R-a - Volume 4 - New Chapter added ~1 or 2ish (Patreon)

R-a - Volume 4 - Chapter 1/2ish (Will be inserted at/around Chapter 1 or 2, as its own new chapter/part) (Next Chapter will come out on or before Feb 22)

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“What does it all mean..?”

The speaker of those words sat alone, by himself, in a brightly lit room, resting upon a large, carved wooden chair.

He was a large man, a Byren warrior, one of the natives of the Second Layer. He had a well-weathered appearance with a large, white beard and a tan, lined face that looked slightly at odds with his bulky, muscular body. He was dressed in a simple white robe with a black, diagonal stitching line that stretched from his right shoulder to his left hip.

Before this man rested a large wooden table, strewn with colorful maps, long, tidy reports, and several large notebooks covered in scribbles and notes. The edges of the room were lined with bookcases that filled to the brim with books, lit by several small, glowing crystal rocks that were built into the ceiling.

“Humans, Farians, Orkal, and Rakkonians.” The man spoke aloud, his voice gruff and calm. With each Race he named, he tapped on four different locations on one of the large maps in front of him.

“Four different worlds connected to one… a bridge between space and time like I’ve only ever seen once before.” A brief flash of darkness appeared in the powerful Byren’s sharp green eyes.

“Patience. I’ve waited 800 years for this opportunity… I will not squander it.” The dark light vanished, replaced by a gleam of cool, cold logic as the man took a deep breath.

The man turned his attention back towards the map in front of him.

“The Orkals have been enslaved. The Rakkonians have been split apart and will fall within a matter of weeks. The Farians are stable, but will collapse once their Lord Justiciar is dealt with.” Race by Race, the man marked each one down, before pausing over an area outlined on the eastern portion of the map.

“Only the Humans have proven troublesome.” He murmured, donning a small frown.

“The Syndicates and their City-Camps pose little threat… it’s those rat-like Beasts of Providence… they scurry around and hide like cockroaches, yet somehow manage to interfere with my plans at every step.”

“But now… something is different.” The Byren warrior tapped his scarred fingers on the map, his frown deepening.

“10 days have passed with no sign of them… why? What are they planning?” The man traced his finger along the eastern portion of the map, up to the territory of the Dragon Mountains.

“The undead Drake haunting these mountains has become more active of late, but that can’t be it.” The man’s finger rose further, before landing squarely on the area occupied by the Farians, the Woolen Forest.

“Now that I think about it, the massive explosion that erupted here also took place 10 days ago.” His eyes narrowed sharply, like the gaze of a hawk zeroing in on its prey.

“Is it related? Perhaps. But how? Why?” The Byren took a few seconds to stare at the map, his gaze relentless, before letting out a deep sigh.

“Their silence is unsettling, but in the end, I suppose I don’t have a choice.”

The man slowly rose to his feet and walked over to an ornate stone door.

“This is the best chance I’ll have to conquer the Sanctum. Everything will be decided then.”

The Byren opened the door and left the room.

Outside was a large valley. The study he’d just left was built into the side of a large mountain, a small, secure hut hidden away in the midst of a large mountain range.

The bearded Byren moved over to the side, resting his left hand upon a thick, heavily scarred portion of rock wall. The stone here was blackened and covered in cracks, imprinted with hundreds upon thousands of fist indentions. This type of scarring repeated itself for thousands of meters, up and down this large gray mountain, giving the air an old, smoky feel.

In the same moment, as the old warrior placed his hand on the wall, his arm began to tremble.

The man sighed as he saw this, grasping his shaking left arm with his right hand, holding it still.

“800 years of practice and training haven taken their toll.” The Byren muttered, watching as now both of his hands trembled against his will.

“What did those humans call it? Incurable arthritis?” He smiled grimly.

“The pangs of a corporeal body.”

The warrior chuckled to himself quietly before turning his gaze off to the side, his smile fading.

The rest of the valley was like a scene from a warzone.

The ground was littered with enormous gashes in the earth, torn and ripped up stone shuttering upward at sharp angles. Large slabs of bedrock could be seen, jutting out of the side of the valley, covered in cracks and cuts.

The valley was like bleeding sore upon the earth itself, a devastated landscape where nothing could survive.

And, finally, the Byren shifted his eyes towards the center of the valley, where rested the blackened skulls of several dead Dragons, the remains of more than a dozen Blue Drakes, fallen in battle centuries ago.

“The Dragons are dead. The Dark Wraiths nigh annihilated. And the Torens have left, abandoning the Ancient Realm after they won the war.” The warrior spoke aloud, his voice cold and emotionless.

“Perhaps they thought this land a dead one, the past forgotten to time, history erased.” His voice grew harsher.

“But I have not forgotten. I will never forget.”

“I will do whatever it takes...”

“Even if I must become a Deity myself.”

Orion Thunderfist, the First Lord, and Supreme Commander of the Divine Might Sect clenched his fists, a shockwave of lightning blasting out into the air around him.

“Gods will die.”

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