Chapter 84: The King in the Dark

Chapter 84: The King in the Dark The red haze of my rage did not recede. It intensified, painting the world in shades of blood and shadow. The last vestiges of Kai, the boy from Earth, were screaming in some distant, forgotten corner of my mind, but I couldn’t hear him. All that remained was the monster, and the monster was hungry. My brutality continued, a relentless, systematic purge of the filth that had infested this sacred, stolen ground. I moved through the remaining goblins not as a warrior, but as a force of nature, a walking apocalypse. My shadow blade was no longer a weapon of precision; it was a cleaver, a butcher’s tool. I didn’t just kill them. I gave them a death that nobody wants, a death that would be whispered in the darkest corners of this world for generations to come. I opened their skulls, their hands, their organs, my movements a blur of cold, detached fury. And then, I called upon the Phoenix. A torrent of crimson and gold flame, a raw, untamed piece of the primordial being that now resided in my soul, answered my call. It was not the gentle, controlled flame of a summoned beast; it was a wave of pure, unadulterated annihilation. It washed over the remaining goblins, their terrified shrieks a brief, satisfying chorus before they were silenced forever. They burned alive, their bodies turning to ash, their souls extinguished in a blaze of righteous, holy fire. It was a terrifying sight for everyone. Liora and Aurelia, who had been trying to tend to the wounded, simply stared, their faces pale with a mixture of horror and a strange, unwilling awe. The few surviving villagers, their minds already broken, simply wept. I stood at the center of the chaos, the architect of this beautiful, terrible destruction. But my hunger... it was not sated. It was not enough. My body, however, had other plans. It gave up. The last dregs of my mana, poured into the Phoenix’s flame, sputtered and died. The shadows that had been coiling around me like a royal mantle receded, leaving me feeling naked and exposed. My legs trembled, my vision swam, and a wave of profound, bone-deep exhaustion crashed over me. [System: WARNING. Mana Core has been fully depleted. Shadow Conduit has collapsed. All mana-related skills are now offline.] I was collapsing, my body a puppet with its strings cut. But then, a new figure appeared at the far end of the cavern, stepping from a previously unseen tunnel. He was massive, a hulking silhouette of muscle and menace that dwarfed the other goblins. He was a high goblin, his skin a dark, mottled green, his body covered in a patchwork of crude, iron-shod armor. A necklace of human skulls rattled against his chest, and a twisted, iron crown sat upon his brow. I knew it immediately. He was the Goblin King. The very air around us seemed to change. The stone walls of the cavern seemed to shift, to twist, the faint, natural light from the entrance dimming as if swallowed by a new, more profound darkness. Liora and Aurelia, their faces already pale with shock, grew even paler, their own mana reserves, I knew, running on empty. I knew I couldn’t fight him. Not in this state. I was a hollowed-out shell, a warrior with no weapon. The Goblin King smiled, a slow, cruel expression that stretched his wide, tusk-filled mouth. It was the smile of a predator that already knew the victor. He raised a massive, gnarled club, its head a solid chunk of obsidian, and declared his victory in a guttural, booming voice that echoed through the cavern. But he knew little of the rage that still burned within me. Even without my magic, even without my summons, even without my strength, I was not yet broken. I lunged forward, my body moving on pure, unadulterated instinct, a scream of pure, primal fury tearing from my throat. The Goblin King’s laughter was a deep, rumbling sound, like stones grinding together in the belly of the earth. He watched my reckless, mana-less charge with an air of amused contempt, his single, massive club resting casually on his shoulder. He was a mountain, and I was a pebble hurling myself against it. My borrowed goblin sword, a crude, jagged thing, shattered against his iron-plated greaves with a pathetic clang. The force of the impact sent a jarring shock up my arm, but I ignored it, my mind a white-hot inferno of pure, unadulterated rage. I dropped the useless hilt and threw myself at him, my hands clawing, my teeth bared. He simply backhanded me, a casual, dismissive gesture that sent me flying across the cavern. I slammed into the stone wall, the impact knocking the wind from my lungs, my vision swimming with black spots. "Ashen!" Liora’s voice, a sharp note of alarm, cut through the ringing in my ears. A bolt of brilliant, golden lightning, Aurelia’s last, desperate gambit, struck the Goblin King squarely in the chest. It was a powerful blow, one that would have incapacitated any normal beast. But the King merely grunted, the lightning dissipating against his enchanted armor, leaving behind only a faint, sizzling scorch mark. He turned his gaze to the girls, his smile widening. "The little mages want to play." He moved with a speed that belied his massive size, his club a blur of motion as he swung it in a wide, devastating arc. Liora, her face a mask of grim determination, raised a shield of pure, holy light. The club slammed into it with a deafening crash, the shield shattering into a million pieces, the force of the blow sending Liora stumbling backward, her arm hanging at an unnatural angle. Aurelia, her own mana reserves now dangerously low, tried to retreat, her movements clumsy and slow. But the King was too fast. He grabbed her by the hair, his massive hand a cage of iron, and lifted her into the air. "No!" I roared, forcing myself to my feet, my body screaming in protest. I charged again, this time grabbing a heavy, sharp-edged rock from the cavern floor. I threw myself at the back of his knee, driving the rock into the small, unprotected gap in his armor. He roared in pain and surprise, his grip on Aurelia loosening for a fraction of a second. It was all she needed. She twisted in his grasp, a small, crackling ball of lightning forming in her palm, and slammed it into his face. He bellowed in rage, dropping her as he stumbled back, his hand flying to his now-scorched eye. Liora, her face pale but her eyes burning with a fierce, protective light, took the opportunity to act. She began to chant, her voice a low, melodic hum as she wove a complex, binding spell of pure light. Golden, ethereal chains erupted from the ground, wrapping around the King’s legs, his arms, his torso, holding him in place. But it wouldn’t last. I could see the chains straining, the light flickering as he fought against them, his raw, brute strength overwhelming her delicate, fading magic. "Ashen, now!" she screamed, her voice tight with the strain of maintaining the spell. I didn’t need to be told twice. I scrambled to my feet, my mind a whirlwind of desperate, last-ditch tactics. I had no magic, no shadows, no Phoenix. Just my own, battered body and a single, all-consuming rage. I saw it then—a small, wicked-looking goblin dagger, its blade coated in some kind of dark, viscous poison, lying on the ground near the body of one of the King’s fallen guards. I snatched it up, my movements a blur of desperate energy. Aurelia, seeing my intent, acted as one. She gathered the last of her strength, her golden hair seeming to crackle with a wild, untamed energy, and unleashed a final, blinding flash of light, a brilliant, disorienting strobe that momentarily stunned the struggling King. In that single, precious moment of distraction, I moved. I threw myself forward, my body a projectile of pure, unadulterated will, and drove the poisoned dagger deep into the soft, unprotected flesh of the King’s neck, just below his jawline. He roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony, and thrashed against Liora’s weakening bonds, his massive body a whirlwind of fury. The golden chains shattered, and he threw me from him like a doll, my body slamming into the far wall with a sickening crunch. But the damage was done. A single, perfect drop of his dark, viscous blood fell from the wound in his neck and hit the stone floor with a soft, almost silent splash.