This was the soul remnant of the Soul Devourer himself, no mere projection but the closest thing to his true form. Compared with the shadow Jared had faced at the Skyfiend Sect, this presence was a hundred times fiercer, every wisp condensed into lethal intent.
Though still incomplete, the raw pressure of its soul remnant alone slammed into the arriving Draconian army, making even seasoned warriors feel as though unseen chains cinched their throats.
The Soul Devourer’s voice scraped across the vault, summoning echoes from every restless spirit. “Jared Chance, I had not yet set out to hunt you, and here you stroll straight into my lair. And you even drag in this swarm of slithering reptiles to die beside you—how very thoughtful.”
Suspended in the thick crimson gloom, Jared faced the skeletal throne from a distance that felt razor-thin. Not a hint of fear touched his features.
A slow, almost playful smile lifted one corner of his mouth, as though the nightmare before him were nothing more than a tavern brawl.
Jared answered with a lazy grin. “Soul Devourer, you picked a fine sewer to hide in; no wonder it took me forever to sniff you out. Last time you ran like a whipped cur, licked your wounds under this blood sea, and now you’re barking again when the scars haven’t even closed.”
The emerald flames in the Soul Devourer’s eyes flared, the throne of skulls creaking under the sudden spike of rage.
Forcing the anger back behind a brittle smile, he hissed, “Sharp tongue, whelp! You think a lucky bond with the Beast-Subduing Tower and a pack of beasts makes you invincible? To me, you’re still just a slightly sturdier ant!”
Jared laughed, the sound echoing like cracking ice. “An ant? Look at yourself: you’re neither man nor ghost, no physical body, just a tattered wisp skulking in this godforsaken hole. I almost pity you.”
He swept an arm toward the vast Draconian army massed behind him, their obsidian scales and burning standards rolling outward like a living tide.
Thumb tapping against his own breastplate, he roared, “Behold me—still young, body unmarred, cultivation that scrapes the roof of creation. Commanders swarm beneath my banner like thunderheads, and I have just welded the Ninefold Heaven into a single empire!”
“And you? What do you possess? A few back-alley plots and the knack for shooting cowardly arrows from the dark. Strip that away, and you stand empty-handed!”
“Ah, yes, ‘Celestial Lord’ you call yourself. Try ‘Sewer Lord.’ You’ve spent so long squatting in this reeking gutter that mildew is your only crown.”
Hearing this humiliation, Soul Devourer’s voice cracked. “You…”
Rage rippled through his translucent body; the swirl of resentful energy around him bucked and screamed, as though every trapped ghost shared his fury.
Across uncounted millennia of cruel dominion, never, never, had a mortal dared spit such insults at his very face.
Jared flicked two fingers. “You what?”
Words fired from his mouth like arrows. “Calling you an old dog would flatter you; dogs, at least, stay loyal. All you know is betrayal, devouring allies, and scheming from the shadows.”
“Wait… I forgot, you can run. Faster than anyone alive. Last time in Nullrift Gorge, this time at the Skyfiend Sect, you bolted so quickly it almost broke my heart.”
“How about I teach you a few prettier escape techniques? Then, the next time someone chases you like a kicked cur, you might at least look graceful.”
Pfft!
A stifled snort split the silence.
Behind Jared, Coall’s great black-scaled ribs shook with half-swallowed laughter, the dragon struggling not to collapse outright. Other Draconians traded furtive, delighted glances, eager to laugh, yet terrified of doing so.
“Impudent whelp! I will tear you apart!” Soul Devourer screamed.
His ghost-green soul fire flared blood-red. A volcanic pressure burst outward, making the very stones of Soulgrave Abyss shudder under his wrath.
“I will rip out your soul, sear it with Netherfire for ten thousand years, and deny you rebirth forever!”
Jared clicked his tongue. “Touchy, touchy…”
He folded his arms and smirked. “That’s anger already? I haven’t even warmed up. With a mind that shallow, no wonder you’ve spent ten millennia skulking in darkness. Drop the grand title. Call yourself ‘Lord Pettiness,’ or maybe ‘Sovereign of Sulks.’ Fits far better.”
