Forged By The Apocalypse - A LitRPG With Draconic Potential

There was a brief moment before the pain started in which I was nothing but an existence with no stimuli. The second stretched out forever because there was no time in this space to hurry the instant along. Without consciousness, in a truly empty space, I simply was. There was an irresponsible bliss to the sensation. How easy, how simple everything would be if it stayed like this.

Grrr…

I had no sense of self, nor understanding of my situation, but a primal refusal of this kind of stagnation rose from what could only be my throat. That fragment of revelation tumbled into another, cascading ideas and memories which began to combine from the force of their collisions. I encouraged the process, scared of the oblivion I had so nearly fallen into. Frantically rebuilding my mind with rejection as the base, I threw myself back into the battle.

This was not the first time I had nearly succumbed to the allure of death, nor was it the first time I had returned from the very brink. I scrambled to remember as much of myself as possible before the pain returned. I was Grant Kaeron. I wanted to find my family. I wanted to explore the System and its worlds. I had allies who needed me to succeed, and the strength to do so.

I repeated the small collection of certainties over and over like a mantra as I returned to my body. The oblivion was not really a tactic being employed against me so much as a defence mechanism against what was happening. As I fell into my tortured form, I tried to be grateful.

The pain meant I was still alive.

Cavarix. With finality, I recalled the name of the being which was causing my strife. Like an ancient enemy, I wrapped my hand tightly around the throat of the hatred which awaited for me in the heart of my body. The spiritual torture had not stopped while my mind had been away. As I found myself after that unknowable period where time held no purchase, the pain developed into more recognizable forms. From pure oblivion, the needles pressing into my eyes slowly became defined. The ropes around my limbs pulled harder and harder, increasing agony over and over, ripping the arms and legs away only for them to reappear at the joints to be dislocated once more. Daggers drove into each spinal plate, every bone shattered and turned to powder. Magma appeared in my lungs.

It was impossible to avoid the pain, and there was never a moment where the anguish lessened. Over the top of it all, a vicious chuckle taunted my soul. In spite of the pain - to spite the pain - I acted. Cavarix was not the only one with control here. She was powerful, but this was my soul that we battled within. Cavarix attacked with brutality and hate. Caustic webs of mana launched themselves directly at my core, and each attack was a new trauma. There was no protection on the inside, no further place to escape to.

No more running.

The voice was mine, but stronger than I felt. Grander. I did as I commanded. Using my anger as a building material, I created an area of my mind that simply didn’t care. The pain was still there, outside the small office, but it was irrelevant. The largest part of my psyche was still wholly absorbed by the pain, but in that tiny room, I got to work. I stretched my legs. I rolled my shoulders. With a thought and a swipe of my hand, I organised the messy space. I needed to find my focus.

I wasn’t Grant right now, not really. I was much less, and yet somehow slightly more, too. I was The Dragon. Not the unique, constrained and petty Rot Dragon which assaulted me, but something less specific. The Rot Dragon was the end of potential. Rot was not evil, but Cavarix certainly was. As her Dao assaulted me from every angle, I came to understand its nature intimately. Cavarix’ Dao was made of death and dragons. She embodied the death of all things and the decay which followed with none of the growth which those things created.

Pure entropy.

As my body and most of my mind were shattered again and again by the Grade Two Rot Dragon’s frustrated ire, the sliver of my mind continued to organise the office at the centre of my soul. Hurrying, but not rushing, I moved to the small desk I imagined in here and sat. I placed a piece of paper on the table before me and removed a pen from thin air to begin writing. Pausing, I wondered how to start. The tiny fragment of my mind was addled, but at my core was a certainty that I had the answers to my outside problem already. In a flash of inspiration, I realised I just needed to answer an important question. My pen met the page and began to flow.

“On the subject of Dao…”

——————————

As silence took over the miniboss room of the Elite dungeon, everyone tried to wrap their heads around what they had just seen. It was clear that something had happened beyond any of their understanding but even the inarguable facts were hard to believe. Grant had found the dragon equally, despite it being a dragon. The pair had bashed each other around the arena, which was now craterous and destroyed. Then, as Grant stopped matching strength with the beast, they both stopped and plummeted like their strings were cut.

“You shouldn’t have some down here,” Morris griped. The lone man had tried to argue with the group to stay back but had been quickly and resoundingly ignored as the others jumped down the slope to join him. He may have grumbled, but he hugged his brother as they looked at their fallen leader.

It was strange, Rashid realised. There would be no question about his status, they had only met Grant in the last days or hours even, but he was an easy man to follow. Rashid shook his head slightly. Looking at Grant’s crumpled form, it was much easier to see that he was young. Yet, even then, with mysterious strength, generosity with his knowledge and wealth, and a heroic streak that he followed over his own best interests, it was hard not to root for the young man.

His body, which had seemed larger than life and more muscular while he was conscious, was that of a young man. Rashid frowned, watching the intense magical energies in the air. They were focused all around Grant, mana exploding out of him along with… something else. Rashid didn’t have a word for it, nor a guess as to its purpose, but it was clear something was happening.

“Shut up, idiot,” Larry slapped his brother’s head good naturedly. The others were quiet and patient. Hassian sat nearby, a heavy one handed axe on his lap. The air was dancing with the duelling energies still, but that axe thrummed with power. Rashid paid attention to things, and although they had fought enemies together, he had never seen the powerful weapon. He said nothing, watching intently, but the weapon was statement enough. Hassian was ready for action, though all was technically quiet.

Rashid watched Hassian cautiously, but it was Cal, the quiet new member who approached the serious shark man. “What’s going on with him?” He asked, looking about somewhat manically. Rashid sat down and huffed, trying to remain calm. Grant had done something to the dragon, but that was about as much as he had been able to figure out. The others were of even less use.

“He battles with the truth.” Hassian answered cryptically. Rashid waited, but he was left frustrated when Cal didn’t push. Instead the man just nodded, which was infuriating, too. What could he have possibly understood from that? The two brothers moved to one side slightly, inspecting the downed dragon, and Rashid didn’t want to get any closer to the massive corpse.

He turned his gaze internal, bouncing a ball of energy within himself back and forth. When Grant described mana it sounded like a liquid, but that wasn’t Rashid’s experience. Within his body were bubbles of solid mana that could be controlled a little. He wasn’t able to control them actively, but instead found he could “bat” them around. The balls of mana would then circle his core, rotating back to the middle, unless he gave it a real whack.

That was where his Mana Bolts came from. He had lamented that they didn’t look like Grant’s, but Rashid’s skill with mana was not in channelling vast amounts of energy into a single attack like Grant seemed capable of endlessly doing. No, he was better at tiny expenditures of energy, almost greedy in his instinctive restraint towards mana usage. Grant had tried to replicate the thin shards of sharp mana, but had been apparently unable. Whether he was fueling Rashid’s confidence with a lie or telling the truth, Rashid couldn’t know, but he believed Grant was genuine. He had talent in the craft, which was an exciting thought.

Hopefully his teacher wouldn’t die and leave him trapped in a dungeon far too strong for him. With that morbid thought on his mind, he continued experimenting with his mana, trying not to think about how dead his new friend looked. Rashid shook off the dark thought. Grant will survive, Rashid told himself. He has to. The bodies on the ground started convulsing and everyone’s eyes widened. Hassian did not move, continuing to stare at Grant.

Rashid wanted to be brave, too, but he still took a few steps away from the now twitching dragon.

—————————————

“Stop trying to distract me!” I shouted. With a maddened yell, I ripped the tight net of mana from around my throat. Once I had gained a modicum of control, moving my psyche into a part of my soul which was particularly inviolable, the Rot Dragon’s attacks became mostly futile. The pain remained but it was happening to the unbreakable core of my being, so it could be safely ignored while I crafted my response.

I looked at the essay, nodding with a little pride. I had done some fast coursework in the past, but this was impressive. A thick tome sat before me, all of my understanding about Dao, theories on its use and more were contained within. The largest portion focused on my own Dao. Right now, it was named by the dragons and tempests that powered me but I held room for so much more. Like a writing partner, the Dao worked with me. Every step of understanding I took by myself was matched by the Dao itself with one of its own. Then, with vibrant gratitude, I then matched that progress with another inspiration. My control of Dao had jumped leaps and bounds, and with that came more and more clear comprehension.

The contents of the tome weren’t relevant, written in a form beyond words. It was the consolidation within myself which was important. No more disparate parts. No more treating Dao like an extra pool of mana. No more following the whims of a perceived truth, asking myself what a dragon would do. Every choice I made was the choice of a dragon because it was mine. Every decision I enacted was the way of a tempest because it was my way.

I had thought I needed Aspects before I could truly organise my soul in this way, so a part of me was grateful for Cavarix’s pressure. I might have hurt my future without this experience. The inner worlds in my soul, the planet of the dragon and the moon of the tempest, were solid. Rigid. I had locked them too firmly in place with an early, flawed idea and waiting for the perfect Aspect to fit into my old ideas was holding me back. As one, my soul and my Dao worked in tandem to rectify the issue.

My path forward became clear, even in the fog of pain and confused fear. My body’s natural responses were still there, but the determination at my core was enough for me to overpower that terror. The oblivion which my body sought freedom within, certain the pain would never end, seemed quaint to me now. My resolve would never let that happen. Not by my own hands. If death wanted me, it could come and claim me itself.

And when it got here, I would destroy death itself to make sure I didn’t fail.

Cavarix’s effort doubled and then redoubled again outside the impermeable room, but she couldn’t stop what I had started. As she had shunted her soul on top of mine, she could no doubt feel the changes. With her surely massive understanding of the System compared to me, I wondered how she felt about the incredible amounts of energy that were flooding into me right now. She was pushed back, but I didn’t even hear her howling. Warm, confident strength was returning to my mind and body.

The battle wasn’t over yet, but I had forged the weapon to finish this. I stepped from the office and let it fade behind me. A mostly off-white void greeted me, with the massive form of Cavarix’ soul raging in one far corner of the expanse. I looked around with concern. Wasn’t this my soul? The dragon had torn it to shreds and then disintegrated the shreds. I doubted I would be feeling very well when I woke up.

Faster than any meteor, the Rot Dragon launched itself straight for me. The “body” I inhabited was my final vestige, after all. If she could finish me here, she could complete whatever process she was attempting. She attacked her final chance desperately, ignoring the danger she must have felt. With a wide swing, I swung my Dao in the form of a staff, extending the pole to an impossible length as I smacked Cavarix’ snout and sent her flying back with a howl.

My hands were a little unwieldy and the Dao slipped quickly in my claws. I flapped my wings and couldn’t help but smile. As I tried to settle my Dao and move it into a more perfect system inside my soul, the influences leaked out. My form was a bit unclear right now in the dreamlike space but I would figure that out. A galactic roar from Cavarix told me she didn’t like these developments.

Good. The battle wasn’t finished, not by a long shot. Cavarix was still a dragon, and still the most powerful being I had fought up to now. She had delighted in the torture she enacted to steal my body and now that I was wresting control, I had a desire to flip that on its head. Let’s see how you like it, I threatened internally. With a confident step forward, I brushed off Cavarix’ control and met her on an internal battlefield.

No more escalation, I told myself. This is the final round.