"Kill them all. Only then will Volcranax face you. And… remember… the system…"
The light in its eyes dimmed and then faded entirely.
This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.
I stood there for a moment, the silence deafening. Even the system, which usually flooded my mind with updates and rewards, was eerily quiet. My molten veins pulsed faintly as I stared at the lifeless body of the First Child, its warning lingering like a shadow over my thoughts.
Then, at last, the system’s voice broke the stillness, its tone as cold and calculated as ever.
You have slain the First Child of Volcranax, Descendant of the Ice Titan.
Reward: Choose your evolution path.
Option 1: Ice-Touched Armor – Enhance your Obsidian Skin with residual ice properties, granting increased resistance to cold and icy environments.
Option 2: Titan’s Ferocity – Gain an explosive boost to physical strength and endurance, inspired by the Ice Titan’s ferocity in combat.
Option 3: Evolution to Third Stage – Advance to the Third Stage of Evolution, increasing size, power, and unlocking new abilities.
The options flickered in my mind, but I barely hesitated. My focus was singular.
"Third Stage," I growled, my choice locking in as the system acknowledged it with a mechanical chime.
Evolution Commencing. Brace for transformation.
Pain surged through me as the First Child’s core dissolved into my being, its icy energy melding with the molten essence within me. My body trembled as new power coursed through every fiber of my being, my obsidian skin cracking and reforming to accommodate the transformation.
Even as the pain subsided, the First Child’s final words gnawed at me.
"Do not trust the system."
I growled low, shaking my massive head as I stepped away from the lifeless form. The answers I sought would come in time. For now, there was only one certainty: I would kill Volcranax. I would cleanse this island. And I would uncover the truth—whatever it took.
+ + + +
+ +
+
James’s vision blurred as the return stone deposited him back into the forest he had always called home. The transition was seamless—one moment he was on the molten wasteland, the next, standing amidst towering pines. The familiar scent of damp earth and moss greeted him, grounding him for a brief second.
Then he saw it.
The hut was gone.
A wave of disbelief washed over him. He blinked, hoping his eyes had deceived him, but the sight didn’t change. The small wooden structure, once cozy and well-kept, was now a pile of charred ruins. Ash floated in the air, clinging to his clothes and filling his lungs with every breath. The small garden he’d tended with such care was trampled beyond recognition, and the creek that had always bubbled cheerfully beside the hut was choked with debris.
"No… no, no, no!" James stumbled forward, his boots crunching over shattered wood and scorched stone. His chest tightened as panic surged. "Master!" he shouted, his voice cracking.
Silence.
He turned in frantic circles, scanning the forest as if his master would step out at any moment, wearing that serene expression that always calmed him. But there was nothing—no familiar silhouette, no trace of the person who had raised and trained him.
His foot caught on something, and he nearly fell. Looking down, he saw a faint shimmer beneath the rubble. Heart hammering, he dropped to his knees and brushed aside the debris, revealing a glowing barrier etched with faint golden runes. The barrier flickered weakly, as though barely holding on, and inside it lay a pristine piece of parchment.
"Master’s contraption…" James whispered, his voice trembling. He reached out hesitantly, half-expecting the barrier to shock him, but it dissolved at his touch. The letter floated free, the soft golden glow fading as he grabbed it with shaking hands.
The parchment was crisp, the handwriting unmistakably his master’s—deliberate, elegant strokes that now seemed out of place amidst the ruin.
+
James,
If you are reading this, it means I am no longer here. Do not panic, though I know you too well to believe that’s possible. You must listen carefully.
The Elven Empire has declared war. The Avatar of the Elves and the Duke have turned their forces against the Middle Realms, claiming it is necessary for their survival. But I do not trust their reasoning. Something far more sinister is at work here.
I have gone to the Elven Empire to investigate. Do not follow me. The journey is too dangerous, and your safety is my only concern.
Do not, under any circumstances, go to the human capital. The council there has been compromised. Lay low, stay hidden, and trust no one.
I have left behind a communication rune-stone for you. Use it sparingly and only in the gravest need. It is a higher grade than what you have used before, so it should suffice for distant communication.
James, the world is shifting in ways I cannot fully explain yet. I need time to uncover the truth. Stay strong. I will return for you.
+
James’s hands trembled as he finished reading the letter, the words echoing in his mind. His master—the only person he trusted, the one who had trained him—was gone, thrust into a conflict that seemed to grow darker with every revelation. His hut lay in ruins, reduced to ash and rubble, the remnants of his simple life now scattered across the forest floor.
He spotted a glimmer beneath a charred beam, and a spark of hope flared in his chest. Crawling forward, James pulled aside the debris to reveal a rune-stone, its surface smooth and shimmering faintly with a golden glow. His master had left this for him. It was a lifeline.
Gripping it tightly, James activated the stone, channeling his mana into the intricate carvings. The runes pulsed with energy, and moments later, a familiar voice filled his mind. The sound was calm and commanding, but tinged with urgency.
"You are alive." Relief was evident in the voice, though it quickly turned sharp. "What happened? Where are you?"
"Master," James gasped, his voice trembling. "The hut—it’s gone. Everything’s destroyed. I just got back, but…" He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. "What’s going on? Why did this happen?"
There was a pause, the silence stretching painfully before his master spoke again. "The Elven Empire has declared war, James. Their Avatar and the Duke have begun a campaign against the Middle Realms."
"War?" James felt the word hit like a physical blow. "Why? What could possibly—"
"The god-beast," his master interrupted, his voice darkening. "Its presence has disrupted the balance of power. It is no longer a mere beast—it is an anomaly, a catalyst for chaos. The empire claims this war is for survival, but there’s more to it. Something… something has shifted."
James closed his eyes, the memories of the Scorched Badlands rushing back. He took a deep breath. "Master, I—there’s more. We found the god-beast."
The silence that followed was almost oppressive. When his master finally spoke, his voice was low and deliberate. "Tell me everything."
James hesitated, his mind swimming with images of molten eyes, towering obsidian scales, and the suffocating presence that seemed to pierce his very soul. "It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever seen," he began. "It was massive—easily over 90 feet tall—and its power… It wasn’t just strength. It was destruction itself."
He took a shuddering breath. "Elyndor was with us, but he… he wasn’t himself. There was a mind-bug on him, controlling him. He led us straight to the god-beast, and it used him—manipulated him—to complete some kind of ritual. And then it…" James faltered, the memory of Elyndor’s final moments flashing through his mind. "It ate him."
"A mind-bug," his master murmured, the weight in his tone unmistakable. "Ancient tools of domination. Rarely seen, but their presence is always a harbinger of darker forces. If one was used on Elyndor…" He trailed off, his voice turning cold. "Someone is orchestrating this, James. The god-beast is not the only threat at play."
James clenched his fists, frustration bubbling to the surface. "It spoke to me, Master. It asked questions—about the realms, the Avatars, our strength. It… it let me go, but not before it took something from me."
"What did it take?" his master asked sharply.
James hesitated, shame and anger twisting in his gut. "My Grade-A space pouch. It was a gift from you. It said it needed it for its own… inventory."
There was a long pause before his master sighed heavily. "The god-beast is cunning. It is not just a creature—it is intelligent, and its actions are deliberate. Do not blame yourself, James. You are fortunate to be alive."
James’s voice hardened. "It’s ascending, Master. I could feel it. It’s growing stronger, and it’s not stopping. If we don’t do something—"
"Listen to me," his master interrupted, his tone firm. "The god-beast’s ascension is not something you can stop. Not now. Its path is tied to forces we barely understand, and its power is far beyond what you can face. Your priority is survival."
"But what about the war?" James demanded. "The Elves, the Middle Realms—if this thing keeps growing, it won’t just be the Avatars fighting it. It’ll be everyone."