?”

Francis had only ever sworn a real oath to Michael.  Yet he could sense an energy of sorts between him and the general as he started to swear another one.

“I swear my life and my brothers that what I am saying is the absolute truth. There is no one else in this world I care about more than him. So, I swear on both our lives that what I am doing is to save the kingdom and him.”

It took a moment for Stenson to react, standing there like a statue, his eyes the only part of him to move as he felt the gaze reading him. “Then I shall swear upon my blade that I shall keep whatever secrets you tell me. If I break it, may it shatter and never be remade.”

“I have a few questions, so I’ll go ahead and get on with the first one.  Kels was practicing some sword techniques when I arrived. Tell me, are you teaching him the sword techniques of some season style?”

The wooden arm of the chair snapped off from the general’s grip–each of them flinched at the sudden action.

“You… recognize or–”

“It’s just something I can see a little of. I’ll explain more in a moment. Tell me, are you a master of that technique?”

Stenson looked at the broken wood in his hand and sighed, letting it fall onto the dirt floor and wiping the dust on his pants.

“How do you know about… You do realize what you are asking is… known but not spoken of?”

“We’re about to head into battle, I’m about to go with the one you’re teaching them to, and all I need to know is the truth. Are you a master, and what is it called?”

Francis watched as the older man took a few deep breaths and let them out in succession, a little bit of weight on his shoulders seeming to vanish with each one.

“I am. It is called the Way of the Shifting Seasons.”

“And the one who taught you? Is he no more?”

Stenson grunted. “Your questions… are very personal. I cannot say for certain, but I doubt that he is truly gone from this world. It would take something very strong to kill him. Even in his old age, he’d trounce me like I could you.”

Of that I have no doubt.

Francis put his game face on and went for the real purpose of this moment.

“Very well. Since you answered that, I’ll tell you what I know, and then I’ll tell you what I have asked you to keep secret. This will prove to you that everything I say is true. But first, let me get you a drink. I don’t need you snapping anything else off while I speak.

***

Stenson’s eyes finally regained their normal size as the older man finally composed himself after Francis’ explanation.

“That’s… impossible! You return to the same place after each death? Every time?”

Francis nodded, feeling a great weight leave his shoulders as he took a drink from his cup for the first time since he’d started talking.

“I’ve died hundreds of times, faced countless foes,” he replied. “I’ve held nothing back and told you of the skills I’ve gained. What could I hope to acquire by telling you all this right now before I take Kels from you and go fight to my death?”

The older man’s mouth moved a few times, but no words came. He absently lifted his cup for a drink, only to find he had emptied it a while ago.

“If what you say is true, then… There are so many things I need to consider. Things you need to consider. The potential to win this war is… within your grasp.”

A light appeared in those brown eyes, and for a moment, Francis was certain he saw a bit of moisture appear around the outer edges of the weathered man's face.

“Then tell me, what do I need to do?” Francis asked. “How do I protect everyone we love?”

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 44

Max chuckled as Miranna activated her Ultimate form. Knowing the restrictions of it, he had made sure she was wearing magical armor.

Before him stood an almost twelve-foot-tall version of his daughter.  Her silver armor seemed to glow, catching the morning sunlight as she moved around the training area.

“I feel… amazing!” she yelled, while doing a backflip. 

“Don’t get dependent upon it,” Max called out. “Remember, that ability is designed to be your trump card. The cooldown limits your use and when time runs out, you’ll feel a lot weaker.”

“She’s growing up so fast,” Tanila joked.

Max groaned even though he knew his wife was partially joking. “She is and yet she’s not. Still, I’m glad she told you about the ability before using it against me.”

“And Bob?” his wife whispered quietly as their daughter moved through an obstacle course Max had created with his Stone Mastery. “He has no idea on what the limits are of her ability?”

“He has no clue and Jazzjak told me that he’s never heard of it either.  I’m not sure what she has. Bob even tried to use his tricks and scan her when touching the shard, but he couldn’t undo the knot of garbled text that hides whatever she has.”

“Do you think it was a skill given or…” Tanila’s words trailed off as they watched Miranna charge through a stone wall section. “Don’t hurt yourself!”

“I’m fine!” Miranna shouted.

“She’s not,” Max said, motioning toward his daughter. “She’s held her shoulder and the arm is drooping slightly. If I’m right, she is feeling that decision.”

“Better that she learns it now.”

He nodded. “And to your question, I think the skill she is talking about is the one she was born with.  I think she’s always had it, the shard just allowed her to see it now.”

Tanila bit her lip slightly and Max wondered what she was thinking.

“We’ll protect her. No matter what. The big question comes down to what happens when she defeats the tower.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “When? So you’ve decided she’ll do that? Already?”

Tanila turned and faced him, her lips pressed tight. “We both know she won’t stop until she does or dies. No matter what we say or do, she’ll risk everything to be like you.”

“And not like you?” Max asked. “I seem to recall the first ability she ever got was Elemental Mastery. We both were surprised when she summoned those balls of ice to play with.”

His wife shook her head at him before turning back to face their daughter. “No… she and I have a bond but you two are… connected. I can sense that and I know you do as well. Am I jealous? Yes. Am I afraid?” Tanila paused for a few seconds and then nodded. “I am. Because I know what power feels like and the desire to get more. She appears to be growing far faster than I can imagine, and soon, if we’re not careful, Miranna will be in the tower, waiting for others to catch up.”

He grunted, unable to help himself as he smiled, watching his daughter perform a few parkour moves, vaulting over stone walls, bounding across the tops of three, before dropping down and rolling along the dirt.

“Seventeen seconds!” he shouted.

Miranna picked up her pace, her powerful, lean and toned body bounding across the remaining course.

With a few seconds to spare, she dove through a large stone ring, grabbing the flag hanging in the air on the other side. 

“Made it!” Miranna proclaimed, only to start shrinking two seconds later. “Aww… that sucks.”

“How’s your shoulder?” Tanila asked. “Still favoring it?”

Their daughter's face scrunched as she nodded. “Yeah… running through the wall wasn’t the smartest decision, but it did save me four or five seconds.”

“Let’s get you healed then,” Tanila said, holding out a hand. “After that, we have some people to help. Tomorrow you have some dungeons to clear.”

Even though his daughter was technically an adult, she still let out a small squeal.

“You two have fun. I need to check on Rakonath and Sog.  I’ll be home for dinner.”

Both of the women in his life waved at him, neither turning to look back as they leaned close, whispering things he tried not to hear.

You’re serious about this next part, aren’t you?

We both know it’s the best choice. Besides, Rakonath agrees as does Sog.  It’s time to change things up.

***

His dragon sat on an obsidian throne that a pair of dragons had made for Vaelion.  Its size looked comical, towering twenty feet into the air. Rakonath’s broad shoulders didn’t even reach the sides of the alpha dragon’s new chair. The dragon crafters had etched intricate carvings, and part of their legacy was set in it.

“You sure you don’t want one?” Max teased.

“No… the fact I’m sitting in it right now feels wrong. I never wanted a throne. Something like this feels… binding. I would be anchored to this spot, unable to soar as I desire.”

“And yet he expects me to enjoy it,” Vaelion said. 

Max nodded and gave a gentle pat to the alpha dragon’s arm.  It had surprised him just how large the humanoid form of the dragon was.  Easily eleven feet tall, three feet more than Rakonath.  Blue eyes and hair seemed ready to give off a bolt of lightning.  Against his dark skin the contrast made the color pop even more.

“Leadership comes with many obligations,” Max said. “But I know Rakonath picked the best from his kind. You play the role of a hard and moody dragon, but I’ve seen you with the wyrmlings. The patience you display speaks of what you possess.”

A snort came as Vaelion moved to the throne Rakonath had just vacated.  Turning, the dragon sat, his size filling the chair far more than the father of these dragons had.

“So… you brought me into a meeting I never expected,” Vaelion said slowly. “I am humbled and honored. Why request a meeting with me?”

“Because you are the alpha,” Rakonath replied. “You are responsible for every dragon in and below the skies. A time will come when I will have other worlds and will be unable to be here. Do you really want me to decide everything?”

Two piercing blue eyes narrowed as Vaelion shook his head. “No… You have been deferring things to me since the ceremony and I was not certain if I had done something wrong and if that was the meaning of this meeting. Being summoned, forced to wear this form and present before him made me question many things.”

Max chuckled and smiled. “Am I that scary? And you can call me Max.”

“Absolutely,” the alpha replied. “You radiate power like no other. Even with that power that comes from you, it is reigned in, held tight, almost like a second skin. Many of the younger ones cannot sense it, but every elder knows what you are. Our father–”

“Rakonath,” Max’s dragon interrupted.

“Rakonath,” Vaelion said, his voice struggling to form the words. “Forgive me… honor forces me to speak in the other way.”

“You are not like the others,” Rakonath replied. “You are the alpha. You alone carry my blood and my spark. To you, I shall always be who I am and not what I am.”

Vaelion bent his head slightly. “I am grateful for your kindness.  As I was saying, Rakonath gives off that same aura but not like yours, Max. His comes from those eyes. Warmth, love, acceptance, loyalty all exude from his scales, but a single glance tells each of us elders that to attack him would be a painful death.”

He is saying that because of our bond. I have grown stronger after you killed Kherbann.  Soon, I wonder what it will be like when we start purchasing stat points with the DP.

Max chuckled internally as his dragon spoke through their link.

And here I was, afraid everyone would see you as a soft dragon. Let’s hurry this discussion up. I need to visit Sog also.

Rakonath grinned as he spoke. “Vaelion, I would like to see Shale Spark go with Miranna, a demon, a dwarf, and an elf into the dungeons. You and I both see the bond between her and Max’s child has. The time has come for us to unite all our races behind a single group which may rise beyond the tower.”

Vaelion’s blue eyes widened. “You plan on those five doing such a feat? So soon?”

“What is time to a dragon?” Rakonath replied. “Five years, ten years, a hundred years. None of those matters except that we feel the time has come for them to do such a thing. Is my choice of dragons one that you agree with?”

A sharp fingernail tapped against the obsidian throne, and dark lips pressed against each other as the alpha dragon stared at two gods. 

He is thinking about it. Are we taking bets if he disagrees?

No, Bob. We all know he won’t. I believe this is his way of showing he considered it before saying yes. Vaelion doesn’t strike me as the kind to go against the wishes of two gods, especially after telling us how much he fears us.

A half minute passed and then the alpha dragon nodded. “I believe that would be the best decision. Shale Spark carries your spark and we have spoken many times of the bond between Max’s daughter and our wyrmling. Besides, I have witnessed our little troublemaker growing up faster than some of the other wyrmlings. The interaction between the two has been… beneficial.  May I ask if you are going to speak with all the other Kings and Queens?”

“We are,” Max replied. “Edward has already given his approval. Cordellia has given hers. Batrire and Fowl had mentioned this a while back.  Which leaves us with just Sog now. Tell me, how has the dragon core developed in Shale Spark?”

A chuckle came from Rakonath as Vaelion’s eyes widened at the mention of a dragon core.

“Forgive me, I sometimes have to remind myself that you know of such things,” Vaelion said. “It is there, faint, but growing. She will be a good ally in the dungeon and the tower. Her power will grow as she consumes more things. Her hunger for food is higher than most her age, a sign of good things.”

“Then summon her if you would,” Rakonath said. “We have a gift and would like to share the news.”

Vaelion nodded, closed his eyes for a moment and then smiled. “She will be here soon”.

Soon meant about thirty minutes as a red-scaled shape streaked toward them. The throne sat near the obelisk and Max grinned at her descent. “Seems she is coming in fast. Too fast?”

“Perhaps,” Rakonath said. “I have faith.”

A low thrum came from Vaelion who rose to stand by the two of them. “She only knows two speeds. Fast and faster. Age will mellow her out.  The Flights are doing what they can to teach wisdom. Some require… a few bumps and scrapes to learn lessons.”

Shale Spark came hurtling toward them, suddenly flaring out her wings and landing a dozen yards away, almost tripping over her feet as she skidded along the stone.

“My alpha!” the red dragon panted. “You summoned, I came.”

“Off with Miranna?” Vaelion asked.

The red dragon’s head glanced upward at the alpha and then at Max and Rakonath. “I… was. Is that a problem?”

“No, it is not. That is why I have summoned you,” Vaelion said. “The gods have spoken and I have agreed. You shall join Miranna and one from each of the other kingdoms as a party in the tower. You will–”

“A PARTY?! WITH–”

Vaelion growled, his throat vibrating as the noise escaped his mouth.  Shale Spark clamped her jaw shut, trembling and placed her snout to the stone.

“It is alright to be excited, but we must learn to temper that excitement little one. You carry much upon your back. Inside you is the spark of your father. Now raise your head and look at me.”

Shale Spark did as she was instructed, her neck trembling slightly.

Max watched, keeping his face neutral as Vaelion moved forward, bent down on a knee and carefully slid a hand under the red-scaled jaw.  With fingers that showed he knew all the right spots, the alpha dragon scratched a few scales, causing Shale Spark to trill slightly.

“You, little one are to carry that spark into this world with the others. Protect them, watch over them, shield them. If you have questions or need help, please don't hesitate to ask. Simply approach me and when I am free I will turn my ear to you.” Vaelion paused, turning her head slightly so that their eyes were locked upon each other. “Only you have this ability. No other dragon will receive my blessing like this for a while. Show me and our father that we were right in choosing you for this task.”

Shale Spark’s lips curled, teeth showing, and she nodded slowly. “I will show this world that we dragons are all that we have promised to be. I will protect them until my dying breath if needed.”

Vaelion gave one last gentle scratch before removing his hands and stood.

“Little one, approach,” Rakonath said.

Her body only shook once, but Shale Spark did as she was commanded, head low, almost scratching the stone floor as she came toward Max and Rakonath.

“I have a gift. Actually, we both have a gift,” Rakonath said, motioning at Max. “To aid the growth of your core. Perhaps these will help aid in your growth.”

A pair of magical chain gloves appeared in Rakonath’s hands, and Max summoned a small shield that radiated with power.

Two red eyes kept darting back and forth between the offered gifts.

“You… are giving me those? I am not worthy,” Shale Spark whispered. “I already carry your spark.”

Max smiled and bent down, holding out his shield. “And you honor me by how you and Miranna have bonded. Know that I am grateful she has you. Perhaps one day you two might defeat the tower together and go on to create a world like this one.”

Shale Spark trilled at his words. “Then I am honored and grateful for the gifts.”

Max tossed the shield toward her and she caught it with ease, chewing a few times before swallowing.  Rakonath repeated the same with the gauntlet and a low sigh came as the red wyrmling rested against the ground.

“Vaelion,” Max said, holding out his hand. “I need to head to another kingdom. If you ever need, you know how to find me.”

The alpha took a moment, staring at the offered hand before stepping toward him and shaking it.

“I am honored, Max Hoste. May our kind always be the shelter against the storms.”

He nodded and then laughed, grabbing Rakonath and the two of them hugging. 

“I’ll stop by tomorrow,” his dragon said. “Right now, I have a few things to tend to.”

“And by tend to, he means let the sun warm his scales,” Vaelion said.

For a moment, the sounds of a man and three dragons rang out from near the obelisk. Their noise was absorbed and a pulse was sent across the world.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 43

The walls vanished, and sound rushed over him.  Tanila’s golden eyes were fixed upon him, her head moving up and down once more before she opened her mouth.

Max didn’t hesitate, racing toward his daughter, avoiding the smashed baked goods and other party decorations strewn around them.

Batrire’s eyes flew open, her hands still glowing as a gasp came from Miranna. “She–”

Max didn’t wait for their healer to finish speaking, bending down and carefully lifting his child into his arms. He pulled her to his chest, embracing her.

“Dad… you’re crushing me,” Miranna got out. “What is–”

Max released her slightly as he sensed Tanila coming toward them. A second ago his face had been dry, now is cheeks were wet as he smiled at his daughter. “You’re okay.”

“She’s okay!” Tanila echoed, dropping to the ground with him, her arms encircling Miranna and Max. “My star still shines!”

Coughs and sniffs broke out around them as Max sensed his daughter stiffen slightly.

“What… why is… what the heck happened to my party?!”

Chuckling, Max kissed Miranna on the forehead and then sighed, letting her back down to the ground, where Tanila took over the hugging duties. He turned to see everyone staring at them, nodding and smiling at each other. “Thank you, Batrire.”

“Don’t thank me,” their healer replied. “I didn’t do whatever happened. She was… outside my ability, even as a god. Whatever had her was so strong I couldn’t bring her back.”

“Max, what happened?” Rakonath asked, his dragon bending down on a knee, his giant, hulking, humanoid form drawing near. “I sense something inside.”

“For the love of baked goods!” Miranna cried out. “Will someone tell me what in the world is going on?”

Each person present laughed and Max watched as his wife kissed their daughter one more time before helping her rise to her feet.

“It would appear–”

The door to the room flew open and Jazzjak darted in, his black suit jacket open, buttons missing. Red eyes sought them out. “Tell me, is she–”

“She is fine,” Max replied. “Thank you for your concern. Now then… I think we owe Miranna a little more knowledge of what happened and then to wish her a happy Awakening day.”

“I’m still wondering what happened,” Fowl said as he picked up an empty mug near his boot. “One minute I’m drinking and telling a story, and the next Max is calling for help and Batrire is healing.”

Max could sense his daughter's eyes widening, his sonar skill back on and letting him sense her body tensing up. “Everyone, grab a seat at the other table. Batrire, can you get some cups and I’ll share some of my good stuff. What I’m about to tell is going to require more than the usual ale we drink.”

***

The six other gods, Jazzjak and Miranna, sat around the table, none speaking as Max finished his experience with Death. He didn’t mention Wekime by name only that he had met another one of the Nine and had made a deal with them previously.

It took a motion from Max’s hand to get someone to respond.

“So… you met one of the Nine,” Jazzjak said quietly. “And somehow bent it according to your rules.”

“Not my rules,” Max replied, “but the System’s rules. If I hadn’t had an encounter with the demon Gykewotik, I’m not sure I would have realized the kind of power I have in that space.”

“Oh, it’s not good for a demon if the caster is smart and strong,” Sog said. “I remember the first time I met Max and knew he was different from what most described. But to know that you managed to hold back him… That puts a new perspective on some things I didn’t realize about that spell.”

“And by him, you mean?” Max asked.

Sog shook his head, black lips frowning. “I cannot say his name. I am bound to that. Not even to you. Even the name I would speak isn’t the true name. I’m certain the one I was born with knowledge of must be another name… like you being Seth Pendal. It provides a way to speak about someone, while not having the ability to call upon their power.”

Fowl grunted and tapped a finger against his table.

“Wait, so we’re talking about these Nine like their something special… I mean, I get they are but why would they want to interfere with Miranna?”

Max felt everyone turn to look at his daughter next to him.  She shrank just for a moment before sitting upright in her chair.

“Because of Bob,” Max replied. “Death thought he could control or make an offer. It appears that he has most likely done that before. And it also appears that… the Nine can sense me… well, Bob somehow, and since Miranna is of my flesh, Death could sense her.”

Tanila grunted, and her eyes began to glow. “And that promise… he’ll have to keep it.”

“The system will make him,” Jazzjak said, both ears upright, showing his excitement. “To know that one of the Nine was forced into a deal not to make a move against you or us–”

“Us?” Sog asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Jazzjak replied. “Max has called me his friend, and that means by the rules of the system, I am part of us. You do not want to break rules or contracts. Doing so will bring great consequences.  You all mentioned earlier that the elven god Thuyja from your world was attempting to end Max’s life, knowing he was a black skill holder. A rule like that carries a steep price.”

A cough came from Miranna who rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You all going to keep talking about this or can we talk about something else instead?”

“Like what?” Fowl asked.

“Uh… my awakening?” the youngest in the room replied.

Max felt a bit of regret at not asking his daughter anything about that yet. “You’re right. Forgive us. Does this mean you have access to the system?”

A small smile appeared and then grew until Miranna was displaying most of her teeth. “Yes! I got four skills. Three skills that I can read or figure out, that is.”

“What do you mean, you can read?” Fowl asked. “I know you know how to read.”

“Shut it,” Batrire snapped. She then turned and smiled at her niece. “Now what skills are the skills you are talking about?”

Miranna hesitated a moment and then answered. “I got Power Strike, Evasion, and Blink. All three are Rare rank.”

Max smiled, reached over and put his hand on hers. “Congratulations. That’s great. But what do you mean you can’t read one?”

“There’s a wall of… well symbols and characters,” Miranna replied. “It’s… hard to describe.”

Jazzjak moved to where their daughter sat and held out his soft paw.  “I might be able to help if you’re willing to let me try something. All I need is for you to hold my hand and not fight against me when you sense my attempt.”

Max nodded as Miranna glanced at him.  She took a deep breath and set her fingers in the smaller hand of Jazzjak.

Their helper closed his eyes and after a few seconds, Miranna’s hand flinched once. Jazzjak winced a moment later.

“Ahh… that does make sense,” the vorpal rabbit said. “Here, let me show them what you have.”  Letting go of Miranna’s hand, Jazzjak summoned a piece of paper and pen, sketching out a line before turning it so others could read it.”

*****

[ X9a3B7kT2gQ5rL8zV0 - L3g4cY9uD2 ]

*****

I can’t even read that. What is it?

Most likely, the System is hiding things. It seems your daughter is becoming more like you every day.

“So what does the skill do?” Cordellia asked. “Can you see any description?”

Miranna shook her head. “No. I can see the description for the others, but for this one, nothing happens.  I’m not sure why or what.  If I’m honest, I’m a little disappointed.”

“Why are you disappointed?” Tanila asked. “You got four skills, even if one isn’t readable, that’s unheard of.”

“Is it? I mean… I heard what that dad’s sister Stacy got. I kind of expected… more. You know… those special skills.”

Tanila hugged their daughter, her chair having been set on the other side of Miranna. “That was a special case, and while Bob was willing to attempt something like that if your awakening didn’t happen as we planned.”

“I don’t think we planned this,” Fowl said as he motioned around the room, still littered with ruined food and drink.

“Yes, not like this,” Tanila muttered. “I mean… at all. But I wouldn’t be upset. You’ve got seven skills total that you can use–”

“Eight skills,” Miranna said, grinning as she did.

“Eight?” Tanila asked, eyes widening.

“I got one this morning, and I didn’t want to share it just yet… part of me wanted to save it for a fight with dad.”

“Eight skills… yeesh,” Fowl muttered. “Broken like her father.”

Max leaned in close to his daughter and wife and shook his head. “Is there a reason why you wanted to wait?”

“Oh, I wanted to surprise you and see if I could use it to beat you with it. I’m still not sure what all it does, but I wanted to give it a try.”

“Just like her father,” Rakonath whispered to their dwarven warrior.

A few chuckles came from those gathered in the room.

“What if you told me?” Tanila asked. “You know I don’t tell him anything when you two duel.”

Miranna cocked her head sideways for a moment and then slowly nodded. “That would work. We just need to go somewhere he can’t hear us.”

Max rolled his eyes at his daughter and her accusatory look. “Take this,” he said, summoning the tiny item Everett had given him, which created a bubble of privacy. “You can go over there and share it.”

Miranna snatched the item from his hand and grabbed Tanila’s arm, pulling her mother toward the other side of the room.

“She seems a bit excited,” Cordellia said as the pair moved away. “Any guesses?”

Max shook his head. “No clue. I have some thoughts, but I honestly don’t know. Depending on what she says might change a few things training-wise, but–”

He rose from his chair, watching Tanila stagger for a second before she glanced his way and waved him off.

“Uh… that can’t be good, can it?” Batrire asked. “Tanila actually looks to be in shock.”

Max grunted, seeing his wife standing there, wide-eyed and waving her arms and making motions at their daughter.  Miranna was returning the gestures.

“Oh, Mom, why can’t I summon mountains in town?” Sog said, doing his best impersonation of Miranna.

Rakonath laughed and then leaned toward their demonic friend. “Because my little star, only your father has the ability to summon mountains and fart lightning bolts.”

“That’s an impressive mimicking of my wife,” Max joked. “Perhaps you two should do those voices for both of them when they get here in a moment.

Both dragon and demon shook their heads, chuckling as the others joined them.

“I’ll pass,” Sog said. “Momma bear might get mad and protective and we all know how that would end up.”

Max nodded, still amazed at how the pair was discussing whatever the new skill was. Finally, after almost a minute, they started back toward them, his daughter not looking as excited as before.

“And… how did that go?” Cordellia asked when Miranna plopped down in her chair.

“Not good… Mom said it would have been bad had I waited to try using the skill.” 

“And why is that?” Tanila asked, her tone the one Max recognized his mother using when the answer seemed obvious.

Miranna shook her head and sighed. “Okay, so I got a new skill this morning. I might have wanted to use it but the cooldown is horrible, so I thought, ‘why not wait to fight Dad with it?’ I might have overlooked some of the finer details of the description. That is where Mom says the problem lies.”

“And what is the skill?” Fowl asked, leaning forward. “I mean… yer dancing around the question.”

She sighed again. “It’s Ultimate Form.”

“Ockrims… er Fowl’s Beard!” the warrior cursed. “Seriously?!”

Miranna nodded and Max started to shake his head.

“I am so glad, little star, that you didn’t try that out against me,” Max said, motioning to Tanila. “I’m guessing she told you why that would have been bad, right?”

Tanned cheeks turned a slightly rose color as his daughter nodded.

“And why is that?” Sog asked after a few seconds of silence.

“Tell him,” Tanila said.

“It’s because… if what you’re wearing isn’t magical… the skill destroys them,” Miranna said quietly.

“What’s so bad about… ohhhh,” Sog said. “That… would be a problem.”

Cordellia and Batrire giggled and Max coughed, covering his mouth.

“Yes, your mother is right. That duel wouldn’t have gone at all how any of us had hoped.”

There’s another problem with her acquiring that skill.

Max knew what Bob was talking about.  

Miranna learns abilities and skills that she hasn’t even seen in action.

Undying Blood - Chapter 45

Chapter 45

Francis spat, shaking his head, and then took a deep breath.

“You’re not winning as easily as you were,” he muttered, eyes locked on the rhino-kin that struggled to move its left leg.

It felt weird; 78 deaths had passed, yet Francis was slowly climbing the impossible mountain before him. Multiple loops, a single blow was all it took to end his life. He had to learn to read the beast’s movements better and avoid its attacks while trying to bleed his opponent out.

When Francis first faced this beast, he wasn’t fast enough.

Even when he reached the proficient rank in Strength over 50 deaths ago, that alone hadn’t been enough to keep him alive. Yet right now, Francis was winning because he didn’t quit. With each death, he grew stronger, learned something, and used it to get better. 

Gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, Francis ignored that half of it was broken off again and motioned at the beast. It glared, its left hand missing, right arm covered in blood, gashes all over its chest and legs.  Easily two dozen small cuts were on its back, which transformed its grey skin to a new color. Red: the color of death.

No other beast came near. Like when he had faced the female tiger-kin, there seemed to be some code, some honor amongst them. On top of that, the spell Francis had expected to come never came. No sheet of death rained down.  

It felt like when Stenson and the beast that killed the general fought. None interfered. 

The rhino came forward, limping, unable to get down on all fours.

Francis waited. 

He couldn’t run. There was no way he could escape if he wanted to. That last exchange had fractured his femur. The pain wanted him to acknowledge it, but his Pain Resistance skill and mental fortitude pushed it away.

Still, he waited, the weapon fragment now more like a dagger. It could still cut, just not as deeply.

Both arms came down toward him from the rhino, which was trying to smash him once again into the ground. Francis dove forward, hearing a crack, pain calling out for his attention as his femur gave out under the pressure of his movement.

[ New Skill - Death’s Dance ( Epic ) - 1 ]

His body suddenly roared with a power he hadn’t known was possible.  All the pain and hurt he felt flowed through him into his chest and then returned almost tenfold, strengthening every part of him as Francis swung.

[ Power Strike ]

The jagged piece of metal cut the beast from its stomach to its groin, carving a section of flesh over four inches deep.

A crashing sound came when the rhino-kin fell behind him.

Gone was the pain. Instead, a fire burned in his chest.

He knew he was going to die, but before he did, Francis wanted to be sure he defeated this rhino-kin.

Hobbling like a one-legged man, he jumped awkwardly onto the beast's back. He began to claw his way across it, driving his weapon deep so he could pull himself along the rough skin.

Right before Francis reached its neck, the rhino-kin rolled, and he discovered what a seed between the grinding wheels experiences.

***

The sound of the morning bell rang.

“So early,” Francis sighed.

“Way earlier than usual,” Michael replied. His brother groaned and sat up. “I guess we'd better get dressed and get out there. I don’t want to be late.”

Smiling, Francis got off his bed and stood before his brother. Without asking, he grabbed him, yanking Michael off the bed with ease, and wrapped both arms around him.

“I love you,” Francis whispered.

“What the… I… I love you, too, but when the hell did you get this strong? And stop squeezing me, you moron. You’re crushing my chest!”

Laughing, Francis ignored Michael for a second longer and then let his brother go, giving him a playful slap.

“What in the world is wrong with you? And… how… how did you do that to me?” Michael asked.

“Maybe I’ve just been holding back so you don’t feel so bad that your younger brother can kick your ass.”

“Yeah… we both know that’s a lie,” Michael replied. “Still…” His brother paused and frowned, giving Francis another glance. “I’m serious, something's different… but we don’t have time to stand here and act like idiots. I don’t want Phillip using me as a training dummy today.”

“No worries. Just wanted to let you know I love you,” Francis said, moving to grab his boots. “Now let’s get going. Today’s going to be a great day.”

“I swear you must have been hit with a stone yesterday at some point,” Michael muttered quietly. “Great day…”

[ Status ]

Francis Lancaster

Age 17

Strength: 27

Endurance: 29

Agility: 28

Wisdom: 15

Perception: 21

Magic: 10

Skills

Swordsmanship (Common) - 51 Advanced

Shield Use (Common) - 38 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) - 29 Proficient

Poison Resistance (Rare) - 10 Basic

Power Strike (Rare) - 7 Basic

Brawling (Uncommon) - 25 Proficient

Strong Bones (Rare) - 18 Novice

Death’s Dance (Epic) - 1 Basic

Another Epic skill… I… I can’t even imagine what this can do.

He had started believing the tales he had heard about skills and different ranks.  Epic was stronger than Rare, and he knew there were supposedly Legendary and Mythic skills as well.  Those were the things of stories told by bards.  Masters, grandmasters, or a sage were the only ones with the chance of acquiring a skill of that rank.  He remembered hearing about a noble's daughter who had supposedly acquired a legendary skill in crafting. He had considered it nothing more than a rumor—or propaganda to make a family seem better than it was. But now, he wasn’t as sure.

Not waiting to see what the skill offered, Francis pulled it up.

[ Death’s Dance ( Epic ) - This skill takes the pain and suffering of its user and converts it to bonus damage and strength. The injuries are still present, but their effects can be minimized temporarily. Duration increases as the skill increases. Can be activated when below 50% health. ]

His fingers almost fumbled the leather straps on his boot, but his agility prevented him from ruining them.

As Francis read the description of the skill he had acquired, so many thoughts flooded his mind. First, he assumed it would be leveled up the same way as all the others; he needed to spend time being hurt and in battle. That of course wouldn’t be a problem at all.

What’s the old saying? Only the metal tested in the flames and beaten upon the anvil is worthy of being forged into a weapon? I guess it’s time to be forged again.

***

His broken weapon was yanked free as he leapt off the rhino-kin’s back.

It didn’t move. It had taken a lot more deaths, but Francis had finally killed the beast. Taking a few steps, Francis tested his injured ankle but found he could still move rather well. Roars erupted around him, and he turned to see the crowd of beastkin all snarling and shouting.

One hundred and eight deaths total… how much stronger is the one Stenson–

He stopped mid-thought as the sound of something he would never forget rang out.

Perhaps half a mile away was a towering beast, and as it roared, the gathered creatures between him and it started to part.

“Oh hell!” Francis cursed.

He could see the towering orange fur shape, even from this distance. It stood out like a flame on a hill. Once again, it roared and a few seconds later, another rhino-kin near him came toward him.

This one had armor covering it everywhere except its side, leather straps holding the protection in place.

“Crap… really?”

Unsure which would be worse — death by this approaching foe or the one he had watched kill Stenson —Francis glanced around, noticing that the creatures standing near him were seemingly smiling. Frowning, he flipped his weapon around, knowing it wasn’t going to do much. 

A roar came from the new challenger, and Francis yelled back, then charged as it came at him.

He wanted to say it would be legendary, that this next fightwas  worthy of a song echoing in a room filled with people, yet the truth was, Francis learned immediately he didn’t stand a chance.

The rhino-kins massive arm caught him as he attempted to dodge, lifting him off his feet before slamming his body into the other arm. The force of the sudden impact on both sides shattered Francis’ bones.

His body was rushed between those thick hide hands. Slowly, the rhino-kin turned around, holding him higher as it did.

All Francis could think about was what would come next. Beneath him, between those eyes that glared with hate, was a horn.

***

The sound of the morning bell called out.

He bolted out of bed, grabbing his chest, then stood bent over, panting.

“Uh… you okay?” Michael asked.

Taking a few more breaths, Francis slowly nodded. “Yeah… just… a really bad dream.”

“Ahh, the kind where you die in them?” Michael asked.

“Yeah,” Francis replied.

“Never fun. Should I ask how?”

“Impaled.”

His brother’s face contorted as he frowned. “Yeah… that doesn’t sound fun at all. Still, we need to get dressed. We both know that dream can’t be worse than upsetting Phillip..”

***

The sound of the morning bell called out.

“Craaaaaaaaap!” Francis bellowed, jerking upward from his bed.

“What’s wrong?” Michael shouted after his outburst. “I’d say you’re going to wake everyone up, but the bell already did that.”

He ignored his brother and closed his eyes.

Forty-four deaths straight and I still can’t do any damage to that thing.  My damn sword won’t survive against its armor, and without a weapon, I’m just ground to dust. Even now, I’ve stalled and can't gain stats.

Francis started to put on his boots, not needing to pay attention--his body moved via muscle memory.

“So not going to tell me?” Michael asked.

“No… Today just needed to start like that,” Francis grunted. 

His brother grunted and nodded. “True… Still, if you need to talk, I’m here.”

He looked at Michael and smiled. “I know. That means more than you can imagine.”

***

“I ain’t got time for this,” Zachary informed him. “I’ve got swords to make and armor to craft. The King is paying me. You aren’t.”

Francis nodded and pulled out two silver coins, holding them between his fingers.

“I just need some advice. Five minutes of your time, maybe ten tops?”

The weapon smith’s brown eyes flickered upon the two coins and then back at Francis, a slight bob of his head coming seconds later.

“Boys, watch the coals. I’ll be back in ten!” After lifting off his leather apron, Zachary motioned for Francis to follow. They arrived near the shed that had all the swords stored for the king’s army; once there, the man reached in, pulled out a water skin and took a long drink from it.

“Pay first, then ask away. Nine minutes.”

Choosing not to argue, and knowing it didn’t matter since he could simply redo the conversation, Francis dropped the coins into the smith’s outstretched hand.

I guess I should be thankful that I grew up in a house that handled ore and crafting.

“How does one get a sword that won’t break like these will against an armored foe?”

Clearing his throat, Zachary spat. “You’re one of Phillip’s boys. How… or perhaps why do you need to know that?”

“Does it matter? I’m not looking to steal anything, but I’ve paid for knowledge. The ore or metal you use in those swords behind you will only last so long, and after enough attacks, they get dinged up and eventually break.  Even if you had one of better quality lying around, it won’t last forever.  How does one get a sword like that?”

The massive man glanced at the coins in his palm and then sighed, tucking them in a pocket. “While part of me thinks I should be offended at what you just said—since the weapons I made are quite serviceable—the other part is intrigued that you’re right. The honest answer is, the ore I’m working with isn’t that great and the king isn’t looking for weapons that will last a lifetime. Just for the battle at hand.”

As he spoke, Zachary turned and retrieved a sword from one of the barrels. 

“These have a thick edge, and while they’re a quality-made tool, that’s all they are. A tool. Anyone can pick up a shovel and dig a hole. These are made to be the same thing. Hold it, swing the blade, and apply enough power to slice through skin and sometimes even armor. The best part is, this will hurt even against someone in chain.  You’re going to have a problem if you fight anyone in full armor, however, as they aren’t designed to damage something like that.”

“I know that,” Francis said, narrowing his question. “The ore. Did you get it from the Lancaster family?”

Snorting, Zachary shook his head. 

“That’s very specific, but no. He wants too much for that stuff, so what I’m supposed to make would be wasting the quality of that ore. No, I get mine from the Briknore house.”

Francis immediately recognized part of the problem at hand.

“No way to get any of the good stuff? I mean… I know even if you did it would take days to create a weapon worthy of it, but humor me.”

Zachary laughed as he turned and put the sword back in the barrel.

“Even if I could, you couldn’t afford one. We’re talking a few gold coins at least.”

Trying not to grin, Francis nodded. “And let’s say I managed to get ahold of… maybe two gold coins. What then?”

He didn’t flinch when the smith put a thick finger against his chest.

“I’m not going to be part of a robbery or stealing, boy. Do I need to tell Phillip what you’re planning on doing?”

“I won’t steal and everything I do would be legit,” Francis replied. “How long would you need to make one?”

Zachary shoved him, his brown eyes widening when the young teen before him didn’t budge.

“You… screw off. Your ten minutes are up. Don’t come here again. I don’t need thieves or liars. You hear?!”

“You and I both know it’s not been ten minutes, but whatever,” Francis replied, moving away. He could feel the weaponsmith trying to bore holes in the back of his head.

I guess in my next loop, I’ll have to kill Dexter, then come here right after.  

He started whistling as he walked off, knowing another chance to find a solution to his current problem was just a death away. With one possible solution in place, Francis moved on to the next option.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 42

Max set down the four hundredth and twenty-eightth book he had read. The stack had grown so large that Bob had summoned more earth before they eventually descended to the floor of this summoning spell. After that, Max just stacked them on the kaleidoscope floor.  Multiple times, the demon had caused the ground to shake, knocking over the neat stacks he had made. Almost a week of nonstop mayhem like that had passed before the god gave up that tactic.

This game is not like the previous one.

And yet you have a whole library of books to read.

We’ve read them all before. I can quote the words from each page to you.

Does that mean you’re going to give in? Are you going to let this god take your daughter from you? If you give in now, he will control your life because there is no doubt you will give in.

Max grunted, his eyes flickering upward at the demon who sat before him. It was almost comical, watching it sit on the kaleidoscope floor about a mile away on its knees. That single eye glared at him with a rage that Max could feel even through the distances that separated them.

At least he’s stopped trying to threaten me. That got old quick.

Max turned and looked at the timepiece he had sitting on the floor near his chair, walking toward the well-cushioned seat.

We’re approaching month three. Surely this has to end at some point. I know the spell cannot last forever but how does the system handle things like this? When we crafted my artifact, we were once again in a “time” bubble of sorts. We need to learn more about things like these and how they affect the flow of everything.

I’m not sure we will ever learn that much knowledge or truth. The time golem we fought showed us the power of reversing time. It is a shame we couldn’t absorb its power, but I doubt the System would have let us have that kind of power.  Though it does make me wonder about the Nine.

Max grunted and nodded, summoning a book on gardening, and then studied the well-worn pages.  

A favorite of Cordellia’s. Now what are you wondering?

The lesson we first learned upon becoming gods.

Life grew too vibrant and too swift.
Death sought to prune every intolerable overgrowth.
Matter found pride in density and form while Void whispered of flawless simplicity in absence.
Time controlled every motion, insisting upon sequence.
Thought ascended beyond the sequence, doubting the need for any.
Element drifted between them all, chaotic yet deliberate, scattering sparks of possibility.
Binding forged unseen chains that linked matter, flesh, and spirit.
And Force, exulted in sheer emotion, its roar begging for resistance and war.

While I’m not certain, I would assume that our demon friend over there has a connection with me and the other two black skills. I can sense… feel a… thread in some ways. Remember those words:

But harmony offends those who feast upon endings.
Death knows that every story must close.
Void whispers that the surest peace is silence.
Together they breathed upon the Arbiter. 

Based upon what Death said to us earlier, he has sought us out before. Or well… myself or another black skill. Something inside him still desires to use us as a tool in whatever game the gods are playing.

Similar to Wekime…

Yes, but he was honest about that up front and gave you what he did. That mark has helped us before this moment and it appears to have done so again when Death tried to reach for us.  

Another example of this game taking a similar path. You think Wekime knew this day might come? And knowing that is one of the reasons why he did what he did?

Perhaps. Those are philosophical and profound questions about things we have limited knowledge to base our understanding on.  What bothers me more is that Death knew you had a child. Somehow, it could set a snare like it did around Miranna’s life. It also made the gamble that you would do what you did. The coincidences are too much.

Max did his best to keep his frustration and concern hidden, his eyes focused on the words someone had written long ago about cultivating soil with compost.

So… do you think–

His mind saw the connection in Bob’s thoughts and in his own.

All of the Nine can now sense us… and in doing so can potentially sense those around us… and since Miranna is part of my flesh…

The same sensation he always felt in his mind when Bob agreed with him came, and Max frowned.

We are connected in a way I don’t truly understand, but yes, I do believe they can sense us. If you recall when I entered the system and you came with me, there are lines of life all around. When we stood before the Archons, you saw the mass bundle of threads of life and power that flowed into each of them.  I believe the Nine can sense and find myself and the other two black skills. 

I don’t know what that purpose might be, but I believe…

For the first time in so long, Max felt a bit of fear coming from his skill.

You believe that you, Devour and Command are just tools and a game for the Nine to grow stronger.

Neither spoke as Bob remained silent, but once again the sensation that his skill agreed was there.

You have often wondered what or why you were picked to have me. I have spent many days and months trying to figure out what made you so special, and yet now… Now I feel like the smallest pawn of all. 

Was… was I part of a being… a child who tried to replace their maker and am now suffering for my mistake? What about the other two parts of me? Why do we always fight and wage war against each other? Phaius and Ockrim both spoke on how the three of us must come together and fight. 

Has all this been… planned? Ordained? Foretold?

Max’s head struggled to cope with the multitude of thoughts Bob finally revealed. A tiny barrier had been built, shielding Max from those thoughts. Just as Bob hid behind it when he and Tanila spent time together as husband and wife, his skill spent time behind it, trying to unravel their relationship and reason.

I… I didn’t realize you struggled with all this. The revelation that came upon defeating the tower… You’re worried about what happens when we face the other two black skills.

A version of a sigh echoed inside his soul. Max could feel the dread that seemed to be gripping Bob.

When Death came and said he had sought me out, meant to use me… You as a tool, I saw pieces take place in a puzzle that I didn’t recognize. In this small span of time we’ve been here, I’ve remembered more… small glimpses of times before that I never could recall. As I leveled up in rank and more knowledge came, now when one speaks to me about it before, it does something similar. See for yourself.

Max felt his mind flooded with images and his stomach felt the need to expel anything in it.

They were snapshots of moments, frozen now in his mind. Worlds, galaxies, and more were destroyed, and small pieces of what had once been planets floated in the darkness of space.  Powerful black spaces with white and golden auras on their outside sucked everything toward them.

Two other creatures… abominations of sorts waged against what he realized was Bob. His mind struggled to give words and descriptions to what he saw as they shifted and changed multiple times. Tremendous amounts of energy filled the space around them all.

Those are all different battles. Each one brings destruction and then… it all vanishes. Nothing more… nothing else. My… being… core… You would call it a soul, aches. I… I thought I realized I was more than just a base desire to consume everything, but these memories… they make me doubt that.

But you’re not that anymore! You’ve changed. I’ve changed because of you! In a good way. Even now, you’re not wanting to just go out and consume all life. You’re here, helping me try to find a way to save my daughter.

The river of pain that washed through Max’s being faltered for a moment and he could sense that Bob had stopped drowning himself in the river of sorrow he had been submerged in.

Yes! That’s it. Remember how you saved Tanila. How you saved my friends! Don’t forget what you are, what kept me alive and prevented me from becoming what Death and all those other gods wanted us to become when we were captured! You Bob! I swore to you before that we’d figure this out together, and I will keep that promise. Do not go down this path. 

Max closed his book; His eyes felt like they might ignite from the passion and fury that swelled within.

This “game” they play isn’t going to take place like before. Ignore Death or anyone else who says we have no choice. Our choice is what allows us to be who and what we are. They cannot make us take a path and if some god attempts to force us by holding the ones we love hostage, then we shall show them how wrong they were.

Max stood, storing his book. Then he began storing everything else he had set out on the ground.

He could feel the gaze of Death watching him, those large eyelids narrowing.

I’m done playing this game where those above us think they can control us. You and I, Bob, we’re going to save Miranna and in doing so we’re going to show the Nine and every other god out there that we’re breaking this rule.  I’m going to find a way to help you remember more and become something different.

Max paused his storing of books that were stacked before him. His lips drew tight and his jaw clenched.

Show me the friend you are. Because that, Bob, is what you are to me. A friend. A brother. More than just a skill.

Max continued storing books, ignoring the gaze of Death as he felt the shift inside his core, knowing Bob was working through things.

You… Max… I am reminded once again how lucky I was to be given to you.  Thank you for… accepting me and treating me as you do. And this plan of yours… I like it.

I thought you might.

A smile grew on his face and Max paused his storing of books, turned and moved toward the kneeling god.

“It seems you are ready to surrender,” Death said, a wicked, toothy grin appearing. “Good, I was–”

Max continued to move toward the god, smiling as he did, and then laughed as the demon rose to its feet, its single eye widening as he continued his approach.

“What are you doing?!” 

Max laughed, pointing his finger at the god who took a step back from him. “You have not agreed to the terms I set forth! May the archons, the other Nine and the system hear that you have answered my call when I used my Demonic Summoning! May they know you attacked me and continue to attack me now!”

“I have done–”

Death’s voice went silent as Max drew closer, the red barrier beginning to appear as the black and purple aura that radiated around the god's body started to touch it.

“Even now you assault me with your foul attempts on my life!” Max shouted. “Every step I take, unarmed, you–”

“STOP!” Death roared, taking a gigantic step backward. “I am breaking no such rule!”

Max didn’t slow down his approach. As he moved closer, the aura around Death grew and a peal of thunder rang out.

It won’t work and he is realizing it. A masterful plan.

It’s all because of you, Bob. We’re forced to play by rules and if that’s the case, I’m going to bend every one I can to make it work for us. Someone out there wants us to do so. In time, we’ll see who and why.

No door came and Death glanced around, its single eye moving in each direction. It tried to take another step back, but the wall that Max and it knew was there stopped its escape. 

“Here are my demands, again,” Max shouted. “If you want to be free from this prison, not punished by the system more than you will be, swear to release my daughter so that she returns to me the moment I end this spell. She must be as she was before you did whatever you did, except she's now awakened to the system. You must also agree to refrain from interfering with me again. Attack me or those I love in any way–”

“I CANNOT!” Death roared. “Everything I do attacks you! I will free your daughter!”

Max shook his head, getting close enough that once again the red barrier ignited, flashing as wisps of the demon's aura touched it. “Not good enough!” 

Death moved sideways, sliding along the barrier of the kaleidoscope domain. Each time it escaped, Max made his way toward the god.

Time passed, and he knew it had to be days and probably at least a week as the game of cat and mouse played out.  A two-mile-tall god trying to avoid letting Max get close, each time the aura flared, the demon scowled.

Every time it did, Max called out, “System and Archons! All of the Nine! See that Death has once again broken the rules and attacked me!”

The scowl on the demon’s face grew larger with each incursion.

A rumble came and the domain of the summoning spell seemed to falter.

“It appears time is running short!” Max shouted. “The spell is going to end and you have broken the rules countless times!”

“I will devour you and yours!” Death roared.

“Another threat and a breaking of the deal!” Max shouted. “Tell me System! How great should the punishment of one who built all this be for breaking the very rules they set in place?!”

His words caused the god to stumble as it took a step to gain distance again.

That large red eye flared and then dimmed.

“VERY WELL!” Death roared, his aura surging outward as the god cried out. “Your daughter returned as she was! I will take no actions against you or yours for 10,000 years!”

Not enough, the spell is faltering and he knows it. Death is in trouble. Go for 100,000.

Think that’s enough? 

You’re a god now. All you can do is seek more time to grow stronger and if one of the Nine can’t do anything against you for that long…

Good point…

“100,000 years!” Max yelled back.

“25,000! That’s the most I can give!” Death replied. “Any more would be too much and limit my purpose in the system!”

Max started to open his mouth and call out for more time but paused.

Death’s part in the system…

Balance… order… all things die… well most. I would take the offer.

Max stopped his approach and nodded. “Very well! My daughter, as she was before you interfered, awoken and well. 25,000 years of you not making a move against me or my family and friends. And a warning… let the others know, we’re not a pawn to play with.”

Death let out a howl, not one of rage or anger like all the others but Max sensed pain was the reason for how it sounded this time.

“ACCEPTED!”

When those words came, a giant black door appeared behind Death, and the god didn’t hesitate, darting inside the open area, a red eye burning with power as it stared at him. “25,000 years will pass quickly, Max Hoste. Prepare yourself for what comes after!”

After it had finished speaking, the door slammed shut and the kaleidoscope domain began to shatter.

You never cease to amaze me, Max.

A chuckle came from within his mind as Max prepared to move, knowing in just a moment, he would return to the chaos he had just left.

Undying Blood - Chapter 44

Chapter 44

Zachary had taken them to a small shed behind the forge and motioned for them to stay put until he returned. Francis was in awe of the number of swords crammed into barrels. He took one out and inspected it, recognizing it as the one all the other initiate fighters had been given on the battlefield.

“I can see it in your eyes,” Phillip said. “You know those aren’t that great of a blade. How is that possible?”

“Well, they’re slightly better than the ones we trained with,” Francis replied. “I mean, these don’t have dozens of nicks and dents. It doesn’t take that keen of an eye to see they’re probably what the ones we used started off as.”

“Close, but no. Yours were even worse.”

Francis shook his head as Phillip grinned.

“Hey, don’t mess up those counts!” Zachary called out, appearing from around the shed. “I’ve got em of them labeled and marked. I don’t need to get in trouble for shorting a barrel even if the other one has an extra.”

The smith quickly moved over to where Francis had retrieved the sword and put it back.

“Sorry,” Francis said.

“It’s alright, I just don’t need the king’s quartermaster on my arse. Now tell me, how does this sword feel to you?”

Francis frowned at those words but took the weapon offered to him by the smith, wrapping his fingers around the hilt.

It was five inches longer than the ones he had trained with, but the weight was well balanced. Francis took a few steps away from the men and gave it a few swings, setting his feet and doing a few of the motions he had witnessed Kels do once.

“Uh… where did you learn that form?” Phillip asked.

Francis turned and saw that both men had narrowed their eyes and were watching him intently. “What do you mean? They’re just weapon strikes.”

Zachary rubbed his eyes with a thick finger and then glanced at Franci’s trainer.

“Did… no, you couldn’t have. Not to be mean, Phillip, but both of us know you wouldn’t even try to teach those sword forms to those trainees.”

“None taken… but I’m just as lost as you are,” Phillip replied. “Francis, we’re serious, do you even know what you are doing?”

“Uh… obviously not.”

His trainer frowned, scratching his chin for a moment. “I don’t know if the style of the name is right, but I think you were attempting to do the… a… shoot… no… It’s the blossom… or something technique. I know they’re named after the season, but only warriors who have gained a master level in swordsmanship even try to do them. Those moves are some of the most prestigious--I think there are only four in our kingdom who can do them all.”

“Three,” Zachary said. “Thirty years or so ago, Master Zegor died… or so it’s rumored. No one's seen him in several decades, so who knows? I think he was the last true master of the art. Not even the general knows them all, if the rumors are true.”

“I doubt he could manage, with that arm missing,” Phillip muttered.

“So… I’m doing something I’m not supposed to be doing?” Francis asked.

The scar on his trainer's face bunched up as he frowned. “Without all the training and knowledge of how those really work, yes. Trying to imitate them in a fight would likely result in your death. I know that people don’t practice them unless someone is training them. And getting trained like that… Well it requires one to be very skilled in swordsmanship.”

“I don’t want to change the subject,” Zachary said, “but I do have a forge to work and while I’m interested in learning more about how Francis knows those, I don’t trust my two boys to not burn the place down if they’re left alone too long.” The blacksmith turned to Francis, “So, do you like the sword?”

“Yes, sir. It’s really nice. Far better than anything I’ve ever held.”

“Says the boy doing techniques he shouldn’t know,” muttered the smith. “Tell you what, twenty-five silver and you can have it. Trust me when I say it's worth more than that, but with Tom’s recommendation and seeing what you just did, I’d feel wrong asking for more.”

“I’ll take it!” Francis exclaimed, pulling a bag of coins off his hip and holding them out. 

“No buyer's remorse either,’ Zachary teased. “Just make sure to bathe it in our enemies' blood. And if you somehow survive, tell people I made it.”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “Now what about a scabbard?”

“I knew that was coming--I’ll have to get it for you later tonight. I made that for a lower noble who hasn’t come back to pick it up or pay in over a year. The scabbard is at my house as I was still doing some detail work occasionally. That’s part of why I’m selling it so cheap. You’re helping me recoup a little money for the metal and time I’ve spent.”

***

“Crap… I mean… all this stuff. You are going to make me look bad,” Michael said, staring at Francis.

Francis turned again, showing off the outfit and weapon he’d procured.

“It’s really kind of crazy. Hard to believe I’m going to have to wait till the last minute before putting this on.”

“Yeah, so now what?” Michael asked.

“We sleep, get up tomorrow, and endure a boring trip to the battlefield. After that, stay behind me once the fighting starts. I’ll do what I can to protect you but–”

“Don’t worry about me,” Michael said, stepping forward and touching Francis’ shoulder. “You’re doing the impossible. I… I still struggle to really comprehend all this, but seeing you and Phillip together… that money and now this getup? Either you’re the greatest storyteller in this land while also being the greatest conman, or you're telling the truth. I’m betting on the latter.”

***

“Francis! Go!”

His brother’s encouragement fueled Francis on as he cut through the wolf and tiger-kin before him.

Each trainee near him seemed energized by what he was doing. Somehow, it was helping them resist the fear affect the lizard kept sending from the woods. 

Flee! Run away!

[ Mental Resist Check Successful ]

Another wave washed over him, doing nothing; the beasts that drew close for an easy kill found themselves dying to his blade.

With his new agility rank, these creatures' movements felt slow. Each attack they made was easier to dodge, block, or parry than it had been in previous lives.

“Shift left!” Francis shouted.

He didn’t look back, having already told Michael what to do--they left the area he knew a spell would soon hit.

Less than a minute passed before a figure he had been searching for caught his eye and a pair of daggers flew toward him.

This time he easily blocked and deflected the weapons, smiling as the tiger-kin’s eyes widened.

“Payback’s a bitch!” he roared, charging toward her while cutting down those who got in his path.

The Tigress tried to disengage, moving through the line of cat-kin and wolf-kin, yet Francis’ speed and skill made escape impossible.

He was surrounded, having left the safety of his fellow warriors, but it didn’t matter.  In this small section of chaos, he was king.

Dozens of tiger-kin fell around him, his new blade cutting them far more easily than his previous weapons had.

[ Power Strike ]

Three had tried to box him in, but Francis’ blade bisected the trio as he spun.

His nearby opponents stopped their assault and took a step back, giving him time to catch the fleeing beast and cut her down from behind.

As she bled out, he yelled in triumph; the thrill of the moment made Francis feel alive.

He had died so many times. Each time he had died, it had been to get stronger--right now was proof of how much it had paid off.

He turned and moved toward the side of the battlefield where he knew the next enemy he needed to train against would be.

He was one man, moving through the horde of beasts that came at him like an avalanche.

Some managed to land blows, a few piercing the armor he wore and drawing blood, yet those injuries were easy to shrug off.

The Pain Resistance made all the injuries seem like nothing as none were life-threatening.

Every minute, he used a Power Strike to clear the clumps of opponents who pressed against him. Finally, their lines thinned out, and what he had been looking for came at him.

The massive rhino-kin charged, head down, horn in his direction.

Francis dodged and rolled to the side as the creature lumbered past him a few steps before skidding to a stop, creating a furrow in the soil.

It rose on its back feet, towering over him, and huffed.

This one had limited armor, not like the ones he’d watched Kels and Stenson fight. Only a chest piece covered the vital areas. Even though it didn’t have a weapon, Francis knew a single blow from its hands would crush him.

Instead of waiting, Francis charged, praying the improved stats would give him an edge against this behemoth.

He darted left, then shifted right, barely avoiding the swing that came at him as he brought his blade across.

[ Power Strike ]

The weapon dug into the rhino’s thick leg, creating a gash about three inches deep and caused the creature to stumble before it pivoted.

[ Skill Increase Power Strike – 3 Basic ]

It can do this!

Preparing to swing again, Francis saw the incoming strike and held up his shield, changing his stance to prepare for what came at him.

The large left hand backhanded him, shattering his shield and sending him rolling a dozen yards.

Pain radiated through his left arm—when he looked over, he saw bones sticking out of his forearm, the top section of it, hand and all, gone.

He blinked, trying to register what had happened. The pain was dull, still throbbing, but not overwhelming.

Blood squirted from the missing appendage and the rhino roared, coming toward him, its steps seeming to shake the ground on its approach.

Just before it reached him, Francis charged it, weapon moving.

[ Power Strike ]

It swung another backhand and Francis aimed the blade for the fist. When the metal and fish collided, Francis was sent backward, yet the rhino-kins' approach faltered as well.

Francis’ sword arm ached.  His blade was broken, half of it sticking out of the rhino-kin’s fist. 

Blood dripped from the giant gash; for a moment, both he and the rhino looked at each other, stunned at what had happened.

“Crap!” Francis cursed.

Wincing, he dashed forward, hugging the thing's left side while slamming his fist against the thick hide.

None of the punches didn’t do anything, and the beast roared, spinning far faster than Francis had anticipated. Its right arm came, connecting with his chest.

Pain radiated everywhere inside. 

Only one eye seemed to work, and as he coughed into the soil, his limited vision allowed him to spot the approaching beast.

It didn’t move quickly; instead, it huffed as it came, each stride seemingly intentional as the rhino-kin bore down upon him.

There was a slight pause when it got to him.

Francis knew he would die soon even if the beast didn’t do anything else. 

Yet the rhino appeared to be roaring. He could feel its breath as it bent down near his face. It snorted one more time before standing upright.

Then it lifted its foot.

***

The sound of the morning bell rang.

Grabbing his chest, Francis sat up, gasping for air.

“You okay?” Michael asked, tiredness in his voice. “It’s earlier than usual.”

Francis took a few deep breaths and nodded. “Bad dream. Felt like a horse or something was sitting on my chest.”

“Ahh, yeah, I’ve had those… I hate the ones where I feel like I’m drowning.”

After sitting up, Francis grabbed his boots and smiled. “Good news is, we’re both alive. Guess those bad dreams aren’t going to kill us after all.”

“Why should we worry about dreams when the real nightmare, Phillip, is outside waiting for us? Let’s hurry up. I don’t want to be late.”

Francis opened his mouth, ready to say something, but stopped.

His brother frowned at him for a second and returned to getting dressed.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to find out what happened to Phillip before all of this, and also learn who hates him. For now… I’ve got a rhino to go die to a few more times.

Undying Blood - Chapter 43

Chapter 43

Francis smiled as his brother stared at the pile of coins he’d spilled onto the bed.

“A gold coin…” Michael’s voice was so low that Francis had barely heard it. “We… we could run.”

“But we wouldn’t make it far without trouble. Besides, I told you that it doesn’t matter. This war has to be won—if it’s not, I’m certain all the kingdoms will fall and you’ll die. None of this matters if you’re not alive.”

His brother sat there, head shaking slightly, unable to take his eyes off the gold and silver coins. The amount of money was more than either of them had ever imagined possessing in their lifetime.

“Now sit,” Francis said. “I need to tell you everything.”

***

Michael had sat there quietly, his eyes glancing between the coins and Francis. During the sharing of the last set of deaths and having to fight to earn this money, his brother’s face had changed. The shock seemed to be wearing off as Michael blinked a little more often than usual. 

“And that brings us to here,” Francis said. “I’ll see about buying some better armor, maybe even a sword if I can.”

“So… what, you’re going to spend all this on equipment?” Michael asked. “If you’re going to die, why bother? Surely we could have some fun with this!”

“I thought about it,” Francis said. “The problem is at some point you’ll die and I’ll have to–”

“Who the hell cares if I die?” Michael interrupted. “Just keep going without me!”

Francis found himself speechless, gazing intently at his brother.

“What?”

“If I die, who cares!” his brother exclaimed. “I mean, I know you do, but if you die again, I’ll be back. You already said it; you need to find out what works and keep getting stronger. How does throwing yourself into battle against the beasts prove anything beyond your own strength? Even if you manage to reach those rhinos things then what? Do you really expect to survive against them? Eventually, you’d die on the battlefield, and then you’d be back to the same day.”

“Starting over doesn’t matter,” Francis sighed. “What matters is getting stronger… did you miss that? The last ten deaths gave me another rare skill. A rare skill, Michael! You don’t understand how powerful that is. Then there are my stats.”

“Two of which are proficient…” his brother said. “I know. How many people do we know who have just one?”

“Maybe Phillip. But more importantly, no matter what happens, I need to somehow achieve the power of what I saw from that General, Stenson.”

“Seriously? ” Michael asked. “How do you hope to achieve that? He’s had a lifetime to get that strong. Some say he’s almost a hundred and fifty years old.”

“Because unlike Stenson, I don’t have to hold back,” Francis replied. “Every death is just another chance to learn. Like the general said, he wished he had information about his opponents. Unlike Stenson, I don’t have to worry about losing my arm or my life.”

Michael started rubbing his eyes, groaning slightly before nodding. “You’re right. So now what? We go shopping, arrive at the battlefield, and you tear through the enemy lines till you die?”

“Basically. Ultimately, I’m limited in what I can control. If I tell the army about the creature in the forest, I’ll never be allowed on the battlefield. If I’m not on the battlefield, I’ll eventually be unable to improve my skills just training against Kels. That also poses the problem of ending up before a high priest and being killed that way.”

“So you’re choosing how to die?” Michael asked.

Francis nodded, smiling slightly. “Isn’t that more than either of us ever believed we’d be able to do when they picked us up for this? One day, I’m going to find a way to end this. I’m not sure how, but I will.”

“Can… can you endure that kind of… torture?” Michael asked, frowning. “I… I can’t imagine what you’re dealing with. Dying all those times. Facing a tiger-kin that sticks you with daggers, letting someone beat you to death, or any of those other moments.” 

“It’s tough sometimes,” Francis admitted. “But then whenever I’m brought back, you’re there. Each time, I come back next to you. That’s what drives me forward and keeps me going. Well, that and the knowledge that someday I’m going to return home and have a different kind of conversation with our father.”

“Your father,” his brother corrected.

Sighing, Francis nodded. “Each loop, I also look forward to this moment. I get to share everything with you, and it feels like… Like I can remember a little more of myself that was stolen from me by that thing killed when I died the first time. I mean, I do have to waste a lot of time doing this, so you don’t act like an idiot when I show up with new equipment.”

“Ehh, just lie and say you stole it. I won’t care.”

Francis chuckled. “That’s a lie and we both know it.”

For a moment, each of them laughed, ignoring the weight of what they had just discussed.

“So… I guess I want to know when you think you’ll stop dying to those beasts?” Michael asked.

Seeing his brother smirking, Francis rolled his eyes, knowing what Michael was most likely thinking of. “Why? So I can take a turn in the camp and let you enjoy some time with Bella and Lucy?”

“I mean, if you need a break and they’re not being taken care of, it’s the brotherly thing to do. Right?”

Laughing, Francis started to pick up the coins and put them into the pouches.

“Maybe if you behave. Now, we have four hours before we need to get up. Get some rest. Tomorrow… er, today is going to be long.”

***

Tom raised an eyebrow, glancing at Phillip and then back at Francis.

“You’re asking for a full set of armor. And those coins…”

“Are his,” Phillip replied. “You and everyone else in this town heard about what happened last night. He earned every one of them.”

The armorsmith nodded and spat on the floor.

“Dexter… he was a slimy fellow. Not sure who's going to move into his spot and manage the trade routes he did, but that doesn’t impact me. Still… I can’t say I’ve got much to offer that will be a perfect fit. Everything I normally make gets sent straight to the battlefield. Still…”

The large man turned and began digging through different crates and barrels, pulling out pieces and holding them up.  Some he kept out, others he returned to where he’d gotten them.  Eventually, he had a full set of chain armor and some extra pieces on the wooden counter.

“We’ll have to see what fits him the best. Should I ask if you have any idea about fighting in stuff like this?”

“You could, but it wouldn’t matter. Odds are I’ll be dead soon enough. Right?”

“Spoken like a wise fool,” Tom muttered. “I haven’t seen a single man return who's passed through here. Well, besides Phillip, everyone comes back, and he’s a grouch every time.”

His trainer laughed and shrugged. “You try dealing with twenty teen boys and turning them into men in a short period of time. It would make you grouchy, also.”

“No, thank you,“ Tom replied. “I have two boys of my own. Right now, there are more than enough problems. Still, let’s get this boy fitted.”

Francis found himself soon dressed in full chain from head to toe.  The cloth undergarments he’d been given were a little tight, as Tom's other option was too baggy.  None of it was as pleasant a fit as what he’d received before the fight he rode into battle with Stenson. But he also knew beggars couldn’t be choosy. 

“He looks like a real warrior,” Phillip said. “Almost makes me feel like I did a good job for once.”

“Now he just needs a sword,” Tom said. “Go and talk to Zachary and tell him I sent you. He’ll give you a good deal.”

Francis tried not to complain. He had spent nearly two gold coins on these outfits and was already running low on coins.

“Don’t worry,” the armorsmith said, apparently noticing the look he had given his nearly empty coin purse. “The weapon he sells will be better than what you boys normally get. Just mention my name, you’ll be fine.”

Nodding, Francis gave a slight bow. “I’m grateful for your help. Maybe one day if I live, I’ll return this stuff to you.”

Tom laughed and waved a hand. “Boy, if you survive, sell that crap. Someone will think it’s blessed by the gods since it somehow kept you alive.”

Francis slung the large pack over his shoulder with all his new armor as he and Phillip started making their way toward the weaponsmith.

“You do realize this is going to cause a commotion when we get to camp,” Phillip said. “I’m not certain this plan of yours will work.”

“None of it will matter, because I won’t put it on until the battle starts. Once it does, I’ll be deep in the ranks and they aren’t going to try and figure out why one soldier in the early lines looks a little different.”

“That is true. Still, I hate to think about what you will face there. I’ve seen it. Are you certain you know what you’ll be getting into?”

Francis nodded and frowned. “You’ve seen the tiger and wolf-kins. At least with this armor, I’ll stand a better chance than the stuff everyone else gets.”

His trainer chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. “Lancaster, I’m certain you’re going to send a large number of them to their deaths. Watching how you moved against me, and against that Cutter fellow, and then saving my life from that bolt—” Phillip choked up and Francis was surprised to see a tear come from the man he had hated for so long.

His trainer stayed silent for almost two blocks before speaking again. “I… hated this job sometimes. It weighs on me if I let it, knowing how many boys… teens… others like I’ve trained. I gave them just enough to provide a buffer for the real warriors. I had to force myself to become hard… to become… nasty. This--” Phillip paused, touching his scar, “--isn’t why I’m an asshole. It’s the number of teens I’ve sent off to their deaths. But you… damn you, Lancaster, you’ve given me hope.”

“You know you can call me Francis.”

The trainer shook his head, wiping another tear from his eye before clearing his throat. “Live. Find me when this is over, and I’ll call you by your first name. Until then… I can’t. Until that moment, you’ll be Lancaster or sheetstain, you pick.”

Laughing, Francis took a moment and pretended to decide, tapping his chin a few times. “I’m not sure… Both leave a bad taste in my mouth.”

***

Sweat quickly formed on his skin as they approached the burly man in his forge area.

Two teens were working a set of bellows, and another was pounding metal on another anvil.

Zachary's arms reminded him of Cutter, except these had veins that looked like rivers. It didn’t matter how many scars lined the man’s dark skin; there was no doubt in Francis’s mind that this man had probably reached the proficient rank in strength.

“A sword… and Tom sent you?” the weaponsmith said between strikes. “Why would… that bastard… send you… here?”

“Because I bought this,” Francis said, dropping his sack and opening it up.

The large man’s swing swung wide, missing the metal blade he was working on--his eyes remained fixed on the open canvas sack.

“MOTHER GOAT-HUMPING–”

“Dad!”

Zachary growled as the boy working on the blade glared at him. “Tell your mother, and I’ll beat you far worse than she’ll beat me.”

Francis wanted to laugh as the stocky boy—who was perhaps thirteen–frowned and returned to work.

The weaponsmith looked at the blade he held between tongs and sighed. “I’m going to need to fix this later… Still… Tom sent you… and Phillip.. This isn’t like you at all. I’m guessing something's different about this one?”

“He is,” Phillip replied.

Grunting, Zachary put the blade on the edge of the coals near him and snapped his fingers.

“Keep the temp just warm enough to let me fix it, but don’t you dare overheat it or let it cool down, otherwise I’ll thrash you both!”

The pair nodded and didn’t say a word, one focused on the color of the coals as the other stood by the bellow.

“Come with me. How much coin are we talking?” Zachary asked.

“I got twenty-seven silver left,” Francis replied.

Zachary coughed and pounded his chest. “Twenty-seven silver? Phillip, what are you paying these… wait… you’re him! The one who killed Cutter and Dexter?”

“I killed Dexter for trying to kill me,” Phillip said. “He did kill Cutter, however, all on his own.”

A loud whistle came as the man smiled. “Boys! We got ourselves a fighter here! This one took down Cutter!”

The two workers briefly stood still, eyes wide as they looked Francis up and down.

“You two daft? Don’t stop those bellows!” Zachary roared.

Sighing, the blacksmith motioned to Francis and Phillip.

“Come with me. Don’t worry, boy, I’ll take care of you. Now I know why Tom sent you.”

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 41

Max ignored the booming laughter that came from the demon that filled the kaleidoscope space.  Bob had flown him to eye level, almost two miles above the ground beneath them. A single pulsing red eye blinked once as Max hovered there, weapons drawn.

“Put those tiny things away,” the demon boomed. “I didn’t know what you were then, but I do now. It’s not foolish enough to try and fight me. Not even a black skill is that hungry or thirsty to risk certain death.”

Max felt his whole body trembling; the anger and rage he felt were overwhelming his reason and logic.

This isn’t what I expected! Where is Gykewotik! Why didn’t he come?!

I would assume that it is because one of the Nine came instead. Focus, Max. We’re here for Miranna. You choose this option to gain time, think, and call in your favor from that demon if needed. Instead, it appears we have been ambushed. 

Max’s head ached as he struggled to listen to Bob. Every part of him wanted nothing more than to rush forward, driving the weapon built from Wekime’s tooth into the oversized eye. Yet the mention of his daughter’s name steadied Max slightly. It eased the struggle just enough that he could push back the desire to attack. Dying here, breaking what potential contract might be enforced, gave Max a small glimmer of hope.

He took deep breaths, ignoring the smell and taste of rotting flesh that he noticed permeated the very air. After seven of them, Max felt himself letting go of the rage that threatened to consume him. He stored his weapons and glared at the demon before him. “So, who are you? What is your name?”

A massive head shook back and forth, its eye never taking its gaze off of Max. “You are not worthy to know my name, nor will I share it. Many know me by a different name. Surely you know what I am. To reach the power you have means there is a flicker of intelligence within.”

He’s Death. Everything about him cries out that truth.

Max knew Bob was right. Finally able to focus, he could sense an aura that seemed to radiate from the god. Had he charged forward, trying to attack the demon who stood before him, Max wasn’t sure he could have made his way through what he now felt.

So… how do we deal with him? We can’t fight him, and I doubt we can injure him even if I tried.  This presence… It’s far more than what we faced in that dungeon. System rules and limits?

Most likely. If that is the case, I can only wonder what Wekime must be like outside of those boundaries.  Perhaps that is the only reason we were able to draw a single drop of blood.

“I sense… a conversation… Two minds. That is impossible,” the demon growled. “How can this be? I heard rumors, watched the battles you fought in. Surely you can’t–” As the demon had been speaking, its gigantic clawed hand had reached for them.  Like clouds covering the sun, darkness had begun to surround Max and then its palm and fingers stopped when an aura of red energy covered Max like a giant ball. “NOOO!”

Max’s head vibrated from the booming roar of the demon as it pulled its hand back, smoke rising from it. His hand, the one that bore the mark of Wekime, radiated a golden glow.

“HE MARKED YOU! IMPOSSIBLE!”

Max flew backward away from the demon as the black and purple aura surrounding the god began to radiate and expand further from its body.

The god continued to roar, waves of pressure shaking the kaleidoscope walls and ground.

Pain ran up and down Max’s arm as the symbol that had been burned into his hand glowed brighter. His flesh didn’t melt or vanish, but it felt almost as painful as the Wildfire spell had when it devoured his arm.

Can we break this summoning spell and get out of here?

Possibly, but then what? We might escape but then we’re back in that room with Miranna and the others. We’ll have no answers. Even if I reset the cooldown on the summoning ability, there is no guarantee this one won’t come again.

Max endured the noise as the god of Death continued to show his displeasure at whatever had happened to his hand. The demon stared at the injury, focused upon the red, molten blood that was dripping from where its skin had come in contact with the red ball of magic.  Each splatter on the ground turned into a cloud of black and purple that slowly spread from the area of impact.

A few moments passed, and the demon’s focus turned from its injured hand to Max, its red eye narrowing as eyelids appeared around it. “You… cannot be. This is not how it should be!”

Max chuckled. It came out, unexpected at first. And then he started to laugh even harder. His heart ached because once again, someone he loved was caught in whatever game the gods had been playing. Here he was, standing before another of the Nine, somehow defying whatever expected outcomes had been in place, still unsure why he had even been given a black skill at all.

Laughter echoed inside as Bob joined him in this moment.

That’s what I’ve always enjoyed about you, Max. No one ever gets from you what they expect. Not even myself. Now then, go ahead and ask the question I know is on the tip of your tongue.

Max steadied himself and waited as Bob slowly flew them toward the god who was glowering at him.

“What did you expect? A crazed, murder filled, mindless being? Something you could control?”

Its eye narrowed even more, less than an eighth of it showing now. Slowly, the God of Death raised a single finger, pointed it at Max, yet did not move it toward him. “You do not realize what will happen to you. I shall get my revenge on that day. You owe me for what took place in my dungeon and for the pain you brought upon me for revealing what had happened within. I will get my revenge and you, Max Hoste, shall suffer for it.”

Do all the gods talk like this?

“You’re not the first to say that, and all those before you have failed,” Max replied. “If you’ve learned one thing watching my fights, I offer mercy to those who deserve it, and you do not.”

A loud grunt came from the demon as it waved its giant hand at him. “Threats from a godling like you mean nothing. You are not the first to be different. Some have pretended to be unchanged. They played the part of a marionette. But strings break and the creature that controls them always takes over. Perhaps you are different, but either way, I’m tired of this game. The toy before me is broken, and that shall be your undoing. Had you been the tool I desired, I would have shown you the way to be used, but now…” The demon tisked, a large black tongue appearing and rubbing the outer edges of its maw. “You will suffer as all the rest before.”

Power began to radiate again from the god as it took a step back. A loud, booming explosion came again, and the kaleidoscope room shook. Seconds passed as the strain upon them seemed ready to shatter them all, yet none gave way.

“NO! It cannot!” the demon shouted.

This spell! The System’s rules!

Caught in its own snare. 

A giant eye came toward him, the demon leaning forward as it glared. “Release me! Now!”

“Or what?” Max asked, shrugging his shoulders.

“Do not play a game like this with me!” it roared. “DO you–”

Max held up a hand. He was slightly surprised when the demon stopped its tirade.

“The rules of the spell cannot be changed, and it would appear you have fallen to it. Tell me, did Gykewotik seek you out and tell you about me? Did he tell you what happened to him?”

Two rows of teeth clamped down on each other, and a noise like mountains crashing into each other filled the space.

Max chuckled and smiled. “It would appear that he might have left that part out. I think you’re in the same position he found himself. Unable to leave, and if I’m right, the one who marked me will protect me from whatever you send my way. It seems we're both stuck here for some time.”

Purple flames sprang up around a fist the demon brought up near its face. “You would be a fool to think you can hold me. I will give you this one chance. Release me now or face the consequences.”

Max felt a ball of anger grow inside himself, knowing what was coming next.

“Yes, I can see it,” the demon replied, smiling. “The truth is displayed in your eyes. You know what I’m speaking about, Max Hoste. Your child… she is–”

“Don’t!” Max shouted.

“You cannot threaten me! Her life is in my hands. If I desire, she will die! Only I can free her!”

A hint of worry flooded him as Bob spoke.

He might be speaking the truth. Miranna’s day of awakening… the timing, the sequence of all these events. We’re… just as stuck as he is.

Max’s hands became fists that shook, and he closed both of his eyes.

Tanila… 

She can’t help or hear you here. None of them can. It is just you and me.  

Then what do we do, Bob? What can I do? How do I stop a god like this? How do I save my daughter?!

A stone wall appeared beneath Max, floating in the air just an inch away. Bob lowered him until his feet touched, and then a chair appeared behind Max from his dimensional storage.

Sit. We’ll play this game.

Against a god who has been around since the beginning of it all?! We’re going to wait him out?!

Yes.

But–

Do not forget how the game played out when we had no power. There was nothing we could do against Ezreal when he took us prisoner. Your tenacity, stubbornness, and willpower not to give in then provided us with the opportunity to survive. That is what we did and more.

Now you must show that same fortitude. In here, time is different. I cannot promise you that no time is passing where Tanila and Miranna are. I have no idea how long this spell might last with a being this strong. If you and I have learned anything about the System, it is this: it has rules and they must be followed. Breaking those rules has consequences. As someone who has broken them, I have faced those moments. And that god over there, he has as well. 

Max took a few seconds to consider Bob’s words and then sat. A second later, a book on cooking appeared in his hand, followed by a small table beside his chair.

Laughter came from the god who towered above him. “You must be–”

Max held up his hand, setting the book down with his other hand and summoned a flask of water.

“Here are my demands if you want to be free from this prison,” Max stated. “Release my daughter so that she returns to me the moment this spell ends, alive, well, and changed only in the way of how the Archons might wish. You will also swear never to do anything that threatens her life again, or be punished by the system for breaking an oath. You will then–”

“I WILL NOT!”

Max sighed, waiting for the echo to go away as the demon pointed a black and purple finger at him again. “You will also swear to not act against me, my friends, or my worlds.”

“Never!”

Max took a drink and stored the water. He didn’t need to drink. It was all for show. “Then we shall wait. Just know you will violate the rules of this summoning. May the system know you have broken it, attacked me and–”

“I will hunt down those you love,” the demon whispered, yet each word carried the same force as a raging storm. “You will never find rest until the day your soul–”

Max stored his book and pulled out two small pieces of cork. “When you’re ready to talk, and play by the system’s rules, show me your palm. Until then, each word you speak and moment we spend here stands as an attack against me and the rules of the System.” Max then stuck the cork pieces in his ear and retrieved his book. For the first time in a long time, he deactivated his sonar skill. He could still feel the vibrations of the demon's words as it shouted at him, but Max didn’t care.

If Batrire were here, she’d need a lot of soap to deal with that mouth.

A chuckle resonated in his head as Max heard Bob laugh.

I’m not sure there’s enough soap in all the worlds for this one.

Undying Blood - Chapter 42

Chapter 42

“What seems to be the problem?” Phillip asked.

“This boy has obviously stolen some money!” Dexter said. “He wants to bet ten silver on himself! Where could a piece of trash like him get ten silver?”

Francis shook his head and sighed. “Michael and a few of the other boys owed me, plus I got five silver for coming in first. None of it’s stolen. You can send for the others if you want.”

“He’s betting ten silver?” Phillip muttered. “Damn, the balls on him. Well, I’m betting ten silver he gets his ass beat. So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is…” Dexter stopped talking, looking around at the people watching.

“You don’t expect him to win, do you?” Phillip asked.

“Of course not!” Dexter exclaimed.

“But if I did win, you would pay me… right?” Francis asked.

The fat man’s lips danced like lovers, smacking into each other yet unable to speak for a moment. “Pay? Why would… I mean, yes, yes, I could cover it.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Phillip asked. “Take his money and give it to me, and keep the rest when he loses.”

The bald man let out a low growl as he motioned for the two of them to come closer. “You two think you can fleece me? Do you realize that this boy is going to die?”

“Are you accusing me of doing something wrong?” Phillip asked, his hand gripping Dexter’s shoulder. “Trust me. I’ve just bet ten silver up on watching him get his ass handed to him by Cutter. As far as that first fight, that’s on you. Francis won the race here out of all my trainees. I knew he could beat your first man. He’s stubborn and bull-headed, and he doesn’t quit.  That L wasn’t strong enough to put him down.

“Now that Cutter fellow over there,” Phillip continued, “he’s got hands bigger than any I’ve ever seen. If you’re telling me I’m pulling something, why would I bet that much coin and willingly let him enter this fight?”

Francis stood there, watching both men as they glared at each other.

“Fine, it’s his funeral!” Dexter grunted. “I’ll take both your bets, but don’t call the guards when you have to cart him out of here.”

“Oh, I won’t even write his parents a note,” Phillip said. “Trust me.”

Without another word, Dexter moved off, shouting at those around him to place their bets.

“You sure about this?” Phillip whispered. “That man–”

“Is going to die,” Francis growled.

His tone made the older man step back and look at him. “You know what, I’m still way ahead either way. Whatever happens, Lancaster, it appears you’re more than I ever thought you could be.”

***

“The boss is paying me a little more to make you suffer,” Cutter said as they drew near. “What would you like me to break first?”

Unable to help himself, Francis started laughing. After a sigh and composing himself,  he shook his head. “I’m going to kill you, cutter,” he replied. “I owe you… Trust me.”

A confused look came from the brawler, who then charged. The only difference was that this time the punches Cutter threw weren’t nearly as fast--Francis could see the movements coming.

He ducked and dodged, weaving from the strikes, using his arms and hands to block and deflect the punches.

Like a charging bull, Cutter kept coming, though he started to look frustrated as a single punch hadn’t yet landed where he wanted it to.

“I thought they said you were good,” Francis taunted.

Roaring, the man spat and then clenched his teeth.

A salvo of punches came, and then Francis knew Cutter had just used his ability when three quick punches came faster than all the rest.

Francis could only block the first, unable to dodge the second, and then he darted backward to help absorb the impact of the third.

The single strike to his body did nothing, and Cutter’s eyes blinked rapidly, trying to figure out what had just transpired.

“It’s my turn,” Francis said, going on the offensive.

Every fight before this one had been roughly the same. Anytime Cutter had used his ability, there would be at least two minutes before the large man could use it again. With the speed Francis now possessed and how slow his opponent was, there was only a chance of getting hit during that man’s offensive ability. With his improved rank in endurance, his body barely registered any pain. Combined with Pain Resistance and Strong Bones, it was like getting hit by someone much smaller and weaker than him. 

Cutter grunted as Francis started to unleash punching combinations. He jabbed, then crossed, and sent a hook. Each punch made Cutter retreat. As soon as that combo ended, Francis mixed it up again, never attacking in the same pattern. His fists began to connect where he wanted and for the first time in so many deaths, Francis held the upper hand.

No matter how the large man moved or tried to block, Francis was able to stay close and punish the brawler's core, ignoring the man’s face and head.

Juking to the left and then dancing right, he threw off Cutter’s attempt to react, put himself next to the left side, and swung with his right hand.

[ Power Strike ]

A howl of pain came from those lips that had smiled at him for all these loops.

Even better was how Cutter fell to a knee, grabbing at the spot on his lower back where Francis had just struck.

Multiple times, the brawler had kidney punched him over and over, laughing as Francis endured the pain of it all.

Yet his opponent didn’t have the defensive skills Francis had and struggled to recover. The attack had the whole crowd silent.

With a smile, Francis finally began to unload punches on Cutter’s face, a barrage of attacks against the defenseless man. In moments, his opponent began to sway.

Francis sensed it. The fight was his — he wouldn’t give Dexter a chance to save this man from the punishment he deserved.

The change in his body and the reserves he now had provided a new opportunity. When Francis first acquired the Power Strike skill, he could use it only about once an hour.  He had tested the ability in the woods, breaking old logs, laughing, and scaring off any animal in range. Francis had learned he could now do two in rapid succession.

Setting his feet, he swung, fist coming upward, homing in on Cutter’s chin as if pulled by a thread.

[ Power Strike ]

The impact sent the man upward, taking him off the ground; he flew up and crashed onto his back in the sawdust.

Silence was the only response from the crowd as Francis moved to stand over the behemoth of a man, who was struggling to breathe, jaw shattered, teeth missing.

“No more,” Francis whispered as he swung downward, fist connecting to the brawler’s throat.

There came a crunch with the crushed windpipe.

Staggering backward, he gazed upon the crowd, waiting for what he hoped would come.

Like a dam had been broken, shouts and cheers burst forth, washing over him.

“FRANCIS! FRANCIS!”

Smiling, he waved his fist in the air and then turned, spotting a fat man who had gone as white as snow.

***

“I… I can’t! I can’t pay that much!” Dexter protested.

Phillip started to pull his sword out, and Francis cracked his knuckles.

“You took my money,” Phillip said. “You took his. He won; I lost. Pay the boy, or I’ll let him go a few rounds on you before I turn you into the guard. I’m sure they’d enjoy having some fun too.”

Dexter’s hand touched his cheek, and a bruise was forming, courtesy of Francis.

“We’ll… need to go to my office! I can get some coins and jewelry there! You can sell those and probably get more than I owe!”

Phillip growled and motioned with his head.

“Go. Don’t try anything stupid or you’ll wish you had never been born.”

The office was a collection of clutter. Dirty dishes and the stench of cheap ale and sweat permeated the entire place. A single desk sat near a wall, and Dexter pointed at it.

“In there, I have a safe,” Dexter said, pointing across the room.

“Do it,” Phillip grunted as he kicked some trash.

“This place is filthy,” Francis muttered. “How can someone live like this? I mean… I’ve seen worse, lived worse, but he has–”

Francis didn’t think, reacting to something instinctively. He shoved Phillip, arm outstretched, and felt a bolt striking the bone in his arm, sliding off the side and partially exiting his forearm.

He stumbled, falling into a cabinet with an open drawer, knocking off the collection of trash and papers on top.

Spinning, he saw Dexter’s hands fumbling with a second bolt, trying to load the tiny crossbow he had used a moment prior.

“You little piece…!” Phillip roared, charging across the tiny room and driving his sword through the fat man’s chest.

A horrible cry of pain came as Dexter dropped the weapon he held, grabbing the blade that now pinned him against the wooden wall.

“I… didn’t have… a choice… They’ll kill me… for paying,” The fat man gasped.

Francis moved to where Phillip stood.

“And you’re dead for not,” his trainer said. Phillip pulled the sword free and drove it downward into the fat man’s heart, ending his life immediately.  

With Dexter gone, the rush of everything started to wear off, and Francis felt a burning sensation flood his arm. Glancing at the bolt, Francis saw that it had some sort of yellow liquid coating part of the shaft.

“Crap! You’re poisoned!” Phillip shouted. 

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, grimacing as he pulled the bolt all the way through.

“What are you–” Phillip started.

“We need to search the office,” Francis said between clenched teeth, “We have to see if there’s anything in here at all.” 

[ Poison Resistance Increased – 9 Basic ]

“Are… are you sure? You look like you’ll need a healer soon, especially since that was poisoned.

Tearing a piece of his shirt off, Francis wrapped the wound and shook his head.

“No, I’ll be fine. Trust me. Surely, there must be something of value in this room. You start here, I’ll check over there.”

Moving back to the cabinet he had crashed into, Francis started pulling things out, yanking out paper and even the wooden drawers, trying to see if there was something Dexter thought was worth killing them for.

***

“Three gold, seventy-two silver, and at least two hundred copper,” Phillip said quietly as they stared at the coins stacked up on the wooden desk. “The fat bastard could have easily paid.”

“How do you want to handle this?” Francis asked. “I mean, splitting the money.”

His trainer turned and chuckled. “You won a hundred silver. That, and I’m certain you saved my life when you shoved me. I don’t think I’d have survived the bolt to the chest.”

“But at the same time, I wouldn’t have gotten paid without you,” Francis replied. “Seventy-thirty?”

Smiling, Phillip nodded. “I’d be good with that.”

***

“What in the hell happened to you?!” Michael shouted.

Francis held his arm up, pushing his brother back into their room.

“Give him a moment,” Phillip said. “He’ll be fine.”

“You sorry son of a –"

“He didn’t do anything,” Francis said. “Now stop being an arse and move out of the way. I’ll tell you in a minute.”

The older man smiled and chuckled. “He always did try to mother you like a hen. You’re a lucky one, Lancaster. Find me tomorrow, we need to finish that talk.”

Francis shook the hand extended to him and then shut the door after Phillip left.

“What the hell was that?!” his brother asked.

Sighing, Francis moved to his bed and flopped down. The wound had healed, and he had also acquired two points of poison resistance from whatever had been on the bolt.

Even better, Francis now had a pouch full of money and a shopping list prepared for the next day.

“You need to sit,” he told Michael. “Trust me. What I’m going to say is going to sound impossible and you’ll–”

“Impossible is watching Phillip shake your hand and look like he actually enjoyed talking with you. What could you say beyond you two being lovers that might surprise me?”

Laughing, he pointed at his brother’s bed.

“Just sit. All I need you to remember is that no matter how crazy what I tell you sounds, everything I’ve done is for you.”

“Uh… well, that sounds even worse. Did you promise me to Phillip? Is that why he seems happy for once?”

Throwing the tiny pillow from his bed at his brother, Francis couldn’t help but wonder how many more times he might have to endure moments like this—all because he wanted to keep the moron across from him alive.

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 40

Jazzjak’s foot tapped rapidly as he stood next to the shard in the private room of the adventurer’s house.  

“You going to be okay?” Max asked, giving his helper and friend a gentle pat on the back. “You look great. The black suit goes well with the… well, your white fur.”

A scoff came from the vorpal rabbit as he shook his head. “I know what this day means to you, and you voiced your concern.  Master Dougan is bringing her in here in a few minutes with your wife.  I’ve never imagined being in a situation like this. Frankly, I’m a bit nervous.”

“Because she might not unlock or because of what I’m going to do if she doesn’t?”

Jazzjak grunted, his head bobbing from side to side.  “Both. No one wants the attention of the Archons and the System on them. It’s a mystery how a black skill works. Every god knows about them. A few might have more knowledge about them than the rest, but outside of the Nine and the Archons…” He huffed and then smoothed out his black suit jacket, the silver and embroidery reflecting the glow of the crystal, the size of an average person's head. “You told me about what your skill did before… that shouldn’t be allowed or possible. And then mentioning how it was–”

“He,” Max corrected. “Bob’s not a thing to me.”

Clearing his throat, Jazzjak nodded. “Bob… how Bob managed to give Rakonath access to the tower when he shouldn’t have had it, but then got locked up for a while… That is what makes me nervous. If you get their attention, then they’ll be looking at me as well.”

“You should be fine,” Max replied. “I’m sure there are bigger problems than you doing your job.”

Before the vorpal rabbit could reply, a knock came and the ornate wooden door with runes, precious gems, and metal swung open.

Max smiled as his daughter stood in the open doorway.

She wore a simple white robe, a simple braided gold belt that accentuated her figure.  This was one of those rare moments when her hair wasn’t braided, the long, gold strands hanging over and behind her shoulders.  Two golden eyes stared at him, a small smile given before it vanished. 

She has your ability to look calm even when she’s trembling like a leaf in the wind.

I’ll not point that out right now.

A slight cough from the hallway came, and Miranna started moving toward the crystal that was on Max’s right.

Behind her, Tanila walked with the ease of someone who spent their life in the palace, learning how to move gracefully.  She had chosen to match their daughter today, and Max couldn’t help but wink as their eyes locked.

She rolled her eyes at him before winking right afterward.

As the pair moved inside and past the door, it closed on its own.

“You ready?” Max asked as he focused his attention on his daughter.

She nodded, glancing around the small nine by nine foot room. “Seems a bit tight. I thought you’d spring for a bigger space since it’s my birthday.”

“Well, they had a broom closet, but another god had it already reserved.”

A slight giggle came from Miranna before she took a deep breath.

“I’m ready.”

Max nodded and glanced at Jazzjak, his foot still tapping rapidly against the stone floor.

“Then touch the crystal, Miranna Hoste. See what the system has for you,” Max said. “Whatever it gives, know that your mother and I will do whatever it takes to train you to shine brighter than all the other stars out there.”

As he spoke, Tanila moved to the other side of the crystal. 

There in a small room, bare walls, an ornate door, a pair of gems on the wall giving off a soft light, Max waited. His sonar told him that as calm as Tanila appeared, his wife’s fingers were fidgeting behind her back.  

She’s ready. You can sense it.

Max knew Bob was right. Miranna took one more deep breath, closed her eyes for a few seconds and then let the air out, opening her eyelids. After doing that, her trembling stopped.

She took a single step forward, stood with her feet shoulder-width apart and reached out with both hands.  Her tanned skin showed as her sleeves exposed her arms and Max waited, feeling the energy around the crystal begin to grow as her hands drew near.

The span of time between his daughter's skin touching the smooth crystal felt like forever as the very air around her compressed.

The light, multi-colored crystal began to change colors the moment her skin touched it. Max could feel it pull Miranna towards it, her body taking another half step as both hands were flattened against the edges. She drew in a deep breath, eyes widening as her skin began to glow.

Bob!

I don’t know! Wait!

Max glanced at Tanila, who was rapidly changing her gaze from him to their daughter.

Jazzjak now had his soft, fur-covered finger in his mouth, teeth chomping down on one of his nails.

Seconds turned to ten and then to thirty. Each second, the color of the gem changed. Every color of the rainbow was there, including the clear and the black that had come for Max on his Choosing day.

What do I do?!

Nothing. Right now we can’t do anything.

Miranna’s skin grew brighter, giving off an aura like the sun. Her golden eyes were blazing like stars on a clear night, her hair matching their intensity.

“Maaaxxx,” Tanila said, not hiding her fear.

“We wait,” he replied, doing his best to appear calm. “Bob says we wait.”

A grunt from his wife told him that she didn’t like that reply, but they waited.  

Miranna began to rise onto her toes, her bare feet arching as her hair spread out around her head like a fan.

Almost a minute came before a clap like thunder echoed in the room. It was at that moment that their daughter was sent flying backward from the crystal.

[ Protect Ally ]

Max blinked across the room, catching his daughter, absorbing the impact as she slammed into him.

They shattered the door she had entered through, Max holding Miranna as gently as he could.

“To Batrire!” Max shouted, sensing his wife moving through the door as he slid down the hallway, ten yards past the wooden barrier they had destroyed.

Tanila didn’t flinch or hesitate, her hand touching his body, knowing what he was about to do.

[ Planetary Travel - Waypoint ]

“So there I was, drinking–” Fowl's words stopped as they appeared amidst the rest of the party, each of them hearing the clattering of plates, food, and other items when Max charged through a table, his daughter held sideways in both arms.

“Batrire!”

Without hesitating, their healer, who had kept them all alive in the tower, stepped forward, a glow already surrounding her hands.

Light once again bathed Miranna as he drew close to Batrire.

“Big heal down, Divine heal used!”

No one spoke; every eye locked upon the young girl in Max’s arms.  

“Breathe, star, breath,” Max whispered. “Twinkle for me…”

“Set her down,” Batrire said, her hand on his arm. “Let me see her.”

Do it.

Max stood there, trembling, his daughter’s hair and eyes having lost their glow. The gold strands were the same color as before, yet he could sense the life in his child fading away.

DO IT MAX! PUT HER DOWN!

His skill’s thundering words broke his fog as his heart ached in ways he hadn’t imagined.  

Without waiting another moment, Max laid Miranna on the floor, a pillow having been placed on the stone by Rakonath as his dragon took a step backward.

“Dear gods,” Sog whispered.

“Batrire?” Tanila gasped.

Max’s heart broke as he heard the pain in his wife’s voice.

“Give me a minute, please!” Batrire said. Her voice was loud and calm. Gone was the beautiful dress, the matching shoes, an outfit created for this special moment. Now she wore her gear from when they had defeated the tower. Every ounce of power and magic flowed through their healer as she closed both eyes, a glowing hand pressed against Miranna’s chest.

His hand found Tanila’s as he stood, giving room, pulling his wife close as they clutched each other.

“What happened?” she asked.

Max was speechless in response to his wife’s question. He didn’t have answers for his own questions.

Bob?! What can I do? What happened?

I… I don’t know… I’m sorry, Max, the system, I see something, but it’s… weird. Almost as if it’s choking her thread.

“I need a second!” Max exclaimed, carefully pushing his wife aside, ignoring her protest and taking a few steps back, knocking aside platters and smashing muffins.

A knife appeared in one hand, and he slit his wrist.

[ Demonic Summoning ]

Golden eyes stared at him, trembling for a moment. In the time it took for the kaleidoscope of the world to shift, he saw his wife nod once at him, knowing what he was doing.

I need time! We need time!

The world expanded around him, and the room seemed to recede as the spell he had cast came to life.

Miles stretched, making everyone he wanted to watch and be close to shrink as the area he stood in grew.  Finally, after it had done so for over half a dozen miles, his blood began to gush from his body.

It was different than before. Immediately, it turned black. The shapes and runes that came were unlike ones he had ever seen before.

His Omnilingualism skill ached, battering against a wall of things it couldn’t comprehend.  

[ Regeneration ]

Blood continued to flow, a river and then an ocean.  Max kept taking a step backward every so often, watching the runes ignite, adding more blood, changing colors as they flared blue, red, and white.  Once again, they returned to black, a blackness so dark and empty of light that Max found himself almost pulled toward them.

Bob?!

You can sense it. I can sense it.  This isn’t Gykewotik. The power we’re feeling is beyond him.

Max already wondered and felt the fear of that. He had sensed that truth an hour ago, as his blood never stopped pouring out of him.  

A crack came, thundering inside the space his spell had created. Each of the kaleidoscope panels vibrated. The ones under his feet felt like they might shatter from the force of the impact.

Pain ached through his entire body. His ears bled as the noise destroyed his eardrums, and yet they didn’t heal as they should have, the red liquid joining the stream from his wrist.

More began to flow from his nose and then his eyes.

His heart raced, and for the first time Max could remember in so long, he felt concern. Fear was for his daughter's life. Right now was for what was about to come.

A large door began to form as the draining of his blood reached an end.  There were a few drops that raced to join the rest, creating a door two miles high and a mile wide.  

His eyes couldn’t comprehend what he saw. All he knew was that the door gave off an aura of pain. Darkness yanked at his soul and heart as he sensed something.

Impossible… It can’t be…. Can it?

Bob didn’t reply, but Max could sense the same concern he had as the door opened.

Slowly, it revealed a figure behind it as the doors swung outward and into the area his spell had created.

A demon strode forward.  A single massive eyeball, redder than Max could remember. Below it was a maw of teeth, each one appeared able to chew a mountain in half.  Then there was the body, human-like but with purple and black colors meshed together.  Pulsing red lines or liquid ran between the protective plates, he recognized.

When the doors finally stood open, he saw the demon before him, standing against a background of darkness.  Wails and cries came from behind it as it took a step forward.

Max felt Bob move him, flying upward and out of its way.

The crystal floor seemed to buckle and flex as it stepped. A two-mile-tall demon laughed as it moved into the domain of Max’s summoning spell.

And then it spoke. Chills ran down Max’s spine when it did.

“Max Hoste… Or would you prefer Seth Pendal? I have waited so long for this moment. Tell me, did you get my gift?”

Don’t…

Bob’s warning was the only thing holding Max back as he stared at the demon he recognized from the 50th-level dungeon challenge. Every muscle in his body tightened as he stared at a god he knew was far beyond his level or power.

I’ll kill him!

UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 39

“Incoming!” Lysael shouted as he raced down the stone tunnel toward them. His voice echoed off the brown walls, torches flickering in the wind that came from somewhere. 

“Odds on how many?” Miranna joked as she watched Ulric rotate his shoulders, his shield and sword at the ready.

“Probably four,” their warrior replied. “I’ll grab two, you kill the first one, and let the twins do what they always do.”

“Focus,” Hanna snapped. “This isn’t a game.”

A snicker came from the other archer twin, Veren, who held an arrow ready.

“Five!” Lysael called out.

“Goblin nuts,” Ulric grunted as the group of orcs appeared at the bend, Lysael only twenty yards away now. “Root one, handle the other.”

Miranna didn’t reply, simply smiling as she waited for the orcs to get in range.  Three of them were the larger tank variety with the shield and either a club or a sword. The last two were duel-wielding ones like herself, each with a pair of short swords.  Heavy chain armor provided the tank ones with a bit more protection, while the shorter ones only wore leather.

“We’ve got the left one!” Veren called out.

Roots grew up around the third orc tank as arrows began to slow the damage-dealing orc on the left.

Ulric shouted as he banged his sword and shield together once, stepping up to engage the pair as Miranna waited, her golden eyes flickering as she knew what was about to happen.

Sucks we’re farming lower-level monsters… Hanna and the rest could easily fight a few levels above this dungeon. Just a few more days and then I’ll be able to show what I can do.

She slipped past the two orc tanks, her swords moving as the last duel-wielding orc drew close.  This dance that came was like all the others. Regardless of the one she faced, their attack patterns never changed.  None of these creatures had any skills or abilities that threatened her, and since they weren’t allowed to defeat the boss, they were grinding low amounts of experience with no risk.

At least I’m not stealing any experience.

Miranna chuckled to herself slightly as she recalled the stories her mother and the others told about how her dad never took any experience.  It made these dives worthwhile for the rest of the group.  

Her blade deflected the strikes the orc sent her way. She was only a few inches shorter, and even though it had more muscles and weight than she did, Miranna was still stronger. A quick kick to its knee shattered the orc’s leg, bending it backward and sending it pitching forward. Two seconds later, her swords had removed its head.

Glancing up at the orc she had rooted and seeing it was still stuck and that the twins had put theirs down, Miranna turned, coming from behind, and ran her sword through the orc’s spine.

As the third orc died, they quickly and easily dispatched the remaining two.

“Gods, I love her,” Veren said with a wink. “All those stories about her father seem so real now.”

Miranna rolled her eyes as Hanna let out a grunt.

“You know the rules, we don’t tease like that. She’s her own person.”

“Yeah, Veren,” Lysael said. “Don’t piss off the woman keeping you alive.”

Ulric chuckled as he moved to where Hanna was and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “What was I thinking, marrying a woman with a friend like this. All I wanted to to go adventuring with my wife, not spend my days listening to two elves preen over someone.”

Laughter echoed off the stone walls as the group harvested the parts of the orcs.

“Just another week,” Hanna whispered as she drew close to Miranna. “I can’t wait to see what you can do once you start to level up!”

“I know,” Miranna replied, grinning from ear to ear. She leaned closer, glancing at the other three before speaking. “By the way, want to share anything about the surprise party mom and dad are throwing?”

Hanna’s head snapped back, and her friend frowned. “What are you talking about? A party? Who do you think you are that someone would give you a party?”

Chuckles came from the others, and when Miranna turned to look at them, each had turner their heads away, finding another place apparently to look at..

“Fine… if no one wants to tell me anything, I’ll just wait.  Besides, it’s not like it’s anything special.”

“Just another day in my life,” Veren stated. “Besides, if there were a party, I’d be expected to bring a gift, and we all know I don’t have that kind of coin for that.”

Miranna laughed, knowing he was the only person in this group, besides herself, with the most coin.

Veren’s so tight with money you couldn’t squeeze one out of him. 

“Whatever, let’s just get back to pulling. I’ve got some chores to take care of when I return,” Miranna said.

Hanna gave her a gentle shove as Lysael jogged down the tunnel, bow ready to bring more orcs for them to slaughter.

***

Max chuckled as he knocked on the door.

“One minute!” Miranna shouted from the other side.

“She’s up earlier than usual,” Tanila said as they waited side by side.

“It’s her birthday,” he replied. With well-practiced precision, Max pulled out a few blueberries and set them around the plate of food he held in his other hand. 

“Sometimes I think you spoil her more than me,” Tanila teased, winking at him. “Then I remember you always bake for me whatever I want, whenever I ask.”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek, not pulling back as the simple wooden door swung open to reveal their daughter dressed in her adventuring gear.

“Please… It’s too early for PDA,” Miranna groaned. “Besides, don’t we have somewhere to go?!”

Max shrugged, looking at Tanila with a confused look. “Somewhere to go? I thought you and I were bringing her breakfast while I headed over to check on Sog’s mines, and you went to visit Corellia.”

“That’s the plan, last I checked,” Tanila replied.

“Moooom! You two aren’t being funny. Besides, stop encouraging Dad. You and I both know once he starts, he’ll never stop acting a fool.”

Max kept his neutral face as Tanila broke, smiling and nodding. 

“She’s right. I can’t imagine you in rare form this entire day. But before you and your dad go anywhere, you need to eat.”

A grumble came from Miranna’s stomach as her eyes fell upon the large, fluffy blueberry pancakes. Each one still steamed slightly, the perfect amount of powdered sugar and fresh fruit set on top of the compote.  

“Hmmm… I guess I have time for a pancake,” Miranna said.

She let them into her room, and Max waved his hand over his nose. “It smells like… an adventurer in here. Perhaps even a dwarven one.”

“Fowl would fit right in,” Tanila said. “How is it you manage to make it smell like that in here?”

Both of them chuckled as their daughter’s eyes narrowed and a pouty frown appeared. “You two are meaner than Sog after he loses a bet. I’ll work on getting it smelling nicer if you’ll just let me eat my pancakes and go!”

Max moved to the table sat in a corner of the room, stored a few dirty dishes, and set the hot breakfast on the table.  A crystal jar of light rose colored syrup appeared, and Miranna squealed as he set it down on the table.

“It is my birthday! How did you get some of the holuma fruit syrup?! I thought we were out?!”

“Maybe we were, maybe we weren’t,” Max replied, pulling the chair out and scooting Miranna’s seat forward as she plopped down. “Now eat. You and I have somewhere to be.”

Their daughter said nothing more, taking the two silverware she was offered from her dad and devouring the four pancakes he had made faster than Fowl could guzzle a tankard of beer.

***

“Again!” Max shouted. “But don’t hold back!”

“I’m not!” Miranna replied, a hint of frustration in her voice. “You’re cheating!”

Max didn’t say anything, both wooden swords that he held coming at her, each one moving only slightly lower than what a rare common skill would present.

His daughter was struggling to keep up with his speed and tempo. And the constant dialogue from Bob was pointing out what he was seeing as well.

She’s adapted and learned, but the truth is she’s not improved at all skill-wise in Weapon Mastery. Those creatures in the dungeon haven’t made her work as hard as you do. Let’s force her to use some magic. Either something has unlocked or it hasn’t.  We’ll find out one way or another today.

It’s all you. Have fun.

Bob began to unleash small balls of ice and stone at Miranna, making her have to summon Air, Ice, and Stone walls to block them while focusing on the pair of swords she barely kept from striking her body. His daughter was barely keeping up against attacks that would overwhelm most others. She positioned herself to keep a newly summoned wall that stopped one of Bob’s spells between them, buying her a second before he kicked and shattered it.

Sweat glistened on her skin as they danced. Unlike most fathers and daughters who would listen to minstrels play and join the beat of their song, they created their own. The sounds of their training echoed off the stone courtyard, setting a pace that would tire out all others.  

Through it all and Max could sense Tanila’s expression with his sonar.

She’s chewing on her lip. I guess she can sense what we’re thinking as well. Push her harder. Make her go for broke. She should be running out of mana soon.

Four walls at the most, and she’ll be out. You’re a monster for not letting her use offensive spells like we do.

We both know that attacking is easy for a warrior if you don’t have to defend. She’s too focused on that. In a party, we both know the role we played, and my real advantage was my sonar.

I still don’t think she’ll get it by fighting like this. It makes sense, but–

Bob stopped talking as Miranna ducked, her wooden sword intercepting an ice ball he sent her way.  Max didn’t hesitate; the small opening that had been created left her exposed, and he pressed forward, thrusting his weapon.

As he did, he sensed the smallest airwall rise from the dirt floor. Its angle was set to the edge of his foot.

You can’t…

Max sighed internally and smiled as he stepped onto the wall, knowing what anyone else would have done, not cheating as he could have.  The position of the wall caused his attack to be off, his body twisting. Some would have rolled their ankle, and most at this skill level would have easily tripped, so he went with it, pitching forward, weapon off target as Miranna’s wooden blade came for him.

As her tip touched his chest, a small stone ball struck Miranna’s shoulder.

“NO FAIR!” she exclaimed as Max rolled like an acrobat, standing and on his feet after she touched him. “Bob cheated!”

“No, he didn’t,” Max replied, still ready in case she came at him. “The spell was in motion before I stepped. You used the last of your mana to cast an airwall to trip me, which was a genius trick. Tell me, was that Fowl’s or your mother’s idea?”

Miranna’s eyes darted toward Tanila, whom Max could read like a book. A slight smirk appeared as she moved toward them, clapping slowly.

“Sold out by my daughter,” Tanila said. “Still, she timed it well and played the part like an actor. I wondered if she was going to pull it off.”

A long groan came from their daughter as she stored both wooden blades and retrieved a dry cloth. “I waited all that time, trying to bait him. Was the spell really cast beforehand?”

Tanila nodded and shrugged. “You forget, not only does your dad know what you like to eat, your favorite color, and all those other things, but he knows exactly how much mana you have and how many spells you can cast. Toss in Bob, and you’re facing an opponent who could probably count down my mana in a fight.”

Miranna glanced at him, and Max nodded. 

“I’d be close, depending on what she cast and how much mana she poured into them,” he replied. “Still, I was worried for a bit. You never once broke the level of what I believed your weapon ability was.  Tell me, is that as high as you can fight, or was that all a farce?”

“It hasn’t grown,” Miranna said after wiping off her face. “I think I have some ideas on how to use those walls that might work down the road, but at least you didn’t cheat and avoid it.”

“It might have crossed my mind,” Max replied, moving to hug her. “Now then, hurry up and get cleaned up. Your mom and I will wait here. There’s somewhere we need to go.”

Both of them waited as their daughter raced off to get cleaned up.  Max took Tanila’s hand in his and kissed it. “She’s just like you. Tricky and beautiful.”

“And your tongue is gifted as always,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Are you ready for this next part?”

“Whatever happens, we’re ready,” Max said.

Undying Blood - Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Francis jumped out of bed the moment the bell sounded. 

“What the hell?” Michael called out.

“Bells are ringing earlier than usual,” Francis said. “Time to get up.”

“Yeah… I mean, of course, but… I half expected I’d have to drag your butt out of bed like every other day.”

Smiling at his brother in the dimly lit room, Francis shrugged.

The notification he had waited for was before him; even though he’d had to stand there and let Cutter beat him senseless for almost a full round, not even trying to dodge or block, he’d done it. He was ready for today.

[ Agility has reached 26 - Proficient Level Acquired ]

[ Body Transformation in Progress ]

[ Transformation Complete ]

He was also two points away from raising his strength to the next level, but Francis didn’t think it would be possible to do that from these fights anymore. Besides, he was done letting himself get his butt handed to him every night. This time, things would be different.

***

“I’m sorry, you want to duel me?” Phillip asked. “Have you lost your mind, Lancaster? Get running before I consider you a deserter!”

Francis shook his head, watching those who had taken off start to disappear from sight.

“I can't, sir. We need to do this, and I didn’t want to ask in front of the others.”

“Because you didn’t want them to see you get beaten again? Seriously, I don’t have time for this crap. Now get running or else.”

“Or else you’ll fight me?” Francis said, grinning.

The frown and glare coming from his trainer lessened slightly, and then Phillip shook his head.

“What has happened to you, Lancaster? Did you grow a pair? I can see you’re holding yourself differently, and you look… bigger.”

“I’ll tell you what. We can duel. If I manage to land a few hits on you with a practice sword, you’ll listen to what I say later tonight. If not, you can keep my three silver, and I’ll take my beating without complaints.”

“Three? You’re going to be last. That spot only gets two.”

“No. I’ll still beat a good number of them, even with their head start,” Francis said.

Phillip grunted and started to say something, but then he stopped. He pulled his metal sword from its scabbard and pointed it at Francis.

“I’m going to use this. Know that if you die, this is on your head and not mine.”

All Francis did was nod his head once and then move toward the area with barrels of weapons.  He didn’t take a shield, choosing to use just a sword.

As he approached, he pulled the shirt that barely fit him off, watching as the man who trained him blinked a few times.

“Your… physique… what the?”

“We don’t have time to gawk at how great I look,” Francis declared. “I just need to prove a point. Trust me, tonight is going to be worth it.”

Phillip grunted and set his feet, holding his sword ready.

“Two hits and it’ll be your victory. Hell, let’s say just one! Strike me once and I–”

Francis didn’t wait. 

He found himself moving far faster than he had originally expected.  His first strike came at the wrong angle, as his feet were out of position.

Shit!

He hadn’t considered that it might take some time to figure out how his body moved, but the attack and speed caught Phillip off guard, regardless.

Whatever training and skill the man possessed, Phillip raised his sword in time, parrying the attack, but found himself pushed back a step.

“Francis, what–”

But he didn’t wait, not wanting to spend time talking. His plan required a few things--one of them was for Phillip to be at the fight tonight.

Francis’ sword moved, still not as he’d hoped, but each swing and thrust was faster and stronger than Phillip seemed to be able to deal with.

The older man was pushed back as Francis started to figure out how his body moved.  Once he’d finally grasped it a few seconds later, the fight’s end was in sight. 

Francis swung his sword, his left hand coming forward and grabbing Phillip’s wrist when they were close. 

A single tug came from his trainer, who could not break his grip. Francis used his sword to slap the man’s leg three times quickly.

He didn’t waste a second, pushing away from his trainer and holding himself ready.

“What in the hell!” Philip shouted, eyes wide and jaw moving repeatedly. “You… how?!”

“I don’t have time. The gods spoke. I need to get ready for the battle in a few days. They say I need you to help, and tonight I’ll need you by my side.”

“Wait! Slow this wagon train down! Gods? By your side? What in the kingdom are you talking about?”

Sighing, Francis tossed his wooden sword at the wall with the barrels.

“I’ll tell you more later tonight. Get on your horse, ride to town. I’ll meet you there,” Francis shouted as he started running. “Just know that I need your help, and I promise it will be worth your time!”

Francis couldn’t help but laugh as he flew down the dirt road.

Trees seemed almost to blur as his legs moved. His stride was much more powerful, and he didn’t feel out of breath.

About a quarter of a mile into his run, he realized that if he ran like this, passing all the other boys, it would be difficult to explain and might impact the fight tonight in ways he didn’t want.

Grunting, he turned into the woods, ignoring the branches and thorns he ran through as he worked out his upcoming plan.

***

“I’m telling you,” Francis said, “that all I can say is the gods spoke; they changed me, and you need to listen and do as you are told.”

Phillip still glared at Francis from across the small wooden table, five empty cups set off to the side and a sixth in the man’s hand.

“And I’m telling you it doesn’t make sense! You’re a nobody! A piece of crap to be shoveled into a ditch.”

Other inn patrons shifted from the outburst and turned away when Phillip glared at them.

“Would you have preferred I challenged you and won when the other trainees were present? No. I tried to ensure you saved face because I can look past the fact that you’re a jerk. I’m the man I am because of how hard you pushed. So thank you.”

A frown appeared, and Phillip cocked his head to one side for a moment.

“Did you just… thank me? For all the times I beat your ass?”

“I did. Now, if you’re willing to prove you have brains and enjoy free money, perhaps you’ll listen and do what I suggest.”

***

Francis did his best to observe the discussion taking place just a few yards away from him.

“So how much can I bet?” Phillip asked. 

“Only ten copper,” Dexter replied. The pudgy man looked nervous as his shoulders were hunched over more than usual. “I mean, it’s got to be the easiest money you’ll ever earn and probably a little bit of fun too, watching the kid get beat.”

“No, I mean how much can I bet on Francis?” Phillip asked.

The overweight man froze for a moment, stunned, and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, you do realize he’s fighting in a place against grown men who do this all the time.”

“Call it luck or something else, but I’d rather risk a silver or two on a five-to-one wager than to pick up a few copper from the odds on that L guy. I’d probably even bet up to five, but I doubt you could cover a loss like that.”

It took a little effort for Francis not to laugh when Dexter stepped back, his eyes shifting between his trainer and him. 

“You… want… to bet five silver on him?”

“Sure, but can you even cover a bet like that?” Phillip asked, his voice slightly louder than before.

The noise in the warehouse quieted some as people turned to watch the discussion between the two men.

“Are you insulting me?” Dexter growled. “In my establishment?”

“No, I’m just not the kind of man to make a wager knowing that if I somehow won, I wouldn’t get paid.”

“I can cover it!” Dexter yelled, his voice rising above the din of the crowd.

“Good, then I’ll place five silver coins on the boy,” Phillip announced, holding out the coins in his hand.

Murmurs grew as the gathered people watched Dexter react. He saw them all staring, and then nodded. “Fine, here’s your ticket!”

His trainer nodded to the fat man. Phillip slipped the paper into his pouch and moved to stand near the middle of the arena.

“Did he really just bet five silver on you?” Lourana asked. “Five silver!”

“I guess, but that seems foolish,” Francis replied. “I mean, this is my first time I’ve ever fought in a place like this. How bad could something like this be?”

“Bad… real bad. You do realize that L is a grown man, right? He’s done this multiple times and rarely loses.  You should just be glad that you’re not fighting Cutter. That one… he enjoys hurting people.”

Francis shrugged and glanced down at the cloth wrapped around his hand.

“Thanks for doing this. I’m ready whenever that L guy is.”

She shook her head and moved to where Dexter was, a red glow almost coming off his bald head as he handed out betting scripts.

“ONE MINUTE!” Dexter yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. “THEN WE'LL WATCH L BEAT THIS PUNK TO A PULP!”

***

“I believe that is twenty-five silver,” Phillip said. “Though I’m surprised, I’d assumed you’d have matched him with someone better.”

Dexter’s whole body shook, and the crowd gave the two men a safe buffer area as they waited to see what happened next.

“He barely won! If he hadn’t landed that lucky strike –”

“Yet he did,” Phillip chuckled. “Seems that kid is luckier than I believed. Shame… I can’t tell you how many times I’ve beaten his arse. Oh well. Too bad you don’t have anyone else for him to fight. I’d love to see him get his butt handed to him.”

“You’d let him go again? Even in that condition?”

“Hey, he’s doing this of his own free will. If something happens to him, that’s not on me or you. All my job requires is ensuring they’re trained and show up on the battlefield. If they do something stupid, no one bats an eye when I turn that report in.”

“Well, I have another fighter… if he was willing… but this one… he likes to hurt people.”

Phillip laughed, smiling a little as he leaned in closer. “I’d gladly put some silver on your man giving Francis  a beating he’ll never forget.”

“Give me ten or fifteen minutes,” Dexter said. “I’ll have a fight ready.”

As the fat man turned to leave, Phillip grabbed his shoulder.

“That’s good and all, but my twenty-five silver first.”

A grimace appeared as the fat man turned and nodded. “That’s right. I almost forgot.”

Nodding his head, Francis’ trainer held out his hand; three pouches were placed in it. Then another one came from the inside pocket of Dexter’s jacket.

“That’s all twenty-five?” Phillip asked.

“And two more!” Dexter said, pulling two silver coins from his pocket and setting them on top of the pouches. “Now, if you’ll give me a moment, I’ll get us a treat to really enjoy.”

The warehouse owner moved to a crate with a few boxes stacked like stairs and climbed on top.

“Listen up! We’ve got another fight coming, provided our lucky recruit wants to try and earn a little bit more coin!”

Cheers came as everyone turned to look at Francis.  “What the hell, why not?” he replied with a foolish grin.

Everyone roared with excitement, and Dexter’s face looked as though it might split in half from the size of his smile. “Then stick around, everyone, because he’s about to fight for his life! Cutter will be his opponent.”

Cheers came from everyone as they all started to laugh.

The entire time, Francis just continued to grin like a fool.

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Undying Blood - Chapter 40

Chapter 40

The sound of the morning bell rang out.

“Argggg,” Francis groaned.

“I know… It’s earlier than usual, right?”

He sat up on his bed, frustrated about the last two deaths. Right now, Francis was pissed. That death had been preventable, but his pride and frustration had gotten the better of him. Like an idiot, Francis had gone after something he shouldn’t have, and now he couldn't shake the desire for revenge.

“Let’s get dressed, we’ve got a long day ahead of us,” Francis growled.

***

“It’s nothing personal,” Cutter said, grinning the entire time. “I just enjoy getting paid to hurt people.”

***

The sound of the morning bell rang out.

“Fuck,” Francis cursed.

“I know, he’s an asshole,” Michael groaned. “Wonder what pain he’s going to put us through today.”

Seven deaths to the same person… what kind of monster is this man?

Francis sat up, grabbing his boots as he ran through the events of the previous fight.  

Whenever he thought he knew what Cutter would do, the man would adapt and change his technique.  It was becoming obvious that the fighter had to have at least a proficient level of brawling patterns and one activatable skill.  The man’s combos never stayed the same, and unlike with L, he couldn’t get a read on the brawler.

Two loops earlier, Francis had tried repeating everything exactly.  Even when he stood in the same spot, tried to move the same way, the pattern of attacks had been different by one punch.

Even worse was that one punch had struck his face, starting the chain of pain that didn’t let up until he was beaten to death.

“You’re quiet, what are you thinking?” Michael asked, slipping a boot on.

“Just wondering how the day will end,” Francis replied. “In the end, I guess we’ll find out the hard way.”

“Never a dull moment,” Michael said. “Now let’s go, I don’t want to be late.”

***

Francis spat a glob of blood onto the floor as Lourana offered him a drink.

He had turned it down every other fight, wanting to keep his mind as focused as possible, but he needed a little escape right now.

The concoction tasted awful, yet as the combination slid down his throat, he could sense a warmth in his gut that wasn’t just from being punched nonstop.

“You’re an idiot, but at least this should help,” she said. “Take a dive, fall to the floor. Maybe Cutter won’t sit on top of you and beat you to death.”

“He won't stop,” Francis replied. “I pissed off that fat-ass, Dexter. He isn’t going to let me walk out of here alive.”

“Do you blame him? Saying what you did? He can’t afford to lose!”

Francis knew she was right. He had learned that the fat man who acted as a bookie, the announcer, and apparently the owner of this little joint was called Dexter. The smug grin on the pudgy man’s face was something Francis desperately wanted to pummel until it was gone.

Grunting, Francis ignored the pain that came from simply breathing, hoping the nasty liquid would kick in before it was forced from his gut via massive fists. “No… but don’t worry, I’ll make him pay eventually.”

She looked at him, casting a sideways glance before grabbing the stool and cup, placing them on a wooden crate, and scooting through the small gap for her. “Keep believing that.”

The sound of the bell being rung echoed in the warehouse, and those gathered all started to shout and cheer.

Cutter stopped leaning against the crates on his side and stretched his thick neck. At no point had the man ever stopped smiling.

He is enjoying this way too much.  What kind of sick mind does it require to like hurting people?

“You really get off giving people a beating, don’t you?” Francis asked.

Cutter laughed, and that smile grew, showing teeth that could use a good brushing.

“You’re finally starting to figure that out?” Cutter replied. “Maybe I haven’t hit you hard enough. Now stop stalling and show me something for once.”

A quick, shallow breath was all Francis could take. He moved, trying to focus on his footwork and punching.

Francis attacked repeatedly, trying to land a single clean hit, but Cutter never moved from his spot, using his large hands to block Francis’ punches or simply allowing his massive forearm to absorb them.

Francis wanted to use Power Strike, but he knew he would only get one chance before giving that secret away. The first time Francis had used Power Strike had turned into his quickest death. Once Cutter saw he had an ability, the large man had pummeled him nonstop, no longer toying with him.

“You’re better than I thought,” the brawler said, unleashing a combo attack in return.

Assuming his defensive stance, Francis endured the barrage, wondering what kind of pain this death would bring.

Seconds stretched on as the assault continued, his body aching--and then suddenly it almost seemed to vanish.

[ New Skill - Strong Bones (Rare) - 1 ]

Each punch felt like the power behind it had lessened. Between his confusion and the change in pain, Francis let his guard drop, immediately receiving multiple fists to his face.

Falling, Francis shook his head, blinking through the lights and fog, knowing he needed to stand up quickly before Cutter mounted him and used his face like a blacksmith’s anvil.

“Still got some legs left?” Cutter asked as Francis tried to stand.

Grunting, he ignored the brawler's taunt and spit. “I’m not that easy.”

Cutter roared with laughter, and once Francis had gotten set, the large man came again, howling with excitement as he beat Francis to death.

***

Another death had Francis back in the tavern in town, sipping a drink before he headed to the warehouse. He’d won the race, taking the extra silver even though it didn’t really matter.  He knew that he was going to die again, but the truth was right before him.  Francis stared at the gains he had made.

[ Status ]

Francis Lancaster

Age 17

Strength: 22

Endurance: 25

Agility: 24

Wisdom: 15

Perception: 19

Magic: 10

Skills

Swordsmanship (Common) - 47 Advanced

Shield Use (Common) - 34 Proficient

Tracking (Uncommon) - 11 Novice

Stealth (Uncommon) - 11 Novice

Traps (Uncommon) - 3 Basic

Rock Throwing (Common) - 7 Basic

Mental Resist (Uncommon) - 24 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) - 18 Novice

Poison Resistance (Rare) - 8 Basic

Power Strike (Rare) - 2 Basic

Brawling (Uncommon) - 13 Novice

Strong Bones (Rare) - 1 Basic

Francis couldn’t believe the skills or stats that he now possessed.  His body was no longer the same as it had been the day they’d first set off for battle. He could run farther and faster than ever before. Each swing of his fist or weapon hit with enough force to strike down any normal person.  

[ Strong Bones ( Rare ) - Your bones have evolved, becoming thicker and resistant to breaking. It will take more force than usual to break or shatter a bone. Injuries to your bones will also heal faster at a 25% faster rate. Movement is unaffected by this, and its resistance to breaks grows, as well as healing improves as the skill increases. ]

The most surprising thing was that he was nearing a proficient rank in one of his stats.  All he knew about those ranks was rumors: how one's body changed and became much harder to kill.  That had seemed impossible to believe — until he witnessed Stenson fighting with a single arm and destroying beasts that easily crushed a normal soldier.

Even better was the new skill he had picked up. Somehow, his bones felt thicker, but they didn’t slow his movement at all.

It had taken more punches than he’d expected from Cutter to beat him to death that time, and the pain of the broken bones he had already acquired seemed to lessen as well.

Just how rare are all these skills? I mean… Is there any way for a normal person to acquire them?

Some of the frustration and anger he had been holding in dissipated as he considered how tonight might go.

Even if I get my ass beat again, I’m going to at least make that musclebound fool worker harder to make it happen.

***

“FINISH HIM!” Dexter shouted.

Francis couldn’t help but smile—Cutter was actually sweating. Gone was the smirk that he‘d always worn. Now those lips were pulled tight as the large man punched him over and over.

Round three was underway; Francis didn’t feel as beat up as all the other times. 

Sure, everything still hurt, but now only one rib was broken, even though he had sustained far more blows to his torso.

Even better was that his punches seemed to hit harder.

When Cutter had let Francis’ first punch connect, it had staggered the man briefly. Of course, Cutter made sure to return the favor.

Yet the crowd roared--even they could sense that this fight wasn’t what any had expected.

Two more jabs came, and Francis held up his arms, blocking the shots to his face.

Movement came from the outer edge of his arm, now held lower and not so tight that he couldn’t see the punch coming for him.

Ducking from the hook, he charged the large man, taking his one chance he had been waiting to test out.

[ Power Strike ]

His right fist struck with a force that surprised even him. A grunt came from Cutter, and Francis was almost certain he heard a crack from where he had hit.

Dodging to his right, Francis struck again, moving out of the way of the hand reaching for his head before connecting a left to the same spot as before.

This time, Cutter disengaged, putting distance between them as he winced.

Rage filled the man’s eyes as Cutter glared at Francis, jaw tight.

“I’m going to tear you apart,” the large man growled.

Francis didn’t reply to the threat; he simply set himself as the brawler charged. The man’s fists moved without any regard for the injury he had endured.

They traded blows, both men slugging the other with everything they had.

Francis did all he could to block the shots to his face, weaving in between the barrage of punches. He landed a shot in the same spot before moving back to safety.

He couldn’t avoid every strike that came, but for the first time in almost ten deaths, he was giving as good as he had been receiving.

[ Brawling Skill Increased - 18 ]

When he smiled at that notification, Cutter's expression looked shocked.  He wasn’t sure if the man was scared or just surprised that he could smile amidst a beating like this.

Francis spat a glob of blood and mucus at the brawler's face.

No rules, no restrictions. Just the knowledge that death would come for one of them and Francis didn’t care if it was him.  No matter what, the day was drawing closer when he would be the winner.

***

The sound of the morning bell rang out.

He ignored his brother’s usual comments, staring instead at a message he had never expected to see.

[ Endurance has reached 26 - Proficient Level Acquired ]

[ Body Transformation in Progress ]

[ Transformation Complete ]

The details were sketchy, but he remembered receiving the notification during the fight.  

Pain had filled his entire being--all he could recall was that with his body not working how Francis wanted, he had given Cutter a punching bag to play with. The man had beaten him to death again.

“Hey, I’m talking to you. Get up and get dressed!” Michael shouted.

Francis glanced at his brother off to his side and smiled. “Yeah, sorry. Just something on my mind.”

“What? You’re actually starting to have thoughts for once? Someone fetch a healer; you must be sick.”

Laughing, he gave his brother a playful middle finger and realized that for the first time in his life, Francis felt amazing. There was no pain, no soreness, just energy waiting to be tapped. His mind raced as he considered what this would mean in regard to so many things.  

Part of him wanted to rush out and challenge Phillip again.  Another part wanted to go into town and beat Cutter to death, yet somewhere in the back of his mind was one other thought.

I’m so close to hitting a 26 in Agility. Can Cutter even kill me now with his bare fists?

If he could eke out that last point somehow for agility in a few more deaths, he could probably earn a few extra points in Strong Bones as well.  All he knew was that if he could reach that next stage of development, things would be different.

I might be able to take Kels in a fight…

After having that thought, Francis shook his head and laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Just thinking about picking a fight with someone and seeing if I can finally win.”

“Phillip?” Michael asked.

“Maybe.”

“Please don’t be that stupid… I’m not ready to listen to you complain all night about how hurt you are.  Last time was bad enough.”

Ignoring his brother, Francis got dressed.

If what he was hoping for came true, he knew he had the mental fortitude to die a few more times.