Rise of the Peerless God of War

Chapter 11

The passage led to a nightmare.

The chamber they entered was massive—bigger than anything they'd seen so far. The ceiling disappeared into darkness above, and the walls were carved with scenes of battle that seemed to move in the flickering torchlight. But what made Draven's blood run cold were the weapons.

Hundreds of them. Thousands. All floating in perfect formation like a ghostly army frozen in time.

"Holy shit," Jin breathed.

Each weapon glowed with residual magic, and behind each one stood a spectral warrior. Not the twisted, hostile spirits from above—these were different. Older. Stronger. Their uniforms spanned centuries of academy history, from the earliest days to just decades ago.

"They're all here," Lyra whispered. "Every academy hero who ever died fighting whatever's down here."

Every single one.

The pendant against Draven's chest was burning now, and the voices of the dead warriors filled his mind like a symphony of whispers.

"Welcome, young Ashworth..."

"We have been waiting..."

"The time has come..."

That's when the first spectral warrior stepped forward.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing the uniform of an academy captain from maybe fifty years ago. His sword was wreathed in flames that cast no heat, and his eyes held the weight of battles fought and won.

"I am Captain Aldric Flameheart," he said, his voice echoing strangely in the vast chamber. "I died holding the line against the Darkness. And now... now it stirs again."

The Darkness. The thing they died to contain.

"What is it?" Draven asked. "What's down there?"

Captain Flameheart's expression grew grim. "Something that should never have been. Something that was summoned by fools who thought they could control it. We died to seal it away, but seals... seals weaken over time."

More warriors stepped forward. A woman in healer's robes whose staff glowed with golden light. A man whose earth magic had shaped the very stones of the chamber. A shadow mage whose darkness wasn't malevolent but protective.

"The seal is breaking," the healer said. "We can feel it. The Hunger grows stronger with each passing day."

"Then fix it," Sera said. "You're the ones who made it in the first place."

"We can't," the earth mage replied sadly. "We are dead. We are echoes, memories, fragments of what we once were. We cannot act in the world of the living."

But I can.

The thought came unbidden, and with it, understanding. The pendant wasn't just a repository of memories—it was a bridge between the living and the dead. A way for the fallen heroes to act through him.

"That's why you've been calling to me," Draven said. "You need someone living to channel your power."

Captain Flameheart nodded. "The pendant your grandfather carried was forged for this purpose. To allow the living to carry the strength of the dead when darkness threatened the world."

Grandfather knew. He knew this day would come.

"But first," the shadow mage said, "you must prove yourself worthy. The power we offer is not freely given. It must be earned through trial by combat."

As if summoned by her words, the floating weapons began to move. Not chaotically, but with purpose. Each one took position with its spectral wielder, and suddenly the chamber was filled with the ghostly army of every academy hero who had ever died.

"You want us to fight all of them?" Jin's voice cracked.

"Not all of them," Captain Flameheart said. "Just enough to prove your worth. Show us you have the skill, the courage, and the heart to carry our legacy."

A test. Of course it's a test.

The first warrior to attack was a young woman about Lyra's age, wielding a staff that crackled with lightning. She moved with the fluid grace of someone who had spent years perfecting her art, and her first strike nearly took Draven's head off.

He rolled aside, using Sir Thomas Brightblade's defensive techniques, and came up with his sword ready. But the spectral warrior was already moving, her staff spinning in complex patterns that sent bolts of lightning dancing through the air.

"Cover me!" Draven shouted to his friends.

Jin threw up earth barriers to block the lightning, but the spectral warrior simply vaulted over them. Lyra's wind magic tried to disrupt her movement, but she adjusted her trajectory mid-air like it was nothing.

She's good. Really good.

But Draven had the combat memories of dozens of masters, and he'd been training with them for months. He met her next attack with a counter-technique from Captain Marcus Hale, turning her own momentum against her.

The spectral warrior smiled as she dissolved back into the ranks. "Well done," she said. "You carry the flame of true skill."

One down. How many more to go?

The answer came immediately as three more warriors stepped forward. A swordsman whose blade moved faster than the eye could follow. An archer whose spectral arrows seemed to bend around obstacles. An earth mage whose magic made the very ground treacherous.

"This is insane," Sera said, using her shadow magic to confuse the archer. "There are hundreds of them!"

"Then we'd better get started," Draven replied, diving into combat with the swordsman.

The fight that followed was unlike anything Draven had ever experienced. Each spectral warrior fought with the skill and experience of a lifetime, using techniques that had been perfected through years of training and combat. But more than that, they fought with the knowledge of how they had died—what had worked, what had failed, what lessons had been learned too late.

This is what combat mastery really looks like.

Jin's earth magic evolved during the fight, becoming more sophisticated as he adapted to opponents who could bypass his defenses. Lyra's wind techniques grew more precise, more deadly, as she learned to use air pressure as a weapon. Sera's shadow magic became an extension of her will, creating illusions that confused even the dead.

But it was Draven who bore the brunt of the assault. Warrior after warrior stepped forward to test him, each one representing a different aspect of combat. Speed, strength, technique, strategy, endurance—all of it filtered through the lens of those who had died perfecting their arts.

I can't keep this up forever.

His sword arm was getting tired, his movements less precise. The spectral warriors were pressing their advantage, coming at him from multiple directions at once.

That's when he felt it.

A presence in his mind, warm and familiar. Captain Marcus Hale's voice, clearer than it had ever been:

"You're fighting their fight, boy. Use what you've learned, but make it your own."

Make it my own.

Instead of trying to match each warrior's specialty, Draven began to adapt. He took the swordsman's speed, the archer's precision, the earth mage's patience, and wove them together into something new. Something that was uniquely his.

The spectral warriors noticed the change immediately. Their attacks became more coordinated, more desperate. They weren't just testing him anymore—they were trying to break him.

But I won't break. I can't. Too many people are counting on me.

"Draven!" Jin shouted a warning.

A massive warrior with a two-handed sword was bearing down on him, the blade wreathed in flames that looked hot enough to melt steel. Draven started to dodge, then stopped.

No. Time to stop running.

He met the flaming sword with his own blade, and the collision sent shockwaves through the chamber. The spectral warrior's eyes widened in surprise.

"Impossible," the warrior said. "You're just a student—"

"I'm an Ashworth," Draven said, and for the first time in his life, he said it with pride. "And I carry the strength of every hero who came before me."

The pendant against his chest blazed with silver light, and suddenly Draven could feel them—all of them. Every academy hero who had ever died. Their skills, their knowledge, their determination flowing through him like a river of liquid fire.

This is what the pendant was meant for. This is what grandfather knew would happen.

The massive warrior stepped back, his flaming sword flickering. "You... you truly are worthy."

Around the chamber, the other spectral warriors were lowering their weapons. The test was over.

"Well fought," Captain Flameheart said, approaching with something that might have been a smile. "You have proven yourself worthy to carry our legacy."

Our legacy.

"What happens now?" Lyra asked.

"Now," the shadow mage said, "you face the real enemy. The Darkness that we died to contain. And you'll need every skill, every technique, every fragment of power we can give you."

The chamber began to change around them. The walls shifted, revealing passages that led deeper into the earth. And from those passages came a sound that made the hair on the back of Draven's neck stand up.

Hungry. So hungry. So long since it had fed.

"It knows you're here," Captain Flameheart said. "It can sense the pendant, the power you now carry. It will send everything it has to stop you."

"Stop us from what?" Draven asked.

"From reaching the seal," the earth mage replied. "From reinforcing what we built with our deaths. From preventing the end of everything."

The end of everything.

The passages ahead pulsed with a light that hurt to look at directly, and shadows moved within them that suggested things too awful to imagine.

But Draven felt ready. More than ready. He felt like he could take on the world.

Because in a way, that's exactly what I'm about to do.

"Let's go," he said to his friends. "Time to finish what they started."

The spectral warriors formed up around them, weapons ready. They couldn't fight directly, but they could guide, advise, lend their strength to the living.

All of us together. Living and dead, united against the Darkness.

As they approached the passages, Draven heard Captain Flameheart's voice one more time:

"Remember, young Ashworth. The Darkness feeds on fear, on despair, on the belief that hope is lost. But you carry the light of every hero who ever stood against it. You are not alone."

Never alone.

The passages yawned before them like mouths, and from their depths came whispers that promised things worse than death.

But they had the strength of legends behind them now.

And Draven was just getting started.