Forged By The Apocalypse - A LitRPG With Draconic Potential

I had become quite familiar with the way time stretched during moments of extreme exertion. This battle pushed that understanding to the limit. I wasn’t sure if we had been fighting for seconds or years. My arms burned like brittle tree branches, the sword and shield each feeling like they weighed a tonne. Dozens of feints were being thrown a second, each one registered and forcing me to relax. My stamina flagged alongside my mana, each second of the intense battle stealing a percentage of my strength.

Again and again the Warhammer fell, like the ticking of a clock combined with the force of a runaway train. The metronome of Mortesax’s attacks had a staccato rhythm that was impossible to get completely used to. Despite having its true intelligence stolen, the huge skeleton was still an incredibly skillful fighter. Luckily for me, I had become a master.

The Grim Blade collided again and again with the same widening divot I had created with our first clash. More than technique, more than the Dao which filled the air and strengthened my blows, it was the precision granted by my Weapon Mastery that began to overcome the stalemate. If I was fighting the true Mortesax, the being that scaled their way to the trunk of Yggdrasil itself, I would have been defeated in seconds. I was fortunate that I was only fighting his shell.

There was a tickle of nostalgia. In a way, this battle was similar to the one which had set me on my path, if you could even call it that. “I will fight and defeat the Storm Dragon,” I had claimed. I didn’t even know if such a thing was possible, but setting the beast as my target had sharpened my focus. I was stronger than I would have been were I aimless. The proof was never more clearly shown than right now.

Mortesax’s puppet body had no true desire to win, no greater goal beyond my destruction. To that end, it carried out its task with efficient moves and unwasted movement. The real Mortesax at least had some panache. While the swinging warhammer was deadly, it lacked the killing intent of someone who actually cared about victory. While it didn’t mean the fight was easy, it meant it was winnable.

A huge foot planted against my chest, the Shield of Abandon grasped by a huge free hand. My eyes widened and I had just enough time to slip my wrist from the shield’s bindings before I was launched back like a missile. I collided with things as I sailed through the air, sturdy bodies which shattered as I flew through them. My shoulder was groaning in pain and my chest felt caved in, made worse with each bounce as I started to slow.

This place really was far too big. The fact that the oversized skeleton was able to keep up with me was foul in its own way. I twisted to avoid the falling warhammer, lashing out with the Grim Blade one final time before it was joined by the Alternating Armament. The liquid metal jumped to my command before I even had a chance to think, first replicating the shield I had just lost to block the blow and then immediately shifting to staff-form. Weaving under the follow up from Mortesax, I used the staff to quickly reposition to safety.

The Alternating Armament was acting funny, but not in a bad way. I stopped just short of wondering if the weapon was jealous I had used another as its form changed once more. A sleek off-hand weapon appeared in my hand. Not quite a dagger, just long enough to be considered a short sword. For whatever reason, I hadn’t actually considered that Weapon Mastery would translate to multiple styles but a vicious smirk came to my mouth as I began to find moments to counter. Not just tapping the warhammer’s handle, I started chipping away bone.

For each step in this terrifying tango that I recovered, the lich forced me back nearly instantly. The battle between our physical attributes was leaning towards myself, even as my energy continued to burn away. Less than half of my mana pool remained for this fight. It would have to be enough, but I wasn’t sure it could be as shadows began to wrap around me.

I wasn’t blind to the mana Mortesax was using to keep the others busy. It was all I could do to keep up with the battle in front of me, so I had to believe that Cal, Hassian and the others were doing well. The fact they were splitting some of Mortesax’s attention at all was likely the only reason I was alive. However, the energies were no longer aiming towards my allies. All of Mortesax’s attention was on me now as it’s skill started to affect my vision.

The cavern was dark, but my impressive eyes were able to pierce mundane darkness like it was sunlight these days. Coupled with the magic in the air and the flares created when Rashid or I loosed a Mana Bolt, it was simple enough to see through what darkness remained. Once Mortesax’s magic activated, I was completely blind. A burst of mana from within my eyes themselves, like overcharging my Manasight until it popped, was enough to clear the shadows for a moment but it was another expenditure of mana and concentration that I could barely afford.

Couldn’t afford, I corrected myself as the warhammer finally made a true connection. The force was enough to keep me on the end of the weapon for two rotations, spinning brutally at the tip of the warhammer until Mortesax slammed it into the ground. Everything was broken at once. My concentration, my back, my will to fight, all shattered in an instant. I couldn’t even groan in pain, my lungs flattened by the impact. The single saving grace was that this attack took everything the skeleton had, too.

Its sceptre had vanished, likely stowed in the lich’s inventory. Now that this shadow magic was blinding me, Mortesax clearly felt that regaining its advantage was worth more than summoning additional minions. I could be glad that my pressure was helping somewhere, though it meant my own situation was placed into the final phase. The strength from the Shield of Abandon was going to fade soon and I couldn’t see it on the dark floor. My muscles were lead and I barely had the energy to spare to repair my broken ribs and chestplate.

Our back is to the wall, I cast the thought inwards. The cosmos within myself reacted. The Dao Constellation twinkled in response. The stars burned fiercely, representations of my skills as they worked overtime in the battle. A new set of celestial bodies had appeared, glowing the gold of Weapon Mastery. The purple and blue nebulas of Mana Bolt, Mana Barrier and Blast danced at the ready. Red, volatile stars from Infusion were drained and replaced. The space between stars were connected by jagged bolts of electric energies as Tempest Form and Air Manipulation were used to keep me alive. Behind them all, empty and waiting on the backdrop of the void, a black hole sat ready as Drain waited to do its work.

The quiet planet of the Dragon and its solitary moon of Tempests were mostly dormant, however. Aside from the passive usage that went with my every movement now, I had not brought the strength of this new inner space to bear. As my dancing partner had decided to up the tempo, I would meet their energy with my own. The Death which Mortesax’s Dao and actions promised was pushed back with confident force.

The Dao was my power to control. Mine to command.

Strike of the Ruler.

The ability which most heavily mixed everything I had learned in the System together, aimed at the weak spot I had created. The Grim Blade howled through the air, the Alternating Armament roared with fury. My two blades, suffused with dense Dao and as much mana as I could muster, crashed into the shaft of the warhammer. The cracks in its foundation, delivered at cost throughout our battle, ruptured.

There was a mighty explosion of mana which threw me away and saved my life as the head of the warhammer continued to sail through the air. I rode the wave of energy and landed softly. The same could not be said for the pile of bones I was fighting. The expulsion of the chaotic magics at play disrupted the assault upon my allies as well, the summoned enemies falling like their strings were cut.

For a few seconds, the only sounds in the cavern were the clattering of bones and the heavy panting of five exhausted men. I fought the impending relaxation of my guard but it was impossible. The borrowed strength from the Shield of Abandon faded and I slumped, falling on the Alternating Armament. It had once more shifted into staff mode. Had I made it do that? It was hard to think now that the debts I had accrued during the fight all came back to collect.

The others might have been heaving, but I could barely get a breath through my still ragged lungs. As an unfortunate side effect of my improved attributes, I had much more control and perception of myself than I had before the System. What this meant was I could feel shards of bone shuddering out of the organs in real time. Coughing up a sharp glob of blood, I struggled to stand upright. A hand found my back, another wrapped around my waist and I threw my left arm over Morris’ shoulder.

It was alright to be supported now and then.

“Did we do it?” Larry asked with trepidation. Mostly. The final word was more strangled than the rest due to him lacking a throat. I was just as confused as he was, his hand reaching up to the empty space where half of his neck had been only a moment before. His mouth moved back and forth but the sounds that were produced were meaty whistles from his open wound.

“LAR!” I was dropped, and the tumble shocked my system enough to shake me out of it. I had received no level ups, no prompts to suggest victory other than the fallen body. I wanted to strangle myself, but I could do that once we were all safe. All of us, I promised myself.

Closing my eyes, letting the turbulent mana within collide with the frustrated Dao. Even my own magic was affronted at being so easily fooled. I flew into action. Using Air Manipulation to stand, I threw an item. “Rashid!” More than Larry’s panicking brother, I knew Rashid would recognise the potion flung into his hands, the last of my healing potions. He caught it well, nodding to me. The numbness in my arms was being removed by the power of adrenaline, so I focused Air Manipulation on Larry. Carefully, I pushed oxygen in and out of his lungs.

All I could do was hope for the best there, turning all the attention I could spare on the rest of the room. I wasn’t the biggest of fantasy nerds before the System arrived, but even I knew what a lich was most famous for. The whole battle had been a farce. Distracted by the idea that Mortesax had become the System’s puppet, I forgot that a lich’s body was exactly that. Just a figurine to be piloted by a fouler soul within.

Right on cue, insidious Dao began to seep from the floor. So potent it was visibly green, the Dao congealed into a humanoid shape. The verdant shade was brimming with power, and it raised a hand towards me. I was already in motion, genuinely surprise that I hadn’t fallen flat on my face. The raised hand extended a finger. I dodged, but with nowhere near the grace I needed.

A recognisable pain tore through my leg along with the ray of Nothing that came with it. My right leg was ruined as the beam destroyed muscle, bone and everything else it encountered. The same attack used on Larry, I assumed. My lip curled into a snarl and my right leg bent and tensed. I didn’t need the left anyway, I was close enough. Using what fraction of mana I had left, I activated Infusion and shot forward like a bullet. Just before I landed, my Manasight gave me a glimpse at this being’s new name.

Mortesax, Champion of the Accord - ?????

I ignored the implication. It’s not like this could be any harder than Badaila. I consoled myself as the last weapon in my armoury activated. I felt my skin begin to necrotize as the deathly mana was absorbed into my outstretched hands. In a burst of inspiration, I realised I was limiting myself, and used the skill from my entire body instead. There was a flash of green before everything went dark.

Drain.