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SLW Chapter 43 : The Gathering Storm
🕑 Added 2025-03-14 21:00:34 +0000 UTCAeron sat on the broken remains of what used to be an altar, the stone now cracked and smeared with blood, his blood, and the blood of his foes, The temple was nothing but ruins now, half-collapsed and burning softly in the aftermath of his battle with Veydris. Smoke drifted lazily through the shattered walls, the scent of ash and death thick in the air.
He let out a slow, heavy breath, his hand pressing against the deep gash along his ribs. Pain flared, sharp and unrelenting but it was nothing compared to the burning realization crawling through his mind.
"I really shouldn’t underestimate them from now on..." he muttered, wiping a streak of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. His purple eyes glowed dimly beneath the shadowy veil of his hair, flicking toward the corpse-strewn battlefield. “If one of these so-called apostles could push me this far… the others won’t be any easier.”
He leaned back against the cracked altar, trying to steady his breathing. His body was still aching, his bones felt heavier, as if the battle had carved through more than just his flesh. But beneath the fatigue, beneath the sting of torn muscle and bruised pride… there was exhilaration.
A slow, crooked smile tugged at his lips.
"Still alive atleast," he mused.
He raised his hand and with a flick of his fingers, the System Window sprang to life, glowing faintly in the dim light. Lines of radiant text scrolled before his eyes.
[You have obtained new skills!]
His smile widened as three new skill notifications flashed into view.
"Let’s see what we’ve got…"
He tapped the first one.
[Bloodlust] can magically intimidate enemy combatants, inducing intense fear that decreases their stats by 50%. This technique can affect multiple opponents simultaneously.
Aeron laughed under his breath. "So, the more I fight… the more of a monster I become. Fitting." His fingers twitched, itching to test this out.
The next skill shimmered into view.
[Mutilation] targets vital points and inflicts critical damage by slashing with your weapons.
His grin stretched wider. "nice." He twirled one of his silverfang daggers between his fingers, imagining the sheer havoc this would cause in future battles. "I like it."
Then the final notification appeared this one felt… different. Darker.
[Chains of the Abyss] Forged from the darkest essence of the Shadow Gods, these living chains writhe and slither like serpents of shadow. They can bind, crush, or drag enemies. The chains extend and retract at the wielder’s command, capable of piercing magical defenses and restraining even ethereal beings like ghosts or demons.
Aeron’s eyes narrowed as he reread the description, feeling the faint pull of this new power.
Slowly, he raised his left hand and whispered, "Let's try it now."
A shiver tore through the air as black tendrils erupted from his palm, living chains forged from pure shadow. They slithered and curled around his arm like serpents, hissing softly, gleaming with a faint shine.
"Damn…" Aeron let out a low chuckle, watching the chains twist and writhe. "I didn’t think I’d walk away from this with a gift, the same skill he used against me."
He clenched his fist, and the chains snapped back into his palm, disappearing like they were never there. And took one final look at his status window.
[AERON GRIM]
Job: Necromancer
Title: Kingslayer (+5 Strength, +5 Agility, +5 Sense)
All-Knowing (Instantly understand new concepts, +50% learning speed, Automatically identify items, creatures, and magic.)
Level: 40 → 52
Fatigue: 70
HP: 4400
MP: 4600
Strength: 105 → 120 (+5)
Health: 72 → 96
Agility: 65 → 90 (+5)
Intelligence: 80 → 100
Sense: 32 → 77 (+5)
Available Ability Points: 36 → 0
Skills:
Ruler’s Authority
Perception: +10 to Sense when analyzing or strategizing.)
Bloodlust. ‘new’
Mutilation ‘new’
Chains of the Abyss ‘new’
Job-Specific Skills:
Shadow Extraction (344/400 Soldiers Limit)
Shadow Exchange (level1)
Monarch’s Domain
Aeron’s eyes scanned the numbers, fingers twitching slightly as he considered where to allocate his new points.
"I could pump everything into Intelligence… but nah." He rolled his neck, feeling the strain ease just slightly. "I need to hit harder. Move faster. Those bastards aren’t going to go down easy."
Without hesitation, he began distributing the points.
The moment he confirmed the allocation. His wounds didn’t fade entirely, but the ache became distant a reminder, nothing more.
Aeron clenched his fist, feeling the familiar hum of power thrumming beneath his skin.
"Much better." His voice was low, satisfied.
He swiped to the next section, eyeing his ever-growing Shadow Army.
Shadow Army: 344/400
Veydris of Asshai
10 Sorcerers of Asshai
50 Shieldmen, 50 Brutes, 40 Archers, 100 Knights
70 Dothraki Riders, 10 Assassins
Garm the Direwolf, 4 Wolves, Fang, 4 Shadowcats, 2 Ice Bears
Shadow Giant
Aeron with a satisfied look He exhaled, rising slowly from the altar, his strength returning in waves. With a roll of his shoulders, he glanced around the ruined temple this place had nothing left to offer him. Nothing but broken stone and the faint echoes of the fools who had thought they could stop him.
"Veydris…" His gaze shifted to the shadow-forged figure of the former apostle, who stood silently a few feet away, waiting, obedient and wordless.
"Shadow Gods, huh?" Aeron mused, cracking his neck. "If this was their idea of a warm-up… I can’t wait to see what the other gods offer next."
****
Storm’s End -
The wind howled across the rocky cliffs, carrying the scent of salt and rain as Storm’s End loomed against the darkened sky. The ancient fortress stood tall and unyielding, its towering walls carved to withstand both siege and storm. Yet a massive army gathered beyond it’s gates.
A sea of banners fluttered violently in the wind, golden lions of House Lannister, the golden roses of House Tyrell, and the crowned stag of House Baratheon. Thousands of men in gleaming plate and chainmail stretched as far as the eye could see, an alliance of the Crownlands, the Reach, and the Stormlands, all marching under one cause: to crush the unknown enemy lurking within Storm’s End.
At the head of the host, mounted on a sturdy black horse, Ser Kevan Lannister surveyed the fortress with a critical gaze. His crimson cloak snapped in the wind, the lion sigil on his breastplate gleaming with authority. Beside him rode a Knight from the Tyrells, resplendent in green and gold, and Ser Farring, who commanded what remained of the loyal Baratheon forces.
Kevan’s expression hardened as his horse shifted beneath him. "So, this is the great threat?" he said, voice steady despite the rising wind. "A fortress as still as a tomb. I expected more."
The Knight of Tyrells smirked faintly. "Aye. I heard the message myself. Some sorcerer-king claiming Storm’s End. Dark magic and shadow creatures, children’s tales to frighten smallfolk. We think its a very well organized, well armed deserters, took the fortress by surprise. Maybe a hundred or more."
A grizzled knight from the Stormlands spat on the ground. "I agree, We should’ve burned that letter when it arrived. Whoever sent it’s a madman. I’ve fought in two wars, never seen a fortress take itself without steel and blood."
Kevan narrowed his eyes. "Madmen are often dangerous. And this one holds Storm’s End without resistance, we have received a survivor in kingslanding, i don’t thinkink it’s bandits or desertersit’s bandits or deserters.. Whatever the trhu. Whatever the truth is we need to clear this place, that alone makes him worth our time.. But where are they.."
A knight from the Crownlands laughed behind them. "Perhaps the storms scared them all to death." His words drew chuckles from the ranks, but Kevan did not smile.
The winds shifted.
The light in the sky dimmed, the sun hidden behind a wall of blackened clouds. An unnatural cold swept across the battlefield—a chill that settled into their bones. The laughter faded, replaced by an uneasy silence.
Kevan’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. Something felt wrong.
"Commander!" A scout rode up swiftly, face pale beneath his helm. "The gates! they’re opening!"
Every head turned toward the towering gate of Storm’s End as the ancient iron doors groaned and creaked. A gust of shadow poured from the darkened archway something moved within the blackness.
A hush fell over the army as figures began to emerge.
At first, they thought it was a trick of the storm a play of shadow against stone. But no. These were knights their armor black as midnight, eyes burning with a cold, violet glow. They marched in perfect silence, the clanking of their weapons swallowed by the void they dragged with them.
And there weren’t that many.
A hundred at best.
"By the gods…" Kevan breathed, his composure faltering for the first time. "It’s real."
