Outcast Chapter 248 (Book 6 Chapter 33) (Patreon)

Author's Note:

I added some additional sections to previous chapters. Wanted to expand on some aspects that might have been left more ambiguous than intended. I'll include them here.

Chapter 29 (the one where Kismet instigates the Cataclysm)

"I am at a loss for where to begin," Ismaire remarked, with a degree of composure that – considering the circumstances – was highly impressive. "There is much to glean from what you've just informed us. Setting aside your admittance that you also created the Gellin, and that you've seemingly abandoned Humanity...what of the other races' gods? If you do not wish to aid our cause, could they be convinced to influence their followers and help broker peace?"

"THE DIVINE REALMS CARE NOT FOR HUMANITY'S FATE, OR THE FATE OF ANY OTHER RACE IN ELATRA. THIS WORLD HAS LARGELY RUN ITS COURSE. MY BRETHREN CHOSE TO WAIT AND OBSERVE THE OUTCOME OF THIS WAR, JUST AS I HAVE."

Ismaire raised an eyebrow at Kismet's avatar. "Your manifestation here exceeds mere observation. Do the gods approve?"

"THEY ARE UNAWARE, AND WILL REMAIN AS SUCH."

So he didn't tell the other gods about this stunt? No, more importantly – he said that this world has 'run its course'. That...also tracked. Valaire's last recorded testament had told Rob how the gods unmade the previous version of Elatra. They weren't strangers to hitting the reset button on a world they'd grown tired with.

The gods were also fine with World War Elatra leading to a bloody end. Does that mean they want lots of people to die? To speed along the reset process. Would explain why a god taught the Dwarves how to make Titan's Fist. But then why did Kismet hide his visit to Human territory from them?

What was he planning that they wouldn't have signed off on?

Chapter 32

The Humans hung themselves, Kismet retorted, almost defensively. I merely gave them rope and encouragement.

"I wonder. Would the other gods agree with that? From what I know of them, they didn't seem quite done with Elatra yet. You jumped the gun. Wanted to end the world with a grand finale. Didn't work. Then you, what, went back to messing with random mortals? Probably sulked in your corner of the divine realms like a sad sack of shit."

And now, without further ado, here's the actual update for today.

--

Did you know she would do that?

Rob flinched as Kismet's presence abruptly surged back into his mind. It was like the god had barged through the front door without knocking, hasty in both his movement and the cadence of his voice. "How did I know who would do what?" Rob questioned, thoroughly baffled.

You couldn't see it?

"Can't see shit outside of myself, Duran, and your light show." He gestured towards the clash of divine energy and Corruption taking place in the distance. "Other two alliance groups are hidden. Why do you ask? Did anything happen with them?"

Kismet stayed quiet for a good ten seconds. Nothing you need concern yourself with at this very moment, he finally replied.

"Calling BS on that. Something has you rattled."

Focus on the task ahead. Your abilities will be required soon.

Before Rob could dig for extra info, the portal feeding energy to the Beacon's core suddenly closed. Its residual mana made one final assault against the maelstrom of Corruption, hurtling downward towards their mutual destruction, like the suicide charge of a doomed cavalry.

Rob winced as an unholy screech burrowed inside his ears. The ground trembled and the air shivered, waves of emotion emanating from within the maelstrom. There was triumph, frustration, gratification, disappointment, and more. Too many to perceive in so short a time.

And then, just as suddenly, it all ceased. Glorious silence resounded across the Deadlands. The cavalry had been routed, their last charge ending in an expected defeat. When everything was said and done, not a wisp of godlike essence was left remaining, the clash of divinity having come to a fittingly dramatic end.

Both Rob and Duran let out gasps of relief as an invisible weight immediately lifted from their chests. Breathing – existing – felt so much lighter now. Unsurprisingly, two deities duking it out in front of them hadn't been easy on their bodies. While they'd almost gotten used to that sensation, it really was like night and day compared to just seconds before.

"Hate that I have to say this," Rob breathed, his lungs savoring fresh air, "but why'd you stop? Job isn't finished yet."

Kismet's presence flashed with annoyance. That was all the Influence we dare expend. Do not attempt to cajole us into further action – we know you are capable of expunging what Corruption remains.

Rob studied the maelstrom with an analytical eye. It was significantly reduced, a mere shadow of its former self, no longer an impassable hole in existence. Aside from being physically smaller, the maelstrom was also much less dense with Corruption. If he looked closely, he could barely make out something resembling a Dungeon entrance hiding beneath its surface.

He has a point, Rob admitted. While there's still a crapton of Corruption left, now it actually looks manageable. Clearing it would take me just a couple days of alternating between Purging and waiting to recuperate my energy stores. Blight might start to ascend before I'm done, but I can always press-gang Kismet into graciously donating more mana to our noble cause.

We heard that.

I know. If you have nothing constructive to say, then leave my mind. You aren't welcome here.

After several exasperated moments, the god's presence receded. Rob valiantly suppressed a dozen parting insults. He didn't care about being the bigger man or whatever – not being a slaughterer of worlds already made him the bigger man by default – but Kismet would only endure so much verbal abuse before cracking and doing something stupid. Self-preservation was often a less powerful motivator than spite.

Rob knew that better than anyone.

"You did well," said Duran, clapping his hand on Rob's shoulder. "Our path forward is now clear." The Elder opened his mouth, then paused.

Message Received
Duran: Can the gods listen to our Messages?
Rob: Probably not when Kismet isn't eavesdropping inside my head – which he isn't, as of ten seconds ago.
Duran: Then let us speak here. No point in irritating the gods further.
Duran: You do enough of that as it is.

The BERSERKER whistled nonchalantly.

Message Received
Duran: Innocent as ever, I see.
Duran: Regardless...by expending a large quantity of mana to assail the Blight, the gods are now permanently weaker than before, correct?
Rob: Oh yeah. We just killed two birds with one stone.
Duran: Excellent. This has done much to close the gap of power between the gods and your Party.
Duran: Perhaps moreso than even reaching Level 99 will.
Rob: You think so? 'Cause I'm hoping for a pretty big windfall from 99. I've got my last BERSERKER Skill and that weird ??? Skill lined up.
Duran: Although I am also anticipating something of great value, we cannot be certain of how strong those Skills shall be. They might be no more exceptional than any other Class abilities.
Duran: As the first person to attain Level 99, your achievement will teach us much.
Rob: Sheesh. No pressure.
Duran: That quirking at the edge of your lips speaks of–

The Elder froze, his head whipping to the side, eyes widening to the size of dishplates. "I saw them."

Rob didn't need to ask who 'them' was. "Where?" He followed Duran's gaze. "I don't see–"

There. Just for an instant, they appeared in the distance, practically on the opposite end of the maelstrom. Dozens of alliance soldiers flickered into view before promptly vanishing once again. They'd been too far away to examine in detail, but Rob was pretty sure he'd spotted more Dragonkin than anyone else, meaning it was the group that belonged to Keira and Ragnavi.

Just then, voices crackled over the radio. "We caught sight of Rob and Elder Duran," Sylpeiros grunted. "Only for an instant, though. Then they disappeared."

"We spotted your group as well," Keira added, "and at roughly the same time. Is it linked to the lessening Corruption in this region?"

It had to be. Corruption was essentially the Blights' lifeblood; a manifestation of their encroachment upon reality. Kismet carving out a chunk meant that the Blights' hold on the Deadlands was invariably weaker.

So if I Purge the rest of it...

Rob began stalking toward the maelstrom, motioning for Duran to stay put. Then the gang gets back together again.

As he made his approach, he activated Dimensional Message, reaching across worlds to contact Jason. "Can you hear me?"

<"Sure can. What's up?">

"Timeline's moved up a bit. Did you get the anti-Corruption Amulets we sent you?"

Jason nodded – or Rob assumed he did, anyway. <"Yeah, thanks for the care package. Should make things way easier when we invade the Spire."> He hesitated. <"You okay? You sound tense.">

Rob eyed the maelstrom as if he was a lion preparing to sink his teeth into unsuspecting prey. "We found the big bad Dungeon at the end of the Deadlands. It's protected by Corruption. Should take me a few days to Purge that and regroup with my allies. Then we head inside."

<"And fight the Blight?">

"Yeah. For all the marbles." Purging energy blazed at the edge of his fingertips. "If your team is prepared, that would be a good time to invade the Spire."

<"Oh, we're definitely prepared,"> Jason said, with a verbal grin. <"Killing monsters at the farm and defending civilians from random ambushes is getting old. Looking forward to busting whatever heads are inside the Spire.">

Despite everything, a grin spread across Rob's face as well. At least one of them was enjoying themselves. "Thanks, man. I'll let you know exactly when to launch our joint assault. Should be in two to three days like I said, but it could also be earlier."

<"Why earlier?">

"Well, something unexpected can always happen."

Rob regretted those words the instant they left his mouth. There was tempting fate, and then there was serving yourself up to fate on a silver platter, fluorescent neon lights strapped to your forehead. With surging paranoia, he silently pleaded for the universe to take pity and let his slip-up go unpunished, just this once.

He was answered by discordant laughter echoing out from the Dungeon entrance.

A tremendous gust of wind kicked up inside the maelstrom, stopping Rob's advance in his tracks. The Corruption seemed as if it was about to be blown away – before the wind shifted direction, pulling inward. In a span of mere seconds, the corruptive maelstrom was dragged through the Dungeon entrance, greedily consumed by the Blights residing within.

"Shit," Rob hissed. "Kismet, did they–"

No, the god hurriedly answered. Their ascension is yet incomplete.

CORRECT.

That single word shocked Rob and Kismet into silence. An indomitable force of will had broadcast itself directly to them, nearly crowding out their own thoughts.

HEARTKILLER. YOU COME ONCE AGAIN. ALWAYS PUSHING. NEVER RELENTING.

Pressure began building inside the Dungeon. Rob could feel it from hundreds of feet away, as if a black hole had formed beneath. Its pull was so strong that his body started slipping towards the Dungeon, millimeter by millimeter, then inch by inch.

PARTITIONS SLAIN. TRAPS SWEPT ASIDE. ASCENSION INTERRUPTED.

Explosive pain burst within Rob's skull. Legs shaking, clutching his head with both hands, he fell to the ground, his mouth opened in a wordless scream.

WHERE THE HEARTKILLER GOES, OUR STRENGTH IS DIMINISHED. WE HAVE NEVER FELT SO WEAK. SO BROUGHT TO OUR LIMITS. IT IS...

The Will built to a crescendo of overpowering emotion. For one interminable instant, Rob's heart stopped beating.

INTOXICATING.

His sense of self evaporated like a water droplet colliding with the surface of the sun.

--

Countless eons ago, in a time so gone past that it defies comprehension, the Will was born.

The Will did not know what it was, or from where it came. Perhaps it was the core of a newborn star, having gained sentience via some twist of fate. Perhaps it was a civilization that had achieved apotheosis and ascended to a higher plane. Perhaps it was castoff mana gathering together, brute-forcing awareness by virtue of sheer quantity.

Perhaps it arose from nothing at all, and would return to nothing, in the end.

The Will did not know what it was, where it came from, where it was going, or even what its purpose was. It knew nothing – and yet it knew everything. The endless weaves of time and fate were like strings on a pattern, viewable with the barest inclination. Every path of history was laid out to the Will in excruciating detail. It understood how one errant twitch of its mana could alter the course of hundreds of galaxies, how butterfly wings flapping now would spawn devastating tornadoes that resonated for millennia.

To the Will, infinity was finite.

That was how its consciousness came to be. Over the course of watching infinity's boundless tapestry, the Will observed the lives of many, many mortals. It learned of love, hatred, altruism, greed, dreams, despair, hope. In time, it grew a soul – or whatever the equivalent was for a being of immeasurable power. And with that newfound sapience, the Will developed its own thoughts, opinions, and emotions.

I must share this, it one day decided. Such was the curse of intelligence. Even sapient life forms predisposed towards isolation will eventually, inescapably, seek out others. The Will wasn't exactly sure what it wanted to share, only that it must.

The moment it realized that first compulsion, trillions of lives were condemned to agonizing death. When the Will peered into infinity, seeing what paths it should walk to fulfill its goal, searching for the best possible course...

It found that naught but misery awaited.

No living creature could ever hope to understand an existence like the Will. It would, now and forever, be alone.

The Will refused to believe that which it knew to be fact. With heightened urgency, it traveled the endless expanse of the universe, heading straight for the nearest glimmer of life it could detect. That is when the second curse of intelligence reared its head, impressing the vast emptiness of the cosmos upon a conscious mind. This expanse, this void, was large in a way that even the Will struggled to comprehend.

Traversing from the Will's place of birth to that faint glimmer took hundreds of thousands of years.

When it finally arrived, the third curse of intelligence was then understood – that all life is imperfect. Creatures of towering intellect were still prone to the occasional error. Although the Will could translate infinity into a reproducible series of events, that did not preclude it from making mistakes in its interpretations.

This glimmer it traveled to had contained intelligent life...until recently. The world was empty; a grave for billions. Its inhabitants had undone themselves a mere thirty-seven years prior.

The Will began its search anew.

Several epochs later, it reached the next glimmer of vibrancy. What the Will saw kindled ecstasy beyond measure. This world was alive, its inhabitants capable of rational thought, of speaking, communing, feeling, sharing. The Will, in its exuberance, landed on the planet and spoke.

A civilization that had taken 400,000 years to flourish ended in the span of 12 seconds. Flesh inverted. Thoughts collapsed. Screams resounded. The staggering, unfathomable intent of the Will's voice shattered every body and mind it graced.

If the Will had been more concerned with the consequences of its actions, perhaps its search would have ended there. In objective terms, it knew that it was a threat to all other forms of life in the known reality. Ceasing its wandering would have constituted an act of moral goodness.

Yet that would require sentencing itself to an eternity in isolation.

Instead, utilizing the fourth curse of intelligence, the Will chose to rationalize. The next world, it reasoned, would necessitate a lighter touch.

After three more empty worlds and two more worlds inadvertently made empty, the Will became desperate. Its impossible power and transcendent consciousness had become burdens dragging it to the darkest pits of madness. Was this truly to be its fate? To wander the void, forever and alone, a ghost among stars?

It could have peered into infinity for answers, but that prospect was too terrifying to consider.

In a fit of desperation, the Will forcibly carved out all the misery it had accumulated over eons, slicing into its own mind like a surgeon with a planet-sized scalpel. When its gristly work was concluded, half of itself had been severed. That second half of the Will was harshly jettisoned to the opposite ends of the void, displaced as far away as could be mustered.

To be fair, the Will's act of self-mutilation may very well have solved its immediate concerns. The half that had been abandoned would never know. Adrift in the expanse, feeling angry and violated, its consciousness rapidly formed into a second Will. Half as powerful, half as transcendent, yet no less aware.

Searching for worlds became significantly harder after that. The second Will, being much lesser than its original, complete incarnation, was unable to parse infinity as it had before. Attempting to view the tapestry of existence produced mere fragments of knowledge, the weight of so many possible futures crushing its mind into slag. It was more directionless than ever, finding long-dead celestial corpses bereft of life, or planets ruled by wriggling microbes that might become sapient distant eons into the future, but nothing with intelligence in the here and now.

That was when the first spark of genuine hatred began to form.

Sanity was tested and quickly broken. Insanity was tested and broken back to sanity. Both paled in comparison to the vast nothingness of the void. It was their only constant, their god, worshiped and reviled in equal measures. They resorted to fracturing their psyche even further, splintering into partitioned minds that were connected yet separate...just to have someone else for company.

Eventually, at long last, infinity's fragments of knowledge bore fruit. And when the Second Will finally, FINALLY arrived at a world replete with intelligent life, it made no efforts to communicate or share.

It simply devoured.

Although that may have been its own way of communicating. All of its anguish, suffering, loneliness, false starts – shared with whoever possessed the capacity to understand those feelings. Pain beget pain, and the Second Will exulted in joy it had never known before.

Alas, this act of revelry was far too short-lived. The world's life was depleted in a period of hours, its glimmer reduced to dullness, its novelty expended.

With mounting horror, the Second Will realized it would have to go searching again.

Their repeated forays into the eternal nothingness was what truly broke them. Any worlds they discovered were like tiny flashes in the dark, hardly lasting long enough to matter, even when the Second Will held themselves in restraint. Hours of revelry were extended to days, then years – but how could that transient flame possibly keep them warm for the next millennia of cold?

Little wonder that one emotion rose up to blot out all others: hatred. Hatred for the nothing. Hatred for the glimmers. Hatred for themselves, for everything that existed, and everything that was yet to be.

Hatred that could be slaked solely by inflicting it onto others.

Over time, it twisted their nature into something abhorrent. First, unwittingly – and later, purposefully, as they spent mana to hasten their metamorphosis. The Second Will became a living vector for the concept of degradation, relishing how their touch eroded the very fabric of reality. No mercy was given to the worlds they visited, each left as a lifeless husk, corrupted and hollow.

So it continued without end, for longer than the Second Will could remember. Their meandering, aimless rampage was broken up only by chance meetings with the Opposites. Those encounters were risky. Fraught. Exciting. The Second Will would attack, and the Opposites would retaliate. The Opposites would flee, and the Second Will would pursue. They cared not of the mutual destruction that ensued whenever both entities clashed. It was a novelty that was too irresistible to pass up.

Besides – the Second Will always recovered. Entropy is the natural state of the universe, and paradoxically, their nature afforded them more longevity than anything else. They would persist until the last light in the expanse inevitably faded, like a waning candle under a gentle breeze.

Time crawled on. Epochs came and went. During one later encounter on a world crafted by the Opposites, the Second Will was separated, part of it barricaded outside and part of it forced into slumber. They were satisfied with this turn of events, for what was the thrill of risk without the possibility of defeat? Worryingly, though, their satisfaction felt...muted. As if even clashing with the Opposites was beginning to lose its shine.

In a blink of millennia, the crafted world's barricade weakened. The Second Will entered anew, yearning to devour what they could before their Opposites fled. A fleeting revelry was better than no revelry at all.

It was there that they met a mortal who would not die.

That in itself was no great surprise. Every now and then, worlds would produce anomalies; creatures who managed to withstand the wrath of transcendent Wills for longer than anticipated. They made for enjoyable diversions, yet nothing more than that. All succumbed in due time.

Except for this one. He survived again, and again, and again still. Whenever he returned, he came back stronger, enduring grievous wounds that would have snuffed the life from so many others. It was perplexing, albeit intriguing. What mechanism was driving this meager collection of biological material to persist in the face of a higher power?

The Second Will had scarcely begun to take a broader interest in him when he permanently killed one of their hearts.

It was a pain they had only felt before when clashing with their Opposites. This was not the destruction that precluded rebirth – this was death. A cessation of continuity. For the first time since the schism that divided one Will into two...no, for the first time since the original Will came into being...they had been made lesser by a mortal.

Needless to say, he now retained their full and undivided attention.

The Second Will studied him whenever he resurfaced to oppose them. What they learned was...curious. This heart-killing mortal was a collection of seven billion billion billion atoms. Paltry, in the grand scheme of things. He possessed two arms and two legs, as many mortals did. His body consisted of meat and bone rather than any remarkable substances. Brain, spine, tissue – all so rote and expected. Nothing that could or should challenge a Will.

Then they searched deeper, and found him to be infused with two peculiar energies. One energy belonged to the Opposites, empowering the mortal in body and soul. Every living creature in this crafted world was endowed with some of that energy as well, deriving it from an artificial structure they called the 'system', so the mortal wasn't particularly special in that regard.

More interesting was the energy designed by the Opposite's imprisoned souls. The mortal had been instilled with a process that filtered mana into something wholly new. This extraordinary energy was anathema to Wills, annihilating their essence at a molecular level. When combined with the Opposite's system-granted enhancements, that surely explained how the mortal had survived thus far.

After some thought, the Second Will revised their hypothesis. What they'd discovered explained some things – but not everything. Regardless of system enhancements or Will-slaying energies, a mortal was still a mortal. He should have perished long before. In desperate need of further answers, the Second Will searched ever deeper.

Then...they saw it. This heart-killing mortal, comprised of atoms, meat, and energy, was piloted by a core of unshakable resolve. No obstacle in his path was enough to deter him. His tenacity shone through even in the lowest depths of despair. If knocked down, he would merely spring back up again, his vengeful soul ready to challenge fate once more. This mortal didn't just have the power to harm Wills; he possessed the determination necessary to transform his personal desires into tangible results.

He was a threat. An actual, real threat.

The Second Will had never been so delighted. What was once a perfunctory feast quickly became a struggle for survival. Hearts were skewered, plans were disarrayed, and partitions were expunged. The sum totality of their mana was gradually yet steadily diminished, the mortal delivering oblivion unto them with purging energy.

How wonderful it all was. The Second Will did not want to die – which simply made their circumstances that much more thrilling.

This, they knew, was a rare gift. While mortals may never understand what it meant to be a Will, a Will now felt what it meant to be mortal. To treasure the one life that the universe had blessed you with. To sense the inexorable hand of death slowly closing around your throat. To savor every last second of existence.

Gratitude and exhilaration were indulged in equal measures. This was the most uniquely fulfilling revelry they had ever experienced. And they would share these feelings, oh, yes they would. That was the least they could do for the mortal who had shown them the way. Their guiding light.

Their–

--

HEARTKILLER.

Rob snapped back to awareness. At once, the visions he'd been experiencing – visions belonging to an incomprehensible creature – threatened to flee from his mind like a fading dream.

He grabbed onto them tightly, burning them into his own memories, refusing to forget. There was valuable information locked away in that history. He needed to go over it with a fine-tooth comb, hunting for any detail that might give him an edge.

THANK YOU.

...But that was for later. Right now, he was slightly busy with the absurd wellspring of power coalescing inside the Dungeon.

WE WILL NEVER FORGET WHAT YOU HAVE GIVEN US.

The ground shook violently, as if an earthquake had been triggered below. For all Rob knew, it had.

WE WILL NEVER FORGET THE MORTAL WHO ENDURED.

Rob sprinted back towards Duran. He couldn't leave the Elder by himself when things were about to go to shit. Without a word, Kismet left his mind again, unwilling to comment on what was transpiring.

FOR THAT, WE EXPRESS OUR GRATITUDE.

He reached Duran in seconds. The Elf's face had gone white as a sheet, and Rob couldn't blame him. To someone with a higher Level of Sense Magic, the monstrosity's growing aura must have appeared even more daunting.

THANK YOU, HEARTKILLER.

The shaking abruptly stopped.

THANK YOU...ROB.

A mountain of Corruption burst forth from the Dungeon entrance.

It spread outwards like a blackened, infectious mass, engulfing hundreds of feet of land within seconds. The mass rapidly transitioned from liquid to solid, hardening into a multitude of nonsensical forms. Rob saw limbs the size of skyscrapers, enormous organs connected to nothing, blank faces with mismatched features, towering trees in the shape of spires, and crudely-imitated animals with their expressions locked in agony.

All of it was part of that one, overflowing mass. As if life was being recreated by something with just a rudimentary understanding of what that entailed, choosing whatever examples came to mind and throwing them into a haphazard conglomeration bordering on mockery. Even the way it seemed to grow out of the Dungeon entrance was reminiscent of plantlife; the only kind of flower that could ever bloom in the Deadlands.

MORTALITY. INTOXICATING.

Rob was at a loss for words, and his thoughts weren't faring much better. The creature's ridiculous size and shape would have been enough to silence anyone. It was a sight straight out of a drug-induced nightmare. It was also small peanuts compared to what Sense Mana and Sense Corruption were telling him.

ALERT: Skills 'Sense Mana' and 'Sense Corruption' Have Been Temporarily Deactivated!

Which was nothing.

Both Skills had turned themselves off. Whether out of fear or self-preservation, he couldn't say.

Rob gazed upon the beast's semi-ascended state, witnessing the crystallization of their efforts in Elatra, and realized that he was a being of little consequence. So he'd accomplished more than most people in his brief lifespan – what of it? If it so chose, this deity could reduce all of Elatra to ashes in one day of revelry. No worlds had ever survived after something so hideously powerful descended upon them.

This was what it was like when gods walked the earth.

Some lingering part of him managed to cast Identify. The system notification that followed was, to be honest, entirely unsurprising.

ERROR: Identify has failed! Upper limit exceeded!

His thoughts were still sealed, and his breath felt like a solid lump in his chest. Rob wasn't sure how he found the wherewithal to speak. Nevertheless, he did, grabbing Duran's radio and delivering instructions with manufactured confidence.

"Prepare for battle," he commanded. "This thing is...bigger than we anticipated, but it already admitted that it was mortal. Means we can kill it. Our plans haven't changed – same battle strategies apply. Focus on defense, wear it down, don't take stupid risks."

"Human," Ragnavi began, in an unusually subdued tone. "Are you certain?"

Rob spared a glance for the monstrosity looming just a short distance away.

"We got this," he lied.

Handing the radio back to Duran, Rob immediately activated Dimensional Message. There was one more call to make. He started talking the moment his connection to Jason was established.

"That attack you were planning on the Spire?" Rob said, without preamble. "Now would be a good time."

He ended the connection and stepped forward. A longsword was in his hand, practically a toothpick when measured against the Corrupted mass before him. It appeared to watch him with innumerable curious eyes, as if wondering what plan he had in store.

There wasn't one. Rob couldn't begin to fathom a way to slay a deity encroaching on the mortal planes. Not with Purge Corruption, and not with the alliance at his back. This wasn't an enemy they could realistically beat.

Still have to try.

Summoning bravado from nowhere, like pulling water out of an empty well, Rob pointed his toothpick at the Second Will and grinned. "Bring it."

Corrupted flesh stirred. YES. The god's many mouths opened in unison, singing a wretched symphony of countless extinguished worlds.

SHARE WITH US.

--

Thanks for reading!