Savage Awakening 260. The Wyrm-King (II) (Patreon)

The Wyrm came into being at the far end of the dank cavern.

It looked at first like a ghost, halfway corporeal. An enormously fat serpent-thing. Stuck between the Astral Plane and the physical, all wispy and translucent, its scales shimmering with a sickly glow. A ghastly light gleamed out of its eye-sockets. Thick bones stuck out through the mass. Ghostly pale flesh stuffed the space between, curving around organs that shone in the dark, as though radioactive. 

Its mouth was filled with rows upon rows of sickle-like teeth. Teeth burning with Laws of the same tier as that Catkin Monster. Each tooth gleaming at the tip, smoking with corrupt power. 

A domain blew out of the Monster. Everything passing through it, even the puddles on the ground, shriveled and dried on the spot. Wasting away. 

Remnant of the Wyrm-king Moraxes

Essence Level 399  

Its maw leaked smoky breath like a furnace. Even from this distance, Zane could feel its effect. His Red Moon Pagoda flickered up before him. He frowned.

It wasn't really breathing smoke. Rather—as soon as the air touched those laws, it turned to smoke, wilting away, leeched of power… these were Laws of Decay. Of Withering.

You could catch it like second-hand smoke too, from a distance; just a whiff of it was set his Red Moon off. It struck at the soul too. It tried saddling you with a sense of great feebleness, brittleness.

Zane marched out in front. Using his Red Moon to cover his friends. Burning his Blood. Letting his Axes drop heavy to his sides, clenching his fists around his Chains… 

Getting in fight-ready mode.

“Ready?” said Zane.

His friends all made supportive noises behind him. He could feel Reina’s buff coming onto him, like gasoline thrown over the flames of his body. Could feel his body burning up muscle fiber by muscle fiber—raw fleshly power coming alive, all at once… 

Moraxes shrieked.

A heinous, terrible noise rippling the air, rattling bones down the length of the cavern. Zane answered with his own war-cry, a furious bellow. 

He stomped down once. Hard. 

Then he was on the thing. Blasting off, trailing an explosion behind him. Thrust forward so fast, so quick, he felt a moment of stark whiplash. 

Then its domain settled over him. 

It was like he'd been thrust deep underwater. But instead of an icy lake, like with the Catkin, it felt like he'd been dropped in a vat of thick acid. Every inch of him—his very essence—started to hiss, started to smoke up… 

But Reina’s powers were on him, and they held strong. She gave a fierce cry. With her new Godbeast Limb, her new Heaven-grade Nascent Soul, her powers had gained a new density. And they were made even stronger by how strong her soul’s connection with his own was. It wrapped him in a warm bright-green halo—held off the worst of the Domain. Fighting it to a standstill. Even Zane was surprised. She had been making big leaps lately. 

It left him free to start his butchering. 

He whipped out two Stormfire Slashes, full-force. And his Axes screamed forth. Finding the flesh in an instant, slashing deep, melting through thick hide, then squishy muscle—it felt like cutting through a dense jelly. Strangely resistant to him. Like its whole body was made of pure hardened essence. It did not cut like normal flesh. 

And Zane could feel powerful Laws packed deep inside it, fighting his Stormfire. Lashing at it, withering it, trying to wrap it and whittle it and sink it even as it raged on through…

But Zane had smashed with too much force. 

Those Laws did not prove enough. He worked harder, clenched his fists, marshaling all the might of his new body, ramming forward, forcing his way through—and his Axes came out the other side. Trailing angry purple crescent wounds carving off a sizable chunk of its body… 

It shrieked. 

Zane did not let it rest. With one great heave he whirled his Axes round, thrust them back in—shearing through yet more ghostly flesh, finding long stringy organs beneath—roared in triumph. 

Then Moraxes’ eyes honed in on Zane. And it countered with a massive lunge. 

Zane’s Chains were still stuck slicing through that hulking body. He couldn't do much to pull away as its jaw unhinged. He could only stare down that lightless well of a mouth, at all those spinning gleaming teeth, that fountain of Withering Law.

He gritted his teeth. Trusted his body.

CRUNCH.

A forest of teeth speared through his skin. Digging deep into flesh—hundreds of spots all up and down his body. And injecting pure Withering.

Its powers invaded en masse—from all sides. Gunky tides ramming against his flames… the burning flared all over his body eating away at his muscles. Even as Zane wrenched and struggled, forced an arm free, roared, bashed at its head with a Stormfire Fist and was rewarded with the sound of bones shattering—

The beast would not let go. It was on him like a mad dog latched onto a bone, and yet more corruption swamped him—striking at his body, his soul—

Zane’s Red Moon flared at its brightest. But it, too, was starting to tremble. Little cracks creeping in at the edges….

Zane groaned. 

His health was sinking fast. 

It was swamping him in Withering. Trying to ground him, even as he bashed.

In the background, Reina was still powering him up, throwing on as much healing, as much buffing as she could—and there was Evan, letting out a cry, and a beam of pure concentrated sunlight drilled straight through its head—so strong it pierced the skull, ran out the other side. The beast buckled, whole body spasming—but it kept up its death grip.

It was as though it were determined to take Zane out no matter what. Even if it meant its own life. Its domain began to intensify… 

Warning!

Health under 75%

Then something strange happened.

Moraxes began to choke.

Zane was so close he could feel what it felt viscerally.

The Remnant felt like it had a brick in its mouth. Like its teeth might break if it tried to sink in anymore. And when it tried to pour in its Withering—throwing in all the essence its False Ascendant Soul could muster—it got an even greater shock.

It found inside Zane an endless sea of vitality. Swamping right back into it. 

Even as Zane felt the life gushing out of him, the Serpent was starting to tremble, to struggle, choking on the sheer amount of life force flooding its way—

The Wyrm began to spasm. It was trying to swallow him, but it couldn't seem to get him dow—and all the while Zane kept thrashing, roaring, smashing, hacking…. 

The battered Wyrm had to let go. Screeching. Flinching back. 

But Zane was back on it in an instant. Bashing in new slashes—and now it had gotten him angry. His health quickly started shooting back up again. Reina’s healing wrapped him warm, and just a few seconds of his assault, as the thing reeled beneath his blows, he was back over 80%. Axes flashing. Melting it in a furious rush. 

The beast tried latching hold of him again, if only to stop him, desperate, jaw unhinging, trying one last lunge. Avery let out a cry and a flash of blue light struck the roof of its open mouth. Its eyes went googly, cross-eyed; it started to wobble like it had been hit by a sudden bout of dizziness. It blasted a mouthful of withering-breath at Zane—missed wide. 

And Zane let it have it. 

Hacking deep. Axe after Axe. Butchering it, every hack sending up fountains of hissing ectoplasm. Every hack he added a new bout of Stormfire; now a wildfire was lighting it up inside.

The doomed Wyrm-King could not even lash back. Zane came relentless. 

The advantage of Zane’s body showed itself in full then. It took so little time for him to reload now. Every move, every strike came explosively and when the thing reeled back he could hound it every step of the way, still raining brutal blows.

All the while, his friends kept giving strong support behind him, healing and confusing and blasting…. 

This thing was a strong beast. It was probably as strong as that Catkin. Its powers were outside what a Nascent Soul should have. 

And yet… 

It was being utterly dominated. 

*** 

Constellation Order 

The headquarters of the Constellation Order was a kingdom of a city. A collection of gold- and silver- spires built of Heaven-grade ore, shining under a sun that never set. 

All throughout its streets, there were emblems of the moon and the sun. A giant clock tower had hands like the sun’s rays. 

The citizens bustling about were either Ascendants or their Nascent Soul servants. 

The Inner Disciples themselves were easy to pick out, walking the streets. Decked out in knightly regalia, gold for the Sun Knights, silver for the Moon Knights.

In the highest spire of this city, there was a grand balcony overlooking it all.

On that balcony stood a tall, well-built old man, bushy of brow and bushier of beard. He wore a golden crown; the peaks were modeled after the sun’s rays. 

His sky-blue eyes were focused on a scene in a golden scrying glass hung up before him. Showing one Evan Armstrong doing his very best.

The old man stroked his beard, nodding. Deep in thought. 

*** 

Prime Oceanworld 

The ocean’s surface was bare for thousands of miles around, save for a single raft floating beneath the midday sun. 

A white-haired girl in a tattered dress lay on it. It was hard to say how old she was; she had a timeless look to her. 

A mirage shimmered up before her, showing a battle deep in the Superdungeon. It was rather hard to make out beneath the glare of the sun. 

She looked up at it, wrinkled her nose at it. Looking a little miffed. She squinted, raised a hand, pinched two fingers around it. Picked up the sun, dropped it behind a cloud. 

The sky darkened a few shades.

“There we go,” she said brightly. Then she blinked, like she was trying to remember what she was doing. She looked back just in time to see Avery smacking the Monster with a well-timed confusion spell. 

“Aww!” she said. “You go, fluffy hat girl!”

***

Scryer's Guild

Sector 17, Dragonspire Galaxy 

The Scryer's Guild was located on a lonely comet circling the center of the Dragonspire Galaxy. 

It was built much like the Steelheart Conclave’s Observatory—the Conclave had been contracted to make it. But it was much grander; a silver pagoda rising eighty-one stories high. Each floor was rife with giant dishes and lenses;  antennae poked out of it on all sides. Bits and bobs of scrying-glasses floated about around it, miniature space-stations, seeking essence from the farthest reaches of space. 

This place was built not just to survey a local cluster or the Superdungeon, but to keep a watchful eye on the entire galaxy. 

It had two main purposes—it published two reports each season. The first was a report on every S-Class dungeon in the Galaxy, searching for leaks, catching all possible jailbreaks before they happened. 

The second was its review of all the major powers of the galaxy, in the form of rankings. The strongest Nascent Soul fighters would be ranked on the ‘Mortal Scroll.’ The Ascendants on the ‘Earth Scroll’—and so forth. 

There was one ranking which encompassed them all, though—a ranking that graded only on potential, evaluating the best talents across all power levels in the galaxy. The ‘Rising Dragon Scroll.’