2026-07-30 18:48:19Bruce 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 making himself stronger.
"It's just magic," Bruce told himself, forcing his broken arms to move. "Fire is fire. I can eat it."
Bruce waited for the perfect moment.
Bontus raised his broadsword high above his head with both hands. He prepared to bring the burning blade straight down onto the Ashen Seraph’s cracked silver mask.
"Die, demon!" Bontus yelled.
As the flaming sword swung downward, Bruce lunged forward. He moved with desperate, blinding speed. He did not aim for Bontus. He aimed directly for the falling weapon.
Bruce reached out his bare right hand.
He grabbed the middle of the flaming broadsword’s blade, right before it hit the Seraph.
His fingers closed tightly around the solid steel and the roaring holy fire.
Instantly, the Brand of the Void on his shoulder flared to life. The deep purple and white light of the Void opened up in his palm. The Devour skill activated at maximum power, ready to suck the holy magic into his core.
For a fraction of a second, Bruce thought he had won.
But then, reality crashed down on him.
The magic of the Dungeon Guards had been stolen, corrupted, and weak. It was like drinking dirty, lukewarm water.
The magic of High Inquisitor Bontus was pure, divine, high-tier holy energy. It was given to him directly by the Supreme Pontiff.
It was not dirty water. It was boiling, liquid sun.
When the purple Void in Bruce’s hand tried to swallow the golden holy fire, the holy fire did not go out. It fought back.
"AGGGHHHHHH!" Bruce screamed at the top of his lungs.
It was the loudest, most agonizing scream of his entire life.
The holy magic did not flow smoothly into his core. It acted like a raging river breaking through a dam. The pure, divine energy blasted into his hand, instantly melting the skin on his palm. The intense golden light traveled violently up his arm, tearing through his veins like shards of burning glass.
Bruce’s dark mana core—the center of his soul—was a creature of the Void. When the pure holy magic slammed into his core, it felt like a bomb going off inside his chest.
His spirit physically burned.
Bruce could actually feel his young, undeveloped mana core cracking under the extreme pressure of the divine magic. He was trying to eat the power of a "god," and his stomach was not strong enough. He was choking on the light.
"Foolish boy!" Bontus laughed deeply.
The High Inquisitor did not even pull the sword away. He simply pushed more holy magic into the blade, forcing Bruce to absorb the toxic, burning light.
Bruce’s eyes rolled back in his head. Blood began to pour from his nose and his mouth. His right arm was glowing with a terrifying, bright yellow light from the inside, as the divine magic literally cooked his muscles and bones.
"Master!" the Seraph cried out in horror.
With a final, desperate burst of strength, the Seraph threw its body forward, slamming its massive shoulder into the golden horse. The impact pushed the horse back just a few inches, but it was enough.
The flaming sword was yanked out of Bruce’s burning hand.
Bruce collapsed onto the floor. His body hit the stone like a dead weight.
He could not move. His right arm was completely paralyzed, blackened and smoking. His chest heaved as he took shallow, painful breaths. Every time his heart beat, it sent a wave of agonizing holy fire through his veins. He had damaged his own soul. The Devour skill had backfired completely, poisoning him with the one thing that could kill a Void-Born.
He lay on his side, his vision fading in and out of blackness.
Bontus easily recovered his balance. The High Inquisitor looked down at Bruce, his scarred face filled with absolute contempt.
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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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