2026-07-28 19:14:24Bruce stopped right in front of Mike. He was close enough to see the sweat rolling down Mike’s forehead, soaking into his black mask.
"You were just following orders?" Bruce asked quietly.
"Yes! Exactly!" Mike nodded his head as much as the shadow-spikes would let him. "I am a servant, just like you were! We are the same, Bruce! We just do what the rich masters tell us to do so we can survive. You have to understand that!"
Bruce looked at Mike’s dark eyes. "Did Lady Hestia order you to laugh when Nicholas pushed my face into the horse manure?"
Mike swallowed hard. He had no answer.
"Did the Elders order you to lock me in the freezing shed during the winter storms, just to see if I would cry?" Bruce continued, his voice perfectly even. "Did they order you to tell the other children to throw rocks at me?"
"I... I..." Mike stuttered.
"You are not a tool," Bruce said softly. "A tool does not enjoy causing pain. You liked hurting me, Mike. You liked knowing you were better than the bastard child. You liked making my mother's life a living hell before you locked her away."
Bruce lifted his hand.
"Wait! Wait, what are you doing?" Mike yelled, his voice going high with panic.
Bruce did not hold a weapon. He simply placed his open palm flat against the center of Mike’s chest.
The moment Bruce’s skin touched the assassin's black leather suit, the Brand of the Void on Bruce's shoulder flared to life. It burned with a blinding, purple and white light. The light was so bright it shined right through Bruce’s shirt.
In the world of Oakhaven, every person who could use magic had a "mana center." It was a core of energy located near the heart. It was the place where a person's spirit and magic lived. It took years of hard meditation and training to build a strong mana center. Mike had spent forty years building his core. It was the source of his speed, his shadow-magic, and his life as an elite killer.
"You have a lot of magic in here, Mike," Bruce whispered.
"Don't," Mike cried, tears suddenly falling from his eyes. "Please, Bruce, I beg you. Take my arms. Take my legs. Just don't take my magic. Please!"
To a sorcerer, losing their magic was a fate much worse than death. A sorcerer without magic was called a "mundane." They were treated like dirt. They were thrown out of the noble clans and forced to live in the slums. Mike knew exactly what happened to people without magic, because he was the one who usually tortured them.
"I am not taking your arms or your legs," Bruce said. "I am just taking what you used to hurt my family."
Bruce activated the power of the Void Brand. He used his new Devour skill.
Bruce pulled his hand back very slowly.
Mike let out a scream that shook the dust from the ceiling. It was not a scream of physical pain, but a scream of deep, spiritual agony. It sounded like his very soul was being torn in half.
As Bruce pulled his hand back, a ball of energy came out of Mike’s chest. It passed right through the leather armor, skin, and bone.
Bruce held the ball of energy in his hand. It was the size of an apple. It looked like a spinning ball of silver wire and dark, oily smoke. This was Mike’s mana center. This was forty years of hard training, killing, and shadow-magic, completely removed from the assassin’s body.
Mike’s eyes rolled back in his head. He let out a weak, pathetic groan. His body went completely limp, hanging dead-weight against the shadow-spikes.
Bruce looked at the spinning ball of magic in his hand. He could feel the power radiating from it. He opened his mouth slightly, and the ball of energy lost its shape. It turned into a stream of silver and black mist. The mist flowed directly into Bruce's chest.
Bruce closed his eyes as the magic entered his body.
The feeling was incredible. It was like drinking ice-cold water after being in a hot desert for nineteen years. Bruce felt a rush of pure, raw power flood into his veins. He felt his own heart beat stronger. He felt his muscles tighten and grow firmer. The exhaustion from the branding ritual, the hunger from not eating for two days, the pain in his knees from the mud—it all vanished.
Bruce opened his eyes. The silver fire in his eyes was now glowing even brighter. He could see the world with perfect clarity. He could hear the rain hitting the roof of the tower. He could hear the wind blowing outside.
He had permanently increased his own mana capacity. He had stolen forty years of power in ten seconds.
He felt like a god.
"Master," the Ashen Seraph whispered in his mind. The giant angel's voice was filled with deep respect. "You have tasted the power of the enemy. How does it feel?"
"It feels like justice," Bruce answered out loud.
Bruce snapped his fingers.
The thick shadow-spikes holding Mike to the door immediately melted into black smoke.
Without the magic holding him up, Mike fell. He hit the wooden floor hard, like a sack of broken rocks. He landed on his side and stayed there.
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Chapter 52
Hestia looked up at Bruce. Her face was covered in blood and wet dirt. Her eyes, which used to look at him with such cold, cruel arrogance, were now filled with absolute, pure terror. She opened her mouth, but she was too weak to speak. She just whimpered, raising a trembling, bleeding hand to protect her face. She expected Bruce to summon his dark sword and cut her head off. Bruce looked down at the Matriarch of the Iron-Heart Clan. He looked at the woman who had locked his mother in a cage, who had branded his shoulder, and who had ordered him to be treated like garbage for nineteen years. He could easily kill her right now. It would take one second. But Bruce did not raise his hand. He realized that killing her here, in the rubble, was too easy. She was already defeated. Her gate was destroyed. Her secret battery farm was exposed to the church. Her elite army was dead. Hestia was going to have to explain this massive failure to the rest of the noble clans and the angry Inquisi
Chapter 51
The Blade of Lost Tears materialized in his grip. But it was not a normal sword of dark smoke anymore. Fueled by the Seraph’s full localized power and the explosive Ashen Fire, the sword grew. It expanded massively, shooting up into the rainy sky. It became a towering pillar of black and white flames, sixty feet long and ten feet wide. It looked like a column of absolute destruction. Bruce grabbed the hilt of the massive, sixty-foot pillar of fire with both hands. He did not feel the weight. The magic moved with his will. He ignored the army of Inquisitors behind him. He ignored the holy spears and fireballs flying at his back. He focused entirely on the giant monster and the massive eighty-foot gate blocking his path to freedom. "I am the Devourer," Bruce’s voice boomed. It sounded like an earthquake. Bruce swung the massive, sixty-foot sword of Ashen Fire directly at the Northern Gate. He swung it in a perfect, horizontal arc. The giant pillar of black and white fire hit Hest
Chapter 50
"Very little, Master," the Seraph replied. "Only enough for one final attack. But I cannot come out of your shadow. The holy net will burn me instantly.""You don't need to come out," Bruce commanded. "I am the Devourer. I am the bridge. I want you to push all of your remaining power directly into my body. Every single drop. I will channel your true, localized power through my own flesh."The Seraph was completely shocked by the order. "Master, you cannot do that!" the Seraph warned quickly. "My power is Forbidden. It is too dense, too chaotic! Your Void-Forged Body is strong, but you are still a mortal boy! If I push my full power through your cracked core, it will break your bones! It will tear your muscles apart! You might explode!""I don't care!" Bruce shouted out loud. His sudden shout made Bontus and Hestia stop arguing. They both looked down at the boy in the glowing net. "I don't care if it breaks my bones!" Bruce yelled, his voice echoing over the rain. He opened his eyes
Chapter 49
Bruce Thompson lay flat on the wet, cold cobblestones. The holy net of pure, burning hard-light was wrapped tightly around his body. The magic acted like glowing ropes of fire, pinning his arms to his sides and his legs together. Every time he took a breath, the net burned deeper into his wet clothes and his skin. He could smell the sickening scent of his own burning flesh. He was completely trapped. Above him, the giant, mutated monster that used to be Lady Hestia looked down. She was fused into the massive, eighty-foot Northern Gate. Her giant iron face twisted into an ugly, jagged smile. Her eyes burned with red, stolen blood-magic. She raised her massive foot, which was made of heavy iron beams and sharp spikes. She hovered it directly over Bruce’s head, ready to stomp him into a bloody paste. "I have you now!" Hestia’s monstrous voice roared. The sound shook the heavy rain in the air. "You are nothing but a trapped rat, Bruce! A little, dirty rat caught in a trap!"But befor
Chapter 48
The Seraph was not strong enough to stop the monster completely, but the dark chains slowed the giant arms down for just one crucial second. Bruce used that second perfectly. He ran straight up the falling right arm. His bare feet found traction on the rusty iron and the glowing red spikes. He sprinted up the massive arm like it was a ramp, defying gravity. "Get off me!" Hestia screamed. She tried to shake her arm, but Bruce was too fast. He reached the shoulder of the giant monster. He leaped off the metal joint, launching himself high into the air, directly toward the center of the gate. He was flying straight toward Hestia’s giant, ugly face. Bruce reached his left hand out. The Brand of the Void on his shoulder flared with its maximum power. The deep purple light illuminated the rainy night. He was ready to pull the corrupted magic right out of her brain. He was ready to end the Matriarch once and for all. "I am going to eat you alive, Hestia," Bruce whispered as he flew thro
Chapter 47
Without even slowing his sprint, Bruce reached his left hand up and caught the glowing red fire-arrow directly out of the air. He did not even look at it. He simply absorbed the fire magic into his palm, turning the iron arrowhead to rust, and kept running. The guards on the ground were completely decimated. They could not fight back. They could not even defend themselves. Every time they swung a weapon, Bruce was already behind them. Every time they tried to use magic, Bruce ate it, growing stronger, faster, and more deadly. It was not a battle. It was a harvest. In less than sixty seconds, the remaining twenty Iron-Guards on the ground were completely erased. There were no bodies. There was no blood. There were only piles of gray ash quickly washing away in the freezing rain. Bruce slid to a stop. His bare feet dug deep grooves into the wet stone. He was breathing deeply, but he was not tired. The stolen magic rushed through his veins, repairing his torn muscles instantly. The
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