The Ossuary King: Infinite Power

Chapter 9

Every time a ball of black fire landed, it didn't just explode. It spread. A sea of black flames began to wash across the valley. The undead didn't even have time to scream. They were turned to ash instantly. The "Demon Tide" that was supposed to last for three days was being incinerated in minutes.

The black fire roared around the Altar, but it didn't touch Lucien or the disciples. It was as if they were standing in the eye of a hurricane.

Seraphina fell to her knees, staring at the sky. "He... he called down the fire of the gods. Who is he? Which ancient power is he from?"

Lucien ignored her. He was watching his level.

[Level Up! Level 31... Level 35... Level 40!]

[Host has reached the 'Soul-Condensation' Realm!]

As the black fire continued to rain down, purging the graveyard, the thick Miasma cleared for the first time in centuries. Lucien could see for miles.

He looked toward the Great Iron Gates.

In the distance, past the outer rim, a line of carriages was racing away from the tide. They were covered in protective gold barriers, trying to escape back to the safety of the Empire.

Lucien’s Eyes of Truth zoomed in on the leading carriage.

It was made of white oak and trimmed with gold. On its side was a crest—a roaring lion made of golden light.

The Saint-Aurelius Clan.

Lucien’s heart stopped for a heartbeat, then began to thrum with a violent, rhythmic rage. He recognized the riders. He saw the golden armor of the family’s elite guard. And in the window of the carriage, for just a second, he saw a familiar, arrogant face.

Julian.

And next to him, an older man with a stern, cold face. His father.

They weren't here to save him. They were here to "harvest" the rare materials that appeared during a Demon Tide, safely watching from the edges while the world burned.

Lucien’s grip on his sword hilt was so tight the metal began to groan.

"They are here," Lucien whispered.

The black fire reflected in his eyes, making him look like a demon king.

Seraphina crawled toward him, her voice trembling. "Lord... thank you for saving us. Please, let us know your name so the Cloud-Soaring Sect can reward you..."

Lucien didn't even look at her. He stepped off the Altar, walking toward the direction of the carriages.

"My name?" Lucien said, his voice echoing over the dying screams of the monsters. "Tell them... the one they buried is coming back for the shovels."

…

The air in the Eternal Ossuary was cooling. The massive storm of black fire that Lucien had summoned to burn the Demon Tide was finally fading, leaving behind only the scent of scorched earth and burnt bone. The valley, once a boiling sea of millions of undead, was now a silent, smoking wasteland of ash.

Lucien moved through the aftermath like a phantom. He was not tired. In fact, he felt more energized than he ever had in his sixteen years of life. Every step he took on the cooling ground sent a small tremor through the earth. He didn't care about the disciples of the Cloud-Soaring Sect anymore. They were ants, scurrying away in terror now that the god-like figure had descended from the altar.

His mind was fixated on one thing: the golden crest of the lion.

Far to the north, past the now-cleared Grave of the Fallen Seraph, the terrain shifted from bone-fields to shattered cliffs. Lucien moved with supernatural speed, his God-Devouring Veins humming a dark, predatory song. He was tracking them. He didn't need a map; he could smell the arrogance of the Saint-Aurelius Clan, a scent of expensive perfumes and polished gold that clashed horribly with the rotten, ancient stench of the Ossuary.

Meanwhile, three miles ahead, a group of thirty soldiers in pristine, golden plate armor moved in a tight, disciplined formation. At the center of this formation was a carriage draped in heavy white velvet.

Inside the carriage, Cassius Saint-Aurelius sat with his legs crossed, sipping tea from a delicate porcelain cup. He was the younger brother of Lucien, but he looked nothing like the "Null-Vein" exile. Cassius had hair like spun gold and eyes that glowed with the natural, effortless mana of their family. He was the pride of the Empire, a prodigy of the Spirit-Awakening Realm, and the heir to the seat Julian had vacated to chase Lucien.

"We are behind schedule, Captain," Cassius said, his voice smooth and bored. "The Demon Tide is almost over. If we do not reach the Seraph’s Grave before the others, the Council will be most displeased."

The captain, a man with a heavy, scarred face, bowed from his horse outside the carriage window. "My apologies, Young Master. The ground is unstable. The recent... magical disturbances in the sector have made the terrain treacherous."

Cassius sighed, looking out the window at the grey, lifeless horizon. "Disturbances? It was likely just a stray bit of necrotic energy flaring up. Do not fear, Captain. My mana is more than enough to handle anything this graveyard has to offer."

Suddenly, the carriage jerked to a stop. The horses screamed—not a sound of fear, but a sound of dying.

"Captain?" Cassius asked, his voice losing its boredom.

Outside, the air turned freezing cold. The golden light that illuminated the party began to dim, swallowed by a thick, freezing fog. The soldiers drew their blades, but their hands were shaking. In the center of their path, standing atop a hill of shattered Titan teeth, was a figure.

It was not a man. It was a skeletal horror, eight feet tall, wearing the tattered remains of a royal cloak. It held a staff made of a human spine, topped with a glowing, pulsing purple orb. A Lich King.

"Who dares... walk on the graveyard of the Gods?" the Lich croaked. Its voice didn't come from a throat; it vibrated in the air, cracking the armor of the soldiers.

Cassius stepped out of the carriage. He looked at the Lich King and scoffed, though his heart was hammering against his ribs. "I am Cassius Saint-Aurelius! I come by the decree of the Solar God. Move aside, monster, or be turned to dust."

The Lich King’s eye sockets burned with a baleful, icy light. It laughed—a sound like grinding stones. "A golden pup. You smell of the sun, but you have no warmth."

The Lich raised its staff. A beam of concentrated, black necrotic energy shot out, moving faster than the eye could follow.

"Shield!" the Captain shouted.

Twelve soldiers formed a wall, their mana shields glowing bright gold. The black beam hit the shields. Instead of shattering them, it ate them. The gold light hissed and faded, turning grey. The soldiers fell, their bodies turning to stone as the life-force was sucked from them in an instant.

Cassius’s face went white. He raised his hand, gathering his own mana. "I said... move aside!"

He launched a blast of golden lightning, a high-tier art of the Saint-Aurelius clan. It hit the Lich King’s chest, causing it to stumble backward—but that was all. The Lich looked down at the scorch mark on its rotted ribs, then looked back at Cassius.

"Is that all, little lion?"

The Lich flicked its wrist. Gravity slammed down on the remaining soldiers, crushing them into the mud. Cassius was forced to his knees, his golden aura flickering and dying. He tried to stand, but his bones groaned under the weight.

"No... no, I am the heir!" Cassius shrieked, his composure shattering. He crawled backward, his beautiful clothes ruined by the ash. "Do you know who my father is? If you kill me, the Empire will turn this graveyard into a parking lot!"

The Lich King drifted closer, the staff of spines hovering over Cassius’s head. "Your blood... it is very sweet. It will make a fine addition to my collection."

Cassius looked up, his eyes filled with the same pathetic, soul-crushing fear Lucien had felt at the Great Iron Gates. "Please! I... I have gold! I have power! Take anything, just let me go!"

The Lich King prepared the final strike. The purple orb glowed with a killing light.

Then, a voice cut through the freezing fog. It was not loud, but it possessed a weight that made the very atmosphere stop moving.

"That life belongs to me, not you."

Cassius looked toward the sound. Stepping out of the fog was a figure in a hooded, soot-stained cloak. He carried a rusted sword that looked like a piece of garbage, yet the air around him was distorted, as if reality couldn't decide whether he was a man or a god.

The Lich King turned, its icy eyes widening for a fraction of a second. "Who... who are you? You have no scent of life, yet you have no scent of death."

The hooded man walked past the broken, dying soldiers. He stopped ten feet from the Lich. He pushed back his hood.

Cassius gasped, his breath hitching in his throat. He saw a face he hadn't seen in years. It was sharper, harder, and possessed a set of eyes that looked like they had stared into the heart of hell and found it boring.

"Lucien?" Cassius whispered, his voice trembling. "Lucien! Save me! Kill this thing! I knew you weren't dead! I—"