Book 5: Chapter 27 - Hunger Unending (RAW)

In a tranquil marsh lived two frogs who often listened to the whispers of an ancient crane. Each day, one frog peered beyond the tall reeds and questioned the shape of the clouds, the flow of the water, and the flight of the herons overhead. The other frog basked in the mud, never pausing to wonder at the world outside his pond.

One evening, the ancient crane spoke to them: “Those who gaze at the horizon invite the dawn to reveal its secrets. Those who gaze only at their feet see no light at all.”

In time, the curious frog discovered hidden streams, tasted new things, and learned the ways of distant rivers. But the frog that stayed behind remained in darkness, content with only the shadows it knew.

- The Book of Wise Tellings from the Land of Streams.

Some things come naturally to some people, but for me, certain things I had noticed came unnaturally. A bond was forged between Longhorn and I—a mutual contempt for these arrogant creatures who paraded their superiority like a foul perfume. The elves were weak, yet somehow believed themselves above me.

Perhaps it was my Monster Taming combined with Improved Riding. Maybe the beast was simply hungry. Or it could have just been my curiosity, an urge to experiment. Whatever the cause, the result was a swift, bloody end for the elves.

I am not sure how I knew what to do, but I kicked Longhorn on the left flank, then the right. The Lumashitu spun violently, its spiked tail slicing through the air. It crashed into armor of Godmetal armor and unprotected faces alike, shattering the negotiating table and sending the poison-laced tea and blood splattering across the sandy beach.

I held nothing back.

Notifications arrived—messages from the “System” telling me I needed to feed it more. Sweet experience points flowed into me, paving the way for my next level. Truly, gaining experience was the nectar of the gods. 

Atop my new mount, I hungered for more. More of everything. A familiar craving burned inside, and I felt no need to restrain it. The cup of my Asura gauge was filling.

Improved Entropic Aura howled as it burst from me, waves of invisible, roiling grey rolling over the survivors. They froze, their stupidly beautiful faces caught in a daze.

Fanon drew his sword, the silverine Godmetal gleaming proudly. It looked almost pathetic, clasped in his hand even as Longhorn ground him into paste. The Lumashitu—an angry, living battering ram—bellowed and stamped the sand. In the still, quiet corners of my soul, I realized this was a beast of Iasis.

More experience flooded in, but still I hungered, still I thirsted.

Lechilod, the gnat leading this sorry expedition, took off running. His long limbs worked frantically, but he could not possibly move fast enough. I urged Longhorn into a charge, and the beast eagerly obeyed. His metal barding clanked with every thunderous step across the sands. Angling the Second Horn—the long lance meant for mounted combat atop a creature such as this—I aimed at the coward’s back.

The foul gods favored him, though. Still getting used to Longhorn’s tumultuous stride, I missed. Growling in annoyance, I commanded the Lumashitu to spin and strike with its tail. Trained to perfection, Longhorn obeyed, smashing Lechilod and sending him hurtling through the air.

Somehow, against all logic and reason, the cursed elf flipped mid-flight and landed on his feet like a cat. Life, it seemed, was never going to be easy. But I knew that if I could kill this expedition’s leader, I would break them all. Here and now. 

“You treacherous cur!” he cried, drawing an elegant sword from his hip—a near mirror of Fanon’s own. It was a rich insult, coming from him.

Lechilod’s blade was a fine, serpentine weapon of polished Saint’s Silver, curved and double-edged, ending in a deadly point. Yet compared to the sheer bulk of my Lumashitu, it looked like nothing more than a fancy needle.

I answered with my crossbow, letting an Inferno Bolt hiss through the air toward his center of mass. He pulled off a minor miracle, slicing through the burning projectile. His defense wasn’t perfect, though—a blob of molten metal splashed against his cheek, making him shriek like a little child.

Urging the Lumashitu closer, I leaned forward and swept my lance, rather than stabbing. Infused with Power Strike, the banded wood cracked against his torso, bowling him over in a humiliating display.

By then, the other elves were rallying. I felt the pitter-patter of rain against my armor—arrows, the cowards’ weapon of choice.

I rested my lance across the saddle and cocked my crossbow again, keeping my gaze on the elven leader as he struggled to his feet. He was tougher than I had first given him credit for. Without looking away, I loosed a blind shot into the elven formation, letting my Blind Fighting skill guide my aim. A scream and a sudden death notification confirmed my hit.

“Struggle,” I laughed, ignoring another volley of arrows. “We are not yet finished, you and I.”

“How… this can not be. You are nothing more than a Dayspawn!” he spat, leaning on his sword. “HOW!? But yes, you are right, human. We are not yet finished you and I”

Almost in reply, Longhorn let out a wail, an arrow finding its mark in his hide. He was not quite as impervious to harm as I. 

Smirking, I waited to see how Lechilod would entertain me. Our eyes locked, and I felt something crash into my mind—a blade of mental spite, disciplined and precise. It was my first time encountering such an attack, and the raw agony of it tore through even my Improved Pain Nullification.

I had known I had limited immunity to mental effects, but I never expected a psychic assault. Psychic elves—who would have guessed? His attack was potent enough to sap nearly a fifth of my Health. It was, I had to admit, worthy of minor applause.

Gripping the pommel of my saddle, I could still feel the spike of psychic surging through my mind, forging a bridge and a bond. I sensed his thoughts as he invaded me, a violation most vile. Pushing through the pain, I was determined to end this physical realm where I was still master and prepared to charge again.

But when a mortal looks into the void, sometimes the void gazes back. I was not alone in the corridors of my mind; I realized then that my very psyche was a fortress designed to be a trap.

I saw silent horror in his face. He felt it too, that dreadful truth. My suffering echoed in his expression, reflected tenfold as insanity started to claim him, his precious Godmetal weapon slipping from his trembling grip.

“We are as far from you as you believe you are from mortal men,” I spoke in a voice that was both mine and not mine. “We are Justice incarnate. Tremble before the power of the Covenant.”

As the words left my mouth, they formed the chant to summon Holy Aura, pulling the spell into this plane. I blazed with the golden light of redemption—pure radiance made manifest.

A Holy, blazing gold that now danced with the darkness of the Entropic void.

You have learned Aura Manipulation (lvl.2)

“I judge you and your kind unworthy,” I declared, my voice solemn and unshakable. “For the crime of your very existence, the sentence is annihilation. I will cleanse your kind from this world wherever you hide, until no trace remains. I will tear down your halls, burn every scrap, every memory. Future generations will not even whisper about the First Children. That is the truth—for I am the flood, and you will fade from memory.”

“No… it cannot be! Too soon! This is not the Age of the La—”

A fresh volley splashed against my back and an elven arrow, as if guided by prophecy, struck him in the eye, cutting short his final words. His pathetic denial and last confession died on his lips.

You have slain Lechilod Lugnarlinae. 500 experience gained.

I had been robbed of precious experience! Furious that his suffering ended too soon, I wheeled my mount around and fixed my fury on those responsible. They owed me a great debt, and they would pay dearly.

Despite their so-called leader’s death, the elven line held firm—a shining phalanx of long spears and shields. A blonde-haired elf woman rallied them, exhorting them to stand. I caught a snippet of her words in Elvish: He is but one man.

She was mistaken. I was one man astride a living dinosaur, bolstered by prophecy and inevitability—powers that defied any simple arithmetic of mortal strength.

Patches fell strangely still beneath me, her raw tempestuous energy fading in the wake of my magic. I urged her forward: a trot, then a canter, finally a thundering gallop. Her motions felt almost mechanical, but unstoppable all the same.

The blonde elf’s efforts proved futile. Patches and I slammed into their line like a meteor of black and gold, scattering sand and elves like chaff in the wind. It iss one thing to hold a line against a horse, but against the prehistoric terror I rode, they stood little chance.

I struck with my lance, the extravagantly long tip skewering an unlucky elf. I lifted him skyward and flicked him free, his screams lost in the din. Frustrated that I was not killing enough, I swept with the haft of my lance using an Improved Power Strike. I was able to knock some of the invaders aside, bowling them over like skittle, but the strike itself was not enough to kill them.

In response, their weapons came at me in a flurry, clanging off my armor. A few found gaps, but inflicted nothing more than superficial wounds. Wounds that my Holy Aura and regenerative gifts soon took care of. But suddenly, Patches froze then fell beneath me, and I was thrown from the saddle.

Scrambling to my feet, I saw through the slit of my helm an elven spear lodged in Patches’s eye—a fell blow had slain my noble donkey.

They had killed Patches! These wretches had dared to rob me of one of the few creatures that had loved me unconditionally. Grief slammed into me, a crushing weight that threatened to lock my limbs in despair. She had carried me across the Grass Sea, across the Whispering Wastes all the way to Al-Lazar, asking only for the occasional carrot and a gentle pat. The unfairness of it all staggered me.

My limbs grew leaden with grief, my step heavy with sorrow.

Yet grief soon gave way to fury. These knife-eared fiends had more than flirted with death—they had now seduced it. I trembled at the sheer injustice. Why was it always me who had to suffer?

More… the voices within whispered. We are the last of your true companions now.

And I found truth in their words.

They had stood by me through every cruelty this world offered—my only steadfast allies. At last, I accepted them. And with that acceptance came the first glimmers of a greater power. I had resisted my destiny too long, but for one moment—just one—I let it claim me. I was owed that at least. Just one moment of surrender.

They guided me to unleash Greater Drain, and the spell burst forth like a savage tentacled storm, clinging to every living thing around me—an ebon plague ravenous for life’s energy.

A wave of bliss enveloped me, serene and almost transcendent, eclipsing any mortal pleasure I had ever known.

Rather than simply accepting the bounty Greater Drain offered, I chose to reward the spell in turn. Long ago, by sheer luck and desperate determination, I had learned to limit a spell’s power. Now, it was time to reverse that.

I poured even more Mana into Greater Drain, fueling its insatiable hunger. Tendrils of black grew thicker, more lifelike as the Mana of this world was sacrificed on the altar of my desire. Reality itself began to fray under the impossible purple-black energy. The barriers between reality and the beyond thinned.

You have learned Overboost (lvl.1)

I laughed at the notification, even as more of the knife-ears fell victim to the spell. If only this revelation had come sooner—such a simple idea. Why had I never tried it before?

Because it was not yet time, the voices answered in unison, sounding uncharacteristically robbed of their usual madness. For a moment, I thought they sounded like me, or perhaps it was that I sounded like them.

Then this is the time must be the time, I mused wryly. Everything converged on this moment.

Greater Drain coalesced into a single living tentacle, serpentine and long. No longer invisible, it manifested for all to see, and a deafening keening rose from the elves’ ranks. 

Focused.

Even heightened, the spell could not kill instantly. It killed slowly, inevitably. There was a purpose in this, something tied to the core of my path. The soul of my magic. Yet, for all of its hunger, it was also consuming far more Mana than it returned and draining my reserves.

I reined it in while fighting enemies wielding Godmetal with my Shocksteel Lucerne. Their mithril weapons tried to pierce my armor, but Adamantine—though oppressively heavy—was the mortal equal of Saint’s Silver. It was never meant for someone with mere human Strength, but I was far beyond such simple limits. More than a man, less than a god. What do you call such a being?

I did not bother to block or defend; my training letting me weave intricate patterns with my weapon, each strike fated and true, that scythed through their ranks. Not even bothering to summon my Mimic Shield, instead made it form an eye on my forearm, giving me better vision to target my attacks. The fools thinking it a weak spot aimed many of their attacks against the living eye. 

They tried to drag me down through the sheer mass of bodies, clumsily trying to pull me to the ground to stab me with their little knives. It was, of course, all for nothing for at this point in the game I was simply too strong.

This was the reward for focusing on a singular strategy and not trying to be a jack-of-all-trades. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. A result that could only result in one being subpar at absolutely everything. There had been no going around picking up wildflowers to make potions, no mining the ore in the ground to make my own weapons. No, mine was the path that was all about dealing violence and death.

I saw then hope drain from their own eyes, yet they pressed on. Fools. Why resist the end? I was inevitability made flesh.

I was destiny, and I was fate. They should feel honored that I spared them any attention at all.

Seeing their weapons fail, the enemy soldiers drew back, making way for a very different line of attack. Their Mages raised a choir of arcane spells and I could feel the air almost hum with their energy. Out of an irrepressible curiosity, I cast Sage’s Sight indiscriminately at the magic that they were drawing to themselves. At once, I realized their singing was the chant, drawing on the world’s Mana rather than their own reserves.

Damnable cheats. That was not how magic was supposed to work.

You have learned Sage’s Sight (lvl.3).

You have gained 1 Intelligence.

Spikes of earth hammered against my armor, yet shattered upon its unyielding black plates. Water coalesced around my helm, threatening to drown me in its suffocating embrace, then dissolved as if undone by some hidden force. Next came blades of wind, whipping sand into a ferocious grit. The dagger at my waist hummed—a faint, eerie melody—and the wind’s fury diminished to naught but a soft gentle kiss.

Then Fire claimed me, and I burned like a doomed pyre upon the sands. I baked within my armor of black and gold, roasted by Fire’s wrath. It’s a queer thing to catch the scent of your own flesh charring, to feel your limbs lock as they fuse to the scalding metal. Even my ridiculous Constitution would have counted for little had the flames raged on.

A part of me welcomed that final release, yearned for a reprieve from the nightmare that was this world. Yet providence favored me, for I was clad in an armor these flames could not truly breach: That of faith. Faith in the mightiest of gods—myself. For all men maketh of themselves gods in their own minds.

Death would not claim me here.

The inferno abated, if only by a hair, and I watched in pain-fueled awe even as my sight was burned away. Entropic Aura was devouring the very Mana fueling the magical conflagration around me. A sudden clarity—a lingering boon of Sage’s Sight, perhaps—showed me the truth. Mana was an energy like any other, and energy is neither created nor destroyed, only transformed. But my Entropic Aura did more: it bound Mana to the laws of real physics, converting it to simple heat, an irreversible process.

I stood as anathema to Mana itself.

Still, the Fire gnawed at me, and my Health slipped toward its last dregs. Yet I found new purpose in that agony, drawing on the same magic meant to consume me. From its grim inspiration, I launched a spell of my own: Freezing Aura. It threaded itself between waves of Entropy and Holy power, and the wrathful Fire became its unwilling fuel.

You have learned Freezing Aura (lvl.4)

You have learned Freezing Aura (lvl.5)

A plunging chill soothed my scorched flesh, though I remained paralyzed, my Regeneration too weak to undo all the grievous harm. Around me, a shield of raw, crackling force took shape, a fragile thing conjured by the torrent of magic feeding it. More elemental assaults pounded the frozen barricade, and in doing so, they merely strengthened it.

Each spell, each scrap of Mana, was consumed, devoured in a perpetual cycle. And in my heart, I knew: I was burning the very lifeblood of this world. Monstrous? Certainly. A violation of the natural order? Beyond question. Yet I no longer cared. I came from a world without magic. Let this realm learn to do without it as well.

Such was my benediction upon this savage world, a chance for them to rise to my challenge or perish by it.

I had become a beast in truth, and in that realization, I discovered my new, monstrous purpose. A purpose greater even than my puerile quest of immortality. My soul sang with exultation even as Greater Heal eased my injuries, bringing me close to full Health once again.

What did they call those monsters in games that demanded a small army to defeat? The ones that needed teamwork and hours of preparation to overcome? The ones you had to bring down in stages, if they could even be brought down at all?

I merely grinned as I saw my Asura gauge fill at last. It was time to walk the path of carnage once more.