Maris Valerian

  fighting monsters. Just because the Strikers contributed to the Monster Hunters didn’t make her one. They were a necessary group to keep the monster population down.

  And normally, monsters were weak, stupid brutes that fought to the death—hardly worth her time. Duels were her arena. Political power carved from blade work, just like her pirate grandmother had done.

  But after the day she’d had, standing on a rooftop while glaring at Chas Blackwood, she wanted to murder something.

  The enormous lizard aberration behind them had been kicking his ass for the past hour, which was admittedly enjoyable to watch. The damn thing clearly had it in for him personally. He stood there in his signature black plate armor now, ridiculous white cape fluttering, oversized sword gleaming with rain.

  Alexander slumped nearby, gold and silver battleaxe across his armored lap. The Vildar was panting—never a good sign from someone built like a fortress, no matter how small.

  "How many times is that?" Alexander wheezed through his helmet.

  "Three," Maris snapped, irritation bleeding through. "It should be dust three fucking times over. The Tower Spirit has to be running dry."

  Sylvarus's mana lens had blasted the creature with thick white death beams. Three times. The monster kept regenerating as if it were mocking them. Diana's phoenix had scorched a hole the size of Maris's own warship through its torso—sealed instantly. Grace had carved it up like a roast—meaningless.

  This thing wasn't Class-B. If it had attacked anywhere else—anywhere without several Grand Masters, a Warden, and a fully functional mana lens—that place would be rubble.

  The truly terrifying part? None of them had a clue what it was. Even Diana, coordinating from the Tower, hadn't found squat on how to kill it.

  The aberration was finally weakening. Problem was, so were they.

  Grace glided to their perch, clearing her throat. Her mask and hood hung in shreds from her own magic, revealing surprisingly normal features. Dark hair, fair skin, narrow eyes with a look Maris had never seen on any Gaian. Warden advancement did weird things to people.

  Not that Maris cared. Becoming a Warden meant too many responsibilities and not enough fun. She was perfectly content with her pirate kingdom.

  Fatigue was making her thoughts wander. .

  "As expected," Grace said, settling beside Alexander like they weren't fighting for their lives. "It's absorbing ambient mana to regenerate, regardless of aspected damage. That's why we can't outpace recovery. The creature appears designed for attrition."

  Chas straightened, cape doing that dramatic thing he probably practiced. "So we're convinced someone made this nightmare?"

  Grace shrugged—the casual gesture somehow more unnerving than her earlier violence. "The Breaker's report suggests as much. However, no techno-magic I'm familiar with can forcefully void-out a spirit realm or anchor one this effectively."

  "So what's the fucking plan?" Maris demanded, gesturing wildly at the reforming horror. "We can't just let it keep regenerating! Our cores will be dry within the hour."

  "Speak for yourself," Chas said, that familiar shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

  Maris shot him a look that could have killed a lesser Runebinder.

  "We must reduce its ambient absorption," Grace stated, her curved sword materializing beside her like a loyal pet. "Tower Arcanists are running calculations. Regeneration is slowing—we need to impede it further."

  "Graceful Gods," Alexander muttered, struggling to his feet. "How exactly do we manage that? We hack off pieces, they just grow back!"

  "We continue."

  Grace pointed. Her sword flared electric blue and shot toward the monster like a guided missile.

  Blue energy flashed through the rain-swept air as Grace's blade scored multiple hits. But the damage wasn't mounting fast enough. A massive arm swept across their rooftop, forcing them to scatter like startled birds.

  The creature roared—a defiant bellow that made Maris's bones vibrate. It reared back and lunged, dragging torrents of purple energy breath across buildings as it hunted Chas and Alexander.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Its massive tail scythed through the air where she'd been standing.

  Maris sighed, using mana to launch herself through the air, gliding to an adjacent building with practiced grace. Her sword came up, unleashing dark arcs of energy that left glowing scars in monster hide. Black ooze poured from the wounds, splashing audibly over the rain.

  Grace landed beside her, brow furrowed in a way that meant bad news was incoming.

  "Chas attempted to withstand the beam with spirit mana," she said calmly. "He's incapacitated while a healing pill works."

  "Idiot," Maris chortled. "He never knows his limits."

  Grace shrugged. "He almost succeeded. Testing limits is how one advances. Though I confess, his mana reserves are... perplexing."

  The monster spun without warning. Its tail obliterated an entire building.

  The air grew thin and charged.

  A rising crescendo bellowed from the aberration as the violet fractals covering its hide began to glow, bathing everything in bizarre alien sunlight. Thousands of small spikes erupted along its back as it dropped to all fours.

  Maris lacked Chas's spiritual danger sense, but raw instinct screamed at her.

  Her eyes widened. She and Grace were already moving.

  Too late.

  A swarm of thousands of violet projectiles rocketed from its back—a dazzling Itano Circus against the storm-darkened sky. A heartbeat later they arced in all directions, cascading down in a symphony of explosions that made the island shake.

  Maris scrambled desperately, weaving through the deadly rain, searching for any sliver of safe space as detonations rocked the world around her.

  She dodged through the air, kicking off falling rubble, twisting frantically to avoid homing death. But one caught her from behind, slamming into her with unerring accuracy. The explosion jolted her even through thick leather armor.

  Drawing deep from her mana core, she forced an intense mana burn. Dark purple energy erupted around her as Soulfire flooded into , her Seal. Her momentum shifted violently—a shockwave blasting her clear through an adjacent building wall.

  Maris rocketed upward, Soulfire burning through her veins. The chaotic debris seemed to drift in slow motion, each chunk a potential foothold. With mana burning and her Seal warping reality, she moved with the terrifying grace of a true Grand Master.

  But the projectiles twisted through the air, relentlessly hunting her. She crested a ruined building, propelling herself toward stable ground.

  Below, more buildings erupted in violet flame.

  She crashed onto a domed rooftop, spinning with sword ready—then gaped.

  The projectiles—thousands of them—were converging directly on her position. The chaotic swarm had become a focused volley, like a thousand spectral archers drawing bead on her exact location.

  "This monster might actually be worth it," she murmured, a fierce grin spreading as she aimed her sword at the incoming storm.

  Then the world ignited.

  Golden daylight blazed across the Academy—an impossible midday sun despite weeping clouds and relentless rain. As radiance spread, the violet projectiles detonated harmlessly mid-air, their fury muted by overwhelming brilliance.

  The aberration roared, spinning to stare at the light source.

  When Maris found it, she understood the monster's reaction.

  She was utterly transfixed.

  A lone figure stood silhouetted against the most beautiful light she'd ever seen. This wasn't mana manifesting as illumination—this was Light decreed. Reality bowing to divine edict.

  It felt like Warden domains, but more. Primordial. Ancient.

  Had a Runelord come to help?

  The figure raised a thick-bladed glaive, a guandao? Golden daylight dimmed, all power drawn into the weapon, which now crackled with white lightning so intense Maris was forced to look away. Her soul resonated with the sight—a terrifying vibration as raw power threatened to shear reality itself.

  The massive aberration roared defiance, turning. Its colossal tail rose, poised to smash the radiant figure.

  The figure swung.

  The island groaned in protest as blinding white destruction erupted upward—a line of unmaking too fast for even her enhanced senses to track. It met the base of the descending tail.

  Silence.

  A shockwave rolled out, vaporizing rain as the creature's massive tail was cleanly severed. The appendage, still carrying momentum, disintegrated mid-swing into a cascade of white sparks raining down like deadly snow.

  Maris gaped at the sheer destruction from a single swing.

  The impossible daylight vanished.

  Shimmering blue motes filled the air, carrying ominous pressure sharp as razors. Grace hadn't wasted time unleashing her domain.

  Maris felt the shift immediately. The aberration's overwhelming power had been drastically diminished. That suffocating aura of danger was now barely a whisper.

  That figure must have annihilated massive amounts of the monster's mana in one strike.

  Grace's domain could handle it alone now. Terrifying thought.

  Shaking off awe, Maris sprang back into action, blade flicking out dark energy slashes. As she renewed the assault, Grace's domain constricted around the monster.

  It roared one last time, violet light gathering in its maw.

  "DIE

  Grace's Soulcry was cold. Absolute. The word resonated through her domain like a death knell. Instantly, the Domain shredded the aberration into countless strands of matter, which erupted into a final shower of white sparks.

  Grace's will extinguished any lingering hope of regeneration.

  As the last sparks faded, Maris landed where the radiant figure had stood.

  An intensely annoying mana beast growled at her, deep and threatening.

  It looked disturbingly like the one that had defended that Terran in La-Roc.

  She froze, gaze sliding from the protective beast to the person behind it.

  Ben Crawford lay collapsed on his knees, unconscious. Dried blood stained his distinctive brass armor. A mangled staff hung from his hand.

  Grace landed silently behind her.

  Then bright, cheerful laughter echoed from the Oathbound—a sound that sent involuntary shivers down Maris's spine. This was the woman who had just shredded a colossal monster with pure will.

  And she was laughing.

  "Oh, that's certainly interesting," Grace said, tone deceptively simple as she took in who had helped them. "Would you like to concede the tournament now, or shall we let it play out?"

  Maris's eye twitched.

  The implications hit like a sledgehammer. Ben Crawford—Seeker-level Ben Crawford—had just unleashed power that made her Soulfire look like a candle flame.