The Wielder of Death Magic

Chapter 770: Floor 20

‘Meet the swing just before it reaches me,’ the sword unsheathed, ‘-there’s a chance he’ll talk to Kylsha, seems the type to judge strength on outward appearances,’ he dove through the levied fog of the impact, ‘-accuracy is good enough.’

“What?” *clash,* a brief moment of fear forced the body into a natural block, ‘-did he trigger my instinct?’ casual banter to the demoness stopped short – after the first strike, Kanad turned toward the demoness with his ax at his side, more or less a warning shot. ‘-He parried my strike and vanished,’ he scoured left and right, ‘-where is he?’ the strong-armed Demonlord watched furiously, was he up or down.

“Drop your weapon.”

“Excuse me?” the voice spoke from the throne.

“Surprised?” Igna laughed, “-here’s the deal,” shuffled to the golden chair, his fingers outlined the armrest, “-a king doesn’t need to fight,” *snap,* a ghoulish shadow dove into the fray, five strokes and four-hit, blood-splattered, “-the golden rule of kingship is entourage,” he stood with back against the armrest and held his palm open, a miniature version of the Shadow Realm materialized, “-so happens, my entourage is an entire universe, understand?”

“Whatever,” he exhaled loudly through the nose, ‘-got me good, he targeted my vitals and made sure to leave enough room for my survival, what a terrifying presence...’

“Meet Vengeance,” he said, “-the culmination of the woe, anger, and despair felt by the people of Arda, a personification of Vengeance who so happened to be my trusted aid.”

.....

He held his wound, “-impressive,” the grip eased, “-I was wrong to attack.”

“It is forgiven,” he said, “-tell me briefly what has happened in the years of the Tower’s existence?”

“I’ll explain instead,” said Kylsha, “-Kanad’s more of a meathead.”

“Can’t argue facts,” he mumbled, “-I’ll head out for a bit, have to gather the army for the last battle.”

“Understood,” replied Kylsha favorably, “-majesty, should we change to a more, let’s say, breathable atmosphere?”

“You’re the guide, lead the way.”

Menacing and all-encompassing switched to the landscape of floor 199, “-here we are,” she smiled grandly, a quaint table under the shelter of a log cabin’s veranda. “-Cutting to the chase.”

“Hold a moment,” the face froze, “-I forgot to bring Fenrir.”

“The legendary beast?” she seemed unshaken, “-why the worry?”

“No, I said I’d keep her by my side,” an uncertain discomfort led to fast taps.

“I’ll send someone to fetch,” she replied, “-will that suffice?”

“Yes it will,” he openly breathed a sigh of relief.

“Majesty, the emotions are readable, the body language is simple and predictable, very different from a few hours ago.”

“Has to do with my bicolored pupils,” he pointed, “-when its blood crimson, I lost any sliver of emotion I held – I become my true self. However, the crystal white pupil act sort of a limiter, I feel and express various emotions – good or bad, I don’t know, and don’t care. Does it answer the question?”

“Sure it does,” she coughed, re-straighten her back and washing the forest by her cold stare, “-the tower of God is a realm in of itself. We conquered an infant realm not so long ago; it was altered to match the framework of a dungeon. Scifer wanted it to be a challenge for the toughest of fighters and a proving ground for our army. In a way, the levels are kingdoms on their own, this floor is living proof. Tis been more than a decade, can’t remember exactly, since we set foot in Plaustan – the town’s grown around to take full advantage of the tower’s resources. They feed on us and we train on them, a mutually beneficial relationship. So many people have died here, I can’t speak of the stories courageous fighters recounted before we ended their lives, brings a tear to my eye.”

“What’s the true purpose?”

“There’s thine answer,” she smiled, “-there isn’t one. The Tower of God is similar to a dream, an idea which says, the top will be reached by the strongest; and obviously, after an arduous battle, the reward will be worth its weight in gold, literally.”

“No purpose, it exists just because it exists. Training forces is reason enough.”

“Yes,” a faint echo called her attention, she stood, made way down three stairs, stared at the tree line as if they weren’t present, “-Majesty, the sad truth is, the tower of god is an anticlimactic addition to the world. We but have a few purposes...”

“Wrong,” he stood at her side, “-the tower has shaped the destiny and path newer generations are to walk, proving one’s might in the lower floors is common practice, the elite reach the top, and today, we’re going to restart the tower for the better.”

“Seems like the final gate’s been opened. We should return to the throne room.”

Kilometers away, a brave soul fought a rocky slope through a jagged hallway of overarching foliage, ‘-keep my guard,’ she kept a hold of her spear, ‘-the last floor,’ she thought and walked, ‘-here’s where I’ll fight my last battle. I’ve lost too much to brave this place again, Deadeyes, everyone, I’m sorry, your memories will live in my heart.’

12th December of the Year X102, a hero walks into the final lair of Plaustan’s monetary factory. She threads from a peaceful forest into a damp castle, the pillars were twice the size of trees in what laid before her, in more ways than one, the construction was excessive.

*Clop, clop, clop,* stairs echoed, the outline of the last fighter rose from the depth, short hair flowed from an escaping whisper, faint whistles hummed, ‘-I’ve made it,’ she gripped her spear and threw a glare towards the throne, ‘-Demonlord,’ she gritted. An average-looking man sat at the throne, he bore long flowing brown hair tied in a low ponytail, the suit added a spark of humanity and reason – he kept the toothache pose aided by the armrest, the lips figured a little sneer. True terror in both aura and power stood at either side, Kanad burnt in a visible red-flame whilst Kylsha kept her uncaring gaze centered at the guest.

“Welcome to Floor 200,” he thundered.

“Monsters can talk?” she approached and fiercely matched his response. A shadow scurried from one end to another, “-have thee decided on ending my life with backstabbing, sorry to stay, I’m blessed to be invincible.”

“Actually,” he smiled and held out a hand, “-Fenrir, stop scouring the Shadows.”

*Thuds,* a flash of blue close lined her onto the floor, ‘-what the?’ desperate to grab her weapon, “-ACHILLES, IT’S ME!”

‘Huh?’ the narrowed vision greatened, “-Fenrir?” her flashes flickered. Kanad and Kylsha were as confused, throwing murderous inquisitive frowns.

“Lower your guards,” he whispered, “-the adventurer was once an old companion of mine. I not know of her disposition as of yet,” the head hung back to stare Kylsha,”-a peaceful reform is better than fighting around destroying the room.”

“No, I want to fight,” firmed Kanad, “-there’s no fun in winning by default.”

“I bet to differ,” he shrugged, “-when the dungeon is evolved, the expansiveness of the floors and difficulties greatens, you won’t ever see an adventurer climb to the peak lest they be a demi-god. Here’s a deal; after the evolution, move to the Shadow Realm; Vesper must have demon lord’s ready to take the mantle of guardian till a truly strong party arrives. I’ll say, by my side, there art to be more opportunities for fights,” he smiled, “-what say you, Kanad and Kylsha, doth thee wish to fight beside thy monarch?”

“I’m willing to change my ways,” nodded the demoness, “-however, the four goddesses, the entourage’s strong already.”

“No, I can’t possibly rely on them all the time, they have the fate of a universe on their shoulders. Using their strength in trivial tasks is insulting to them and I. Demonlords on the other hand, are another story.”

“It will depend on how she answers,” the heavy brows flashed, the duo had settled into watching the leader.

“Igna Haggard,” said Achilles, “-may we talk?”

“Why the formal tone,” he climbed from the throne to a tête-à-tête, “-have Fenrir spoken about my origins?”

“The reincarnation of my master, Staxius Haggard,” she stared up and down, “-true, the visage and figure are reminiscent of his days before the boon of a divine body. I can’t sense the Death Element,” suspicion built.

“Actions speak louder than words, and frankly, I see no reason in why thy opinion is to alter the outcome. Fenrir here should be proof enough,” to which she moved to his side and hung on his shoulders, the head slightly tilted, ears and tail speaking through happy motions, “-our contract was forged from soul to soul. If I remember, I rescued thee from the eternal prison of Hades’ three-headed dog.”

“I don’t get it. Why have thee replaced thy adversary. I learned from Undrar your enemy was the God slayer, Scifer Rethem, I decided to climb to a tower in hopes of facing him one day.”

“He’s dead, defeated at the hand of Zeus, same as I was. The reincarnation was a product of a gamble, I scattered myself through time, leaving my heritage and strength in being a foundation of a new world, the effort’s paid.”

“You’re weak,” she observed, “-nothing like Staxius.”

“Stop comparing us, he’s dead, the legend of his story continues through the people he affected. I don’t expect anything, rather, I don’t care,” he returned to the throne, “-events have been readied to evolve the tower into a realm of endless possibilities. A lowly demi-god whose weakness lays in her name won’t suffice. Heed this warning, take the reward, and spread the name of the Demon King, Radahl.”

“Radahl?”

“Yes, the ruler of the tower and king of monsters, Radahl.”

“There he goes making names again,” whispered Fenrir.

“I guess so,” shrugged Achilles, “-fine,” she said, “-Radahl’s the ruler of the tower,” she pulled her spear, “-fight me one on one, knowing my weakness is but an illusion. If I win, you ought to answer to any of my wishes, no matter the scale of the request.”

“If the request is in the scope of my abilities,” the suit-jacket unbuttoned, “-spear versus sword, no magic I’d assume?”

“Correct, I want a contest of raw strength, no enhancement.”

*Blood-Arts: Enlian,* the hair bleached, “-my true form counts as an enhancement?”

“Not really,” her face gleamed, “-go on, let’s fight.”

The battle began into an instant disadvantage, the reach of a spear outweighed the reach of a sword, especially since his style relied on counterattacks; the form shifted to defensive.

“Any idea who’s going to win?”

“Achilles a hero of another world,” commented Fenrir, “-and my master is my master, hard to say.”

The spear moved unnaturally, almost giving the illusion of curving. He ducked, side-stepped, and parried, there was no way around her attacks – any opening instantly shut by her placement alone, ‘-rushing won’t help,’ sweat poured, ‘-she’s strong, very strong.’ Two steps, two strikes, one at the head and the other, the groin, ‘-barely escaped,’ he stood off-balance, ‘-oh god,’ she stomped, the spear dove forward into his left arm, it made contact, he used her momentum and spun(using the extended spear as foundation) wrapped his sword to her neck, she ducked, he jumped, she pulled her weapon and thrust upward, ‘-got you,’ it hit.

“Give up,” he said with a blade at her neck.

“You drew me into the opening,” she sighed and dropped the weapon, “-what did I hit?”

“My secondary weapon,” he panted, “-a good fight.” Little more than ten minutes elapsed, five of which were them studying each other.

“I hate to say it, the swordsmanship is top-class, a defensive battle isn’t what thee specialize in, do you?”

“Correct,” the weapon sheathed, “-a spear is a direct counter to a sword, there’s no argument. If I hadn’t gambled, you’d have won easily.”

“Good fight regardless.’

‘She seemed to accept what transpired, almost relieved to have lost. A win’s a win, no use complaining.’

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