Bruce was thrown backward, crashing into the dirt. He rolled on the ground, frantically patting his chest and arms to put out the white-hot flames. The holy fire seared his skin, leaving deep, painful black burns. "Stay down, void-spawn!" Bontus spat without looking at him. Bontus turned his attention back to the Seraph, raising his sword for another heavy strike. Bruce gritted his teeth. The pain was blinding, but the silver fire in his eyes burned with pure stubbornness. He refused to stay down. He refused to lose. He watched Bontus carefully. The High Inquisitor was strong, but his attacks were wide and heavy. Every time he swung that massive broadsword, he left his right side completely open for a split second. "If I can't hit the man," Bruce thought, his mind racing, "I will eat the weapon."Earlier, Bruce had easily devoured the stolen magic of the Dungeon Guards. When he touched their elemental weapons, his Void core had sucked the magic away, turning the weapons to ash and

The blinding, white-hot broadsword of High Inquisitor Bontus came down. Time seemed to slow to a complete stop for Bruce Thompson. He lay on the cold stone floor of the ruined antechamber. His right arm was a burned, blackened mess. His dark mana core was cracked and bleeding inside his chest. He could not move his legs. He could not lift a single finger to defend himself. He watched the holy blade falling toward his face. The heat coming off the sword was incredible. It was hotter than a forge. It was hotter than the summer sun. The holy fire was so bright that it erased all the shadows in the tiny, cramped room. Bruce could feel the skin on his cheeks blistering just from the heat of the approaching weapon. "I failed," Bruce thought. A single tear rolled down his dirty, bruised cheek, instantly evaporating in the extreme heat. He was not afraid of dying. For nineteen years, his life had been a nightmare of freezing stables, empty stomachs, and cruel beatings. Death did not scar

The journey was brutal. Bruce was tossed and turned inside the veil. His burned arm throbbed with every sudden movement. His lungs burned for air. He coughed violently, spitting up black ash and blood. He was angry at the Seraph for taking him away. He was angry at Lady Hestia. He was angry at High Inquisitor Bontus. But most of all, he was angry at himself. He was angry that he was too weak to eat the holy fire. He was angry that his mother had to save him. "I will never be weak again," Bruce promised himself in the dark. He clenched his good hand into a tight fist. "Never again."After what felt like hours, but was really only a few minutes, the intense pressure suddenly vanished. BOOM!A massive explosion of dirt, rocks, and gray ash erupted on the surface of the earth. Bruce was forcefully ejected from the ground. He flew through the air, completely covered in thick, dark soot. He crashed hard onto a surface of dry, freezing dirt. He rolled a few times before finally coming t

"You are right," Bruce said. He pushed himself up, standing on his shaky legs. "We can't stay here.""I must hide," the Seraph said. The giant angel looked at its own body. "I am too big. A ten-foot angel walking in the slums will bring the Inquisitors straight to us in a minute. My magic is too low to fight them again. I must rest.""How will you hide?" Bruce asked. "I will merge with your shadow," the Seraph explained. "I will sleep inside the darkness cast by your feet. I will be able to speak to your mind, but I will not be able to come out and fight for you. You must protect yourself, Master."Bruce nodded. "Do it."The Seraph bowed its head. The giant creature lost its solid shape, turning into a cloud of thick black smoke. The smoke swirled downward, sinking into the puddle of muddy water right where Bruce's shadow was cast by the streetlights. The shadow grew a little darker, and then everything was still. “I am with you, Master,” the Seraph’s voice echoed directly inside Br

Bruce stepped forward. The leader thrust the glowing red knife at Bruce's stomach. Bruce twisted his body, letting the hot blade slide harmlessly past his brown cloak. Before the leader could pull the knife back, Bruce grabbed the man's wrist. “Devour.”The red fire on the knife was instantly sucked into Bruce's hand. He felt another small drop of warmth hit his cracked core. It felt incredibly good. Bruce pulled the leader forward, off balance, and drove his left knee hard into the man's stomach. The leader gasped, all the air leaving his lungs, and collapsed into the muddy puddle, completely knocked out. The third thug stopped running. He looked at his two friends lying in the mud. He looked at Bruce, who was standing perfectly still in the rain. Bruce slowly raised his head. The dark hood of the cloak slipped back just a little bit. In the dim light of the alley, the third thug saw Bruce's eyes. They were glowing with bright, terrifying silver fire. The thug dropped his iron c