Sam summoned the Patriarch's corpse directly on top of him, but still felt the blast of heat on his skin. He’d learned that he could choose whether or not he wanted his tafla to dissect a corpse upon storage, and he’d smartly saved a few for this exact purpose. [Apostate] did the rest, lessening the blow of the burning blood.

  He kicked out, striking the Matriarch in the shin before rolling away. She let out a grunt and staggered back, giving him a chance to snatch up his spear and regain his feet.

  He’d activated [Battle Healing] the second he’d hit the floor. His new skill thrummed to life, resetting bones and mending fractures. He was astounded by the speed of it. He was healing injuries that would normally have taken hours or days, even with his increased regeneration.

  The choice had been obvious once he’d realized that yes, of course, he could use it outside of combat as well. Why waste hours in meditation when he could just rapidly heal all his major injuries after a fight? The utility spoke for itself. In combat, it felt like having a second life. His fatigue washed away, and as he stared down the Matriarch, he saw something he didn’t expect.

  Fear.

  She was afraid. A thousand years of fighting the same enemy had left her with little room for imagination. A lone Warrior who could kill dozens of her brood and shake off death blows was far outside the realm of her reckoning.

  He sent out a flurry of strikes, forcing her to retreat towards the throne. The healing hadn't completely mended his injuries, but it was enough to keep him in the fight.

  Her movements were graceful despite her size. What she lacked in speed, she made up for in raw power. Sam was forced back more than once, and with each impact, he feared for the integrity of his spear.

  Her [Divine Skills] were also a problem. While she seemed unable to traverse shadow like the Patriarchs, she was able to summon and manipulate a large quantity of what Sam could only describe as boiling blood. The red liquid shimmered and glowed like metal, but the smell was unmistakably sanguine. She would occasionally use it as a whip, but primarily it served as a mobile shield.

  Over and over, she blocked or redirected the head of his spear, until the tip began to glow red from the impact. His arms were covered in small burns from the spray. Each pinprick of pain made him further regret losing his own shield.

  Their battle took them from one end of the throne room to the other, with both giving and taking ground as needed. The Matriarch seemed keen to keep him away from her pups, while also pressing him towards the remaining horde still slobbering at the gate. The ghūl had taken to throwing rocks at him when he got too close, and one managed to strike him in the back of the head, throwing him off balance, resulting in a long gash on his forearm.

  In what was becoming a trend, he felt the pressure mounting to end the fight. At some point, the lesser ghūl were going to make it inside, and he knew he had no chance at defeating them all together. He managed to score a deep slice to the Matriarch’s hip, and he dashed back, knowing that she’d take the opportunity to heal. An idea had struck him, one that he didn't want to entertain, but didn't see a way around.

  He angled himself towards one of the large pillars that lined the hall and pulled up his talfa. Navigating to the [Martial Skills] tab, he opened up the menu, selecting the skill tree for [Spear Mastery]. The next skill glowed softly, waiting to be purchased.

  His eyes went wide as he read the selection.

  [Longinus Strike - Iron - Rare - Upgradable]

  A strike that disrupts the natural flow of the Divine. Pierce the Seven Heavens, and the hearts of those who worship them.

  Bonus: Magic penetration scales with [Apostate].

  Cost: 3,000 Spira

  He nearly tripped over a root in shock as the meaning of the words hit home. A strike that could pierce magical defences was exactly what he needed.

  And it scales with [Apostate]?!

  It seemed too good to be true. A second [Rare] skill, and a perfect compliment to his fighting style. The Arbiter was dangling it in front of him. There was no world where the timing could be a coincidence.

  He’d have to purchase it to win the fight.

  The cold surety settled into his gut. The Arbiter was taunting him. He’d need to endure the head-splitting pain long enough to purchase the skill successfully, and then immediately figure out how to use it. The message was clear as day: buy or die.

  Sam knew that if he didn't, something would happen. The gate would break, or a new foe would appear. As much as the gods touted free will, the War was still a game.

  And the game was rigged.

  He bit back a snarl as he dodged a whip of blood that wrapped around the pillar. The room was too open for a prolonged game of hide-and-seek. There was no way he’d be able to dodge long enough to absorb the skill. There was only one way forward: he’d have to fight through the pain.

  A scream of frustration tore through his throat as he purchased it. His spira plummeted to almost nothing, but he didn't have time to think about it as the agony began.

  It started at the base of his skull and flowed outwards along his limbs. He now knew enough of how his [Mana Network] functioned to know that the skills roughly followed the same route through the body. The arcane arteries and veins that made up the system were only so large, and could only funnel so much mana at a time.

  Each time a skill was used, it pushed a set amount of mana through those channels, meaning that over time, they'd increase, naturally accommodating the flow. That rate could be altered—as he’d discovered with [Arcane Eyes]—but in general, magical skills were a binary: on or off.

  Purchasing a new skill was that strain on steroids. It ripped the network apart, forcibly reconstructing it to accommodate the increased pressure. It was like tearing a muscle to grow stronger…only this muscle was his entire body.

  His vision doubled, and his heart rate skyrocketed as mana coursed through him. Once again, visions of the spear pounded behind his eyes; only this time, he had no option for respite. He couldn’t wait for the pain to dissipate. He couldn't curl up in a hole and hide.

  He had to fight.

  His arm shook as he blocked an incoming claw, the force of it slamming him back into a wall. The pain in his back didn't even register over the torrent that pounded in his ears.

  He rolled aside on pure instinct, ears barely noting the crack of stone as the Matriarch slammed down where he’d been lying. The images of past Warriors superimposed themselves on the world around him, and he lost all ability to separate reality and illusion.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  One moment, he swung and blocked the axe of a charging Dalith, the next he lunged through the open maw of a monstrous turtle. Spinning, jumping, blocking. It all dissolved in a storm of colour and sound. His own body was torn to shreds as the Matriarch's attacks were lost in the overflow of sensation.

  He hung on. Somehow, impossibly, he endured. He could feel the fire beside him as his mind brought him back to the first night in the woods. The screams of dying rats roared in his ears. His perception twisted on its axis and suddenly snapped back into place.

  The heat remained, and he looked down at the tattered remains of his [Enchanted Warrior Cuirass]. His entire left side was covered in burns, the protective runes completely broken. The item was destroyed; of that, he was certain. His body was hanging on by a thread.

  [Skill Purchased: Longinus Strike]

  The words flashed in front of his eyes, and he let out a cry of anguish and relief. His trembling muscles began to relax, and he regained the awareness of his [Mana Network]. To his surprise, he found that the veins actually extended into the spear. It was as if the weapon itself had become a part of his body. His awareness encompassed it in a way it never had before, to the point he thought he could smell the encroaching wave of blood through the battered metal tip.

  It became a simple matter to turn the attack aside, and he watched as if in slow motion as the crimson energy broke against the wall behind him.

  Time resumed its normal speed, and with it, the revelation of just how badly he was injured. Blood poured from a dozen different wounds, and his vision strobed with every heartbeat. He had at least two broken ribs, and he could see the bone through a deep gash in his left forearm. He must have reflexively tried to block an attack, not realizing he no longer had a shield.

  It was now or never.

  The Matriarch pulled back, eyes flashing. Her battle instincts, honed over a thousand years, were clearly screaming. The fight had changed. The wounded prey she was about to finish had grown bold at the moment of its defeat. Why? What had happened?

  Sam let out a strangled cry and lunged, not bothering to defend. He put every remaining scrap of power he could into the thrust and activated [Longinus Strike].

  His body went cold.

  Rather than the normal thrum of power that came from activating [Arcane Eyes], he felt the inverse. It was as though the spear had become the antithesis of the Divine. It was a negative space: a dark void in a world of light.

  The tip of the jet black spear met the wall of sanguine energy in a clash of thunder. Space bent around the impact, and the blood magic shattered, sending out a spray of molten shards. Sam let out a triumphant roar as the spear continued onwards, the darkness radiating from the tip like a hungry maw.

  Time froze, and his gaze locked with the Matriarch. Her face was poleaxed, eyes wide. There was sadness there, coupled with deep regret. The tip of the spear bit into her chest, crumpling her armour like tinfoil. It continued, and Sam was sure it was about to take her through the heart, when his vision flared.

  [Arcane Eyes] erupted, and he was forced to turn his head aside to avoid going blind. The pauldron, which the Matriarch wore on her right shoulder, exploded in a burst of Divine magic. The air rippled as a shield of hardened wind cocooned her in a protective shell. The spear fought for a moment, but was repelled by a swirling vortex.

  The item was a final failsafe. Clearly, it had an active ability strong enough to counter even his [Rare] skill. He collapsed in a heap as the Matriarch was thrown across the hall, coming to rest at the foot of the dais.

  A large chunk was missing from her chest, and she looked panicked as she desperately pulled down more energy from the gem embedded in the tree far above. The leaves swayed, pollen drifting on an unseen breeze. It tickled his nose, the scent bringing back unwanted memories.

  The magic itself had little to no effect. It wasn't that Sam wasn't angry; it was that he simply had nothing left to give.

  His body was completely and utterly spent.

  His [Mana Network] throbbed from the use of the skill. It didn't hurt the same way as overusing [Arcane Eyes]; this was something different. A numbness spread through his body. It was like someone had thrown a blanket over his senses, leaving him weak and desensitized.

  His heart sank as the Matriarch climbed unsteadily to her feet. Her blood magic was struggling to repair the damage to her chest. The flesh stubbornly refused to knit itself back together. The lingering effects of [Longinus Strike] were obvious as she slowly limped towards him.

  Sam forced himself to his knees and watched her come. His arms were like rubber, legs leaden as he willed himself to stand. No matter how much he struck her—she’d keep healing. The ghūl were driven by a relentless will. The depth of their desire for revenge could have buried the Spire itself. They were bound to their fury, body and soul. What was he to do against a rage like that?

  Break it, came a whisper in the back of his mind. Break the chains. He turned, half expecting to see someone standing behind him. The voice had been soft, feminine. He looked back at the Matriarch. Was he going insane?

  His eyes drifted past her to the gem. Break it. He’d tried once before and had been easily repelled. The magic that protected it was beyond ancient.

  And yet…

  He took a deep, shuddering breath, wincing in pain as his ribs cried out in protest. Getting to his feet might have been the single hardest thing he’d ever done. Every muscle protested, every ligament and tendon rebelled. His wreck of a body was a vessel for nothing more than his will. This would not be where he died.

  Like the Ghūl, he had unfinished business.

  Once more, he activated [Longinus Strike], gasping as the colour was drained from the world. His vision was dim, and the only thing that remained was the tip of his spear. He turned and drew it back, trusting in his body to know what to do. He took one, desperate step.

  And let it fly.

  His mind followed the weapon as it soared overhead. All eyes were trained on it as it flew towards the [Nemesian Soulstone]. The point of the black spear did what Sam's strength alone could not. It parted the tide of blood like a red sea.

  The spear buried itself in the gem with a sharp crack. It hung there, suspended twenty feet above the ground. The Dungeon held its breath for one…two seconds, before all hell broke loose.

  The stone exploded in a wave of crimson energy. The bark of the tree charred and peeled as the torrent of blood poured from the gem. The walls shook in protest, hunks of rock falling from the ceiling as the shaking continued.

  The Matriarch stood there, mouth agape, eyes wide as the last gout of energy was expelled. The room went silent, then suddenly erupted into a roar as red smoke was drawn in from every corner. It was as though the Soulstone became a black hole, drawing in all the power that it had given. The ghūl clawing at the gate quickly became shrivelled husks, their skin dissolving like wet paper.

  The Matriarch didn't fare much better. Her essence crumbled like ash in a windstorm, drawn into the swirling vortex suspended at the center of the tree. The hot wind buffeted Sam from all sides as the rage and thirst for vengeance were drawn from the entirety of the Dungeon.

  In her final moment, she turned and locked eyes with him. He was shocked to see that her gaze held not one ounce of anger. Whatever rage she possessed had long since been stripped away.

  All that remained was a plea.

  A dull boom shook the throne room as the Soulstone imploded. It had finished reclaiming all the gifts that Nemesis had bestowed. A shockwave erupted from the epicentre, washing away the Matriarch in a tide of force. It continued outwards, and Sam knew it would find every remaining ghūl in the Dungeon. All that would be left of their race was dust.

  A sharp clattering broke the silence, and Sam was stunned to see that his spear had somehow survived the cataclysm. It dropped to the stone at the foot of the dais, surprisingly intact.

  He didn't have time to process this miraculous occurrence, as his legs chose that exact moment to give out on him. He heard a dull chime, confirming that [Matricide] had completed. He tried opening his inventory to consume his final [Restoration Potion], but his vision was fading faster than he could move.

  He was lying completely exposed in the middle of the throne room. He has no weapon, no shield. He was a total sitting duck. If any other Warrior found him, he’d surely end up as close to dead as the Arbiter would allow.

  He’d won, but at what cost?

  His breathing slowed as fatigue claimed him, consciousness fading as he descended into the dark.