Forged By The Apocalypse - A LitRPG With Draconic Potential

The Alteration had come to the world of Gibral with grace and acceptance. The myriad races living peacefully upon its shores met the changes brought on the day of prophecy with exaltation, celebration and preparedness. Theirs was a world of trade and prosperity where no single nation could survive alone, so they thrived together.

Strange even for the infinite possibilities upon The Tree, Gibral had no true continents. The largest of its island nations would be considered a small country for most worlds, yet this separation of power was exactly the thing which allowed for amicable life between said islands. When a new technology was developed in one corner of Gibral, it flowed outwards like a great wave, returning back with alterations and upgrades.

For millennia, the Gibralan world underwent golden age after golden age, and their technological prowess stood proud amongst the world yet untouched by The Tree. Every island was mapped out, not an inch of the oceanic world was unknown to them. They dominated the planet while cultivating its wondrous properties. Eventually, the gentle conquerors of Gibral turned their imaginations towards the cosmic.

As with each trial forced on Gibral throughout its history, the entire world’s intellect bent towards the answers they sought. In short order, they learned of the Greater Connection and The Tree which created it. The cultural renaissance upon finding such a clear and aspirational divine message was another binding which brought Gibral’s conglomerate nations closer together.

When the monsters began to appear, the people of Gibral knew they had finally been blessed. The Hephaest Knight rode forth on their seafoam clouds, the honoured chosen who were trusted to grow strong first in this new phase for Gibral. Each country innocently competed with the rest to bedeck their finest prodigies with armour, weapons and training in preparation for these times, and the knights wore their pride loudly on their chests in the form of gleaming tabards.

Once the first of these tabards fell, stained with blood, it proceeded a change for the world of Gibral. The country which fell along with its stalwart defender was a spark, and its neighbours reacted quickly. The ruling class were called foolish for placing all of the power into the hands of one, fallible individual. It had been Lagarius’ hubris which had led to his death, and the fall of Varen, after all.

An arms race began, yet the oceans had become dangerous. Ideas no longer flowed like water, but ignited upon each nation in different ways. Alliances were formed to push back the growing threat as higher and higher level monsters continued to appear in the depths of their once trusted oceans. Yet, more islands chose to rely on themselves and began to outfit not just a singular knight, but squads of their own. Of course, once the first contingent of a single country’s knights were spotted, the frenzied push for strength only increased.

While hope was stuck in the doldrums, fear diluted the oceans and made the once inviting waves black with horrors. It had been fifteen years since The Alteration and the newest generation, who had only known fear and horror, were beginning to see their world, pockmarked with destruction from its own people, for the first time. Their elders, too scared to return to the casual hopefulness which had fueled the growth of their world, wept for the first war brood Gibral had seen.

Hassian grew up hearing about the glorious days of yore, less than two decades ago and only a year before his own birth. He never got a chance to see the world as anything other than a place of monsters, oceans filled with beasts and neighbours eyeing resources hungrily. His mother told him before she died that they had spent months with family on a neighbouring island. They would kill him on sight if they saw him now. They wouldn’t remember him, nor would he them. These days, it felt like he barely remembered the feeling of a full stomach.

He was not one of the lucky ascendants, who claimed Aspects in the early days of the System’s influence. They were few and far between now, and it had been his accepted lot in life to simply struggle against fate until he inevitably died. Their world was being strangled by the challenges brought forth by The Tree. Some days, Hassian cursed all of his ancestors for their terrible preparation for these times but mostly he just struggled to survive like everyone else.

Until, that is, the portal appeared. Grand, alien and clearly bubbling with power, the rend in the fabric of the world was Hassian’s chance to rewrite his fate and become truly strong. However, when a trio of aspirant knights - individuals with a level of thirty but no Aspect - disappeared into its strange grey stone halls never to be seen again, access to the portal had been restricted. When a true Knight assaulted the Elite Dungeon and, again, vanished forever, entry was barred entirely.

Hassian silently raged against this, lest he be more closely watched for dissension. What was it to them if he threw away his life? If they were so sure that’s what was happening, they wouldn’t care. Times were hard, but a general equilibrium with the world had been met. Their people weren’t dying out, and the loss of a few headstrong people wouldn’t matter overmuch. Instead of rushing, Hassian trained.

By the age of twenty, Hassian had carefully pushed his level to the maximum. Not only was the speed of his rise without an Aspect truly impressive, to do so without any backing made him glow with the only pride he allowed himself to feel. Hassian was a man of commitment and he would change his fate within the Elite dungeon. The only other choice was to die in the trial wave.

He would get his moment of truth a week before his twenty-first birthday. The trial wave he feared and hoped for in equal measure arrived, and the chaos of its arrival allowed him to slip into the dungeon. Even during the attack, there was a guard stopping people from entering, further proving to Hassian that the closure of the dungeon was nothing to do with protecting people. Luckily, his set of skills was born for exactly this moment.

A deft use of mana control to deafen his presence, and Hassian finally slipped into the dungeon. He did not waste a moment, hunting quickly for a safe space from which to range. Every sign pointed towards this place being unimaginably dangerous, but Hassian knew there were treasures to be found here. He wouldn’t have to look long for the first oddity, however.

Immediately upon entering the dungeon, sounds of battle assaulted Hassian. He was a hard man, even at his relatively young age, but the enclosed halls of the dungeon were frightening to him on their own. With the addition of vicious sounding growls and powerful impacts rebounding around the hard stone walls, he nearly froze. A stubbornness grown in silence was his weapon, forcing him towards the sounds so he could at least understand the situation.

He had been expected monsters, but the sounds of battle were almost more frightening. Whatever was happening, the frustrated roars sent shivers down Hassian’s spine. He knew it was a risk coming in here, but how powerful a beast was this creature, which could shake the walls of the Elite dungeon with its shouts alone?

Unfortunately, seeing the source of the commotion wasn’t enough to actually believe Hassian’s eyes when he found it. Two men with skin as white as shells and one with a tone closer to Hassian’s deep brown sat to one side, looking positively bored, as another man toyed with a monster stronger than any Hassian had seen before. The roaring feline creature was being batted back and forth like a kitten. Even with all his preparations, and inclination towards stealth, Hassian couldn’t help but release a strangled noise.

Five sets of eyes snapped to him. Even the monster, facing the man with the metal stick and the blazing red hair, spared him a glare. Then, it noticed that the man was distracted and launched itself forward. His back turned, he couldn’t see the claws aimed for his neck and Hassian shouted out a warning. Everything happened so fast, far quicker than even his improved attributes could follow, so Hassian would never know for sure but he could have sworn the man smirked at his alarm.

There was an explosion of fur, blood and bone. Hassian’s heart dropped even as the three still stationary men began to curse. “Oh god,” one of them screamed in bloody horror, “it’s in my coat!” The individual in question began to frantically rip a very oversized jacket from themselves and shake it while the other two wiped the viscera away from themselves.

“Whoops. Sorry, sorry, I got carried away when our new friend arrived.” With a solid, deep voice, the man apologised to the others. Hassian was immediately on edge. Anyone who called themselves your friend was trying to take something from you. Especially the ones who were actually friends. Stepping from the grisly scene, strangeless spotless, the red haired man moved to his allies and with a swipe of his hand in the air, the gore was removed and thrown onto the wall behind them.

“Magic,” Hassian breathed. He could do some tiny things with mana control, but this was a true System-given skill. Hassian had obsessed over them enough to know. This man had an Aspect, maybe multiple. His mind raced with decision after decision, each one rooting him more firmly to the spot. These people were not from Gibral. They weren’t Gibralan, despite looking similar. Their brows were tighter, their eyes closer together and pinched atop the nose in a grotesque way. Yet, despite their deformities, Hassian knew this was his chance.

He would do nothing to offend this man, and everything to learn from him. The simple fact he was travelling with three aspirants suggested he was a powerful knight, if Hassian read the situation correctly. His analysis complete, Hassian did the only thing he could think of in the moment.

With a flourish, spinning and dropping to one knee, Hassian’s fist propped up his head and he performed the most desperately perfect kneel of submission he could. “Please!” Hassian shouted, only now wondering how the men could speak his language, “allow me to join you! I shall do anything you ask if you help me find strength here!”

The red haired man snorted, to which Hassian raised his eyes fearfully. He saw a hand extended towards himself. Taking the soft, pink-white skin in his own almost scaled dark brown, Hassian allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “You don’t have to bow to me, though I do appreciate it. My name’s Grant and we’d be happy to have you join the power levelling run of this Elite dungeon. What’s your name, shark man?”