Capital of Tora

  Headquarters of the Order of Extermination

  16 years ago

  Surrounded and with no way out, Dust stands as the only living soul who’s ever dared betray the Toran Empire and is still breathing.

  Yet with Tora Zahar absent, you have to wonder who’s really at a disadvantage—the army or Dust himself.

  “Somehow, I always manage to end up like this.”

  Alone, hemmed in by the damn hell that follows me wherever I go. Plenty of enemies, never allies.

  I’ve failed only one mission in my entire life, and I’ve saved more people than any stupid hero I ever read about in some dumb kids’ tale, but all anyone will ever say about me is that I’m a killer.

  And now I’m supposed to die? These bastards are going to kill me as if I haven’t done shit for this rotten world?

  Yeah, I know! None of the damn slaves I sacrificed myself for are still alive, but what the hell was I supposed to do? I’m not omnipotent, god-dammit!

  But who the hell was I supposed to endure for, if not for them? For me—a murderer? Someone like me doesn’t deserve to be saved, even by himself.

  Of course, I can’t kill myself, and Zahar is the only one I know who can.

  “And if I didn’t let him do it, I sure as hell won’t let this plague of cockroaches do it.”

  Bon Decoir Black and Walls Dollum Grey command the soldiers gathered in the capital, along with the various order captains.

  —Y’know, Dust, —Bon Decoir calls out. —Starting at captain rank, every man is expected to wield at least one arcane ability.

  —And what the fuck are you trying to say with that, you boot-licking dwarf? —Dust snaps, dropping the fake respect from his voice.

  —Don’t play dumb, Dust, —Walls Dollum cuts in. —There are more than ten captains here, not counting the admiral and me.

  —I don’t give a shit, —Dust fires back. —Suck my balls, asshole.

  While they’re still talking, one of the order captains vaults high and comes down like a meteor right behind Dust.

  “I can feel his damn breath on the back of my head.”

  A beast twice Dust’s size—Captain of the Order of Paladins of the Toran Empire—now looms behind him.

  —Which one of the two? —the paladin growls, a faint trace of aggression in his voice.

  —You think that sounded cool, Defendder? Congrats, you egg-scented lizard—you just made yourself sound like a fucking idiot. —Dust fires back, nearly laughing.

  Defendder sends Dust flying with a punch whose shockwave cracked the ground beneath them, thanks to the sheer force he loaded into the strike.

  Dust, for his part, ends up embedded in the giant clock that lay in his path—a clock that also happens to be the centerpiece of the entire Toran cavalry headquarters.

  —You think you’re funny?! —Defendder shouts. —You should learn to shut your damn mouth, you filthy slave!

  —Interesting. —Dust murmurs, recovering from the blow.

  “So, this dumbass seems to have the essentia of a Gorak’Thul.”

  A damn arcane aberration from the post-genetic era—a colossal beast standing between four and five meters tall.

  Its silhouette evokes more or less the same terror as a Tyrannosaurus, with a massive head of jagged jaws and a tail as long as it is devastating.

  Its arms, disproportionately large, remind me of an overgrown gorilla on steroids—and I’m sure it could punch through city walls in one or two swings.

  Its legs are modeled with such biological precision it’s like they were born to launch it into insane heights. Its body is covered in hardened skin plates, much like rock, which makes it look, above all else, like a fucking golem.

  “I don’t get how a second-rate bastard like Defendder managed to turn a monster like that into an artifact, much less how the hell he controls the transformation.”

  —You really think crashing me into a fucking clock is enough to make me surrender? —Dust shouts, defiantly inviting the fight.

  —Not exactly... —Bon Decoir replies. —We’re expecting you to start begging for your life.

  With a single gesture, Bon Decoir Black commands every soldier in the area to go after Dust, while the remaining captains begin activating their artifacts, preparing to launch a simultaneous attack.

  Despite being a Paladin, Defendder possesses an artifact that massively boosts his mobility during pursuits. Knowing this, he starts leaping from rooftop to rooftop, chasing a Dust who’s already dodging arrows and fireballs flying his way.

  All nearby mages begin conjuring various spells, signaling an incoming large-scale attack that Dust must dodge at all costs. But before he can even think, another captain joins the direct pursuit.

  “Hound Arrows!”

  With Defendder hot on his heels, Dust is struck by a barrage of homing arrows—each one capable of weaving around obstacles—and several manage to pierce him.

  —Goddammit... Dust mutters.

  Defendder doesn’t let up. He capitalizes on Dust’s momentary stumble to land another hit, this time far stronger, launching him straight toward the outer walls that divide the capital from the rest of the cities.

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  “Not bad... must’ve been half a kilometer.”

  Immediately after crashing into the wall, before Dust can recover, a unified chant echoes through the air, growing louder with each verse—then, a massive pentagram spreads across the entire sky above the capital.

  From its center, an enormous eye opens, staring straight down at Dust.

  “By the power granted to us by the Abyssal Nexus, we summon forth the gaze of divine judgment.

  Let Tora rise—our infernal lord, flame-born demon, bringer of conquest!

  We, loyal flames of the Empire of Tora, cast our will upon the sky!!

  Let all who oppose the rightful dominion be reduced to cinder and ash!!!

  Through the thousand eyes of the pit, let only one gaze upon the heretic!!!!

  Burn, in the name of Tora Zahar, our lord and savior!!!!!

  Burn, by the will of the Eternal Empire!!!!!!

  Eye of Tora, give us justice”

  A beam of energy—brighter than pure light and as scorching as the heart of a volcano—fires from the pupil of the eye within the pentagram, heading straight for Dust.

  It hits him dead-on and annihilates everything around, the destruction visible even beyond the horizon.

  Naturally, the blast vaporized parts of the cities along its path, along with the unfortunate civilians who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Burned to ash.

  “Praise be to the kingdom of Tora.”

  The soldiers cheer; no human can survive for more than a second in temperatures exceeding 1,500°C. There’s nothing left to search for.

  “Blessed be our lord, Tora Zahar!”

  “Long live Tora!”

  —What a disappointment. —Bon Decoir mutters. —Looks like the title of ‘immortal’ was too big for him.

  “You never should’ve defied the empire, Dust.”

  I admit, the first time I saw you, I was intimidated. Defending an entire village alone against an army—for three days straight? That’s worthy of respect.

  But you should’ve known the moment they turned you into a slave.

  “Tora is indestructible.”

  Defendder’s head—still transformed—soars through the air.

  A fountain of blood erupts for several seconds, yet no one can say exactly why the Captain of the Paladins’ head is no longer attached to his neck.

  —What the hell—?

  Bon Decoir Black’s right arm twists unnaturally, bones snapping one by one, until the limb is finally severed.

  —What the fuck is going on?! —shouts the Captain of the Knights’ Order. —We’re under atta—?

  —Isn’t it obvious you’re under attack? —Dust whispers into his ear. —Didn’t mommy ever teach you that if someone gets decapitated in front of you on a battlefield… you’re probably next?”

  Dust appears from nowhere, his body now coated in stones darker than the farthest corner of the universe, standing right in the middle of the gathered captains.

  —You bastard…! —Bon Decoir growls, barely holding back screams from the pain of his severed arm. —What the hell did you do?!

  The shock is so overwhelming that no soldier or captain can gather their wits enough to strike back.

  —I told you… without your daddy around, you we—

  Before Dust can finish, the knight captain reacts. Using his artifact, he slams Dust into the ground with such force that the earth buckles, triggering a medium-scale earthquake.

  Fist pressed against Dust’s chest, the captain—now looking completely different—unleashes a relentless barrage of blows. The ground trembles more violently with each hit, the quake intensifying by the second.

  “DIE, MOTHERFUCKER!!”

  Fueled by rage, each punch deepens the crater, digging meters into the earth until at last, the captain pauses—Dust no longer reacting.

  —…You done? —Dust groans, in pain—but alive.

  —How the h—

  Dust grabs the captain by the jaw, and with his free arm, releases even more of his essentia.

  —Remember how I looked like I was made of obsidian earlier? —Dust asks, almost cheerfully. —Take a look at my arm now.

  The cavalry captain’s expression twists in horror as he sees Dust’s form begin to shift again. Starting from the arm, Dust’s entire body takes on a new, disturbingly familiar appearance—one that sends a chill down the captain’s spine.

  —No... No fucking way —the captain mutters, dread flooding his voice.

  Paralyzed and alone—no reinforcements in sight due to the chaos his own attacks caused—the captain watches helplessly as Dust transforms into something entirely different.

  “That shape... is that a fucking Volkraith!?”

  Towering and skeletal, like the rotting corpse of some cursed giant. Four arms branch from his sides, two more from the chest and back, writhing like tendrils of decayed flesh.

  His body is clad in dark, mineral plates, like fossilized coal, and in the cracks between them pulse violet currents of electricity, flickering in rhythm with his breathing—if such creatures even breathe.

  “The worst part is... that abomination isn’t even from this world. They say Volkraiths emerged straight from the Abyssal Nexus...”

  “ARE YOU SOME KIND OF FUCKING MONSTER?!”

  “LET ME GO, YOU DAMN SLAVE!”

  The captain screams in blind panic, struggling helplessly in the grasp of six arms now coiled tightly around him.

  —Me? A monster? —Dust says, his voice now warped and otherworldly from the transformation. —Don’t break my poor little heart... I’m just a killer, you son of a bitch.

  Before the soldiers could regroup to save their captain, Dust activated one of the Volkraith’s arcane abilities:

  “Crown of Storms.”

  From the cracked mineral plates embedded in his seemingly rotting flesh, an overwhelming surge of energy began to build—until he radiated like a supernova.

  Then, he exploded.

  From the depths of his Nexren—the heart from which all arcane creatures draw their power—erupted torrents of electricity that spiraled outward across the battlefield like elemental serpents.

  Cyclones of lightning were born from his body, each a vortex of raw voltage tearing through soil, stone, steel, and flesh alike. An electrical storm where the bolts spun in every direction.

  But Dust wasn’t summoning the storm.

  Dust was the storm.

  For several long minutes, as enemy soldiers screamed and fled, the sky itself mirrored the chaos. The clouds twisted and swirled as if the heavens had been dragged into the maelstrom.

  By the time it ended, the capital was nearly beyond repair.

  “Shit... I can’t go on...”

  Three days later

  The Empire’s Palace

  Throne of the Emperor

  In a palace fortunate enough to lie beyond the reach of Crown of Storms, a demon sat arrogantly upon a towering throne, gazing down at one of his subjects kneeling before him.

  —You’re telling me Dust replicated two arcane beings from the Nexus? That’s impossible.

  A man standing to the right of the demon addressed the kneeling figure.

  —I can expl—

  —Bon Decoir Black —the inquisitor cut him off, his tone calm but seething with restrained fury.

  —Your excuse... for the loss of seven captains, 4,311 soldiers, and a runaway slave while the emperor was away... is that this Dust visited the Abyssal Nexus and came back with artifacts made from a Volkraith and a Zar’khaleth?

  —I beg you, Inquisitor, —Bon Decoir gasped, trembling and barely able to breathe. —I can fix this—I’ll find him and bring him to you myself!

  Tora Zahar, silent until now, stared down at the pitiful image of a once-proud admiral, now nothing but a ragged shell of his former grandeur.

  —I want him dead, —Zahar said coldly—terrifyingly calm.

  —Don’t make me hunt him down myself.

  —Call the leader of Tartarus if you must, —added the Inquisitor.

  Bon Decoir nodded frantically and fled the throne room, shouting his oath over and over.

  “I will fight for Tora!”