LEVEL 0 IMMORTAL

Whether it was a mistake or the spawns had evolved, or perhaps killing a certain amount of them was the key, but the ash that was previously thought to enhance techniques and legacies seemed to be doing something more… It was also enhancing talents!

Tarian and others with similar talents or wielding powerful legacies had not begun to feel any effect because they would need to deliberately absorb a lot of this ash into their bodies to trigger change, but even still, they were beginning to detect a certain loosening in their comprehension.

For geniuses like them, problems that could hinder others for years took mere moments for them to figure out, and so the things that gave them problems were extremely difficult to even comprehend by normal folks, and even for something as powerful as the ash, it would take time to make any meaningful changes.

The fact that some of the talents of these candidates were changing simply meant their talents were too low.

Tarian saw these changes and nodded. It was good that the potential of his future subjects was increasing; it gave them the chance to be able to reach the pit.

The candidates who had been fighting with discipline, strategy, and fear began to fight with something, a hunger that was almost greed, as the knowledge that every spawn they killed made them better, faster, stronger.

Siphons were used to grow strong in battle, but not like this, where their potential itself was the one experiencing growth; it was as if their foundation was broadening, and the experience was the most thrilling thing they had felt in their life.

The ash was both a resource and a reward to those who were strong enough to hold it.

"Kill them all!" a voice screamed. "Take their ash!"

In that instant, the battle changed as the candidates began to charge towards the spawns, and a bitter battle commenced.

The number of deaths began to increase, but the living did not care, believing that those who died did not deserve to live.

It was quite simple: only the truly deserving would walk through hell and come out the other side stronger.

Without this mindset, men would still remain slaves to the gods and daemons.

In this world there was no room for weakness or you would be left behind, and it would be better to live a normal life than to become a Siphon, and yet a hundred thousand people had perished here, they all lived normal lives, but this world did not reward weakness, and when the wind blows, they were swept aside like dried leaves.

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The battle grew heated and soon, even Tarian began to feel it as more ash settled on his skin, and his lightning responded.

It was not a dramatic change, a slight increase in range, a slight decrease in the cost, but he noticed, and for him, that slight increase represented a wall that would have held him back for months, maybe years, and for others, they would not even be able to comprehend this slight increase in their lifetime.

"Press forward!" he roared, a hint of excitement that was barely seen in the young prince entering his voice. "They're giving us strength!"

His squad surged with him, but there was something different in their movements now that was hungry. They were fighting to grow strong, and their intent was no longer on survival; an opportunity like this may never come up again, and they were determined to win.

A girl from the guilds with copper hair and dragon-fire that she could barely control raised her hands, and the flame that exploded from her palms was hotter and brighter than before.

Unleashing so much power would have cooked her consciousness from the strain; now, she could grit her teeth and burn the spawns in front of her so completely that they evaporated, their bodies consumed so completely that there was nothing left to rise.

"How many was that?" she asked, her voice trembling with excitement.

"Keep going!" Tarian commanded. "Don't stop!"

He stepped to the front of the shield wall, his pale gold eyes scanning the tide. His Warg stood beside him, its hackles raised, as it had felt the ash too, and was faster now, stronger, its claws leaving deeper gouges in the stone.

Tarian raised his hand and called the lightning. It came marginally faster than before, as he released a column of light that reached from the sky to the earth. It burned through the tide, carving a path that should have been impossible.

"Follow me!" he shouted.

His squad followed, and the rest of the candidates followed him, and they tore into the spawns with a vengeance.

However, despite their enthusiasm, it was an undeniable fact that they were creatures of flesh and blood and the strain of the battle and its intensity was greater than anything they had ever faced.

They had been fighting nonstop for hours, and they could feel every single one of those hours.

Only managing to push past the central square for a few hundred meters, but even their enthusiasm was not enough as they had grounded to a halt.

The ash was ankle-deep, then knee-deep, then waist-deep. The candidates stood in it, their boots sinking, their movements slowing, their lungs filling with the dust of the things they had killed.

It was horrific to contemplate that they were covered in the remains of tens of thousands, and even their lust for power was slowly being suppressed by this cold, hard fact.

They had lost count of how many spawns had fallen. Tens of thousands. Perhaps more, much more than they thought, and yet it did not matter, for the spawns never stopped coming!

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It was inevitable that a point would be reached where the balance that was holding this group together would begin to tilt sideways, and one of the first sets of Siphons to fall for this changing balance was the healers.

They had been working without rest, moving through the ranks, sealing wounds, restoring stamina, pouring their own energy into the candidates who stood at the wall. Their talents were not meant for this. They were meant for skirmishes, for duels, for the small injuries that came from training. Not for this endless tide.

The first healer collapsed at the two-hour mark. She was young, barely seventeen, her talent for mending flesh as gentle as her hands. She had saved dozens of lives. She had given everything she had.

When she fell, no one noticed.

Her squadmates stepped over her body and kept fighting.