Forged By The Apocalypse - A LitRPG With Draconic Potential

I was falling. Head over feet, feet over head, I tumbled through a black nothingness which expanded forever. Above me, nothing and below me, the unknown. I fell into a strange confusion, my memory and knowledge being stripped away in violent sheaves until there was little left but my name. Even that became confusing as new identity began to layer itself upon my own.

The memories became too powerful to hold back, and I was thrown from moment to moment in a chaotic jostling which threatened to strip any last shred of persona from my clutches. I remembered walking the fields of Roscommon, the tiny town of a few thousand in Ireland where I was born. I remembered the everpresent smell of smoke from the mines I had been raised beside. The green grass. The dark grey rock. Life. Death. Which one was my story?

Was I Grant Kaeron, or was I Mortesax? Whose story was which? Cast adrift in a sea of powerful memories, I knew there was a choice. The foundation of my identity was being eroded away to a pinprick as the darkness around me pulsed over and over. Drain, activated and unceasing, drawing the overpowering memories into myself. The parts of me which were Grant were being washed away. With angst and desperation my fuel, I burned brightly in the centre of that swirling abyss, holding onto one singular thought.

This is how I win.

“Is it, now?” A voice like decayed fruit and vinegar red wine asked me, responding to my thoughts and chuckling at me. I shivered, but straightened my back all the same. The words were spoken with derision, the breath of death itself cackling at me from its host, Mortesax. I ignored the implicit taunt and gathered the confused vestiges of mana in the air, moulding them into shape. Slowly, a room materialised around me and I walked through the door.

Though tempted to lock the entrance behind me, I didn’t. Instead, I moved to the table and sat down, inspecting my work. It wasn’t perfect, but my control of mana in a metaphysical space was impressive. The fact that I could do it at all was due to my fiddling with the soul world inside of me. After manipulating the mana and Dao into becoming a whole cosmos, a single tea room wasn’t much of a challenge.

In fact, it was gratifying to see that I was more adept at this niche skill than my guest. After a somewhat awkward pause, just long enough for me to worry I had made a mistake, the door handle shook. Another short struggle later, and the smouldering form of Mortesax flocked into the room. The presence before me was more than the visualisation he presented, I knew, but was bound in rules which even the insurgent soul had to follow.

Killing intent suffused every particle of its being, but there was no violence allowed here. “I created this place so we could talk.” The battle in the Elite dungeon was as good as done, though our bodies were frozen in time. I created a window with a thought, showing the dungeon and the immobile bodies within. After what seemed to be a moment of indecision, the overwhelming shadow that had entered the room congealed into a humanoid form.

“For one so new to the System’s games, this is impeccable control,” Mortesax murmured, stepping out of the smoke as a young-looking man. I had honestly expected the lich to enter, not a fairly handsome human. Noticing my head tilt, the man laughed. “While imposing, the form I found myself wielding in my final days was not ideal for other things. Such as enjoying sweet drinks.”

Feeling a little like the dog who caught the car, I began pouring the man a cup. The battering my mind had taken on the way into the room was still present, and gathering my thoughts took some time after the expenditure of energy to create the tea room. A teaspoon clinked four, five, six times as he dropped ounces of sugar into the small mug.

“No violence” was an easy enough rule to enforce on the space, but if he began to challenge my control with more subversive aggression, I would have to add more rules. There was a consistent tickle in my mind which I knew, should it slip, would release Mortesax to attack my soul directly. A dangerous game, then, but I had big questions I wanted answers to. Thankfully, it seemed Mortesax was more interested in his drink than in pushing against the limits of my control. He sipped the warm liquid with a pleasant smile.

“So, you survived against my shell, it seems.” Mortesax looked out of the window and inspected the scene. I grimaced at the same time he snorted, both of us seeing the damage done to my body. “You gave up an arm and a leg to have this conversation with the vestige within? That feels metaphorical.”

“You’re more… gregarious than I expected.” I didn’t trust the openness presented to me. The true form of the being, the shadows and death and rot which Mortesax controlled, were gone. All that was left was a pale man with pale grey eyes and black hair. He wore a buttoned up shirt, open at the collar, with simple cloth pants and ancient looking moccasins. High quality, but primitive in design.

“You can’t gather a legendary army without a little charm, young man. You might want to remember that.”

“I’m not looking to raise armies,” I shook my head. From the glint in the pale eyes that flashed towards me, I wasn’t fooling anyone. As soon as Mortesax said it, I realised raising armies was exactly what I was trying to do. The Fledglings in Ascentown were very much becoming a militia. We needed them, to face what was to come. “I don’t want to fight wars,” I corrected.

Mortesax inclined his head to me. “Now, that is sensible. Gather the army, never use it. That’s how most survive.” The inclined head turned into a nod of agreement. “So, what does a little pet of the System have to discuss with me?”

“That. You and your group all seemed to hate the System. You attacked the Tree itself. Why?” I had my own issues with authority, but trying to essentially fight all of existence seemed a bit over the top. While the System created more strife than it was worth, in my opinion, it wasn’t an enemy to aim myself at. I wouldn’t even know where to start. At the Tree, I suppose. “Why do you hate the System?”

I thought of Naeboroseax. The old woman, Mrs Naebol, had been kind. She had been happy and loved life. The moment the System came to Earth, she had given up that pretense and chosen to use me as the vessel for her suicide. I’m not interested in another go round. The memory was fuzzy, both my pre-System memory and the trauma of the moment working against me, but she had been scared of the Shift.

Mortesax huffed a laugh, though there was no mirth to this one. “You can’t understand, unfortunately.” He held up his hands as I started to speak, a gesture of surrender. “I will still tell you, but until you’ve felt the ages on your back, you can’t imagine. Until you’ve lived a thousand lifetimes, each one longer than the longest on your planet so far, you can’t fathom the depths of it all. The wounds at the heart of existence.”

“So… you’re bored? That’s it?” I knew I was goading, ignoring that there was obviously much more to the apathy and anger I had sensed from the ancient beings I had met so far. Mortesax’s face became a snarl for a moment before smoothing back to a calm smile, wagging a finger in my direction.

“Cheeky child,” he chuckled. Mortesax stretched, standing and moving to the window. He pointed to his own form. “That was the eighteen body I had created, and the one which was finally strong enough to see me through the System’s protections to the Tended Grove itself. It cost the lives of proud, powerful beings that could annihilate galaxies in an instant.” There was a deep breath of nostalgia taken as Mortesax closed his eyes and smiled wistfully.

“It sounds positively deranged, I’m so happy for you. You haven’t explained why though.” The being Mortesax had turned himself into a lich. Of course he would revel in the idea of a universe being ripped apart. “If it was just to kill the Tree and ruin lives then I think you failed.”

This time, Mortesax’ laugh was bitter and venomous. His pale eyes flashed black, and the restrictions of the room were tested. He had tried very hard, just for an instant, to kill me. “You think I’m the one who ruins lives?” With a wave of his hand, the opposite wall cracked and a new portal was visible. Not a window, but a tear in space that showed…

I couldn’t look. I knew what Mortesax was showing but my entire being shied away from seeing it. Just lift your eyes, I demanded of myself, The Tree is right there. Yet I could not. I knew, that if I saw even a single glimpse of its true form, my entire understanding of life, the universe and everything else within would be turned upside down. Yet, I couldn’t help wonder what power lay in that knowledge…

“This. This is the parasite which ruins lives, not I. A trillion lifetimes, laying waste to the planets and galaxies I desire, would not come close to the pain that poisonous seed has wrought since.” Mortesax seated themselves, leaving the hole in the wall as it was. With a massive force of will, I stamped my foot and the vision of the Tree vanished. “You cannot even look upon its might, each inch of growth fueled by another life stolen.”

“You care about life?” I asked, petulant. A brutal headache had erupted after closing the wall, and I was pissed. “The guy with an army of death knights, who rode the Rot Dragon Cavarix to attack Yggdrasil itself? Please.”

“Life is not only for the living, young fool.”

“Then why were you fighting?” I demanded.

“Every single being, from the moment they are created, has a destiny. A thread of gold, or black, or red, blue, grey, anything - added to the weave. The great tapestry creates itself atop the boughs of Yggdrasil, clutching all life in its web. Do I need to say more?” The raised eyebrow of Mortesax challenged me, but I shook my head. “Good!”

I almost jumped at the tone shift, but the young man leaned forward in his chair, placing a hand on my own. The instinctive desire to flinch away nearly made me vomit, but I was held in place by both Mortesax’s strength and my own curiosity. “You are a perfect candidate, you know? I can’t speak for the entire organisation as I’m dead - more dead than before - but they would love to have you.”

“I’m pretty sure I fought your whole army before fighting you. There’s no one left.”

“A single instance of an eternal war, young Grant Kaeron.” The world began to shudder and I immediately sensed the cause. Mortesax had stopped fighting back. My Drain was still active, ready to absorb anything and everything Mortesax could not hold onto. With him releasing the grip, the tug of war was over and the room began to crumble.

“What are you doing? What organisation?”

A toothy smile, far more full than it should be, spread across Mortesax’ face. “They are coming. The veil will fall and the scavengers shall pick your world clean. We shall see whether you are Guardian or Breaker yet.” My eyes widened as I felt the surge of power from the vestige of Mortesax. I clamped down on the space, protecting myself from the tidal wave of power that bore down on me in Mortesax’ final assault.

“The Accord awaits you, Grant Kaeron.”

With a blast unlike anything I had ever felt, Mortesax annihilated the remnants of their soul with a ghastly green explosion of power. My soul, ensconced within the oily clutches of the lich’s magic, screamed in pain and fear. The tea room disintegrated and the howling, desolate winds of the Dao of Death were all that remained. I slipped further into the darkness, tormented by the promise of the end.