“As we expected,” Lady Azal said ruefully as she watched yet another Circle Lord meet their end. “Avarana was too arrogant.”

  “She might have died at Harlowe’s hands, but he is not ready for what is to come,” Evrana said. “Eventide, in his current state, is as strong as all of us.”

  “All the Hellbreaker has to do is survive for a few minutes, and he can easily win,” Aluran countered as he coiled around himself in a corner. “Eventide’s ability is the only strength that he possesses. Without it, he is as weak as anyone his Tier.”

  “How can he survive attacks from a being who could crack a continent in half with a single blow?” Evrana asked. “Even if that is the only attack Eventide is able to level, it will be more than enough.”

  Azal remained silent the whole time, contemplating the future. The weaves of fate were often disparate, but in this one situation, they were united in one common consensus. Jonathan would defeat all before him and invade the Sea of Ghosts within the next few years. Azal had to be ready for that occasion.

  “Azal?” Aluran asked. “What do you think about that? Can Eventide do it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Azal said. “Jonathan Harlowe should never have made it past the Ash Heaps, but here he stands. Who knows what he is capable of?”

  “Those who fell before him,” Evrana said grimly. “This is getting out of hand. What sort of monster is this man that he can go toe to toe with us, even after Angranor himself imbued us with his godly power?”

  “Aren’t we supposed to be the monsters?” Aluran said scathingly. “Just complaining about it will achieve nothing. We must actively work to stop Harlowe’s advancements, not just watch as he demolishes all in front of him.”

  “You are correct,” Azal replied. “It’s time we stopped hanging back. My connection with Fate has shown me as much as it ever will. There is no stopping the Hellbreaker on his current track. We need to intervene.”

  “The laws of the Hells prevent us from directly interfering,” Aluran cautioned. “Unless, of course, we aren’t even three times stronger than Harlowe at this point. I am only a single Circle Lord removed from him. If he could defeat Avarana, he is catching up.”

  “I have something in mind,” Azal said with a slight smile. “We may not be able to interfere, but our servants can. Before the merging of the Circles, we would have no such recourse. Now that the mana Tier has been elevated, I myself have many Tier 11 servants who can move with impunity throughout the Greater Circle of Sloth.”

  As Lady Azal spoke, the shadows in the corner of the room shifted, revealing a horned man clad in dark leathers. He held daggers in each hand. “My lady,” he said, bowing his head. “You have need for me?”

  “I want you to find Jonathan Harlowe and kill him before he can grow too strong,” Azal commanded. “It should not be a difficult task. He is hardly… subtle.”

  “As you wish, Lady Azal. I am always willing to serve.” With a flicker of darkness, he disappeared, folding into the shadows like he had never been there.

  “Who was that?” Aluran asked. “I did not sense his presence.”

  “He has no name. Neither do the rest of his order. They are my assassins. My closest allies. I call them the Fatecleavers. I impart kernels of my wisdom upon them, to change the course of destiny.”

  Evrana peered at Azal, slightly concerned. “Was that meant to be a show of strength, to tell us that we are at your mercy?”

  Azal leveled a flat, emotionless gaze at Evrana. “And if it was? What would you do about it?”

  “Nothing,” Evrana answered, a little unconvincingly. “We will not always be your lessers, though. I am catching up to your level, Azal. Do not underestimate me.”

  “Until that day, Evrana, I shall do whatever I want. Such is the privilege of power.”

  ***

  Edgar and Eva were in the middle of a meeting with a local guard captain for their borough when the realms changed.

  The realm of Bloodspill has been claimed by Jonathan Harlowe, the Hellbreaker!

  All citizens are now subject to his will. Resist at your own risk.

  Edgar leaned in, a grin as wide as a sea on his face. “As it turns out, we don’t even need your help. My lord has already achieved his goal. The question now remains: will you stand with us, or fight against the man who has slain six circle lords?”

  The guard captain gulped. “I’ll… I’ll stand with you. What do you need me and my men to do?”

  “Help to quell any rebellions. We need to get this realm integrated into Jonathan’s kingdom with as little violence as possible. My understanding is that this realm is of a unique mind about the presence of Avarana. Many will fight with us, is that true?”

  The captain nodded. “They will. I assume you have already spoken to my compatriots?”

  “Yes,” Edgar replied. “Some were not as willing to serve. They got what they deserved. You might have even known a few of them. Lord Harlowe is a fair man, but he shows no mercy to his enemies, at least those who do not repent. Neither do I.”

  ***

  Jonathan came to in an unfamiliar room. It was bare, made out of still cooling magma. Arkanon stood next to him, his hands folded behind his back.

  “Arkanon?” Jonathan said weakly. His body felt like it had been wrung dry. None of his injuries had healed yet, least of all the ones to his soul. Just thinking about drawing on the Void caused him physical pain.

  “We found you lying in the middle of a crater the size of a mountain range,” Arkanon explained. “Everything around you was… falling apart. We couldn’t approach you for nearly an hour. I tried, and my limbs started to unravel.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Jonathan replied, wincing, as much from the pain as from the regret. “I had to do some pretty drastic things to beat Avarana. She was stronger than I had thought. Far more powerful than the Great Farmer.”

  “That is quite concerning. Do you think that will be the norm going forward?” Arkanon asked. “If so, it’s just going to get worse from here.”

  “I was a bit lower level than she was,” Jonathan admitted, “but it shouldn’t have been that hard. Killing the Great Farmer didn’t require ripping my soul to shreds to prevent… well, my soul from being ripped to shreds.”

  Arkanon winced. “That sounds like a nightmare. I’ve never heard of someone damaging their own soul before. How does that even happen?”

  “It’s complicated. Basically, my status as a Lesser God gives me a direct link to my element. It’s an unlimited power source, but my body isn’t strong enough to handle it. I’m supposed to be immune to my element, but that’s assuming it’s on a level equal to my own.”

  Arkanon just looked at Jonathan, not saying anything.

  “What?” Jonathan asked. “Did I say something bad?”

  “No, it is simply that what you said is outrageous. Before leaving Tartarus, I only knew of one god, and it was a false one. Now, upon leaving, I learn that gods are real and that one of my friends is one of them?” He shook his head. “I knew already, but you talking about having an unlimited energy source within your soul is hardly a normal conversation topic.”

  Jonathan smiled, faltering as a bolt of pain ripped through his face. “Shit… maybe I should rest a bit more.” As he talked, he realized that just forming the words was causing pain. It was only because of how used he was to agony that he hadn’t noticed so far.

  Arkanon nodded. “I agree. With Avarana dead, the rest of us can clear up the realm. You’re safe here, for now. I will leave someone to guard you.”

  Jonathan tried to respond, but he felt the darkness tugging at him, his body craving rest more than life itself. He allowed himself to fall asleep, letting his soul recover from the trauma it had undergone.

  Arkanon looked down at Jonathan, who seemed so weak for a man who had done so much. His body was covered in purple scars, while his face was twisted in pain, even while asleep. He looked frail, small even. Then again, most people were small compared to Arkanon.

  He left Jonathan, exiting the shelter through a gap that he formed with a wave of his hand. The obsidian bunker started to sink into the ground, waves of earth displaced by its descent.

  All around it, dozens of corpses shifted slightly. A few opportunists had seen Jonathan falling from the sky, thinking him to be an easy target. Those that had not died to the field of destruction surrounding him had been slain by Arkanon.

  Arkanon glowered at the dead and snapped his fingers. All of the corpses burst into flame at the same moment, turning to ash within seconds. With a single leap, Arkanon sped up towards the clouds, searching for his allies. Even though Jonathan was out of commission, the battle still raged on. An entire realm needed to be pacified, and if anyone stood in Arkanon’s way, they would soon realize that Jonathan was not the only reason so many of the Hells had been freed already.

  All across Bloodspill, armies fought and died to establish the new order of the world. The outcome was inevitable. As soon as Jonathan recovered, the war would end regardless. Until then, war was the only constant.

  It took Jonathan three days to wake up, finding himself still lying within the obsidian bunker. He stretched luxuriously, extending his senses through the rock around him. Everything was silent. Not even the ground trembled with the slight movements of monsters or soldiers miles away. As far as he could tell, it was a wasteland in every direction.

  Scorched earth revealed the path of Arkanon as he had butchered his way through the warriors whose bodies littered the ground. Bits of melted armor and flesh vied for Jonathan’s attention as his feet crunched through them. Blackened bones littered the ground around him.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Damn, he really didn’t play around.” Jonathan shook his head. “I’m glad he’s on my side.”

  Jonathan scanned the horizon, but didn’t find anything. He was at the bottom of the crater left by his fight with Avarana, and all he could see were the walls dozens of miles away. One side was rough, melted to slag. The other was completely smooth.

  Jonathan started walking towards the rim of the crater, picking up the pace as he went. His body was still sore. It would be a while until he could use his full strength again. For once, his battles had a consequence. In a world where regeneration could fix most ills, it was almost odd to find something taking more than an hour to resolve itself. Perhaps it never would, and Jonathan’s journey would end as soon as he faced the next Circle Lord.

  He shook his head. Jonathan had come this far. He wasn’t going to let himself be the reason that his journey came to an end. One day, he would stand before Angranor himself and finally achieve his goal. Perhaps it was decades away. Perhaps it was millenia. All he knew was that it would happen one day. After all, he was already in Hell. What was the worst that could happen? Death? Jonathan had already died twice. What was one more time?

  Jonathan reached the edge of the crater and leaped up. Or at least, he tried to. His strength only managed to propel him about a quarter of the way up. Eyes widening, Jonathan realized that the augmented gravity of the high Tier realm would actually hurt him if he landed on the rocky ground far below.

  “Shit…” he cursed, before ramming his fist into the side of the crater. His motion stopped and he hung there for a few moments, feeling something he hadn’t in a while. Exhaustion from something as simple as moving. The fatigue went beyond his corporeal form, touching on something deeper. It was like the will that underpinned his entire existence had crumbled and was only now repairing itself.

  A quick infusion of Stamina let him clamber up the side of the wall. If he had been forced to gauge his own strength, he was almost a Tier weaker than he should have been. Had he been a normal person, he would be closer to mortal than to his true strength.

  Once he stood on the lip of the crater, Jonathan turned, looking over the massive basin. In his current state he couldn’t imagine being one of the beings who had contributed to that gargantuan expression of boundless might. In his current state he couldn’t even think of using the Void without feeling a deep, stabbing pain.

  He heard footsteps coming from a few miles away, prompting him to look over his shoulder. A small unit of soldiers were headed his way. Jonathan didn’t recognize them, but upon scanning them, he realized that they were too low Tier to be part of Avarana’s forces. He breathed a sigh of relief before feeling a shooting pain stab into his brain. His eyes burned like they were on fire, the tiny amount of elemental energy intertwined with his Divinity feeling like acid as it dissipated through his body.

  When his vision cleared, Jonathan blinked through watering eyes, noticing that the newcomers were much closer than they had been before.

  “Lord Harlowe!” one of them called out, pulling off her helmet. “Commander Arkanon sent us to make sure you made it to safety. Do you need assistance?”

  Such a question would have been almost insulting to Jonathan, had he been within his normal capabilities. Now? “Hell yeah I do.”

  “We’ve been establishing bases across the realm,” the soldier explained. “Some of the cities hated Avarana more than others. Lord Edgar has managed to convert many of the armies to our side. Without him, this war would be much longer, and far bloodier.”

  “How can we fight against them though? I’m sure there are still some enemy forces that are too entrenched in their support of Avarana to surrender. We are quite outnumbered.”

  One of the soldiers, a mage, started building a platform out of floating wood, gesturing for Jonathan to get up on it. As he did so, the woman continued explaining.

  “Many of Avarana’s forces are not as powerful as they seem. They use ritual magic to boost their power. Anyone who came within a few dozen levels of Avarana, other than her lieutenants, met a quick and bloody end. We discovered how to disrupt the rituals. Most of them are on our level.”

  Jonathan sighed in relief as he reclaimed back, resting his beleaguered muscles. “That’s good to hear. I’m not needed, am I? I don’t know how much I can do in this state.”

  “No, my lord. Killing Avarana was the key to this entire war. Nobody else could have done it.”

  Jonathan smiled. “I’m glad I can rest a bit. By the way, I never caught your name. I’d like to know who came to help me when a war is raging on.”

  She frowned. “My lord? I’m… I’m just another warrior. My name doesn’t matter to someone like you.”

  Jonathan turned to look at her, trying to hide the pain the movement caused him. “I disagree,” he said pleasantly. “All of my followers matter to me, even if I will never meet them. You are the people I fight for. Hell is not just a place. It is an idea. It will live on long past the demise of Angranor if I am the only one fighting to be free.”

  “Well… My name is Elandra. Elandra Harkan. I joined you from the Great Farm. I was one of the city guards in Morrowvale. You wouldn’t know where that was. I was under an oath to the Great Farmer. My family were supposed to be slaves, but I was talented enough to save them from that.”

  Jonathan grinned. “See? That wasn’t so hard. All of your lives matter, not just mine. Everyone comes to me with their own stories and experiences, just as valuable as my own. Even my enemies.”

  Elandra narrowed her eyes, looking a bit confused. “I think you need some rest, lord. Feel free to relax. This entire area has been cleared out by Commander Arkanon. Nobody is going to disturb you.”

  “And if they do,” another soldier said, zeal in his surprisingly young voice, “we will fight so that you can escape. None of us would hesitate to lay our lives down for yours. None of us.”

  Jonathan was about to reply, but thought better of it. He could tell that the man was serious about what he said. Trying to convince him otherwise was an insult to his entire way of life. Instead, Jonathan simply nodded, and closed his eyes.

  Time passed in a haze, the constant movement of the palanquin lulling Jonathan into a semi-sleep. His body was no longer damaged enough to require true unconsciousness to recuperate, but he still needed rest. That rest came in drips and drops, never entirely satisfying.

  Minutes passed like hours, and at the same time like seconds. Memories drifted around, all with a common theme. His connection to the Void. From even before he formed a connection with the element, during his time passing between universes. The memories were there, but locked away until now, only accessible in his fugue. Jonathan wouldn’t remember much when he recovered, but for now, he drifted in the darkness of the space between universes, feeling the Void surround him like a womb. For some reason it had left his soul be, not consuming it as was its wont, but imbuing it with power. He had a vague memory of a shield around himself, left by Sarnakthros to protect him in his cosmic journey. Somehow, it had failed.

  The gaping hole in his soul started to heal slightly as he let the Void guide his mind towards healing. It hadn’t wanted to hurt him. It had wanted to help him defeat Avarana, but as an element without a true mind, it was instinct and nothing more. Consumption and Negation, Cessation and… something else. Something deeper and more integral to the Void. Something that Jonathan wouldn’t discover until much later in his journey.

  Without any real reference point for the passing of time, Jonathan was surprised when he finally stopped, the palanquin beneath him shifting to lay him down on the ground.

  His eyes flickered open, stinging a little as the light seared into them. In general, though, he felt better than before. His soul only felt raw now, rather than torn. His strength had returned somewhat.

  Jonathan looked around, finding himself in the middle of a large encampment. Rather than tents, temporary buildings made out of elementally shaped stone were arranged in rows along the sides of roads. The roads were made out of flattened earth, melted into stone by a Fire elementalist.

  All sorts of people marched up and down the road, ranging from humans to orcs to even stranger creatures besides. Jonathan couldn’t survey the level range without taxing his Divinity reserves, but he could still feel the ambient auras. Some of the people here were recruits from Bloodspill.

  “Where are we?” Jonathan asked.

  Elandra smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re better. We are in a major outpost, built to provide a foothold into Bloodspill. This one is meant to provide a staging ground to assault the Crimson Dragon faction city.”

  “Isn’t that Avarana’s faction?” Jonathan asked. “Are some of her lieutenants there? How do you plan to deal with them?”

  “We have a plan,” Elandra explained. “Lord Arkanon told us not to inform you. Your priority is rest. This place is just a waypoint. We’re going to keep going tomorrow.”

  “Why not just keep going now?” Jonathan replied. “I can handle some more travel. I feel a lot better.”

  “Apologies, lord, but Commander Arkanon was very insistent. He said you would appear to be mostly healthy but that the damage within was far greater than the damage without. You need proper medical attention. It just so happens that we have a Tier 8 healer here.”

  Jonathan nodded slowly. “That… sounds reasonable. Where is this healer?”

  “He’s coming now,” Elandra said, pointing down the road. “The man with the satchel.”

  A blonde haired human strode down the road, clad in a set of grey robes. He held a satchel in one hand and had no weapons to speak of. A small amulet dangled from his neck. Upon seeing Jonathan, he waved.

  “My lord!” he called out. “I am Healer Jeremiah. I was assigned to you by your commanders. If you would come with me?”

  Jeremiah waited, seeing if Jonathan was capable of walking on his own. As Jonathan approached, Jeremiah smiled, and turned, leading Jonathan deeper into the camp.

  “I hope the pain has not been too much?” Jeremiah asked. “If you wish, I have medicine for that. It might not do much for your soul, but it should be able to help your body.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “Most of the pain is in my soul. Right now I just feel really tired. It's when I try to use my abilities that the pain really starts.”

  Jeremiah pulled a notebook out of a pocket, and a pen from another. He looked at Jonathan expectantly. “Can you describe the symptoms? I have some experience with soul trauma, but its exceedingly rare, and never on the level that you have suffered.”

  “Yeah… Whenever I try to use my element, it feels like I’m pumping lava through my veins. I overtaxed myself while fighting Avarana, and the results are still with me.”

  Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. “How did you do that? Elements generally don’t work like that. Especially with a True Affinity. I assume you have one?”

  “I do. But in this case, there were some extenuating circumstances. My element isn’t like the other elements. I’m not like most elementalists either.”

  At this point, Jeremiah came to a stop, pointing at a nearby building. “This is my infirmary. Please follow me.”

  Inside the building was a surprisingly plush sickbed and racks of instruments, potions and herbs. A soft white light suffused the room, strangely comforting. Jonathan felt his eyelids starting to droop, but he forced himself to stay awake.

  “If you would sit down?” Jeremiah said absently, rummaging around in his satchel. “The bed has a scrying array. I can analyze your condition better there.”

  Jonathan nodded, vaguely suspicious. He assumed that Jeremiah was trustworthy, though if he wasn’t, it didn’t really matter. Jonathan’s Lesser God status was more of an open secret at this point. He didn't make much of an effort to hide it. At his current position within the Hells, it helped him more than hindered him. After all, his enemies knowing his nature didn’t help if he was stronger than them.

  He sat on the bed, feeling a strange tingling sensation work its way up and down his body. A System screen appeared in front of him, filled with information. Ranging from his health points to ongoing ailments, it was far more than his actual System screen provided him.

  Outlined in blinking purple letters at the very bottom were three ominous words, followed by a number.

  Severe Soul Damage: 57%

  Jeremiah’s eyes widened at the message, staring at Jonathan in shock. “How are you still walking? With that sort of damage… You must feel like you’re bathing in acid!”

  Jonathan frowned. “Not really? It hurts a lot when I use my skills, but right now it's just a dull ache.”

  “That level of Soul Damage would be like missing half your body,” Jeremiah insisted. “You should be hanging onto consciousness for dear life! Not just talking with me casually.”

  “Maybe my pain resistance is high?” Jonathan offered, not really sure what else to say. “I’ve gone through a lot of terrible things. I never knew that Thresholds could be ridden out with sedatives, so I took them as they came.”

  Jeremiah’s eyes narrowed. “That makes more sense. If you have trained yourself to resist pain, then you might be able to resist soul damage. It doesn’t inhibit your physical body, only your will. Though it can be just as deadly.”

  “What can you do about it?” Jonathan asked. “It sounds like something that would be very hard to heal.”

  “The only thing that can really heal soul damage is time, though it can be sped up. Unfortunately, that process will require you to condition your body to handle your power again.”

  “So I have to force myself to use my abilities? How long will it take otherwise?”

  Jeremiah’s face grew grim. “You could be in recovery for a decade with that level of damage. Using your powers will significantly lower that, depending on how much pain you can bear. At least until this war is completely over.”

  Jonathan breathed in through gritted teeth. “I should get started then.”

  The next few weeks were going to be miserable. Jonathan could already feel the phantom pain, prompted by his previous experiences with his soul damage. It would only grow worse before it got better.