The chilling whisper from the void, a hunger so vast it stretched beyond comprehension, still echoed in Ezra's soul. Reclamation protocol. It had been a stark, unsettling welcome to his new job. One moment, he was the freshly minted, Level 1 Unbound Soul, wielding a truly intimidating, if slightly unwieldy, Scythe. The next, something ancient and malevolent was already sniffing at his heels. Just another Tuesday, only now it involved cosmic entities trying to reclaim him.
"Reclamation protocol?" Ezra repeated, his voice laced with the dry sarcasm that was his default defense mechanism. He looked at the Faceless Herald, who remained as stoic as the obsidian pillars, and then to Seris Nyne, whose luminous form was still radiating a calm intelligence. Morgrin, the shattered spirit of the former Reaper, still lurked as a brooding shadow near the throne, its presence a constant reminder of the perils of the Mantle.
"The Mantle of Death is a prize coveted by many," Seris Nyne's voice, cool and clear like falling water, explained. "Especially by those who believe the cycle of death should serve their own twisted ends. The previous Reaper's demise created a power vacuum. Your awakening is a seismic event across many realms."
"Great. So I'm the new cosmic plaything," Ezra muttered, adjusting his grip on the Scythe. Its weight felt more natural now, less like a foreign object and more like an extension of his own newly empowered essence. The polished obsidian felt cool beneath his fingers, the silver blade humming with a low, potent energy. "So, what's first on the Reaper to-do list? Besides not getting reclaimed?"
The Herald finally stirred, its scythe-staff tapping once on the floor. "Your first duty is to the unbound. A soul has refused its passage. It corrupts the veil between realms, causing ripples that attract… unwelcome attention."
[MAIN QUEST UPDATED:]
[First Reap: The Cursed Warlord]Objective: Locate and reap the soul of the Cursed Warlord, an unbound spirit disrupting the flow of the Underworld. Reward: Authority +10, New Ability Unlock. Failure: Loss of Authority, further corruption of the realm.
Ezra read the prompt in his mind. "A cursed warlord, huh? Sounds like a fun first assignment." He glanced at the Herald. "Any tips? Or is this a 'learn by doing, don't-die-again' kind of situation?"
"The Mantle guides," the Herald stated, its head slightly inclined. "Your abilities are nascent. Your understanding, limited. But the purpose is clear."
Seris Nyne stepped forward, her ethereal form shimmering. "The warlord's echoes are strongest in the Shrouded Barrens, a domain bordering the Abyss. His defiance has festered for centuries, turning his essence into a storm of malevolent power. Be warned, Heir. He is not just a soul; he is a force."
Ezra nodded, a grim resolve settling over him. This wasn't some theoretical exercise. This was real, dangerous. He focused his Soul Sense, trying to pinpoint the Shrouded Barrens. He felt a desolate, withered stretch of the Underworld, a place where the pervasive cold of the palace gave way to a biting, acrid chill. It was a realm of perpetual dust storms and shattered stone, where spectral winds howled like lost banshees.
He took a deep breath, the chill air doing nothing to settle the knot of apprehension in his gut. "Alright, then. Let's go reap a warlord."
Stepping into the Shrouded Barrens was like entering a world made of nightmares. The air was thick with swirling grey dust, kicked up by spectral winds that seemed to moan with forgotten sorrows. Jagged, black rock formations, like petrified giants, pierced the swirling sky, their surfaces etched with the erosion of millennia. Ezra could feel the lingering essence of countless lesser souls, driven mad by the warlord's presence, whispering incoherent terrors on the wind.
He clutched the Scythe tighter. It felt heavy now, humming with a low, expectant thrum. He tried to activate Shade Shift, thinking he could approach unseen. Focus on the shadows, Ezra. Blend. Become nothing. He concentrated, pulling at the faint, shadowy essence he felt within. For a moment, his form flickered, becoming semi-translucent, then snapped back, his energy sputtering out.
[ABILITY FAILED: Insufficient Control. Cost: 10 Essence (Lost)]
"Well, that was graceful," he muttered, dusting off his spectral robes, though no dust clung to him. "Guess I'm doing this the old-fashioned way. The loud way."
He advanced cautiously, his Soul Sense extended. The warlord's presence was a jagged spike in the swirling spiritual static of the barrens, a beacon of defiance and rage. It grew stronger, closer.
Suddenly, the dust storm parted, revealing a colossal figure. The Cursed Warlord was a towering spectre, twice Ezra's height, clad in phantom armor that seemed to shift and shimmer with corrupted power. Its helm was a snarling beast's head, its eyes burning with malevolent green light. In one spectral hand, it wielded a monstrous, ethereal greatsword that pulsed with raw, destructive energy. Its presence alone caused the ground to tremble with suppressed fury.
"Another pathetic whisper of death sent to reclaim me?" the warlord's voice boomed, a grating roar that tore through the phantom winds. It was not a voice of reason, but of centuries of hatred and refusal. "I defied you in life, and I defy you in death! This realm is mine!"
Ezra felt a prickle of fear. This wasn't some lost soul. This was a battle-hardened, self-proclaimed king of a dead realm. His instincts screamed for him to run, but the heavy weight of the Scythe, the constant hum of the Mantle, held him rooted. He was the Reaper. This was his job.
"I'm not here to negotiate," Ezra called out, trying to project authority he didn't quite feel. "Your defiance pollutes the cycle. It's time to pass."
The warlord roared, a sound of pure contempt. "Fool! I will never pass! My will is eternal!" It charged, its monstrous greatsword cleaving through the dust-filled air, trailing green fire.
Ezra reacted on instinct, swinging the Scythe. He aimed for the warlord's chest, but the blade passed through the spectral armor harmlessly. The warlord's counter-attack was a brutal swipe of its sword, sending Ezra tumbling across the barren ground. He rolled, narrowly avoiding a crushing blow that gouged a deep trench in the obsidian rock.
"Okay, plan B," Ezra muttered, scrambling to his feet. "Don't get hit. And… figure out how this works."
He tried using Whisper of Oblivion. He focused his will, pushing a tendril of chilling energy towards the warlord.
[ABILITY ACTIVATED: Whisper of Oblivion (5 Essence)]
The warlord merely staggered slightly, as if swatting an annoying fly. "A tickle, pup! Is that all the Reaper has become? A pathetic illusion?"
Ezra swore under his breath. This wasn't going to be easy. He needed to be smarter. He noticed how the warlord's green energy pulsed, especially when it attacked. Its arrogance was also palpable.
He remembered a fleeting thought from the Soul Mirror trial: embrace your flaws. His biggest flaw had been underestimating himself, retreating. He wouldn't do that now. This was his first true test, and failure meant chaos.
He ducked another swing, the wind from the blade rippling through his form. He saw an opening—a brief, almost imperceptible weakening of the warlord's spectral armor as it recovered from its swing. It's not purely physical, he realized. It's soul energy. I need to disrupt its essence.
Ezra lunged forward, not with brute force, but with intention. He didn't try to cleave the warlord's armor. Instead, he channeled the cold, purifying energy of the Scythe into the tip of its blade, focusing on the nearest point of the warlord's aura. He aimed for the swirling green light around its heart, the core of its defiance.
[NEW ABILITY DETECTED: Soul Severance (Tentative Activation)]
The Scythe hummed, vibrating intensely. Ezra felt a painful drain on his Essence. He gritted his teeth, pushing through it, focusing all his will. The silver blade, instead of passing through, caught on the warlord's essence, shimmering with a blinding light. A shriek, not of fury, but of pain, erupted from the warlord as the green light around its heart pulsed violently, then dimmed.
"Impossible!" the warlord roared, staggering back, its form flickering. "You… you touch my very will!"
Ezra felt a surge of exhilaration. He had done it. He hadn't just attacked its form; he had attacked its soul.
"That's the point," Ezra grunted, pushing the attack. He focused again, channeling more power, the system notification silently warning him of the draining Essence. He aimed for the warlord's legs, its arms, severing the corrupted energy that held its form together.
The warlord staggered, its monstrous greatsword clattering to the ground as its spectral arms flickered into transparency. Its roars turned into desperate pleas, then whimpers, as its essence began to unravel. Finally, with a last, desperate wail of defiance, its towering form collapsed into a swirling vortex of green and black energy, unable to maintain cohesion.
Ezra raised the Scythe, its blade shimmering with a newfound clarity, absorbing the last vestiges of the warlord's malevolent energy. The storm of dust in the Shrouded Barrens began to subside, the spectral winds quieting.
[REAP COMPLETE: Cursed Warlord (Defiant Soul) Reaped!]
[AUTHORITY +10]
[NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: Soul Chain (Active)]
[Soul Chain (Active)]: Bind and temporarily control a weakened or recently reaped soul. Effect duration and control strength depend on target's willpower and your Authority. (Cost: 20 Essence per binding)
Ezra felt a rush of satisfaction. He'd done it! He'd actually done it. He'd faced a monstrous, ancient force and emerged victorious.
As the warlord's essence swirled, beginning to dissipate entirely, a new system prompt appeared in his mind.
[SOUL CONTRACT OPTION DETECTED:]
[Unbound Soul: Cursed Warlord. Willpower: EXTREME. Loyalty: D (Hostile).][Option: Form Soul Contract? (Cost: 50 Essence)][Yes/No]Note: Binding a soul of Extreme Willpower requires significant Essence and carries inherent risks. Loyalty may be difficult to obtain.
Ezra stared at the prompt, dumbfounded. Form a contract? With this guy? The warlord had just tried to kill him! But… an ally? A powerful one, if he could bind him. And it cost a lot of Essence, indicating its potential. His mind, still pragmatic from his previous life, immediately saw the tactical advantage. A loyal, powerful servant in this terrifying new world.
"A powerful, but reluctant servant," Ezra mused aloud, a half-smile touching his lips. "Just my type."
He didn't hesitate. He chose Yes.
[SOUL CONTRACT INITIATED: Cursed Warlord]
[Warning: Warlord's Will Resisting. Higher Essence Cost Required.]
[Confirm additional Essence (25)? Total 75 Essence.]
Ezra felt a sharp drain as his Essence plummeted. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the faint dizziness. Do it. I need this.
[SOUL CONTRACT COMPLETE: Cursed Warlord bound.]
[Warlord Status: Soulbound Ally (Reluctant Obedience)]
[Abilities (Passive): Phantom Armaments, Battle Roar][Abilities (Active): Spectral Cleave (Cost: 15 Essence), Phased Charge (Cost: 20 Essence)]Note: Loyalty will be influenced by Heir's Authority and demonstrated power.
The swirling vortex of green and black energy solidified, reforming into the towering, armored warlord. But this time, its eyes, though still glowing green, held a flicker of surprise, a hint of grudging obedience. It stood motionless, its immense form radiating power, but it did not attack. It simply… waited.
"What… what have you done?" the warlord's voice rumbled, no longer with furious defiance, but with a deep, frustrated disbelief. "You chained me? The Great Azmar, bound to a… a fresh Reaper?"
Ezra leaned on his Scythe, his grin widening, a touch of dark satisfaction on his face. "Welcome to the team, Azmar. Looks like you just got a new boss."
As the warlord's spectral form solidified slightly, now subservient, Ezra felt a new sense of profound connection to this realm, a feeling of being able to bend its very will. He had a weapon, a system, and now, a formidable, if unwilling, ally. He was no longer just the lost soul; he was becoming the Heir.
But just as he savored this nascent victory, a chilling, almost playful voice brushed against Ezra's awareness, coming from beyond the confines of the Underworld itself. It was a voice that resonated with impossible distances, like starlight traversing eons, yet it felt intimately close, a silken whisper filled with amused malevolence.
"A new toy for the Heir, it seems," the voice purred, utterly devoid of warmth. "How quaint. Such small, desperate acts of power. But will it survive my hunger?"
Ezra's blood ran cold. He gripped the Scythe tighter, his gaze snapping towards the oppressive, twilight sky, then to the distant, shadowy spires of the Netherworld Palace. The threat was not just from within the Underworld. It was from without. And it was already watching.