Jonathan plowed through the guards, knocking them out of the way like bowling pins. Then he positioned himself in the center of the hallway, both feet on either side of the crevasse running down its length.
Jonathan twirled Kharon through the air, his scythe like a shadow as it flickered from hand to hand. Purple fire spread across the weapon, a baleful glow suffusing the air around it. Then, as the guards recovered, throwing themselves at Jonathan with practiced coordination, he struck. Three slashes took place faster than any normal Tier 7 could have made one. Blood sprayed and chunks of armor flew as Jonathan carved a bloody path through the guards, sending them flying back.
Only the dwarf with the greatshield remained standing, his shield covered in a stony bulwark of Earth elemental energy. Jonathan took a single step, the stone beneath his feet melting, and planted a fist in the center of the shield. With his true power returned to him, Jonathan crumpled the shield like a metal can, and slammed it into the dwarf. Bones broke like matchsticks, and the man’s entire body became nothing more than a bag of blood and bone fragments, flopping to the ground.
As the man fell, Jonathan reached out, snatching the guard’s access token from his belt. Eliza and Arkanon had taken his previous token, meaning that to get out of the prison, he needed another.
Jonathan swiveled, meeting a bolt of elemental fire with his fists, coated in the Void. He punched straight through, sending a spear of his own element in return. It penetrated the mage’s head, splattering it across the wall. She still wasn’t dead, the durability of a Tier 8 keeping her alive long enough for regeneration to take effect. Despite this, she was out of the fight for now, unconscious.
Jonathan’s advanced senses could detect dozens of guards pouring in through hidden passageways. He was handling the battle for now, but that would not remain possible for long. With a snort, he took off, running after Eliza and Arkanon. The scattered group of guards were left groaning behind him, in various states of injury.
Energy beams, arrows and in one case throwing axes, came hurtling after Jonathan as he fled. The hallway became a chaotic hell of fire, mana and metal, tearing into Jonathan like a hail of razor blades. His armor was strong, but not impervious. His own Resilience was beyond anything any armor set of his Tier could really provide. Still, his skin became a mass of cuts and even his bones were not spared, nicked by especially deep reaching attacks.
Lost in the midst of the barrage, Jonathan used his cloaking ability again. Its use would be limited given that his foes knew he was here, but it would make him harder to target. Invisibility powers did seem especially powerful, but when a mage could blanket a battlefield in fire and ice, they didn’t need to see their targets to kill them. Any one of the Tier 8s could reveal Jonathan with a single technique. The only reason they hadn’t so far was because they were in a hallway. There were only so many places Jonathan could run to.
Clutching the small metal access token in one hand, he burst through the shield at the end of the hallway. A few dozen guards waited outside, having missed Eliza and Arkanon, but in perfect time for Jonathan. They were not prepared for his speed and strength, though, and he slammed through like a missile. While he wasn’t confident in fighting them all at once, Jonathan was more than strong enough to escape. He was faster than any of the Tier 8s, especially with Smite active. His base stats were truly immense, far eclipsing any at his Tier, and many beyond.
From there, it was a simple matter of retracing his steps while keeping the guards off his back. Periodic explosions of purple flame melted away the hallway and the flesh of the guards unlucky enough to get in his way. Mere moments later, Jonathan had reached the ladder leading to the roof. He didn’t bother with the rungs, simply leaping with all of his strength. The section of the building he was in shuddered, and he shot up like a comet, an actual tail of flame forming from the air friction. He immediately realized that using his full power hadn’t been that great of an idea as he shot up miles into the sky.
Salvaging his escape, Jonathan propelled himself across the city skies with a blast of elemental energy, landing a dozen or so miles away. During his flight, his senses picked up Arkanon and Eliza running away down a side street. If he truly wished to, Jonathan could blanket a good area around himself with the entirety of his senses, gaining a form of localized omniscience. It was a function of his race being an entire level above what it should have been, representing a being with at least a hundred thousand points in every stat. Jonathan was about a third of the way there, and when he reached it, his senses would be even more absurd.
With shouts echoing from the prison, Jonathan wove his way through the streets, catching up to his allies. His speed ensured that he reached them before any of the guards did, if they were even following. Arkanon looked a lot better, and was easily keeping pace with Eliza. He was still missing his armor and gauntlets, clad only in a tattered prison uniform, but he was still an imposing figure, standing well above either Jonathan or Eliza.
“Do you have any sort of plan now?” Arkanon asked. “Or have you just winged things like usual, relying on power over planning?”
“What do you think?” Jonathan said, smiling.
Arkanon didn’t need to respond. The answer was obvious.
***
Finding Hushar and Tukar was a much more difficult task than rescuing Arkanon had been. The local prison network was aware of Jonathan’s intentions now, even if they had no idea who he was. It was a logical conclusion that his next targets would be the other two members of Arkanon’s race, previously unknown in the Hells. As such the prison they languished in was guarded by hundreds of Tier 8s. Jonathan had no idea why there was so much effort being put into guarding the weaker Uthraki. If he had to guess, there were simply too many Tier 8s, and not enough to do.
“This is going to be tricky,” Eliza said, as she peered at the prison from a rooftop a mile away. “The entire place is locked down tight. I’m not sure how we can even do this.”
“Overwhelming force,” Jonathan replied. “My Void powers are functionally unlimited at my Tier. I can’t use them like that in battle, because of time constraints, but I can charge up a much more powerful attack than usual if I have a few minutes. I could level a good chunk of this city within a few hours, but I would be noticed well before that point.”
“That’s kinda terrifying,” Eliza said. “How? I’ve never seen you use that level of power.”
Jonathan chuckled. “Neither have I. I just know that it’s possible. After I became a Lesser God, my connection to the Void became less that of a disciple, and more that of a ruler. I can channel it as much as I want without fear of harm. The only limit is how fast I can draw upon it. For a normal technique, it’s the same as any other elementalist using their abilities. Near instant. For anything beyond that, it’s different.”
“Will I be able to do that with the Air when I become a Lesser God?” Eliza asked. “Or is that just a Void thing?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to ask Sarnakthros. My guess is that your Divinity aspect isn’t unique like mine, so it might be different.”
“You would be right,” Sarnakthros said from within Jonathan’s mind.
A moment later, the words came into being outside, letting Eliza hear them. The god rarely spoke these days, only lending his support when it was useful. Over the last year, Sarnakthros had come to terms with his greatly diminished state, although not in a positive manner. Now that the existential threat that had prompted him to flee for the asylum of Jonathan’s soul was in the past, the god was angry at his circumstances. If it had been any other person, Jonathan would have said that Sarnakthros was sulking. However, that hardly seemed like the right term for a billions of years old god, no matter his current level of power. Sarnakthros himself preferred the term ‘introspection’.
“Anything else?” Jonathan replied. “Or was I completely correct?”
“Each of the Nine has their own strain of Divinity. All those who follow in their footsteps are limited in their power, taking much of their strength from their Divine patrons. For example, I possess two elemental Divinity aspects, but out of the two, Darkness and Fire, only of Fire am I the ultimate authority. I am... or rather was, in complete control of that element throughout much of the universe.”
“So in my case, I am evolving to become the same sort of ultimate power?” Jonathan said. Eliza listened intently.
“In essence, yes. Your Tier limits the amount of power you can draw upon at one time, but not your access. Lesser Gods are usually found in the higher Tiers, where their other powers make up for their Divine shortcomings. In your case, your strength lags behind your connection to your element.”
Arkanon sighed, and sat down, closing his eyes. The Uthraki realized that it would be some time before the assault on the prison, and given his lack of Divinity, had no interest in the conversation.
“So I will be stronger than other gods at the same level?” Jonathan continued.
“Yes. Becoming a True God will only require one thing. Reaching Tier 100. The Void already knows you as its commander, but more as a prince than a king. As a heir to the throne, as it were. Though that throne has been empty since the beginning of the universe, you are not ready to sit on it.”
“What I am ready to do,” Jonathan said, smiling, “is bring down the wrath of a god on this prison.”
Purple fire sparked around his hands and eyes, the air crackling as he channeled the Void into himself. Unlike in battle, Jonathan waited, letting the power build and build within him. Seconds passed, and then minutes. His flesh started to glow from the inside out, and the skies above darkened. Jonathan’s eyes flashed.
“I think that’s enough,” Eliza cautioned. “People are starting to look this way.”
Jonathan nodded once, and raised his hand. “Maw of the Void,” he intoned calmly. Around the prison, a spectral mouth, like that of a crocodile’s, appeared.It was defined more by absence than presence, a faint purple outline surrounding the core of colorless Consumption attuned Void energy.
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The mouth closed in one mighty chomp. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a hundred guards fall to the ground at once, carved into dozens of chunks. The stone of the prison shattered, falling down in a waterfall of rubble.
Jonathan jumped, a shockwave rippling out as he pushed off the roof. Stamina coursed up and down his legs in rivers of red light, propelling him faster than a comet.
He smashed into the ground amidst the dead and dying guards, watching as a few prisoners began to spill out. As with the previous prison, this one was mostly designed for average criminals, not people like the Uthraki Jonathan hoped to save. They would be trapped in a suppression room, just like Arkanon. Jonathan’s assault on the prison had been potent, but not enough to break through that. He could have done so, but his fine control was lacking when it came to immense manifestations of elemental energy. He would likely have killed Hushar and Tukar in the process.
“Run interference,” he told Arkanon and Eliza. “Try to distract anyone who comes to reinforce the defences. Don’t put yourself in danger, though.”
Arkanon’s red eyes gleamed with malice. “I look forward to killing those who stripped me of my freedom.” Then he was gone, an explosion of might ripping him from the rooftop with a single jump.
“We’ll do our best,” Eliza reassured. “If Arkanon gets in too deep, I’ll remove him from the battle. Focus on your objective. Don’t worry about us.”
Jonathan nodded, and headed into the fray. He flashed across the ground, running towards the prison. Eliza followed, changing her course towards Arkanon, rather than continuing towards the center of the sundered building.
The remnants of the prison lay on the ground before Jonathan as he ran through the corpses of the dead guards. Strips of stone, metal and other, more exotic materials, were scattered across the ground. Most of the prison had been annihilated, but small bits remained.
Jonathan pinpointed the isolation cell, a thick block of elementally reinforced stone implausibly suspended in the air by an invisible force. He couldn’t sense anything from inside, but that was evidence enough that he was looking in the right place.
Before he could do anything else, a streak of light plummeted down from the sky, landing in front of him with a deafening crack. The ground shattered, revealing a figure standing there, shrouded in dust.
Jonathan surged forward, his fist on a collision course with the newcomer’s head. A palm rose up to block it, and the resulting shockwave blasted the dust aside to reveal a slender man in vaguely eastern style robes. He had no weapons, and was barefoot. The man’s eyes were closed, and an expression of utter tranquility was all Jonathan could make out on his face.
“Leave,” he said calmly, pushing Jonathan back with a simply flick of his palm. “Do not trouble the people of this city with your violent ways.”
“Who are you?” Jonathan asked, confused.
“I am but a simple monk. My name is meaningless before the infinity of the cosmos. In that truth, I have found meaning. I am a member of the order of Fistdancers.”
Jonathan frowned, recognizing the name. It had been one of his recurring class options. It seemed that this warrior had taken a similar path to his own. He said as much. “I was offered that class on multiple occasions. It’s a pretty large coincidence to meet you here.”
“There is no coincidence. Only fate, and those wise enough to see it.” The monk’s eyes remained closed as he said this, giving him a mysterious air.
“Oh, you’re one of those types,” Jonathan said, smiling a little. “You’re almost stereotypical. Are all of your order like this? Maybe it was good that I didn’t choose to join it.”
“Banter means nothing to me. The only conversations worth having are those of flesh and steel, of blood and bone. I hope that you will prove to be an interesting conversation partner, if nothing else.”
Jonathan already could see that he wasn’t going to get past his new foe without a fight. The Fistdancer was just as strong as him, if not more so, and judging by the description of the class that Jonathan had seen, he was likely faster too.
“How are you this powerful?” Jonathan wondered. “You’re only a Tier 8.”
Instead of answering in words, the monk answered with a palm strike that sent ripples through the air. Jonathan met it with a punch, using his stamina for the first time in the battle. This time, the exchange was far more even, considering the fighting styles of the two men. Jonathan’s gauntlet pushed the Fistdancer’s palm back, crushing it against the side of his face. With a pivot, Jonathan drove the monk into the ground, slamming him through layers of rock.
Before he could react, he felt a finger hook onto a joint in his armor, pulling him down after the enigmatic Fistdancer. He was dragged into the earth, somehow moving with more force than he had put into the original attack. A fist hammered into his gut, denting his armor and nearly rupturing his stomach. Joanthan winced, and struck back. Tens of thousands of points of stamina poured into his right arm, followed by oceans of Void energy. Drawing upon his Master Rank Weapon Mastery, Jonathan tapped into the conceptual meaning of pugilism, bringing his Domain to bear.
A rival Domain rose to meet it, even stronger than his own. It was an order of magnitude beyond Jonathan’s expertise, most like that of a Grandmaster. The only reason it didn’t instantly crush him was because he had an Advanced Pathway Skill, representing three times the accumulated mastery of a normal Pathway Skill.
Ten thousand spectral fists crashed into every inch of Jonathan’s body at the same moment, denting armor and fracturing bones. Somehow, each fist was both the monk’s fist and not at the same time, as if a shard of the man’s very being was imbued into each strike. It was beyond Jonathan’s understanding, and likely an ability unique to Grandmaster Pathway skills and above.
Another punch followed the barrage, driving Jonathan out of the hole and into the air. The monk leaped out after him, but his next strike was blocked by Jonathan’s right forearm, glancing off.
Jonathan could see that to win this fight, he had to stretch his limits. He was used to coasting through fights against foes that were too weak to be much of a challenge. The few proper battles he had experienced during his time in the Hells were either against Circle Lords, or during his early time in the Ash Heaps before he gained his Void powers.
Wanting to at least know the name of the man he was facing, Jonathan scanned the monk in between punches.
Keris Alvari
Human
Level 780
Health: 568904/590000
Status: Healthy
The scan told him little that he did not already know. Keris was high level, near the peak of Tier 8. That was plainly obvious already, given his ability to fight Jonathan on an equal level.
“So you do have a name,” Jonathan said. “Keris.”
The battle continued for a moment, without the monk noticing Jonathan’s words. Then he seemed to emerge from a trance, opening his eyes.
Keris frowned, the first time a negative expression had appeared on his normally serene face. “How did you break through my scrying wards? What manner of scanning skill do you have?”
Jonathan didn’t answer, knowing that he now had a way to get under Keris’ skin. The monk clearly had a unique worldview, and likely had been influenced strongly by his fellow Fistdancers. Strange customs like omitting names, and fighting barehanded in a world where armor and weapons were more common than dirt.
The only problem was, a name was not enough to distract a man who had long ago given up any realization of its meaning. Jonathan had been stuck with the same scanning skill for a while now. It was time for an upgrade, especially with his Lesser God status.
Jonathan focused a part of his attention on the battle, leaving the rest to pry into the skill matrix that made up his Channeled Basic Truesight. The skill was powerful, but it relied more on the brute force of his Divinity than anything else. His mastery of the Void had no bearing on it, cutting him out of a significant chunk of potential power.
Jonathan drew upon the parts of himself forever changed by his ascension to Lesser God. The fundamental connection to the Void, changed from alliance to sovereignty. The only way for him to reach a higher level of fundamental control would be to become a True God, and govern the entirety of the Void throughout the whole universe.
Jonathan delved into the conceptual meaning of the Void, of his three Void aspects. Consumption, Negation and Cessation. What he needed for this task was Negation, to break through the boundaries of the System and to peer into the lives of those he scanned.
Changing the skill was far more natural than he had expected, and Jonathan realized that he had been hovering on the edge of it for a while now. There simply hadn’t been a reason to go the whole way.
You have upgraded a skill!
Channeled Basic Truesight: Legendary -> Void’s Eye: Ancient
The Void erases all obstacles in its path, from the mundane to the esoteric to the Divine. Reach beyond the veil of the System to pluck free the stories of those you fight, and use that knowledge to defeat them.
Without hesitation, Jonathan used his newly upgraded skill.
Keris Alvari
Human
Level 780
Health: 568904/590000
Mana: 200000/225000
Stamina: 749800/770000
Status: Healthy
Highest Skill Rarity: Mythical
Highest Pathway Skill: Grandmaster 5
Keris Alvari was born without the ability to use his fingers, his hands permanently clawed into fists. With a physical defect unable to be healed by anything short of magic unavailable to a poor family from the slums, he was sold to an unscrupulous merchant. One day that merchant beat Keris to the point of near death, stoking a flame of resolve that never faltered. Keris ran, and grew strong amongst the monsters of the city’s seedy underbelly, ignoring his weakness. His fists became his weapons, and though he has long been healed, he has never touched any other weapon since. Upon reaching Tier 3, he entered an annual tournament, showing himself to be a promising new recruit for the Fistdancers. They have been his life ever since. He hopes to see a new future for the circle of Bloodspill, one where people born like him could rely not on luck to survive, but the generosity of others. Unfortunately for Keris, he is too naive to see that those he venerates do not necessarily share his ideals.
Jonathan faltered for a moment, taking a devastating right hook to the jaw that shattered the bone. He flew off into the air, only correcting his course at the last moment with an expulsion of elemental energy.
“We don’t need to fight!” Jonathan bellowed down at Keris, who was already racing towards him. “Our goals align more than you might think!”
“How would you know? A man who seeks to free criminals from justice? Who kills dozens of men and women seeking to keep those criminals from wreaking havoc on this city?” Keris shouted the words, rage filling his tone.
“I know who you are, Keris Alvari,” Jonathan shot back. “You’ve come a long way from the crippled boy that you once were. The Fistdancers took you in, but you’ve been blinded to the truth of this city. You want to see Avarana gone, but you try to keep those who would help her jailed!”
Keris tripped, his massively superhuman Dexterity not enough to prevent surprise from overtaking him. “How do you know all that?”
“I know everything about you,” Jonathan lied. “I know that we want the same thing.”
“What is that?” Keris asked, pausing, his fists still raised.
“To liberate this realm from the Circle Lords. In your case, you want to defeat Avarana. In mine, I want to kill all of them. We have a mutual goal.”
Keris’ eyes widened. “It’s you! Many of my brothers and sisters in the order are quite enamoured with your fighting style. Jonathan Harlowe. The man who has slain more Circle Lords than anyone else in history.”
“Exactly,” Jonathan said. “Now do you understand?”
Keris’ face creased, the monk at war with himself. On one hand, the man had been trained to see himself and his compatriots as fighters in defence of a city that he saw as a bastion of righteousness. It wasn’t something that could have happened in any other circle, but given the unique situation of Bloodspill, many of the people who called it home had no allegiance to Avarana, and thought of themselves as rebels, to some degree. It was easier to cloak oneself in righteous anger than to see the world for what it truly was.
“I want to help you, but I cannot,” Keris finally said, sadness in his voice. “I was tasked with defending this prison by the head of my order. It does not matter what your goals might be if you compromise them with sin.”
Jonathan gritted his teeth in annoyance, realizing that he was going to have to kill Keris, or injure him so badly that he couldn't continue fighting. At Tier 8, those were almost the same thing. It was harder to knock out a high level combatant than to simply kill them.
Keris was a man, who in any other situation, would likely make a near perfect ally. However, Jonathan hadn’t made it this far by letting his idealism get in the way of his purpose. His mission was more important than Keris, more important almost than himself. If he had to sacrifice himself in the end to free the Hells, he would do so. Jonathan would never get the revenge on the gods that he wanted so dearly, but he would strike a great blow to the accepted order of the universe. Perhaps that would create a spark able to set the world on fire, and remove the taint of the false deities squatting on top of their thrones of lies and oppression.
