Path of the Forsaken Sigil

Chapter 43

Bruce Thompson climbed out of the hole. He stood up slowly. The heavy, freezing rain immediately soaked his hair and washed the sewer dirt from his face. His torn shirt clung to his chest. His right arm was covered in the glowing blue medicine, his skin blackened but no longer smoking. 

He did not look left or right. He did not try to hide in the shadows of the buildings. 

Bruce stepped out into the middle of the wide, open road. 

"There he is!" a guard yelled from the front line. "The Void-Born!"

"Archers!" the captain of the Iron-Guard roared. "Draw your strings!"

Twenty guards in the back row raised heavy iron crossbows. The tips of their arrows were enchanted, glowing with crackling red fire and sharp wind magic. 

Bruce did not stop. He began to walk directly toward the fifty heavily armored soldiers and the massive, shimmering blue barrier. 

He walked openly, with slow, steady, purposeful steps. His bare feet splashed in the deep puddles on the cobblestones. The rain beat down on his face, but he did not blink. His eyes burned with a blinding, terrifying silver fire that cut through the dark, rainy night. 

"Master," the Ashen Seraph’s voice echoed quietly in Bruce’s mind from his shadow. "The blue barrier is incredibly dense. It is tied to the deep earth of the city. You cannot break it with brute force."

"I am not going to break it," Bruce replied out loud, his voice cold and flat. "I am going to eat it."

"Fire!" the captain of the guards shouted. 

Twenty enchanted arrows shot through the rain, flying at Bruce with deadly speed. 

Bruce did not dodge. He reached out his good left hand. The black smoke instantly swirled around his palm, forming the Blade of Lost Tears. He gripped the hilt tightly. 

Bruce swung the dark sword in a wide, sweeping arc. 

The blade of solid smoke released a wave of dark Void energy. The wave hit the twenty enchanted arrows in mid-air. The red fire and the wind magic on the arrows were instantly devoured by the dark energy. The iron arrowheads rusted into orange dust before they could even touch Bruce's skin. The dust blew away in the wind. 

The guards gasped in shock. 

"He ate the magic!" one guard yelled in panic. 

"Hold the line!" the captain ordered, drawing his heavy broadsword. "Spearman, charge! Pin him to the ground!"

Ten guards with long, heavy spears broke from the line. They charged across the wet cobblestones, screaming battle cries. Their spears glowed with blue water-magic, designed to cut right through steel armor. 

Bruce kept walking forward. He did not slow down. 

The first guard lunged, thrusting his glowing blue spear directly at Bruce’s chest. 

Bruce simply raised his left hand and caught the blade of the spear. The blue water-magic flared, trying to slice his fingers off. But Bruce’s Void-Forged Body was too dense. The magic sparked uselessly against his skin. 

"Thank you," Bruce whispered. 

He activated Devour. The blue magic was sucked out of the spear and into his palm. Bruce felt a fresh rush of energy enter his cracked core. The medicine Elara gave him kept the core from shattering as he absorbed the power. 

The iron spear turned to gray ash in Bruce's hand. Before the terrified guard could run away, Bruce stepped forward and drove his left elbow hard into the center of the man's silver-iron chest plate. 

The thick armor caved in completely. The guard was thrown backward, flying ten feet through the rain and crashing into his friends. 

Bruce moved like a force of nature. He was no longer a victim. He was the Devourer. 

Two more guards stabbed at him from the sides. Bruce spun, swinging the Blade of Lost Tears. The dark smoke-sword easily sliced right through the solid silver-iron armor, cutting the magic out of the guards' weapons. Bruce reached out, touching their shoulders. “Devour.” 

The two men collapsed, their armor rusting and falling apart as their magical energy was ripped away. Bruce absorbed it all. He felt his muscles tightening, growing even stronger. He felt his speed increasing. The LitRPG progression of his body was feeding on the Iron-Heart Clan’s best soldiers. 

Bruce was a blur of silver eyes and dark smoke. He wove through the heavy spears, dodging and striking. Every time a guard tried to use magic on him, Bruce simply ate it. Fire, ice, wind—it did not matter. He turned their greatest weapons into his own food. 

In less than two minutes, the bodies of thirty elite Iron-Guards lay groaning in the mud, their armor completely destroyed, their magic permanently gone. 

The remaining twenty guards were terrified. They backed away, their hands shaking so hard they could barely hold their swords. 

"Cowards!" Lady Hestia screamed from the top of the high wall. "Kill him! He is just one boy! I will execute anyone who runs away!"

The guards looked at Bruce. The boy was covered in rain and soot. His right arm was a blackened, monstrous thing. The Blade of Lost Tears dripped with dark, smoking energy. He looked like the god of death walking through the storm. 

The guards dropped their weapons. They turned around and ran away, slipping and sliding on the wet cobblestones, fleeing into the dark alleys. They chose to face Hestia's anger later rather than face the Void-Born now.