“Coall, take the Draconian army. Strip this battlefield to the bone—every corpse, every vault, every glimmer of treasure. Search Bonewither Cliff from rim to roots. Leave no survivor, seize every storage ring, and scour the altar for anything tied to the Soul Devourer: scrolls, communication devices, message arrays. Miss even a cobweb and I will know!”
Mercy had no place here. Surrendered or not, Skyfiend disciples died the same, and their rings fed the war chest Jared needed to keep tens of thousands of scaled soldiers marching.
If resources ran short, he would lead the army across Level Nine and harvest what the weak failed to defend. Survival, after all, favored the ruthless—unless one bowed as sincerely as Neville had.
“Understood, Mr. Chance!” Coall’s cavernous voice rattled loose dust from nearby skulls.
Roaring with draconic delight, Coall launched the plundering sweep. To a Draconian, hoarding glittering relics and sniffing out buried secrets was less a duty than a blood-etched instinct.
Jared settled cross-legged beside the grotesque skull altar.
Part of his mind steered the tower, distilling Elder Bonewick’s soul into usable fragments. The rest slipped like liquid light through every rune carved in the altar, hunting for the faintest trace, coordinates, a shadow, a breath, left by the Soul Devourer’s wandering remnant.
Toppling Skyfiend Sect was only the opening move. The true game lay in dragging the ancient, conniving Soul Devourer from whatever abyss he used as a burrow and ending him forever.
So long as that monster breathed, he would return—perhaps the moment Jared stepped beyond Level Nine, perhaps when the realms least expected—and an awakened Soul Devourer would be unstoppable.
Worse, Jared knew the fiend’s first act after full recovery would be to hound him across higher worlds, turning every sunrise into a fresh hunt.
He understood all too well that a monster like Soul Devourer could drift through Level Ten, Level Eleven, without meeting a hint of resistance, as effortlessly as a hawk gliding on summer thermals. Therefore, Jared had to end the creature here on Level Nine.
If he allowed that monster to rise any higher, it would hang over him forever like a sword poised above his throat.
The trail he needed lay hidden in this wasteland, inside the plundered memories of Elder Bonewick and deep within the altar’s secret hollows.
Far across the debris field, the Draconian army worked methodically, their colossal, armored bodies weaving between toppled columns while they swept the battlefield clean.
At the very eye of that slow-moving storm sat Jared, motionless as obsidian. He pulled at every strand of information, patient and unrelenting, searching for a road that led to the final hunt.
He breathed the words like a promise. “My next stop is the Nether Blood Sea… The Soul Grave… Soul Devourer, your death is drawing near.”
Sparks of wild anticipation flared in his eyes, bright as flint struck against steel.
Urgency thudded through his pulse. He longed to confront the Soul Devourer, to feel the creature break beneath his own hands and watch the threat bleed out for good.
Raw, frightening power churned inside him, restless as a caged tempest. He needed someone, or something, upon which to unleash it.
Coall barreled over, excitement glowing in his dark eyes like lanterns. “Mr. Chance, we struck gold! The Skyfiend Sect’s vaults are overflowing. Looks as though they plundered Level Nine for years.”
“Good… Tell the others to heal up fast; we still have to pay that Nether Blood Sea a visit.” Jared’s voice was calm, yet the order cracked like a whip, reminding every warrior that the war had only paused, never ended.
Coall nodded, then produced a marble-sized bead the color of fresh blood, cradling it in both palms. “Found this under the main statue in their grand hall. Not a trace of energy on it, feels like a common stone. Take a look!”
Jared took the bead and swept it with his spiritual sense.
*Nothing…*
The orb lay perfectly still, as mute as a river pebble.
By every outward sign, it was a useless bauble—no pulse, no glow, no hidden pattern. Yet Skyfiend Sect, the greatest force in Level Nine, would never entomb worthless junk beneath its most revered idol. That alone made the thing dangerous.
“Go on. See that everyone mends their wounds.” With a small wave, he dismissed Coall. Coall dipped his head once and hurried off between heaps of shattered stone.
Left alone, Jared rotated the red bead between thumb and forefinger, uncertain where to begin unraveling its mystery.
