The Wanderer landed on the sand with a thud. His skin knitted together in a rapid sequence of cellular reconstruction, sealing the luminous organs and the fifth circle within his chest. The arena was silent for a moment.
"Restrain that man!" Adilan’s voice shrieked from the safety of the dark corridor. "But don't kill him! He’s worth a kingdom!"
The gates opened as dozens of fighters, men of all sizes and gears.
A spearman lunged, his tip aimed for the Wanderer’s thigh. With a flick of his intent, the Wanderer dismantled the steel tip into iron dust mid-flight. Before the man could gasp, the Wanderer’s boot slammed into his chest, sending him rolling across the sand.
Two juggernauts in full plate armor surged from either side, their massive shields closing in to crush him between them. The Wanderer ignited his mana and vaulted into the air. High above the pit, he raised his hand. Atmospheric pressure gave up as he conjured water, forcibly condensed it into black storm clouds that blocked out the sun.
The arena fell into an artificial night.
With each flash of lightning, the Wanderer reappeared in a different position of slaughter. A bolt struck, he was behind the first armored juggernaut. He drove his hand through the steel plate dismantling it along with flesh and muscles. Another flash,he stood over the collapsed husk, a fresh human spine gripped in his hand.
The Spiral understood the physics the Wanderer had forgotten: steel cannot channel magic, but bone was a conductor for the soul. He flooded the spine with mana pulse, the bone glowed with his blue aura.
He dashed at the second armored fighter, whipping the spine in a terrifying arc. The man raised his shield, but the reinforced bone sliced through the heavy iron and the man behind it as if they didn't exist. Two halves of a soldier fell into the dirt in perfect symmetry.
The remaining gladiators broke their formation, stumbling backward.
The Wanderer began to spin. The spine became a white blur with a mana trail. He unleashed three massive waves of energy that cut through the falling raindrops and the very foundation of the arena. The shockwaves tore through the huddling soldiers, leaving three giant carvings in the stone walls behind them.
The Spiral surged into his limbs, demanding the harvest.
The Wanderer became a hurricane moving through them. He whipped the spine around a fallen fighter’s neck, snapping shut like a trap, and yanked, the head spun into the air. Then blurred to a man on his back, splicing him from throat to groin with a single, horizontal whip.
A sharp hiss erupted from the stands. Three arena mages stood there, their hands glowing as they unleashed a wall of a thousand icy spikes.
The Wanderer raised the spine, swirling it in a tight, vertical circle. The mana grew into a vortex, swallowing the icicles and grinding them into mist. He closed the distance in a heartbeat.
A slash: A mage’s hip was severed, his leg spinning away.
Another slash the second mage was split across the abdomen, his entrails hitting the sand before his body did.
The third tried to flee. The Wanderer grabbed the severed leg from the floor, dismantled it into a spear of bone, and reassembled it mid-air into iron, impaling the runner through the back.
The first mage was still screaming, clutching his stump. The Wanderer jumped, landing both feet on the man’s chest, the kinetic explosion obliterating the heart and ribcage instantly.
He stood in the center of the carnage, the spine dripping in his hand.
The silence that followed was heavier than the storm. The arena became a cemetery, and the "Hero" was its architect. The Wanderer turned toward the dark corridor, his face illuminated in strokes of lightning.
Adilan was pressed against the stone wall, his expensive silks ruined by sweat. He tried to force a grin, his teeth chattering. "G-good job! Magnificently done! Stay right there, let me find you a fresh batch... more to kill, right? More profit…"
The Wanderer didn't even look at him. The mana-reinforced spine whipped through the air with a whistle that broke the sound barrier. Adilan's torso ceased to exist, vaporizing into a red mist that painted the wall behind him. The Wanderer walked through the spray without breaking stride, heading for the exit.
He stepped out into the streets of Draemir. The city was in chaos. Civilians scrambled for cover from the unnatural storm.
He saw a woman looking up, fascinated by the spiraling clouds. In one fluid motion, the Wanderer lashed out. The spine cut through her from shoulder to hip, leaving her a mismatched ruin in the mud. He kept moving, his strikes didn't distinguish between age or gender. He was a mechanical force of the Spiral, leaving a trail of gore that the rain couldn't wash away fast enough.
The war bell began to toll, clanging that competed with the thunder and screams. The garrison - the few soldiers Skida had left behind to guard the capital - scrambled to the Wanderer.
"Surrender, butcher!" the commander roared, drawing a glowing broadsword.
But the Wanderer was past words. He lashed the spine, sending a wide, crescent shockwave of deconstruction magic toward them. The wave cut through the stone of the surrounding buildings as if they were wet paper.
"BARRIERS! NOW!"
The soldiers slammed their shields down, layering amber walls of mana. The shockwave tore through the first three layers before dissipating.
"Anti-magic chains! Bring them up!" the commander shouted. "Close the distance!"
Three squads lunged forward, swinging heavy chains made of the anti magic blue stones. The others moved in, their barriers buzzing. The Wanderer sent wave after wave of force, the impact slowing the soldiers, their feet skidding on the wet ground.
"We can't hold this!" a soldier screamed, his barrier cracking under the relentless pressure.
"Push! Draemirans do not yield!"
The chain-bearers flickered between the shields, trying to ensnare the Wanderer's remaining arm. But he was faster…way faster. He swung the spine in precision, shattering the sapphire links mid-air before they could touch him.
The commander’s face went pale. "Drop the shields! Barrage him! Kill him now!"
"Sir, the civilians…"
"They are already dead! ATTACK!"
A torrential barrage of magic erupted. Boulders, mana missiles, and streaks of fire steaming the rain. The Wanderer stopped. He twisted his wrist in a tight, counter-clockwise circle, channeling a depth of power Valak had warned him would consume his soul.
His jaw unhinged, and a single word, a command from the Spiral, erupted from his throat:
"PERISH!"
In front of him, the air fractured. A singularity of absolute darkness manifested, consuming everything.
First, the rain was pulled into the black hole, creating a dry vacuum in the center of the street. Then, the lightning strikes were bent toward it, followed by the tiles, the glass from the windows, and the very air itself. The gravitational pull expanded exponentially.
A soldier was yanked off his feet, his scream cut short as he was stretched and compressed into the darkness.
"RETREAT! REGROUP!" the commander shrieked, but it was too late.
The Void Well grew, swallowing the platoon, then the buildings, then the very foundations of the district. Half the city seemed to tilt toward the Wanderer. The commander looked back to find he was standing alone on a precipice of nothingness. His entire army was gone.
The Wanderer closed his blood-stained palm.
The void vanished instantly.
He looked up at the sky, and opened his hand again. The void spat out its contents back into the atmosphere.
The dark clouds were pierced by the sudden return of the sun, lighting up a shattered, half-fallen city. Then, the sky began to rain. This time, the remains of the platoon. Severed limbs, shattered armor, and tons of pulverized stone fell from the clouds, raining down upon the ruins of Draemir in a gruesome, final storm.
The Wanderer’s eyes flickered, then collapsed instantly, before a collapsed house fell above him.