Back on Earth, he had controlled spirit will thinking it was another energy source like mana. It was only after being introduced to the middle planes that he realized it was simply one amongst the countless wills that existed.
After that, the wills of the others he'd defeated and absorbed had always been in reach. But Atticus had never once used them, and for a good reason.
Burning was a true will, the strongest. Others were false wills.
And using other factions' wills would let their leaders spy on him.
'There's no need.'
The system hadn't bothered to include them because he had never used them.
Atticus soon focused his attention solely on his own will. He raised his palm and concentrated, feeling the heat as it converged around his arm. The air hissed, smoke rising.
His flames had turned liquid, looking like boiling crimson lava. The increase of his will had strengthened his power significantly. But Atticus couldn't help but wonder if this was all there was.
