The black Verdict pierced through the formation of the Arcanist, dispersing along the way, and the moment its remnants hit the ground, the field of screaming skulls swallowed it up as if it did not exist, and all the remaining power it held poured into me like a tide.
The result of this spell was apparent, as ten percent of the Arcanist had fallen... a number that meant hundreds of these shiny lights had been lost nearly instantaneously.
An Arcanist was hard to kill, but that was only relative to the sort of danger they were facing.
The machines that my spell had touched were slag cooling in craters, and the survivors were now retreating, their formation shattered, their machines destroyed. They had come to stop a storm, and they had found something worse.
I did not pursue them, since that would be me giving away my advantage. The storm was spreading again, the field of skulls was growing, and the cold thing in my chest was pulsing with a hunger that would not be satisfied.
I had killed a million souls. I would kill a million more; it was only a matter of time, and the longer I delayed the battle, the stronger I became.
I wondered how strong I would become if my field of skulls encircled the whole world? Then would a Sovereign not be like an ant before me?
∞
The Arcanists reformed at a distance; I noticed that some of them had run away, but that was only delaying the inevitable. The wisest choice would be to gather all their strength to face me.
Clearly, I was not the only one to acknowledge this truth, since most of the Arcanists remained behind, and their discipline reasserted itself. The past me would have found such a display of grit and tenacity to be inspiring; now I just found it amusing.
My body began to slowly rise from the earth, knowing that there was no more reason to restrict my movement in this manner. I observed the Arcanist in the distance and saw that they were preparing another volley, as space recoiled from the massive amount of Anima they were pulling from their souls, but this time, they were not targeting me, but the field of skulls, trying to burn it away, to cut off my source of power.
Of course they must have noticed this weakness of mine; they would not be mages if they did not, but I did not try to stop them because what they did not understand was that the field of skulls was not a source of power; rather, it was a consequence, and try as much as you like, you cannot easily destroy consequences.
Even as they lobbed spells that burned vast swatches of fields, what they did not know was that the storm was spreading in places they could not see, and more fields were rising, and they could not really understand how deep the roots of these fields were.
My body broke out of the earth, and despite the vast amount of vitality that was pouring into my body, my right arm was still missing, but my shoulder was wriggling as a massive tumor was growing that may lead to the creation of something else.
The vitality pouring into me was to sustain my body beyond reason, but there was something wrong with its healing capabilities, as if it did not understand how to repair my flesh in its previous configuration.
Massive holes filled my body, exposing parts of my innards, and my scarlet robes had been destroyed, leaving me naked, revealing the full stretches of injuries that covered my body, enough that you could see the gleaming bones underneath.
Although the millions of souls that rotated around me in a storm preserved my modesty, that is, if I cared for such a mundane mortal concept like this.
With my spiritual perception, I was able to see my face, and it was remarkably undamaged, except it was now several times bigger to reflect my current size that was nearing a hundred feet, and my eyes burned with the redness of my lightning.
I watched the Arcanists burn my fields of skulls for a few moments, then I acted. I raised my hand, and Titan’s Marrow answered. With the amount of deathly vitality flowing through my marrow, my body did not expand further; what it did was condense, and I visibly shrank, until there was barely any flesh on my body, leaving me resembling a skeleton that was filled with tight muscles stretched across my frame.
However, this appearance did not make me look weaker; anyone who looked at me would bleed, because I would appear like an unsheathed blade. The cold vitality of the dead had flooded through my channels, compressing my flesh and bone until I was a statue of death, unbreakable and unstoppable.
My scarlet eyes found the Arcanist in the distance, and I crouched a bit; then I vanished. A cry of alarm rose across the ranks of the Arcanist; they had been closely watching me, and they responded as soon as I made a move.
My massive body appeared a mile before them, as I moved ahead of my storm, trailing chains of blood that dragged millions of souls behind me. I was hearing cries of Sovereign or Fallen god from the Arcanists, and the fact that they did not know who I was felt annoying; I should show them Death, so they understood her glory, and not mistake her for the rabble of the earth.
The Arcanists were ready for my charge, and they smoothly moved from devastating the field to firing a massive volley of spells at me. Clearly they were holding back when they were destroying the field, but now that I had shown myself, they unleashed everything they had at me... and I walked through it.
The spells hit me and broke against my skin, shattering like glass against stone, even though they were slowly chewing through the thick layer of my skin. The spells pushed me back, but my strength could move mountains, and I did not stop. The unmaking lances tore at my flesh, but the wounds sealed themselves, and I did not bleed, while the rot and corruption slid off my channels like water off oil.
I reached the first Arcanist more quickly than they thought, and my hand closed around his body, and I squeezed until his soul came out and joined the storm. I opened my hand, and ash poured out, as the cold in my body had drained every single bit of vitality in his broken flesh.