B5 Chapter 60 - Ascension  (Patreon)

Author note: Going to be some retcon and rewrites which isn’t something I like to do, but I feel is correct in this instance. 

I was pushing for a few scenes I thought would be cool and believed I needed Tyron to stay Gold for that, but I actually don’t, and I agree that the whole adventure to the Realm of the Dead, and this whole book as an extension, feels like a waste if he doesn’t get level 80 here and now.

So that’s the change. I’m going to rework the battle scene to make it a bit more epic. More losses probably. I’ll change it so the wyvern brings the ghoul baddie through the portal so Tyron gets to kill and study him. Then, at the end of the last chapter, he’ll perform the status ritual and see that he’s reached eighty, and then this chapter will continue from that point.

Again, I don’t like to do it, but I feel like this is going to be a much better book with this change. Sorry about the discontinuity in your reading experience.

Second Author note: I apologise for this being late and a bit short. I've come down with a cold again. I'll try and finish the next chapter tomorrow.

Looking at that number on the page, eighty, Tyron felt powerful emotions stir behind his eyes. He choked out a strangled laugh, then blinked to clear the moisture from his eyes.

He’d done it. This was the milestone that Magnin and Beory had reached and so many others had failed to attain. In a world where Gold was the upper limit allowed to Slayers, his parents had dared to go beyond, demanded it, and now he too had reached that same stage.

With trembling hands, he placed the status sheet down, then folded it in his lap.

If he were asked, he genuinely couldn’t say why it affected him so much, but seeing that number… It made him feel like he was sitting at the dinner table, his mother and father playfully ribbing each other as they prepared the food together while he watched. Just back from another adventure, they still smelled like the road, like blood and oil and smoke and steel, but as always, they revelled in it. 

He would sit and watch them, his legs dangling from the tall seat, as the two strongest Slayers into the entire Western Province, to him, the two strongest in the entire world, prepared a simple stew. When it was ready, they would turn to him with broad smiles, asking him how he’d been, what he was learning, as they sat beside him and threw their arms over his shoulders.

Even then, when he’d only been five or six years old, he’d known he wanted to be like them. 

In fact, it went beyond a want, he needed to be like them. Deep down, he’d always expected he would make it, that he would succeed and climb to the same heights they had attained. It hadn’t been an ambition for Tyron, it had been a fact. He refused to live in their shadow his entire life, it wouldn’t be tolerated. No, he had to make it, otherwise how could he possibly justify staying by their side?

Now that he’d done it, now that he’d finally made it, for the first time in years, he felt close to his parents again.

And it hurt like hell.

For several long minutes, he simply lay back on the grass and endured. Pain was followed by anger, then grief, then pain, then anger. His rage was incandescent, all-consuming, and in its wake he was left shuddering, with the taste of ash in his mouth. His pain was hard edged and sharp, like the knife that pierced Magnin and Beory’s hearts, it dug deep into his chest and carved out a space for itself, nestling there like a dragon in its den.

And his grief. It crushed him all over again.

Every member of the horde gave him space as he lay back and let his emotions roll through him. Perhaps he’d locked them away for too long, leaving himself icy cold and unfeeling so that he could do what had to be done, so now they came boiling to the surface.

Or perhaps, even years later, he was still suffering from the events atop the mountain, outside the rift at Cragwhistle.

Regardless, Tyron wept. Tears slid down the sides of his face as he stared into the sky and tried not to think.

When at last the waves of crushing emotion had receded, he felt hollow and listless, as if his insides had been scraped out along with his feelings. Fatigue, or more accurately, exhaustion still gripped him. It would take time for him to recover from his journey to the Realm of the Dead, a while until he felt like himself again. 

Filetta had been right, he should have waited to perform the ritual. How else could he explain this excess of emotion? He hadn’t cried since the day he had sealed the remains of his parents in their crystal tombs and on that day he’d thought he probably never would again.

Scrubbing at the sides of his face, he summoned the ever present hatred inside him, trying to use it as fuel for the fire, to gain the energy he needed to focus and complete the ritual. This was important, perhaps the most important status ritual he would enact in his entire life. He couldn’t afford to make mistakes.

A guttering ember compared to the roaring flame it usually was, the wisps of hate were all the emotion he had left in him after that outpouring. Carefully, he stoked the flames, terrified it would gutter out, and soon he felt the warmth of it heating him from the inside once again. When he was ready, he sat up and shook himself, trying to throw off the bone-deep lethargy that gripped him.

Soon, he felt as ready as he was ever going to be, and went back to reading the sheet.

You have raised Skeletons and they have fought on your behalf. Imperator of the Endless Horde has reached level 80.

Eight levels at once was going to be a large influx of attributes. If the Platinum rank provided a boost just like bronze, silver and gold, then he may well pass out when the ritual was complete.

Excitement coiled in his belly at the prospect of reaching platinum rank. Gold was rare amongst the Slayers he’d grown up with, a goal that not many reached, and once they did, they were rarely seen ever again. Most toiled in Silver, either retiring or dying without ever getting higher. Nobody knew about the Platinum rank, even his parents had never told him anything about it.

Very, very few achieved this level in the Empire. There had to be a reason it was so restricted, and Tyron was eager to see why that might be.

That would take place when he ended the ritual. In the meantime, he had to choose two Feats and four abilities. 

He turned his attention to the list of Feats first. With fewer to choose from, it would be easier to make his selection. 

Fighting the urge to skip through these selections as quickly as possible, Tyron settled his mind and focused. Every option would be given proper consideration, no careless mistakes. Without a Class Guide of any sort, he had to be ten times as careful as anyone else.

So far, he’d taken Grand Imperator, which empowered the Imperator ritual, and Exponential Horde, which increased the rate Death Magick was shared between his minions, as his two selections for his current Class.

Both were excellent picks, but that didn’t mean there weren’t good selections left on the table. Checking the list, he carefully read through each of the options.

Endless Death I - Empower your spirit with Death Magick, becoming a source of its own.

Efficient Death III - Your mastery will allow you to achieve more with less.

Soul Regeneration - Allow your soul to replenish itself.

Empowered Generals - Wights are able to draw more magick through their conduits.

Hand of Death - Offensive Death Magick is stronger.

Skeleton Mastery I - Empowered skeletal minions.

Imperator Control - Raise the Skill Cap of Enhanced Minion Commander by forty.

Horde Mage - Draw power from your minions to strengthen your magick.

Part of Tyron still deeply regretted not taking Skeleton Master I earlier in the hopes that Skeleton Mastery II would have appeared. The empowered ritual had been worth it, but it had been a close call.

Even now, with two selections off the table, there were many he still wanted to take.

Efficient Death spoke for itself. Tyron had prioritised increasing his pool of available magick and using it more efficiently from the beginning. As his horde grew, the demands on his power grew apace, and efficient death was one of the ways he’d been able to get ahead of the curve.

Endless Death would help on the other side, giving him access to more magick. He’d been leary of Soul Regeneration before, unsure what it might actually do. After his recent experiences, he suspected he might know how it could be useful, but was unsure it should be a priority.

Empowered Generals was attractive. His wights were his strongest undead, and allowing them to draw more magick would only make them stronger. However, there were other ways to achieve the same result. If he could create better conduits, for example. Even so, he was tempted.

Hand of Death was also appealing. It would be useful, giving him an immediate boost to offensive magick, but how much? Without any reference, it was impossible to say.

Tyron was more and more active in battle now, and his fight in the Realm of the Dead had opened his eyes to the degree he could turn the fight. All he needed was more powerful spells.

Imperator Control was an absurd increase for a single skill, and would instantly solve the problem he had casting spells through his minions. With practice and time, his control over his minions’ movements would become incredibly precise allowing him to unleash his power from anywhere on the battlefield.

He had a feeling Horde Mage would allow him to pull magick out of his minions, rather than the opposite, or perhaps let him draw in the portion of death magick they created amongst themselves to fuel his spells. Useful, to be sure, but not something he wanted to prioritise.

What choices to make?

Skeleton Mastery called to him with a siren song. It synergised with everything he had tried to do so far and had the broadest application. All of his minions were some form of skeleton after all, with a small collection of ghosts as the exception.

He had to take it.

The second choice was much more difficult. Efficient Death was also attractive, but at some point Tyron needed to turn away from having more magick available and invest in power. His horde was sadly lacking against the meager forces the Death Lords had sent his way, his minions needed to be stronger. Better. And so did he.

Empowered Generals then? It would make his deadliest weapon immediately stronger, but he was reluctant to take it. There were better ways.

Soul Regeneration tantalised him. He’d only brushed the edges of proper Soul Magick, and he knew it would be immensely powerful. This Feat wouldn’t immediately unlock that branch of magick, but he could sense some of the implications. Many Necromancers walked the path of lichdom, and he knew more about it than he had ever let on to his students. Many writings of Arihnan had never reached their hands, locked away out of sight, volumes in which the ancient Necromancer had ruminated on the ways and means of transforming into an undead.

This Feat would help, Tyron was sure of it.

Still, he ultimately chose Imperator Control.

Such an extreme boost to a Skill was rare, along with the Class specific name, which was an indicator of exclusivity. Only his Class would be offered this Feat, and such things were usually strong.

With those choices made, he turned to selecting his abilities. With eight choices to make, he would have a lot to think about.