The Ash Wolves swarmed… and Balancer of Scales activated.
An invisible force pressed, crushing every living being within thirty paces of Ekanai. With their weight amplified a hundredfold, the wolves’ assault ended before it even began, leaving behind a ring of pulverized corpses.
The stragglers paid their fallen brethren no mind.
Ekanai’s tattoo glowed with prana once again, and Clarity gave Ekanai a glimpse into the next few seconds—two Ash Wolves approaching from behind.
He dodged, but his boots caught in the shin-deep ash. Ekanai allowed himself to fall and avoided a razor-sharp paw that could’ve decapitated him. Dance of the Shadow Demon activated, and instead of crashing into the ground, he sunk into the depths of his own shadow.
An instant later, Ekanai materialized from beneath the wolf, his katar’s dagger blade gleaming, piercing its heart as cleanly as splitting water.
The other Ash Wolf fared no better. A razor-sharp throwing disk between the eyes ended the beast even before its body hit the ground.
Ekanai placed his soot-blackened boot on the corpse’s tough hide, eyeing the beasts that circled him. His calloused, leathery fingers grasped his throwing disk, and with a firm tug, dislodged his trusty friend.
Then the poisonous prana finally took effect.
Ekanai may have earned his title as the Reaper, but time was unrelenting. As his heart seized, and his knees buckled, and agony ripped through his body, Ekanai was no different from any mortal at the end of their life.
With a vain hope, Ekanai’s fingers grazed the symbol on his chest, which now glowed with the healing power of Yuma’s Embrace. But even his most powerful healing magic failed against such extensive damage. Unable to endure the onslaught of magical pressure, his blood vessels ruptured, poisoned by pitch-black prana.
The ordeal distracted Ekanai, and he failed to notice a nearby beast before its bladed limb slipped through his back and out of his chest. His vision blurred… But pain was nothing to him. He thrived in pain. He consumed it.
Ekanai forced himself to his feet, and a slice of his prana-empowered blade bisected the beast that impaled him. The same prana density that was killing him supercharged Yuma’s Embrace, and though unable to purge the taint from his blood, made short work of healing his stab wound.
Step after step, he inched closer to the lost city through sheer force of will. He was so frustratingly close. Closer than any prior incarnation had ever come.
He fell to his knees, his body no longer obeying him. For the first time in decades, the icy grip of fear held him.
Ekanai had wriggled free from the bony fingers of death too many times to worry about his own life. But there were other, darker terrors he feared more. He’d seen the spatial ruptures himself—witnessed them corrupt the very fabric of reality.
There was nothing he could do against it. To do so was to defy Fate itself, and only the symbol on his chest possessed such might. And it was incomplete.
The tattoo yearned for the almighty power that lay deep within this city of the gods, buried under rubble and time. Power that made Ekanai’s current abilities look like child’s play.
Ekanai pressed his fingers against the tattoo. With each rebirth, the Primordial’s existence faded. His sense of purpose, once thick like blood, had diluted to water. If his successor failed to unlock the full potential of the tattoo, that would be the true end.
Not just for him, but for all.
Primordial Ekanai would live again. Yet his next incarnation would be the last.
ARC 1
1THE END OF YOUR WORLD. THE BEGINNING OF MINE
Human Realm. Hiranya Kingdom. Five Hundred Years Later…
Vir tiptoed across the rickety wooden floorboards of his log cabin’s kitchen in the predawn darkness. With a single candle for illumination, he picked out a small log from a firewood bin, then reached into the cooler.
It wasn’t just the chill of the Magic Cold orb that sent shivers up his spine as he rummaged around for a banana, today was his fifteenth birthday—the last possible day for him to manifest a magical affinity. Today, he’d learn whether he was destined for greatness or doomed to mediocrity.
The chances were beyond slim—not after a lifetime without a drop of magic. Yet hope was merely a difficult flame to douse.
Tiptoeing back to the kitchen, Vir slipped the log into their clay stove. The oat porridge bubbled shortly thereafter, reminding him to give it a few stirs.
He gave the porridge a quick taste. “That oughta do it,” he whispered, careful not to wake his father. But Rudvik’s loud snores told him there was little risk of that. The big man slept as hard as he worked.
Transferring the sweet-smelling meal to a wooden bowl, he set it on the dining table alongside the banana, leaving the stove’s door open to radiate heat back into the cabin.
Vir basked in its warmth, but only for a moment. Grabbing his rucksack, he pinched off the flame, then felt his way to the door. Even from here, he could feel the bone-chilling draft from outside.
He carefully donned his shoes, ensuring he didn’t enlarge the holes that riddled the worn fabric.
“Have a great day at work, Father,” Vir whispered under his breath. There would be no breakfast for him—the recent famine hadn’t been easy on the village, and Rudvik needed the food more than he did.
The biting cold hit the young man with the weight of a woodchopper’s ax, and his worn shirt and frayed pants did little to protect him. He scarcely noticed, all thoughts occupied with his upcoming magic aptitude test.
“Neel!” he whispered to his canine friend. “Time to go, boy!”
The droopy-eared, brown-and-white bandy stepped out of its warm wooden kennel and nuzzled him. Neel’s beady eyes, squat snout, and pudgy legs didn’t paint a picture of agility, but the animal was deceivingly quick on its four paws.
Bandies were loyal canines, and Neel had been part of the family for years.
“Atta boy. We’ve got a big day today, so let’s hop to it!” Vir had long ago learned that the best way to get warm was to get moving, so he did exactly that.
Brij was rather large for a village, almost the size of a small town, and Vir’s home sat on its outskirts. The village itself was nothing to look at, but the Godshollow? Now that was a different story. The vast ancient forest was full of wonder and danger.
A solid ten minutes of walking past farms on a muddy dirt road put him onto the central village streets with its many spider-web-like alleyways. The angular, clay buildings grew taller and denser as he approached the village’s center where his destination—the temple—was located.
“You ready, boy?” he said, turning over the hourglass in his pocket. A makeshift thing that was always on the verge of falling apart.
Neel barked and wagged his tail.
He took a deep breath and sped up. Sweat flew from Vir’s brow as he bounded from crate to barrel to pole, leaping his way through the narrow alleys with deft footwork beyond his fifteen years of age.
Dawn was less than an hour away, and the sky had brightened with a beautiful blue glow. The village of Brij couldn’t afford Magic Lamp streetlights, but the occasional Magic Candle orb illuminated the path well enough. His night vision had always been better than the village kids. Especially useful for avoiding the many piles of Ash’va dung that littered the alleyway. Or running away from Camas and his lackeys.
Vir avoided the problem entirely—streets were too risky. He could do better.