Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (ink book reader .txt) 📕

26th day of the month of Zund, 322 A.D., Age of the Drunken Monk, Forest of Shadows

Arlun leaped forward, leaving behind him a patch of ground still untouched by raindrops. His blade flashed with blue lightning and hit the staff engulfed in flames. The ground crackled, exploding under Ash’s feet and turning into a hole. The mage’s face lit up with a grin of anticipation. It had been a long time since he had been forced to take a fight seriously.

“Third Form: Unity!”

Arlun loosened his grip for a moment when he saw Ash embody two forms at once. But even that split second of surprise was enough for the mage to send the swordsman flying into an oak tree some twelve feet away. The oak cracked at the base and fell to the side like a giant slain by a nimble dwarf. Spitting out blood, Arlun leaped to his feet and raised his sword. Ash, falling from an unthinkable height, slammed his staff right where steel met the guard. A dull crash drowned out the roar of thunder. This time, a crater formed under Arlun’s feet. He pushed the mage aside and used the Singing Blow. The steel sliced through the rain with a sound akin to that of a well-tuned lute. Ash had only enough time to hold his staff out in front of him before he was hit by the shockwave. Grass flew into the air behind him, and soon there was a terrifying crack. The ground trembled as if dozens of trees simultaneously collapsed, as if moved down by a gigantic ax.

Blood trickled down his arms and Arlun’s forearm was black with a terrible burn. Both of them were still holding back, however. One couldn’t risk the life of his beloved and the other, without realizing, was protecting his companions.

Trees flashed like torches, burning down in a matter of seconds. Steel kept hitting wood, sending sparks and splinters into the air. The strange sound the blade made as it cut through the air and rain made Ash dizzy, but he continued casting spells.

Throwing out his arm as if gripping a spear instead of a staff, he created a fire blade on the pommel, shrouded in a roaring, red light. Arlun took a half-step to the left and slashed with his blade as he turned.

Lightning flashed, striking between the steel and the mage’s unprotected back. Arlun, who thought that Mother Nature was on his side and that the rain and the fury of the sky would aid him, realized that the storm wasn’t helping only him, but Ash as well.

The mage raised his staff above his head, summoning a yellow dragon to descent from the sky. It roared and hit the ground where Arlun had been standing a moment earlier.

The swordsman, panting, watched as the black sky spewed dozens of lightning bolts, ready to destroy both him and everything else that stood in their path. In the heat of the moment, Ash had gone too far, having lost himself to magic.

“Blade Sphere!”

The lighting and the rain disappeared before they could even touch the ground. The storm was still raging up there, but the drops now crashed against steel rather than soil. Thousands of swords had shot out of the ground, appeared from the air, cut through the falling trees from the inside, and circled Arlun. This was the second skill mentioned in the scroll given to Lari. It could murder an entire army and bring down castles while at the same time avoiding civilians and their homes if its wielder so pleased.

Arlun assumed a low stance, holding the blade out in front of him. A hail of blades fell upon Ash who disappeared under the avalanche of littering steel. The swordsman breathed more evenly – like any creator, he naively considered his creation perfect.

Ash struck the ground with the staff and flames instantly engulfed the swords. The wood had lost its red glow, but the crimson veins on his skin showed that he had not yet removed the spell.

The swordsman’s eyes widened in fear. He wasn’t afraid for himself but for his wife.

“Creation!”

As the rain began to fall again and the walls of the log house shook with thunder, a howl cut through the sky. Hundreds of fiery wolves circled the mage. But no matter how deceptive this image looked, the paw prints left on the scorched grass assured the swordsman that their claws and fangs were as sharp as the real ones.

Ash hit the ground with his staff once again and the pack covered Arlun, who waved away the flames with his blade, causing the beasts to disappear. But no matter how many times they were hit, the wolves still found flesh. Arlun growled in pain as fangs and claws sliced through his skin, leaving behind burns instead of scars.

Realizing that Ash wouldn’t back down any time soon, the swordsman took a deep breath and removed the blade’s guard, making two swords appear in his hand. With one sweep, he turned himself into a whirlwind of steel and water, dispelling the beasts. He wanted to shout to Ash to calm down because he might end up wounding innocent people, but one look at the mage was enough to tell him that it was needless to worry.

Trees lay torn and burned; the ground was scarred with deep and long furrows, and grass covered with ash. The cabin, however, seemed to exist in a reality separate from this one. It was in that moment that Arlun realized that Ash was still holding back while occasionally reminding him that no matter how hard he tried, he’d never be able to defeat him.

The mage stared at the exhausted and bewildered swordsman. If it hadn’t been for the desire to protect the Stumps, he would’ve burned down