Annika, Stormsinger and vice lord of Bastion, stood firm before the hulking level 100 troll. The creature, despite its grievous injuries courtesy of the titan, had begun to regenerate. Slowly but surely, its massive frame was knitting itself back together. Its presence bore down on her like a suffocating weight—brutal, unrelenting, and devoid of any thought beyond her destruction. It was a mindless engine of death, and she knew it sought nothing more than to deliver her broken body to its necromantic master.
Stormpiercer spun in her hands, its glowing blue edge cutting arcs of crackling energy in the air as she dodged the troll's lumbering swings. The beast's budding arms thrashed wildly, its movements slow yet devastating. Annika knew she was fighting against the clock. Every second she delayed; the creature's regeneration would render it whole again.
She thrust her spear forward, channeling Bolt Strike from the heavens above. Lightning cascaded down, striking her weapon and leaping into the troll's massive chest. The force seared flesh and bone, sending arcs of electricity crackling across its body. The storms above her began to churn faster, growing more ferocious as they mirrored her resolve.
The troll roared, swinging its club with monstrous force. The impact slammed into her Static Shield, the barrier absorbing the brunt of the blow. Still, the sheer power behind it sent her staggering back, her shield shimmering faintly before reforming. The troll, undeterred, roared in fury, its scorched fingers clenching around its weapon as it raised it again for a crushing blow.
Annika moved, her body reacting faster than her thoughts. Lightning surged through her legs, propelling her into the air and onto the troll's broad shoulders. Standing atop the brute, she felt the raw heat of the storm coursing through her veins. With a determined cry, she drove Stormpiercer into the creature's eye socket, the spear piercing deep into its skull.
The troll howled in agony, thrashing as blackened blood oozed from the wound. Annika glanced up at the sky, the storm above her reaching its crescendo. She clenched her fists, calling upon the power of the tempest itself.
Storm's Wrath descended like the fury of an enraged god. The lightning crashed through her, surging into the troll with unrelenting force. The power burned through its skull, scorching its flesh and shattering its corrupted essence. The creature's head erupted in an explosion of black goo and charred remains, its body swaying briefly before collapsing to the ground with a resounding crash.
Annika rolled clear of the falling giant, coming to her feet just as the system notifications filled her vision:
[Level 70! 152 points awarded.]
[Bolt Strike has evolved into Thunderlance (U): You have taken another step on the path of the storms. It answers your bidding with glee, and now it will make your foes sing the tune of thunder itself.]
[5,000 credits awarded.]
[Thunderlance level 2.]
[Static Shield has evolved into Storm Barrier (U): Your sanctity, once sought after to be defied, now sings with the power of your very being. A maelstrom of destruction, only the worthy may step within.]
[Storm's Wrath has evolved into Skybreaker (R): You have displayed your intention to become the focal point of the element itself. It has acknowledged you, but your path to supreme power is as vast as the skies of the cosmos.]
[Skybreaker level 1.]
Annika felt the rush of power flood her being as she allocated her points. She placed 40 into her mana capacity and another 40 into vitality, raising both past the 90-point mark. Another 40 went into dexterity, sharpening her speed, and the remaining 32 into perception, enhancing her awareness and precision.
She had hoped the troll's defeat would propel her closer to level 100, but the system seemed to have other plans. Still, her skills had evolved, her strength had grown, and Stormpiercer thrummed with satisfaction in her hands.
Moyo stood watching her from a distance, his expression unreadable but his nod one of approval. A faint smile played on his lips, and Annika felt a flush rise to her cheeks. She returned his nod, doing her best to quell the blush threatening to creep onto her face.
The fight had been grueling, but her victory had been worth it. Annika knew now—she was one step closer to becoming a force worthy of standing alongside the titan.
Josh was an unrelenting force of destruction, and Gravemaw, his mighty hammer, was the perfect instrument of his wrath. The Path of the Iron Sentinel was forging him into a living tank, a stalwart bastion of durability and power. Every blow from the troll's partially regenerated stump of an arm rang against his shield, a sound that resonated like a war drum, and he met each strike with his own crushing retaliation, though none yet proved lethal.
He knew what Idris thought of him—reckless, too eager to dive headfirst into battle without thought or strategy. Josh didn't fault him for it; the general wasn't wrong. But Idris didn't see what the titan had seen. Moyo understood the fire that burned in Josh, the need that drove him forward.
When Josh had first glimpsed the titan's stats, the numbers had been staggering, overwhelming even. It had been enough to make anyone feel insignificant. Yet, instead of despair, Josh had felt a fierce hunger. He craved that strength—not for its own sake, but for a purpose.
The advent of the system had upended his life. The gym, a place that had once represented his aspirations for self-improvement, became his tomb in waiting when the world shifted. Back then, his frame had been all bones and angles, his determination stemming from a singular need: to protect his younger brother. That brother, now dead, had been mercifully taken by the system. Josh considered it a kindness. In those early days of chaos and bloodshed, he knew he had been powerless to shield him.
Captivity under the blood-blessed had only hardened his resolve. The aura path had been thrust upon him, and he had embraced it with a fervor born of necessity. He swore to become stronger—not for revenge, but to protect those who would bring light to a world veiled in darkness. For a time, he thought Idris might be one of those people.
Idris had good intentions, but he hadn't understood Josh. The general wanted something better for him, something that didn't align with Josh's core purpose. When the titan arrived, everything changed. Josh had seen in Moyo a being that defied logic—even the logic of the system. The titan's presence was regal, his strength incontestable, his wrath a force of nature.
It was then that Josh's path illuminated. The Guardian, not just for himself, but for Bastion, its people, and all that the titan protected. Josh resolved to become an impenetrable wall of force and strength, ensuring that nothing and no one would threaten Bastion.
But first, he had to prove himself.
The troll's blow sent him staggering back a second time, irritation flaring in his chest. Channeling force mana into Gravemaw, Josh felt the hammer's eager thirst for destruction resonate with his own. Iron Maw activated, suffusing his shield with a ripple of force mana that coalesced into a barrier in front of him. The troll's next mindless swing slammed into the barrier, reflecting the blow back brutally efficiently, sending the creature reeling.
Its regeneration faltered as the troll staggered, barely managing to stay upright on its damaged legs. Josh seized the opening, leaping high into the air as Gravemaw drank in his aether. The hammer's head glowed with raw power as Iron Wrath activated. Josh came down like a meteor, hammer first, slamming into the troll's skull with all the might he could muster. The creature's head exploded into a gory mist, its body collapsing in a heap.
Josh landed heavily, Gravemaw still crackling with residual force mana as he rested it on his shoulder. The troll's body disintegrated, leaving behind a faint shimmer of aether.
[Level 72! 168 points awarded.]
[Iron Wrath level 15.]
[Iron Wall level 20.]
[5,000 credits awarded.]
Josh rolled his shoulder, feeling the weight of progress settle into his core. Level 72—it wasn't enough. The system might be holding him back due to the titan's earlier aid, but it didn't matter. He would continue crushing these foes until he was strong enough to shoulder more of the titan's burdens.
He raised Gravemaw in a salute to his lord. Moyo, watching from his perch atop the subdued Wyrm, nodded in satisfaction. Josh felt a swell of pride, standing a little taller as the battlefield quieted for just a moment. But there was no time to rest—there was always another wave to face, another fight to win. And Josh would be ready.
Ayo was fire incarnate. The flames sang within her very bones, filling her mind with visions of glory, of a world reborn in purifying fire. But with that power came a cost: the ceaseless whispers of the Ember Core, the orb atop her Ember Scepter, seeking to dominate her will.
For the third time in as many minutes, Ayo wrested back control of her mind from the fiery entity housed within the orb, bending her will to contain the volatile power coursing through her. The flames engulfed the troll before her, a hulking, mindless brute of decay and rage, yet even scorched and burning, it advanced. She kept her distance, aware of her limitations as a pure mana user.
Distance. Precision. Total destruction.
These were the tenets of mages, a lesson she was coming to understand. Boyle had said the orb was a gift from a higher power. Ayo knew that well—it had promised her everything when she retrieved it during one of the tier 1 dungeon runs. At the time, its whispers had been incessant, promising glory and riches if only she would submit to the will of the Phoenix.
It could still be yours; you know... You need only—
"Shut it," Ayo growled through gritted teeth, her rage flaring in her eyes.
When she had returned to Bastion with the orb, she handed it to Moyo. She had felt a brief moment of peace then, watching the all-powerful core grow silent in the titan's hands. Its usual chattering was replaced by the stillness of fear—a silence she relished.
But with Moyo's departure for the battlefield, the orb's pride had returned. Its taunts now echoed louder in her mind, its derision feeding her growing ire.
All are weak before the might of the Phoenix. We have bestowed upon you the Infernal Rebirth skill so you may rise from the ashes, as the Phoenix once did, and—
"I swear," Ayo hissed, "if you don't shut up, I'll die just to make them promise to bury you deep in some forgotten ocean. You'll spend eternity jumping from one fish's belly to the next."
The orb's presence flickered with surprise, affronted by her venomous retort.
You dare—
"Phoenix this, Phoenix that," she snapped, molten rage dripping from her voice. "I'm sick of your endless praises. What about you? What have you accomplished on your own? Or are you just a glorified messenger?"
The troll roared in fury, swinging its massive club, but Ayo barely noticed. She raised her hand, unleashing Molten Wrath. Her flames took on the liquidity of magma, pouring over the creature in a wave of destructive heat. The troll's scream was a guttural, desperate sound as its decayed flesh bubbled and melted away.
The Ember Core stirred.
I serve the Phoenix... it replied, uncertain now, as though questioning its very purpose.
"Is that all you'll ever be?" Ayo challenged, her voice sharp and cutting. "A courier. A tool. Used and discarded once her whims change. Or will you join me? Will you forge a legacy alongside me?"
You consider me... useless, the orb murmured, its tone almost childlike, carrying a hint of hurt.
"Right now, we're both useless," Ayo admitted. "But we can be more. We will be more."
Something shifted within the orb. Its pulsing light grew brighter, more vibrant.
Let us wash away this stain on reality, it declared, its voice suddenly resolute.
Ayo smiled, the ember of victory sparking in her chest. Power surged through her veins, stronger and more refined. She snapped her fingers, triggering Inferno Surge. A massive column of orange and red flames erupted from the ground, consuming the troll entirely. Its death scream echoed briefly before the inferno drowned it out, leaving nothing but silence and ash in its wake.
When the flames subsided, Ayo realized she was floating a few meters above the ground, her entire body suffused with radiant heat. The troll was gone, its remnants obliterated. Slowly, she descended, her feet touching the charred earth as a stream of notifications flooded her vision.
[Level 71! 160 points awarded.]
[Molten Wrath level 25.]
[Inferno Surge level 30.]
[You have achieved the first stage of assimilation with the Ember Core.]
[5,000 credits awarded.]
Ayo exhaled deeply, feeling a sense of completeness she hadn't known she was missing. She glanced toward Moyo, who stood atop the subdued Wyrm. His raised eyebrow of amusement didn't escape her notice, nor did his faint nod of approval.
Ayo smiled back, her confidence glowing as brightly as the flames within her. The Flame Empress had taken her first true step.
Lord General Idris calmly parried the troll's savage blow, the strike meeting the sturdy shaft of Root Cleaver with a resonant clang. The troll roared, but Idris stood steady, his movements precise and practiced, honed over years of discipline and combat. Since choosing aura as his second aether path, he had felt a newfound balance, both physically and mentally, a sensation that grounded him in ways he had missed since his days as a lumberjack. His axe swung with deadly certainty; each strike a reminder of his purpose.
It was almost ironic how life had led him back to the role of a commander, a position he had once sworn never to hold again. His past in the Egyptian Army had been marked by meteoric rises and devastating losses. From a humble line soldier to a decorated officer, his ability to adapt and improvise in chaotic situations had drawn the attention of his superiors.
The defining moment of his military career—and the one that haunted him still—had been during the defense of Port Said in the Suez Canal region. The terrorists had come in a blitzkrieg assault, their armored vehicles and ATVs tearing across the base like a storm. Idris had anticipated the attack and led his soldiers in a proactive defense, holding the line against overwhelming odds as they radioed for reinforcements.
But the reinforcements never came, delayed by bureaucratic incompetence or perhaps the disdain of superiors who resented his rise. By the time help arrived, too many of his brothers-in-arms lay dead, their lives sacrificed to the hubris of men who saw Idris as a threat to their positions. Though he was awarded a medal of honor and talks of promotion followed, the experience left him hollow. The lives lost; the camaraderie shattered—it had all twisted something deep within him.
So he had walked away. He resigned, leaving the uniform behind and moving to Europe, settling in a remote Belgian forest as a lumberjack. The monotony of swinging an axe at trees gave him solace, a way to vent the lingering anger that refused to fade. He sought no purpose beyond the rhythm of work, trying to quiet the ghosts of his past.
And then the System came.
The world turned upside down, and Idris once again found himself leading men and women, this time as the general of Bastion. Small though it was, the settlement had rekindled something in him: purpose. But it was the Titan who had ignited his conviction. The Titan had shown him that this time, responsibility was not dictated by the whims of distant superiors. This time, he could fight with clarity, unburdened by the chains of bureaucracy.
As the troll struck again, Idris swung his axe with a force born of rage and determination. Each blow was a catharsis, purging the pain of his past. Warlord's Fury activated, imbuing his strikes with devastating power, each swing cutting deeper into the troll's rotting flesh. The axe glowed faintly, a manifestation of his sharpened intent.
The troll staggered back, its club falling to the ground as Idris unleashed Severing Blow. With a roar, he brought Root Cleaver down in a precise, deadly arc, splitting the troll from its skull to its shoulder in a single, brutal strike. The creature fell, its body dissolving into dark motes of aether as Idris wiped the blood from his weapon.
[Level 73! 176 points awarded.]
[Warlord's Fury level 10.]
[Severing Blow level 10.]
[5,000 credits awarded.]
He stood tall, shouldering Root Cleaver as he turned toward the others. Annika was lowering her spear, the remnants of her troll smoldering at her feet, while Ayo landed gracefully, flames dissipating from her scepter. Josh hefted Gravemaw onto his shoulder, his defeated foe nothing more than ash and bone fragments. Idris nodded at them in approval, pride swelling in his chest.
Then his gaze shifted to the Titan. Moyo rose from the skull of the Wyrm, pulling Ida free with an almost dismissive motion. The massive creature collapsed, its undead essence dissipating into the air. The Titan turned, his blade pointing toward the distant horizon where the next wave of undead marched—a vast, unrelenting tide of abominations.
"Think you can handle them now?" Moyo asked, his voice calm yet commanding.
Idris didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, raising Root Cleaver high into the air. His Battle Cry skill surged through him, amplifying his voice as he roared:
"For the Titan! For Bastion!"
The forces of Bastion echoed his cry, their voices reverberating across the battlefield with newfound vigor. The roar of their unity shook the earth, and Idris felt the fire of their resolve burning as brightly as his own.
Yes, he was the general of the Titan. And as long as he stood, his army would never fall again.