Paragon of Destruction

Arran groaned in frustration. Almost half a week had passed after he’d achieved his breakthrough in the Forms, and he’d ran day and night since then, eager to find opponents to test his skills. Yet despite covering hundreds of miles, he had yet to find even the slightest sign of the opponents he sought.

Instead, all he saw was inhospitable wilderness, filled with long stretches of thorny trees and craggy hills. Occasionally, there were ruins amid the wasteland, as well — worn-down remains of long-abandoned settlements, the few houses that still stood crumbling and overgrown, with those who once lived there long since moved to safer lands.

Had Arran been a treasure hunter or scholar, the secrets that lay hidden beneath these lands might have filled him with excitement. But what he sought were enemies rather than treasures, and of those, there was not a trace to be found.

The lack of Blightspawn in the area caused Arran no small amount of frustration. After his breakthrough, his swordsmanship and magic were like a pair of freshly forged swords, brimming with potential but still in need of tempering. And the only way to temper them was to use them in earnest, fighting against capable opponents.

This was especially true for his sword skills. He could practice his spells without enemies to receive his attacks, but swordplay was different. That required enemies. To strike a blow without an enemy was like cooking a meal without tasting it — an exercise that would never let him discover his flaws.

But as much as he needed enemies, Arran found none. And so, he continued onward, steadily moving westward, where more danger should be lurking.

Even without enemies, however, the time he spent traveling wasn’t a complete loss.

As he ran through the wilderness, he used the Forms to enhance his movements, imbuing every step he took with his newfound comprehension. This allowed him to move far faster than he could otherwise, but more importantly, it served as a form of training, solidifying his skill at combining all his different insights.

Arran had long since understood that insights related not just to magic or battle. His true insight into severing could apply as much to slicing a loaf of bread or cutting down a tree as it did to striking an opponent with his blade, after all.

Yet in the past, his insights had been scattered and disjointed. Each time he used them, he had to choose which to use, and doing so had required a deliberate effort. Because of that, he had treated them like spells or techniques, only using them when he needed to do so.

But now, that was changing.

As difficult as combining his insights was, it was ultimately only a single skill, and one he could use constantly, no matter the purpose. Whether it was swordplay, casting spells, or simply running, using his newfound comprehension would strengthen him.

And so, almost without realizing it, he began to use his insights more and more, their power slowly becoming an integral part of him rather than a skill to be called upon only when needed.

This wasn’t something Arran had intended to happen, but when he became aware of it, he decided at once to let it continue. Mastering the fusion of his insights was a difficult task, and he would gladly accept anything that would hasten his progress.

Still, he continued his search for Blightspawn, as well. Even if his progress from the Forms exceeded his expectations, only battle could truly temper his skill at using these newfound powers.

Arran continued his journey westward for more than half a week, searching in vain for any sign of enemies. But then, finally, he came to a reluctant halt.

By now, he knew he was already nearing the far edge of the Imperium. Another few days of travel at most, and he would cross into the Desolation, where he would surely find the enemies he sought.

The thought of continuing onward tempted Arran, but as much as he wanted to see what lay ahead, he grudgingly admitted to himself that the idea was a bad one.

He believed he had the strength to defeat most dangers he encountered — and escape those he could not defeat — but he also knew that his knowledge about the Desolation was still lacking.

Moreover, he was already running short on time.

He had told Kaleesh that he would return within a month or two, and well over a month had already passed. If he ventured into the Desolation and met with any unexpected obstacles or delays, he might well find himself unable to keep his word.

That wasn’t a risk he could take. Had it just been him, he would have been willing to chance it, but he could not risk burdening Kaleesh and the others like that — and that the captain would wait for him, he knew for a fact.

Yet without enemies, there was no reason to remain in the wilderness. Perhaps he might find one or two groups of Blightspawn if he searched another few weeks, but that wouldn’t be anywhere near enough. He needed dozens of battles, not a mere handful.

Arran briefly pondered the matter, then let out a deep sigh. There was no way around it — his best option was to return to Knight’s Watch. At least there, he would be able to practice against others.

Still, he could not help but cast a regretful glance westward before he left.

There, beyond the horizon, lay the Desolation, with all its dangers and opportunities. And although he would travel there soon enough, he already felt the pull of curiosity.

He had long wondered what could threaten a force as mighty as the Imperium, and his first battles against the Blightspawn had provided little more than suspicions. In the Desolation, he would finally get at least a glimpse of the true answer.

But it would have to wait.

Without any further hesitation, Arran turned around and set off at a run, his figure soon disappearing amid the trees and rocks that littered the wilderness.

As he ran, he could not help but marvel at his speed. Although he did not exert himself in running, keeping a pace that he could easily maintain for days without effort, he easily surpassed what would have been his limit just a month earlier.

Where he had previously relied on the sheer power and endurance of his body, the comprehension he’d gained from the Forms allowed him to move with far greater dexterity than he could before.

No longer did he depend on brute force, with his feet tearing the earth beneath him as he forged a path ahead. Instead, his bounding steps now only barely made contact with the ground, and the touch of his boots was light enough that it left not even footprints behind.

Yet his strength was not the least bit diminished. And if he could now achieve double the result with half the effort, then it could be imagined what would happen when he truly expended his power.

There was no need for that now, however. Instead of hurrying, Arran continued his journey at a fast but even pace, saving his strength as he made his way back toward Knight’s Watch.

He traveled like this for several hours, his figure barely a shadow as he flitted past stretches of dense brush and jagged crags. Though the terrain was rough, the obstacles Arran met — deep canyons and shallow rapids, as well as many patches of thorny trees — now barely slowed him, and when evening began to approach, he’d already traveled close to a hundred miles.

But then, with the sun bathing the landscape in a deep red as it made its final descent toward the horizon, Arran came to a sudden halt.

In the distance, he Sensed something — Blightspawn, and several dozens of them, at that. Though the creatures were difficult to Sense, he had not forgotten his first encounter with them, and vague though their presence might be, he now instantly recognized it for what it was.

There was no need for Arran to consider what he would do. He had traveled here to hunt Blightspawn, and now that he had finally found a group, he had no intention of letting them escape.

Still, he did not rush into battle. Instead, he moved toward the group slowly, using the rough terrain to mask his approach. While he did not intend to ambush these opponents, he wouldn’t throw caution to the wind altogether, either.

It took a few minutes before he was close enough to lay eyes on his unwitting enemies, and when he did, the sight caused him to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

So far, he had only seen Blightspawn either in battle or readying themselves for it. But the creatures before him now had set up a rough camp at the side of a muddy pond, and they had several roaring fires on which they were roasting meat of unknown origin.

Though Arran had known the Blightspawn weren’t just mindless monsters, some part of him had still thought of them as such, as their ferocity made it difficult to imagine them doing anything but fight. But now, the scene before him showed just that — Blightspawn camped out and eating a meal, in much the same way that human soldiers would.

But there were differences, as well. While soldiers might engage in song or banter, there was no such merriment among the creatures before Arran. Though the creatures spoke to each other, they did so in rough grunts that more resembled the howls and barks of angry beasts than it did the speech of men.

And more than that, their movements lacked the ease and laziness of weary soldiers. Instead, they moved with jagged gestures, almost as if every move they made caused them unspeakable agony.

But then, Arran realized, that might well be true. The Blightspawn’s amulets might have restrained the Essence within them, but if they were unable to control it, the feeling would still be like a fire running wild within their veins.

Although it had been years ago, he remembered well what pain he had suffered after ingesting even a single Realm Opening Pill. If the Blightspawn suffered such pain endlessly, it made sense that they would welcome death rather than fear it.

Arran gave the Blightspawn only a brief glance, however. As curious as he was about them, his attention was immediately drawn to their leaders — two Reavers, both of them sat on the ground beside a fire.

Unlike the Blightspawn, the Reavers showed no sign of being in agony. And although Arran was too far to hear their voices, their conversation seemed little different from one between normal humans.

Hidden amid a patch of trees, Arran observed the Reavers for several minutes, curious to see whether they would detect him. Yet although he was only a hundred paces away and hadn’t used his Shadowcloak, the creatures seemed oblivious to his presence.

Finally, he decided he had seen enough. With a thought, he cast a Shadowcloak. Not to hide himself, but to see whether the Reavers would Sense it.

The Reavers’ reaction was immediate. Both of the creatures stood up at once, eyes instantly scanning the area where Arran was hiding between the trees.

The result did not surprise Arran. He had long suspected that Reavers might Sense Shadow Essence, and now, that suspicion was confirmed.

Of course, he still had means to hide himself from the Reavers’ eyes. Covering the area in a thick cloud of Shadow Essence was a simple enough matter, and once he did that, the creatures would be all but blinded, leaving Arran free to strike from the shadows.

Yet he did not do so. Instead, he let go of the Shadowcloak spell, and as it dissipated, he stepped out from amid the patch of trees, revealing himself to his enemies.

Then, as the Blightspawn’s eyes turned to him and piercing howls of alarm sounded, he drew his sword.

The first time he had faced the Blightspawn, it had been a desperate battle, with Arran struggling to protect himself and his allies. The second time, he had attacked from the shadows, exploiting his enemies’ confusion to cut them down unseen.

But this time was different. This time, he faced the creatures head-on, with no intention of either hiding or fleeing. He needed to temper his newly gained skills, and that tempering would begin with the blood of these Blightspawn.

His appearance caused a brief moment of confusion among his enemies, as if they didn’t quite know whether he was friend or foe. But then, with a shout from one of the Reavers, the Blightspawn surged forward, rushing at Arran like a pack of starving wolves at an injured goat.

Arran, however, awaited them with a calm expression, Living Shadow sword in his right hand as he gathered Shadow Essence in his left. And when the creatures had crossed half the distance between them, he raised his left hand in a casual gesture.

A fountain of blood instantly erupted from the chest of the frontmost Blightspawn, its body easily pierced by the Shadowstrike Arran had cast. And even as the dying creature collapsed to the ground, another two fell beside it.

Then, the group of Blightspawn was upon him.

If their comrades’ deaths caused them any fear, they showed no sign of it. They attacked without even the slightest concern for defense, howling in rage as they threw themselves at Arran.

It was a scene much like Arran’s first battle against the creatures, but this time, the outcome was wholly different.

He met the onslaught calmly, dodging and parrying the Blightspawn’s attacks with an almost casual ease. Yet where Arran’s opponents failed to even touch him, his attacks weren’t so easily avoided. Each attack he made was as precise as it was vicious, and each time he struck, one of his enemies fell.

Within moments, half a dozen Blightspawn lay dead, their ferocity no match for Arran’s skill. And although dozens more followed behind them, those fared no better against the Living Shadow blade.

It was a battle only in name. In truth, it was a slaughter, as one-sided as it was bloody. None of the Blightspawn could match Arran, much less threaten him, and he cut them down like rats.

When half his foes were already defeated, he Sensed a sudden surge of Fire Essence. Finally, the Reavers had joined the fight.

A mere instant after Arran Sensed the Fire Essence, a barrage of magical attacks rained down on him — large spheres of white-hot fire that erupted into flame where they hit, causing the Blightspawn around him to scream in agony as they were burned.

When the attack finally came to an end, the Blightspawn’s screams had long since disappeared, and their charred bodies lay motionless on the ground, still smoldering from the deadly conflagration that had been unleashed upon them.

Yet when the smoke cleared, it revealed Arran’s figure, unharmed but for a few singes to his clothes and hair.

He cast an amused glance at his left hand — the source of the Shadow Shield that had so easily withstood the full might of two Reavers. Although he’d known he wasn’t in danger, he hadn’t expected his defense to be quite as effective as this.

A small briefly crossed his lips, and then, he turned his eyes to the two Reavers.

Both the creatures stared at him with expressions that seemed shocked more than anything, their jet-black eyes wide as they silently faced Arran.

A moment passed like this, wither neither side moving to attack the other. But as they stood in silence, Arran Sensed that the two final enemies were gathering Essence once more, desperately trying to replenish their depleted reserves.

Naturally, this was something he would not allow. He moved forward in a single fluid leap, appearing next to the nearest Reaver an instant later. And as he landed, he struck two blows — one with his blade, and the other with magic.

The creature next to him fell at once, its severed head toppling to the ground as its body collapsed. And as one Reaver died, the other grabbed at its neck, trying and failing to stem the thick stream of blood that was gushing onto the ground.

The wounded Reaver stared at Arran, its alien eyes filled with a mix of panic and confusion. Briefly, it appeared as if the creature was trying to speak, but whatever words it had to say were lost a moment later, as it joined its companion in death.

When the last Reaver died, Arran cast a ponderous look at the battlefield. He’d known his strength had improved, but even so, he felt some shock at the sheer magnitude of the improvement.

This wasn’t mere progress. Rather, it was as if he’d crossed some previously unknown boundary, with years of effort in studying the Forms finally paying off all at once.

But while he knew he had made a major step, he had yet to find out just what it meant — and what other steps could follow behind it. Those were both things he should find out sooner rather than later.

As he retrieved the amulets from the two dead Reavers, he resolved to investigate the matter as quickly as he could. Even if doing so risked drawing unwanted attention, these were things that could not wait.

Just then, as Arran was about to move to the Blightspawn to recover their amulets, as well, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, his calm expression instantly turning tense.

His Living Shadow sword had Sensed something nearby — a person, or perhaps a creature. That alone wouldn’t be cause for concern, but Arran himself Sensed absolutely nothing. And that could only mean that whoever — or whatever — was approaching, they were powerful enough to be dangerous.

He took a brief look at the area around him, then quickly retreated to the patch of trees where he’d hidden earlier. There, he halted, fixing his eyes on the opposite side of the pond, beyond which the stranger now approached.

Although he’d faced the Blightspawn and Reavers without fear, a feeling of unease filled his heart as he stood and waited. Whether friend or foe, the thought of someone hiding from his Sense so completely made him clench his jaw in apprehension.

Still, he knew he could not leave. Not without finding out who — or what — was coming. Even if he had to flee, it would be better to know what he was fleeing from.

The wait was a short one. Barely a minute had passed when a figure stepped into his view, just two hundred paces away. A man, it seemed, dressed in simple brown robes, his shape neither particularly tall nor unusually broad.

The sight caused Arran a moment of relief as he saw the stranger was no monster, but his relief disappeared as quickly as it had come.

The figure in the distance cast a single dismissive look at the battlefield, then immediately turned his eyes to Arran — and even at this distance, Arran could see that the man’s eyes were completely white.

Then, without word or warning, the figure raised his hand and shot off a thick bolt of lightning that shimmered with destructive power.

Arran barely managed to cast a Shadow Shield, but he might as well have tried to stop an avalanche with a sheet of paper. His Shadow Shield, which had easily resisted the combined strength of two Reavers, was torn apart in an instant. And then, the bolt of lightning slammed into Arran’s chest.

The attack hit with terrible force, sending Arran flying a hundred paces before he violently crashed into the ground. Pain immediately surged through his body, but he ignored it and scrambled back to his feet immediately.

The thought of fighting his attacker did not even enter his mind. Instead, he ran off as fast as he could, using every shred of power his body held as he frantically made his escape.

This was an enemy he could not match.

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