EPISODE 218: POTENTIAL MADNESS 8

— GREAT EDRYAN, YEAR: 7292. SEASON: NEW BEGINNING.

Lawruthian ignored Her, giving Her the same treatment she provided him when he was on the ground begging for Her help. Goddess Madris laughed, uncaring for Lawruthian's actions as she spoke a bit more. Lawruthian recognized the tone and verbiage to be that of The Challenger.

"Good," She repeated, her tone filled with pleasure. "Take it—struggle for it, claw if you have to—define your Potential and show I was not mistaken in my choice."

The faith of the magi resisted. Every attempt, every pull, every beckon of Lawruthian's was resisted by the faith. It did not belong to him. Yes, it held a connection, but a connection was not the same as ownership. Should the Goddess resist his attempts to pull faith from their connection, then Lawruthian knew everything would be lost. She did not. Instead, She took pleasure from his actions, knowing his Potential would blossom from it as he lost everyone around him.

Lawruthian held an idea in mind, and now he was in the process of executing it. He pulled, tangibly molding the faith into refined shaped blocks—ready to be added to whatever creation he deemed fit. Precious seconds continued to pass—the [Realm Guards] were in the process of restricting Rasheed, but the magic he cast from the power of the Aspect kept them at bay. (Knowledge of Causality) was a spell that allowed Rasheed an extreme effect for any action taken against him. The magi who challenged him learned this the hard way. The [Realm Guards] were much warier in their approach, preferring talking over harsher actions.

"Rasheed, friend, without you, this Realm holds no chance of survival," Ignis pleaded. "You cannot allow the irrational to lead—remember your oath, remember your allegiance to the [Realm Lord] and His creations."

"THE REALM LORD IS DEAD," Rasheed snarled, wings flared as he gazed down. Destruction reigned in the hall, red blood soaked into the grey stone floor while the sounds of clashing magi began to dwindle as more and more died. Rasheed displayed a self-deprecating smile. "And soon I will be too; the process is nearly complete—you're far too late to stop it."

Floating above his head was G.E.N.E.S.I.S., a bright red light emerged from it like a red sun hovering in the sky. It crowned him like the prized jewel of an empire. Its radiance seemed boundless, and the inverted mana constantly drew to the egg-shaped spell.

Broken bodies littered the flow—three extremely prominent as they were larger than the magi humans. One wore armor, headless and crumpled in a heap. Another was charred, its body unrecognizable save for the scraps of magenta runes that covered parts of the skin. The final was the most wretched, her face twisted in an expression of disbelief and unwillingness—she gazed toward the Imperius Army, her dull and lifeless eyes searching for twins she would never see again.

Lawruthian forged. Hundreds of bricks lay scattered behind him, and he no longer registered the outside world. Nothing else mattered at this moment. Not the deaths of his loved ones. Not the fading hope of his soldiers. Nor did the approval of the Goddess invoke any feelings outside of contempt. All the [Chosen of Madris] held in mind was completing his latest work, then beating the shit out of the [Final Dragon].

Perhaps it was {Madness} that drove him.

Minerva hovered around him, gently calling his name to no avail. He could hear her; he registered every word—every word, but no response came.

CLANG!

To be the [Chosen of Madris] was to carve one's way without regard to those around him. His would be a path of red; both allies and enemies would be the building blocks used to create his throne. Lawruthian firmly grasped the faith, moving as quickly as he could to organize the blocks into something resembling a golem. The world disappeared around him as he fell deeper within himself.

"Not enough… it's not enough faith," Lawruthian growled as he looked at the large foot he carved. The process of pulling faith was slow and resistant with every attempt. It would take roughly ten seconds to make a block the size of a basketball, and the creation Lawruthian held in man would need a hundred of these. "Faster, I have to do this faster. There is not enough faith. If a single block equates to a hundred Attribute Points—then, to create a golem at the level of a God, I'd need six hundred fifty at least. I'm always behind, always lacking in some aspect—I'm tired, it needs to change—I'm tired."

Lawruthian gazed at the odd thirty or so blocks displayed before him. Had he had time or known he could do this earlier, then perhaps he could have come well prepared. There wasn't enough time—there was never enough time. Lawruthian was tired of there never being enough time.

CLANG!

"Just this once," a familiar voice spoke. The Sage's voice resounded through Lawruthian's skull like the sweet voice of a siren. "But it will cost you."

Lawruthian hesitated, and then he laughed. "Cost? What haven't you cost me? It will cost to save our magi? What a Goddess they worship," his voice was harsh, nearly yelling as the soldiers around him gazed in concern, their hope dwindling. "I'm struggling to save the magi, and you want more from me? Is my soul not already in your grasp? Tell me… oh, Madris the Sage—What. Will. It. Cost."

"Struggling to save our magi from an event of your cause," She laughed. " I held no declaration of wanting to slay the [End of Adventure]. Calm down, my [Chosen]—the only thing I want is the heart of the dragon."

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Lawruthian took a deep breath. His nerves were shot, and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He closed his eyes, then simply nodded. Sacrificing the heart of Rasheed was worth it if it meant he could achieve what he envisioned. The Challenger sneered but remained quiet. Lawruthian was primarily the Chosen for the Sage. Should the incarnation wish to make such a deal with him, then who was She to stop Her?

Faith poured down, unrestrained, unresisting in waves upon waves toward Lawruthian. It channeled through his deep, intimate connection to the Goddess and Lawruthian simply forgo the careful carving of precise blocks. He directly channeled the faith into his creation, using it to carve the golem he held in mind. Nothing else was in his eyes—not Madria, who was bloodied but still constantly saving what lives she could. Not Simra, who fought with a sullen Lorde. Not Ade Oni, whose father remained a bright figure in his eyes. And, not Minerva, whose chirps could not reach him—not in this place.

A golden-brown golem, rough around all its edges, took shape before him, uncarefully carved through desperation and a firm resolution. There had to still be a chance to fix his mistake—one that only his enemy could solve.

CLANG!

A barely symmetrical golem rose before him, larger than anything he had carved before. The Imperius soldiers could not directly see what Lawruthian made; only a slight haze shimmered in the air, but its exact dimensions could not be seen by them. Yet, its presence could be felt—a heat extended from Lawruthian's creation, radiating power that surpassed anything he'd ever felt. Strangely, Lawruthian held a great understanding of the rough creation before him. All his passive skills, whether rewarded from a title like [Forefather of Edryan Innovation] or his classes, worked at what seemed like an accelerated rate.

Pure divinity radiated from the creation, not yet living as a spell had yet to be imposed upon it. At its center was a space just large enough for an armored magi human to fit. Lawruthian instinctively knew the golem's frame couldn't hold no more than three skills; his lack of detailed craftsmanship didn't allow him to create precise areas where he could carve runic scripts. That didn't matter; it's not like he held the time.

"(Imperius Infusion)—(Forefather of Edryan Innovation)," he activated consecutively. His Life Points drained, as did 180 attribute points. What was once immaterial took on a subtle glow before its form settled into a muted golden-brown.

Notifications blinked in the corner of Lawruthian's HUD, alerting him of level-ups and more. He ignored them, swallowing as the golem rumbled to life—Lawruthian barely allowed it a moment to come to terms before he found himself flying within the creation. Emotions raged through him, one after another, shining bright like a star's last light before fading into darkness. There was bitterness, its light purple and black—it formed from his lack of understanding and the many lives wasted in this endeavor. There was rage—no, not rage, but a cool seething anger that quietly hid under the surface. Should a pebble be thrown into its lake, then it would erupt into an explosion.

Lack.

Lawruthian always lacked in some point, some fashion. He wasn't strong enough. He wasn't strong enough to face all obstacles and clear them with nothing but his own strength. Perhaps his dreams—no, ambitions , were far too big for his current level. He didn't have the TIME —it was always time that seemed to be running out for him. Just five years… if his mother said they were staying for an extra five years Lawruthian felt like so much more could be accomplished. He was attempting to prepare Edryan for when he was King. Thus, sacrifices had to be made early.

The battle above continued, the [Realm Guards] doing their best to subdue the [Final Dragon]. A single, lonely woman hovered in the air—fluctuations shaking the space around her.

Tired.

She was so tired of seeing her friends—no, family , die before her eyes. She'd chase strength for this very reason, discovered the Law of Love for this very reason. It was never enough. Her Love was never enough to protect those she so desperately wanted to walk this path with her until the end. A tree bloomed—not in her heart, but Sol. It was large, nearly fully mature from the sacrifices of her family. Titiana was tired. Oh, so very tired.

She recalled that face… the only man outside of her direct family she ever loved. The very reason she declared no man, unless stronger, could ever marry her.

Two pairs of red-gold eyes aligned themselves, before them a dragon, the dragon, fought. Its wings knocked into pillars, destroying them from the touch. Its magic fought against [Realm Guards] carefully, nulling their respective elements while they attempted various methods to persuade him.

Underneath them, magi died. They died for their ambitions, their dreams. {Hope} rekindled in their hearts, and one—a young girl barely able to be called a woman- laughed. She laughed because he did, and she hoped in this dreary situation for a miracle. And, only the Gods could grant those. Light exploded from her body, covering the Imperius Army and helping those prevent an early meeting with the Goddess above.

This was not the first time magi died for their ambitions. It would not be the last—same coin, different faces—same story, different day. Above, the Gods watched. Some pondered, expressionless but knowing this would set off a chain of events that would have thousands… millions… perhaps billions die for. Others laughed, uncaring but waiting for the game to be behind. Bets were placed, items were exchanged, and pieces were rearranged on the chessboard called Elrunian.

Two voices spoke, same face, different fonts—their eyes aligned on each other as a wordless exchange was made. One masculine and filled with the vitality of youth. The other was feminine, more mature, but still packing a punch.

Mother and son, son and mother.

"Today, we slay the [Final Dragon]."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.