The four men stood on the opposite side of the room, the blonde-haired one to the left, the one with the goatee on the right. The one that had addressed him – the clean-shaven one with the messy black hair – stood beside blondie. The last had a bald head with a scar cutting across one side.

  Elliott cast protection shields on Rose and Parek, as he felt the mana pooling around the four men ahead of him. They were powerful. More powerful than anyone he’d met here.

  They would have been difficult for others.

  Not him. Not Elsie either. He glanced over to the damaged body of his sister, her head half-torn away, her dress singed, the gleam lost from her remaining eye. The dungeon must have been harder than he’d expected to weaken Elsie to that extent. To be destroyed like that.

  He turned his eyes on the men. He wasn’t one to cry. Or dwell. He’d lost that luxury when he’d died.

  A raging ocean of fire and ice surged through him, mana burning through every channel in his body, flowing through his pores, almost brimming with the same fury that coursed through him. He hadn’t needed to draw so much, but it was time for others to know he was here.

  To know he was coming.

  The air crackled around him as the Disciples made their move first, trying to get the upper-hand. Tens of thick iron bars shot down from the ceiling above him as dozens of spears of ice hurtled in his direction. Beneath him, the stone floor groaned and rumbled as earth gathered. The clean-shaven one with the black hair created a thick bolt of light that shot towards Elliott.

  He smiled.

  These guys were fast with their casting.

  He was faster.

  Spikes of stone and earth erupted beneath him, immediately forced down by the weighted platform he created. The iron bars overhead rang out as they slammed into a lead barrier. Ahead of him, circular saws appeared, spinning so fast that if it wasn’t for the gleaming red-hot edges, it would be almost impossible to see them. The ice-spears evaporated into mist on contact. Between the saws, a large prism appeared, fragmenting and diluting the light bolt into tiny beams that struck the walls with the ferocity of raindrops.

  At the same time as defending their attacks, the sigils for his counter-attack snapped into place. Several stone spikes, larger than the ones he had been attacked with, burst from the floor towards blondie. Thicker beams of light shot forth towards clean-shaven. Bulky flaming spears hurtled towards scarhead while wider iron bars appeared from the ceiling above goatee.

  The Disciples defended them easily—blondie put his hands out, casting a barrier of earth, the stone crumbling against it. Goatee raised his palms above him, a silver barrier solidifying above his head, the iron bars clanging against it and disappearing. Scarhead created a swirling cloud of ice and water that snuffed out the flames as they approached, steam hissing into the air. Clean-shaven created several mirrors, deflecting the light beams towards the ceiling, punching a large hole through it.

  Sunlight poured into the room as debris and dust crashed to the floor around them.

  Elliott wondered for a split-second whether he should question them. What their aim was for this world. Why they needed the goddess.

  But then he realised…he didn’t really care.

  These men had come to his abode.

  Attacked his people.

  Attacked his sister.

  And there was only one response.

  His eyes raged.

  Mana poured through his channels, shooting out in multiple directions from his body, the sigils already clear in his mind. That was the real difference in the power of mages. Being able to channel incredible amounts of mana was useless without the speed and intricacy of Sigil Arts. Being able to draw the shapes, and the complex weaving of the marks that manipulated the mana to form the required magic.

  But it wasn’t just a case of speed and complexity. It was handling multiple different arrangements like a painter with multiple arms. Working on dozens of paintings with dozens of strokes at the same time. These Disciples could handle that. Perhaps they could work hundreds of sigils. They would undoubtedly be amongst the strongest on this planet and four of them together would have been enough for most people.

  Unfortunately for them, Elliott could handle thousands of sigils with thousands of strokes.

  The room exploded into life all at once. Hundreds of stone spikes erupted from the ground, while a similar number of spears – some wreathed in fire, some covered in ice – manifested across the room. Iron cannonballs, roaring fireballs and icy hailstones the size of human heads burst into existence above their heads. Miniature tornadoes spun near the room doors, tugging at the red robes of the Disciples.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Their eyes widened. Their mouths opened.

  Elliott smiled. He’d be lying to himself if he claimed that look didn’t bring him a little joy. Throughout his life, he and his sister – Isabel, too – had been the target of many an assassination attempt. When his would-be killers realised just how far beyond their ability they’d transgressed, they always had that look. Wide eyes. Open mouths. Normally followed by begging for mercy.

  There would be no mercy.

  He unleashed the torrent of projectiles, hurling them towards the Disciples as he advanced towards them. They moved as one and put up their hands, shields being formed as quick as they could manage. Blondie threw up a shield wall and a hundred stone spikes collapsed. Goatee created a vacuum, choking the tornadoes until they dissipated. The other two conjured floating walls of lead and water. The hail and iron cannonballs smacked against the wall, metallic echoes reverberating around the room. The fireballs sizzled out against the water.

  But for every ten projectiles they managed to avoid, one would get through.

  Blondie was smashed by a hailstone to his shoulder. Goatee had his beard singed by a fireball. A frozen spear shattered against shaven’s leg. Scarhead took a cannonball to the face. It was a testament to their strength that they were able to withstand the first few hits, but Elliott didn’t relent. Every time a projectile disappeared, another took its place.

  And all the while, Elliott advanced on the four of them. And all the while, their defences weakened.

  The four Disciples were so focused on defending the attacks that they weren’t even aware of the actual danger. Mages fought from a distance. They neither had the physicality nor the agility to deal with melee fighters. Their strength lay in their magic.

  But Elliott wasn’t just a mage.

  “Someone hit him,” Goatee screamed, noticing just how close Elliott had got. “We have to warn the master.”

  One of them tried to create a gateway. Elliott blanketed the area with a carpet of sigils, blocking any attempt at escape. Goatee reeled backwards with the backlash.

  Elliott ran at him, even as he kept channelling mana into more and more sigils. Goatee turned at the last moment, but it was too late. Elliott grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall.

  Then he punched right through goatee’s chest. The Disciple screamed, grabbing Elliott’s arm with both hands. Elliott forced his hand deeper into the Disciples chest, the flesh squelching around his gloves as he widened the man’s ribcage so he could rummage inside. Eventually, his hand brushed against the man’s beating heart.

  He wrapped his fingers around it and yanked it free, then grabbed the man’s hand and placed his heart in it.

  “Here, hold this,” Elliott said, before turning away. Goatee slumped to the ground. If he was skilled enough, he might be able to heal the heart, but Elliott doubted they’d spent much time on the finer points of restoration magic.

  The others had seen. Their defences faltered as they backed away. Elliott discarded the rest of his sigils as he [Teleported] behind blondie.

  Elliott placed his hand across blondie’s eyes. His defences had been stripped, his desire to fight completely crushed.

  “You won’t want to see this,” Elliott whispered to him.

  “It’s not working,” scarhead shouted a few metres away. “He’s blocking the portals.”

  Clean-shaven tried to channel. Maybe a last desperate attack.

  Elliott channelled.

  The other two froze, heads locked in place, arms pinned to their sides, feet rooted to the floor.

  He probed the insides of their bodies with intricately laid sigils, first to liquefy their bones even as he kept them upright. Another set of sigils were placed in a chain from their feet through every bone in their body right to their sinus system.

  Light-cream liquid began to seep from the two men’s ears and nostrils and the corners of their mouths. They watched each other as their faces contorted with the pain they couldn’t stop. Their ankles began to flatten. Then their lower legs. Then their thighs. Accompanied by squelches as the skin folded over itself. All the while the light-cream liquid became thicker and wider, streaming from their ears and noses. Blondie shuffled uncomfortably at the sounds.

  The two men watched as their bones drained from their bodies, their bodies flattening further and further until the liquified bone began gurgling from their mouths.

  Blondie pulled Elliott’s hands away from his eyes and watched as his companions bodies collapsed beneath their red robes, their skulls settling on top. Eyes wide. Mouths open. A pool of light-cream formed around them.

  He dropped to his knees at the sight in front of him.

  “Please…” blondie said.

  “Please what?” Elliott asked.

  “Spare me. I can be useful to you. I can tell you everything.” The man turned around, tears in his fervent eyes.

  “Everything? What’s everything?”

  “Our plans. I can tell you about our plans. Erm…our master. He came to us half a century ago. He said the gods were—”

  “I know that already.”

  “Okay,” blondie said, rubbing his hands together. “He has two of the gods already. He is working with others. Across the nations. He took Clea. They have Harrin as well – the god of the Merfolk.”

  “What does he need the gods for?”

  “To revive the Devil King. He wants to raise him and take over the worlds.”

  “Worlds?”

  “We have been promised our own worlds for our help.”

  “Your master knows dimensional magic?”

  “The Devil King does.”

  “How close are you to finding the other gods?” Elliott asked.

  “It will happen sooner or later. Our master becomes more powerful every day.”

  “Who is your master?”

  Blondie hesitated then met Elliott’s eyes.

  “Solaris. The former hero. He was betrayed by the Twins. Left to die in the Shadowlands.”

  “So, now he wants vengeance?”

  Blondie nodded. “Not just him. The six surviving heroes. They were betrayed by the gods. Forced to die while the gods lived.”

  Elliott smiled. “Six heroes?”

  Blondie nodded.

  “And all six lead the Order?”

  Blondie nodded again.

  “Where is Solaris taking Clea?”

  “To the Shadowlands. To the Devil King.”

  “Is that so? Well, thank you. I guess I need to get a move on.”

  Blondie breathed a sigh of relief.

  Elliott stepped closer to him and grabbed the man’s neck.

  “Wait,” blondie said. “You said you’d spare me.”

  “Did I? I did no such thing. You really should get a verbal agreement next time before talking.”

  Elliott channelled some sigils around the man’s neck and pulled. Blondie tried to scream as the skin on his neck stretched taut then began to rip.

  Elliott pulled him closer, whispered into his ear. “You attacked my sister. Whether you spoke or not, I would not let you live.”

  He yanked the man’s head. The skin tore away, blood poured from the open neck as Elliott tossed the head and parts of the man’s spine across the room.

  His eyes met Rose’s and Parek’s, both with wide eyes and tight lips.

  “It’s a good thing you’re on my side,” he winked at them. “Now, we’ll catch up shortly but I have a nation to save.”

  He crouched down and exploded into the air, crashing through the remains of the roof.