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Chapter 384 - Battle For Freetown: Part 6
🕑 Added 2024-01-05 03:59:01 +0000 UTCEric raced through the strangely empty cobblestone streets, his forced manic mirth of moments before replaced by a growing sense of dread.
Even now he could feel that awful node of infestation in his mind that had radiated such terror just moments ago easing to smug satisfaction that slowly became malicious glee.
Eric’s heart began to pound, recalling Caliban’s final whisper, a tidbit that might seem so trite, but could truly prove the difference between life and death.
Yet just before he made the turn ahead that he had been so carefully avoiding while playing the clueless idiot and shouting, ‘where are you, fucker?’ as he raced through the streets, that was when Kevin made his move.
The pain was horrific… and Eric had been expecting it as he was thrust into frigid waters once more, now crackling with fire. The same hideous burning as he had once felt when he had dared an orc fire pit for the sake of his sister.
He didn’t even feel himself crash to the ground. Aware only of pain, choking darkness, and bubbling laughter.
“You thought you could get the best of me, fool?” Kevin roared inside his head. “Thought you could get away with destroying my foundry, torching my pieces, and claiming the spoils for yourself?” Eric’s ears roared with monstrous laughter as he fought just to control his body, like he was lost in a dream. A nightmare.
“Thinking I’d let you claim two thousand happy drones right out from under me. Oh, that’s rich, kid. But you know what? I’m okay with that. You know why? Because all you did was show me how WORTH IT it is to master the build that is you, Eric Silver. To master you so damned well that I can run Tier 66 maps with your build faster than ZeetHog ever could!”
Eric didn’t even bother responding, fighting with everything he had to escape the nightmare of drowning and burning he found himself in. Gasping for breath, mind screaming in panic, in that awful sleep paralysis he had when he was younger and knew he was asleep and just couldn’t wake up… before taking comfort in a trick he had learned and mastered years ago.
Because it was all about breathing. Manipulating the most important muscles of all. Your diaphragm that was both voluntarily and involuntarily controlled. You visualize yourself breathing heavy in your dream, you soon become aware of your actual body doing the same as you jolt awake in bed.
He began visualizing himself taking slow deep breaths.
Feeling the connection to his real self, his body now stumbling BACK TOWARDS HIS FRIENDS! As his breathing started to quicken, started to feel more real. And then it was him wheezing for air as his arms and legs tingled and he opened his eyes with a jolt, having been anchored by his own sense of breathing as he came to himself once more.
Contest of Wills modified by Class Boons: Success! 99 Willpower means you actually regained control! (For now!)
Eric opened his eyes in a wave of relief that was almost profound before it became horror, his worst fears already coming true.
“No, fuck no. FUCK NO!” He gazed about him in dismay, along an unfamiliar block. Realizing that he had been moving at quite the pace, and he had no idea where he was.
“FUCK!”
Which could only mean that, for a few terrible seconds, he hadn’t been in control of himself at all.
“You think you can fight me off that easily, you goddamned prick? I finally got control of you, you little shit. Ha! I did it once, you damn well better believe I’m going to do it again!”
To this gloat Eric could think of only one response. Even as he leaped for a rooftop to get his bearings without accessing his interface map lest that be a tell… he filled his mind with the image of a phoenix, covered in the transcendent flame so far beyond the paltry sensation of heat that no mind-robbing psychopath couldn’t hope to understand it. A higher order manifestation that had shattered starships. Worlds. And just seconds ago, near half a dozen elite heavily armored monsters as if their mithril fiber armor had been made of spun glass..
“No! You’re tapped, motherfucker! You must be!”
Eric didn’t bother arguing, leaping from building to building as fast as he could, bypassing first one then half a dozen lurching puppeteers with slithering tendrils bursting from their necks, as well as dozens of drone slaves armed with swords, wands, or Tech II mechaware. One or two of the poor possessed classers spotted him, or at least their tentacles did, but Eric’s superhuman stats meant that he could avoid them by using the rooftops. That, along with his Speed Racer perk and superhuman stats meant that he was all but flickering from building to building that fortunately didn’t collapse under his weight and perk-enhanced inertia, effortlessly dodging the sporadic javelin, spell, and blaster fire that never even came close to hitting him as he finally reached his objective.
He allowed himself a single fierce smile as he sensed the increasingly frustrated passenger in his mind howl in fear as Eric abruptly darted a hard left and leaped right over the wall to Blue Quarter, showing his seeming desperate efforts to flee the city altogether, as if hoping to get rid of his unwanted passenger by putting as much distance between them as possible, had been nothing more than a ruse. Caliban’s whisper, and reminder that all defenses were down, had been all the information Eric had needed to know what his next step must be.
Because whether you loved them or hated them, everyone knew the choicest high-end pads were located in Freetown. And where better for a puppet-mastering Contender and his coterie to hole up than in the Blue Palace itself? And Eric knew just the pads with the sweetest amenities that any gamer could want. Including endless anime favorites now playing in Blue Corp colors, and what was effectively the chance to play the most elite and realistic ARPG imaginable using one’s own template, or whatever design anyone fancied.
So how much would he bet that the Blue Corp chef was busily working downstairs with a single crimson tendril assuring poison-free food while Kevin lost himself watching Super Punch Man while playing a character just like himself on the highest-end gaming rig imaginable?
Somehow, Eric thought the odds were actually pretty damned high.
And if the monstrous shadowy presence suddenly manifesting as the Blue Palace emerged like a crown from the most scenic retail district to be found anywhere in this brave new world, then Eric was definitely getting close to his goal.
Eric’s lip curled with growing frustration and impatience, knowing he was close… even as the brilliant nighttime sky darkened with gloom, and the smooth blacktop road he jogged along grew thick with shadowy black mist chill as the grave, desperate screams now echoing through the ether.
Eric braced himself as the shadows coalesced into a coldly smiling man dressed in leather armor that seemed to be made of liquid shadow, an obsidian blade glowing with eldritch green light in his left hand, his right covered in a burgundy glow.
The air rang with hollow laughter. “I’m afraid your tale ends here, Contender. You may call your executioner Malcom, if it would give you comfort to know the nature of your doom.” The would-be killer flashed a mocking smile. “Alas, my name whispered by your dying lips is the last bit of solace you will ever receive. For here’s where your story ends, and my brother’s begins.”
Eric frowned at those words. “You know, that’s not quite right... Malcom, is it? Because your brother’s already taken over the minds of over a dozen Contenders, not to mention the Bronze-tier mercenaries. So your bro’s story is hardly just ‘beginning.’ Clearly he’s been at this for awhile.”
Eric smirked at the other man’s expression. “No, wait, let me guess! It sounded catchy the first time you headed off some poor fool desperate to put Kevin down before it was too late, am I right? Because it’s not like you can say, ‘Here’s where your story ends and my brothers continues.’ Because that doesn’t rhyme and it sounds cheesy with the double ‘s’es said back to back. You feel me?”
This earned a confused blink. “Who the fuck do you—”
Iado skillcheck made!
DOOMFLURRY!
You have critically struck your foe one dozen times in a single second!
You have refrained from infusing your blade with higher order concepts or any arcane elements whatsoever.
Brilliant mithril flashed in the darkness so fast that no mortal eye could follow it. Only the after-image.
The shadowy figure stumbled back, a panicked expression flashing over Malcom’s shadowy features before he forced a laugh.
“FOOL! You can’t touch me! No physical attack can harm me, idiot. Your attacks are worthless against me! Whereas mine, on the other hand...”
Malcom wasn’t a complete idiot when he feinted high before darting low and lashing for Eric’s wrist, Eric would give his opponent that much credit.
Even if the man’s look was comical when Eric deadpanned absolute indifference, his fifty pound mithril blade instantly snapping into mid guard before a casual flick sent Malcom’s saber cartwheeling through the air.
The shadowy contender stepped back. “No. No one can move that fast. My Quickness and Strength are both over 150! I’m good. I know I am. There’s no fucking way…”
But Eric no longer paid attention to his opponent’s words. A true tactician was eternally flexible, well able to adapt to any situation. As impressive as it was that his foe had laughed off a slashes with a mithril blade like it was nothing, Eric couldn’t help but notice the way Malcolm had grabbed his own wrist, when Eric had wrenched his blade out of his hand. And if that was the case…
“Hey, what the… Get the fuck back here! That’s my blade!”
You have successfully claimed Eldritch Saber!
Warning! This saber is inhabited by a Spirit of Possession!
Eric yanked back his hand just as the obsidian blade began to glow with furious killing intent.
Nonetheless, for a split second his mind was filled with a cacophony of screams he saw red, snarling as he leaked tears of blood.
Blood Ward has mitigated Psionic Attack!
You have taken one Medium Wound.
Kevin has suffered one Medium Wound.
Note! Your Sylvan heritage hinders your otherwise Flawless Formation! Disorientation can be alleviated, but health damage from Psionic Attacks will not heal until System Reset (1 hour’s undisturbed rest) or Greater Healing from Bronze tier healer or better occurs!
Eric groaned as his roaring opponent slammed into him, a fist crackling with lightning pounded into his floating ribs, and he was surprised to find himself breathless as the bastard cackled in his ear.
“That’s right, motherfucker! I can hurt you! Surprised? Don’t be. I got a window into your soul, motherfucker,” Malcom said, quickly reclaiming his blade. “Which means all your defenses are worthless! Whereas my attacks…”
Fire Fist!
A furious surge of panic before Eric snapped back into focus, psionic attack and dizzying pain having thrown him off his game for just a heartbeat as he lashed out with what was for him, the most natural strike in the world, and totally magic free.
He couldn’t help smirking when his opponent went ragdolling through the air to smack into the extremely hard Alutopaz alloy what would give high grade tempered steel a run for its money. Yet Eric’s relief was short lived when his foe sprang up like a marionette popping back to his feet, and Eric suppressed a groan, sensing that he was now most definitely in trouble.
“Well fuck me to hell and back. This is what it feels like to be you? Fuck yes! Faster than fast and strong as sin!”
With those words, his foe was charging forward, a mad gleeful glint to his eyes as he lashed out with a furious barrage of feints, thrusts, and whipping slashes strung together in a deadly flurry that would have utterly shredded Eric’s sword arm if his Quickness had been any less than what it now was. Even the Eric of just a few weeks ago would have been crippled right before being run through the heart, his once glorious tale coming to a bitter end before the sneering man so eager for his death. Yet his explosive growth, not to mention four feet of razor sharp mithril and a foot long hilt, gave him the reach, reflexes, and leverage he needed to keep from getting slaughtered in just a handful of seconds.
“Fool! Think you can stop me? Steel can’t touch me and your power just makes me stronger! I’m the perfect trump card against everyone, asshole! I’m the ultimate fucking build!” Malcolm laughed as he said it, wrenching Eric’s sword high before a surprise kick to the gut had him stumbling back.
It was all Eric could do to force down the first tendrils of dread as he confronted his sneering opponent. As the man’s surprisingly painful kick, mocking confession, and the cursed blade Eric dare not even touch made all too clear... against this foe, Eric had no good defense at all. His resistances would be sliced through just as easily as he had sliced through power armor with higher order concepts of Ice and Fire. Elements he sure as hell wouldn’t use now, not when his gift of a single basic punch enhanced by Fire Qi alone, had been all that was needed to turn his opponent into a true monster.
Quickness check made. You have successfully avoided crippling blow!
As evidenced by the cratered Alutopaz wall that a furious hilt bash had caved in as easily as the asshole no doubt wanted to do to Eric’s skull.
“Afraid? You should be! Now I got you on the back foot. Now you know I can HURT you! And even if I don’t kill you, you’ll still be my brother’s slave by the end of the day! You’ll be the perfect pawn we’ll use to take over the entire northeast, and we have you to thank for it!”
This earned a mad cackle as Malcolm roared and went on the offensive once more. Of course that was when Eric’s vision began to fade, Kevin choosing the worst possible moment possible to launch his most powerful attack yet, hammering against Eric’s psyche like a howling storm eager to wash all resistance away.
Because of course his enemies were working together.
No doubt they had taken care of overconfident idiots like himself more than once before, working together in ways that most Contenders, having to fear threats and fierce competition for ranks and titles, not to mention the fear of a supposed ally claiming their heads for a sudden boost to their own power… never could.
“Fuck NO! It does not end HERE!” Eric screamed in his head, immediately tuning into his own breathing as he inhaled deep, squatted down to dodge the blade he knew was aimed for his neck before he went blind, felt pain beyond agony searing his left hip from Malcolm getting in one good blow before Eric sprung as high as he could, filling his mind with the transcendent ideal of flame.
Enough fire to set the entire world ablaze.
As he had by his mother’s merciless side, a dozen times before.
“No! What the hell are you?”
You have successfully bested your opponent in a contest of wills!
Your mind is still your own! (For now)
You are currently looking down upon your present opponent: Malcom.
Malcom has scored one Light Wound upon your hip.
Your defenses have been pierced due to Blood Magic and laws of Similarity and Contagion! Damage resistance does not protect!
Eric clenched his jaw as he fell back to Earth, knowing that he was in serious trouble.
His physical blows did nothing. Even if he could parry the idiot’s enhanced strikes, he could never land one of his own. And even if his Fire fist had cracked against the fool’s chin and sent him flying, the asshole had only grown stronger once he popped back to his feet. Not weaker.
It was like Eric himself had somehow gifted Malcolm with so much of his own power!
Eric felt a chill he refused to call dread as he finished falling back down to earth, having gotten a good look at the pocket realm his enemy had somehow put him in when forcing this duel. Because in whatever direction he looked… there was Malcom. As if space warped around an infinite point that was this fight that he would be forced to endure.
The gift of a miniature world he would use to kill his prey was what Malcom would give everyone forced to face him.
And the smug look of satisfaction on his features as he strode so calmly over to Eric made it clear that he knew exactly how effective his trap truly was.
“Sorry, asshole. You’re not going anywhere. In case you’re as stupid as you look and you haven’t figured it out yet, this is a 4-D pocket realm, and all points lead to me, it’s master.”
“Dominion over land. And your brother, dominion over the mind,” Eric said.
Malcolm snorted. “Dominion over all you fucks is the bottom line.” His lips curled up in a cruel smile. “Now, how about you give me everything you got. I want to blaze so fucking bright that I never come down!”
The madman roared and charged, somehow even faster than he was just seconds ago, and that was when it all clicked. Even as his abdomen burned with sudden fire, thanks to a blade flickering so fast that it was all Eric could do to keep from getting disemboweled, he finally understood!
When he had lashed out with his Fire Fist, he had somehow given his opponent access to his power. Were he to strike and lash out with the full force of his flame, he would effectively be gifting his foe the secrets needed for his own wild ascension, for he too was a Contender perhaps just as capable of limitless growth with the right catalyst, and Eric refused to let that catalyst be himself.
You have FAILED a Quickness check! Your opponent has manage to slice open your wrist!
Vitality check successful. Tendons intact. You can still hold your blade without penalty!
Eric’s mind snapped back to the moment, having drifted for half a second as Kevin tried yet again to torment him with sensations of drowning and ever growing pressure. With helplessness and despair. Yet for whatever reason, Eric was increasingly certain that his foe hoped that Eric would just give up. That his surrender, gifting Kevin and Malcolm both with unquestioned victory, would be the sweetest and most lasting way they could win.
Eric spat blood and flashed the now inhumanly fast swordsman before him a hate-filled smile.
Because he was finally getting an inkling of what was going on. And if the way Eric had almost flung Malcom’s much lighter blade free of his hands yet again was any indication… his foe might have his Quickness, but he lacked his Strength, even if his earlier kick had been a doozy. No doubt if Eric surrendered to his growing sense of panic and lashed out with all force and fury… he’d be giving his foe access to all his attributes and powers as well.
The man before him laughed, eyes twinkling with malicious glee as they both stood upon the now featureless plane as the Blue Corp buildings, parks, and roads all melted to oblivion, with nothing remaining but the howling wind upon a featureless plane and each other. “That’s right, asshole! It’s over! You’ve already lost! So unless you can pull a miracle, you’re here forever! You’re here until I cut you into so many pieces that…” Malcom’s words abruptly died out, furrowing his brow at the cool chill around Eric’s clenched right fist.
“Wasting your time with another right hook? Ha! Go for it ass—”
His words died out with a surprised gasp when Eric rammed forward, trapping his foe’s obsidian blade against his own dachi’s mithril hilt with his offhand as he continued to pound forward, sprinting unimpeded on this desolate plane.
“Think you can trap my blade again, asshole? You can’t hurt—”
Sneering words of outrage became a surprised cry when Eric’s fist smashed Malcom’s nose, spraying them both with his blood.
Malcom’s eyes widened with horror. “NO! No fucking way! You can’t hurt—”
Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a furious right hook as Eric jerked free Malcom’s blade with his left hand, his mithril dachi disappearing back in his storage space as he delivered a kidney punch that had a now weaponless Malcom groaning before a knee bomb smashed in his teeth and sent him cartwheeling back in a dazed heap.
The man’s startled cry and angry growl quickly became a desperate shout, than a pitiful scream as a roaring Eric embraced the martial art he had learned by Sam and Pavel’s side and REALLY went to town.
Because he was done giving his enemies any taste of his power. Now, he was taking it back.
You have successfully struck your opponent with Doom Strike! You are draining Vitality, Mana, and Qi!
Your modified Consumption (Cold) & Dominion Essence modifier of 6 Surpasses your opponent’s Dominion Rank of 4!
Your opponent FAILS to save versus transcendent attack!
You have discovered the weakness of your opponent’s power! What can be so easily given can just as easily be taken back!
Eric ignored the interface messages as he roared and pounded his would-be executioner with everything he had, ignoring every overhand right, gut punch, and spinning backfist that his foe, clearly no amateur to the boxing ring, delivered in turn.
At first, Eric found himself spitting up nearly as much blood as a snarling Malcom, who was whaling against Eric’s ribs with crackling fist of lightning the cracked bones and scalded flesh. But Eric refused to let up his pace, even when a knee to the liver almost sent him to what had suddenly become the cage match mat.
“You want to end it all this way? Fine, motherfucker! Let’s do this!” Malcolm roared.
Yet the awful pain only heightened Eric’s his resolve. Because finally, FINALLY he could hurt this smirking motherfucker. And as the endless round continued Eric saw the man’s sneering arrogance and disdain start to wain, face clenching not with contempt but with pain… and growing fear.
“You think you can take me down, you little shit? This is nothing! I was fighting in amateur bouts while you were snorting coke off hooker’s asses, you party-boy pussy!”
Eric’s only answer to that was an overhand right that filled the air with Malcolm’s spurting blood, when nose cartilage cracked against his clenched fist. Because mescaline one time with a drunk fling was not snorting coke off hooker’s asses, no matter what the tabloids said. And he had left that party-boy lifestyle, the most realistic role he had ever embraced, just as soon as Aurelia didn’t need his excesses to cover for his sister’s fall from grace.
Besides, now he had far healthier ways of dealing with life’s stress than getting loaded and laid.
Now there was the rush of conquest, dominion, and slaughter.
Draining dry the sweet, sweet potency of entire regions and the deadliest foes.
Greatest fucking high there ever was.
And even if his opponent actually had a background as an amateur fighter, it didn’t matter. Because they weren’t playing for points, they were fighting for survival. No judge was there to cry foul when Eric’s knee smashed a snarling Malcolm’s groin a split second before his right elbow cracked his wheezing opponent’s left orbital socket.
The man had time for only a surprised groan before Eric seized the initiative, now pounding into his nemesis with absolutely everything he had. Picking up his pace with every bloody blow, cracking bones and bruising flesh so bad that blood was flying as skin ripped and tore, his foe now curling up in a ball as Eric roared, kicked, and heel stomped the ever-loving-fuck out of his foe. Howling with the sweet, sweet rush of crushing his foe and tearing back every last iota of power and potency this asshole had thought to leech from him, even if only so long as necessary to assure Eric’s death.
“NO please, mercy. Mercy!”
The words washed over Eric as the meaningless dribble it was.
“I give up, man. The fight is—god that hurts! Please! I’m sorry, alright? Please!!”
Eric yanked his trembling foe by the greasy hair on his scalp to glare in his eyes before a fresh right hook cracked against Malcom’s jaw, shattering teeth and bone as Eric ripped free the strength of enamel and bone.
He could see the bitter truth in Malcom’s one intact eye. His desperately calculating mind looking for some angle, any angle, reduced to a panic animal’s desperate need to flee. Now pleading fr the mercy of a second chance that a roaring Eric would NEVER show either brother who had worked hand in hand to doom an entire city, and would no doubt do so again.
“I can tell you where the gold is!” Malice’s opponent pled with the broken voice of a teen. “Please! We got the best of those goblin shits… oh fuck, please, that—I can give you the gold! Please! Stop hitting me!”
But in that moment of terrible sublime fury, Eric was far less interested in financial prosperity than in the sweet, hot joy of POUNDING the ever-loving shit of the bastard who had thought him an easy mark. His wrath so hot that even Kevin’s desperate clawing of his mind was ignored, the man’s terrified screams and despairing wail for his doomed brother less than nothing before Eric’s wrath.
But much to Eric’s growing frustration and fury, he just couldn’t kill the sublime asshole, no matter how severe his superficial injuries looked. He was still trapped in Malcolm’s pocket world.
Eric’s glare hardened. Even his limiting acting abilities were sufficient to spot it when someone else was hamming it up, suppressing a groan of his own when Kevin began tearing at Eric’s psyche with desperate flailing octopedian limbs.
“You little fuck.”
Malcom smirked, revealing teeth that, though bloody, were very much intact. “You got a mean right hook, I’ll give you that, Eric Silver,” he said in a reedy voice that grew stronger by the second. “But you’re forgetting the perk that makes all the fucking difference. We’re in my world. Where I hold sway! So sure, you can hurt me. Hell, yes, you can. Beat the ever living fuck out of me as you steel every last iota of power from so many fucking kills and you better believe I’ll be getting my cut back when you’re dead, you little shit! But you can’t kill me, you fucking asshole! Because this is my world! My realm! And here you’re going to stay until my lazy ass brother finally gets his claws in—”
His words cut off as horrified eyes widened at the sight of Eric’s smile.
Stretching so wide.
Revealing countless rows of serrated teeth.
“Oh no…”
It was as if Malcolm could finally sense it, his smug confidence suddenly waning to despair as Kevin screamed in the back of Eric’s mind.
Sensing that whether or not he held dominion over his own lands that would best any orthodox Contender… he was now facing a disciple of the Path of Consumption.
The Winter Queen’s chosen scion.
He who had consumed the power of entire worlds.
Compared to the howling feats of horror he and his mother had committed this night alone…
Destroying a shadow realm would be no problem at all.
And how curious it was, the tiny sane part of Eric’s mind thought, that Malcolm and of course a screaming Kevin, could sense those terrible truths with Eric’s gleefully growing smile, Euclidean geometry fracturing into a thousand tortured screams as Eric’s grin grew so wide that it could devour an entire world.
Without warping the sublime grace of his sensual lips… his mother’s lips, at all.
“No! Stop! I’ll let you go, stop! Stop!” Kevin howled in the vast yawning darkness of Eric’s mind.
Malcolm shuddered, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Of fuck, fuck! He’s gonna kill me in my own world, bro! He’s gonna—”
A single effortless snap and the sweet sweet sparkly taste of bubbly wine and the greatest rush of all, as the headless corpse spurting blood stiffened in Eric’s arms before he took a second ravenous bite, ribs shattering and heart rupturing with the same glorious explosion of flavor as feasting on cherries dipped in dark chocolate. Bonbons filled with poppy extract. And yes, the sweet rush of a line of coke with a girl just as fucked up as he had been before losing himself in the sweet ecstasy of an ENTIRE POCKET REALM being CONSUMED as a howling Eric finally gave in to the Ravager’s Path that he swore he’d deny himself for all time.
Because one deadly hit was all it took for him to embrace that sweet, glorious rush, chasing that dragon of a high and catching it! DEVOURING it as Malcom’s remains shriveled to ash, all power and potency and a thousand lifetime’s worth of potential consumed by Eric walking a path worthy of the Winter Queen herself.
Congratulations! You have successfully slain Malcolm Jackson, an opposing Contender!
You have dared this feat while walking the Path of The Ravager, consuming an entire pocket realm as you devour your prey!
If a man can play king in the castle of his home, then you will happily CONSUME both king and castle, until their power is forever your own!
A portion of Malcolm Jackson’s endless potential (5% of his key attributes) is now forever your own!
Soul Reserves have permanently increased by 16 points!
Arcane Potential has permanently increased by 15 points!
Quickness has permanently increased by 7 points!
Strength has permanently increased by 8 points!
(Note! Multiple modifiers have significantly enhanced this boon!)
Experience earned!
Even approves of this battle.
You are now a Level 42 Death’s Disciple!
Unarmed Combat is now Rank 27.
Swordsmanship is now Rank 33.
2nd Tier Core Saturation is now at 16%.
You have CLAIMED 1 Rank of Dominion’s Essence!
You are now just a heartbeat away from an evolution that terrifies you!
Chapter 385 - Battle For Freetown: Part 7
Comments
Goldfish2
Cause he was being considerate of the world and bequeathed earth a fighting chance and hope for the future for he can’t be everywhere alone. To forge future champions and alliance to earth and humanity and elven sake. And dungeon were needed cause it was either corrupted or to high without any chance of sane growth for the people of earth. And he mostly embrace forging beautiful worlds for the inhabitants themselves there and making more connections and chances for earth. This pocket realm most likely can’t be change or control and would probably die with Malcom so it was best consume. One Eric refrain from cause it basically scorched earth tactic for the ravager path.
Goldfish2
HELL YEAH! MORE FEAR AND TERROR FOR KEVIN! LET HIM DIE LIKE MALCOM!!
Warior1411
When and why did Eric swear to never use the Ravager's Path? It consumes worlds right? I thought Eric just decided to only use the Ravager's Path on dungeons but still use it, am I wrong?
