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Chapter 1: Nefarious Plans
Point of View: Magnus Bridge
I became the most powerful mage in this world; reality itself bends before my absolute power. Even the Gods fear me, and my power is immeasurable. However, there is something I have never been able to attain: immortality, the mastery over time itself. Despite being able to alter my appearance and rejuvenate my body, the essence of my life is slipping away. My body—or rather, my shell—is slowly dying.
What is immortality, after all? Even the divine loses itself to the flow of time, aging and changing names. Its essence renews in an eternal cycle of rebirth through the faith of the people in this continent. But I do not want to be forgotten, nor do I want to forget. I want to remain in memory and essence. The thought of disappearing completely, of becoming a mere blur in an uncertain future, fills me with a void that spreads like a suffocating shadow inside me.
As my life passed, I questioned many times what I had become: something between a mage and a monster. The gods feared me because I reflected their limitations or because of the shadows that grew within me. I made many sacrifices to reach this point: elves, dwarves, nobles, slaves, humans. Even the commoners who cried out for protection, swearing loyalty for me to save them from diseases and monsters, were touched by my existence. Each face that vanished under my hand still lingers in my memory, a silent presence that never leaves me. But it was necessary—or at least, that is what I tell myself to justify the unbearable.
On my 284th birthday, after countless experiments in this bizarre dungeon, I finally discovered the solution. I created an artifact capable of storing my soul and transferring it to an appropriate vessel. I based this on the technique of demonic possession to develop a form of magical possession. This technique allows me to take control of the latent mana in a human body, using it as if it were my own. From there, I manipulate the mana to control the rest of the body as a true master.
Such a thing was only possible thanks to the unique rune system I developed for my magic. While gods and mortals still used archaic methods, my creation revolutionized magic, replacing obsolete complexities with a more refined structure. This system not only simplified the processes but also amplified the effects, making them incredibly powerful, precise, and efficient. It was an absolute advancement, ensuring total control over forces that once seemed unattainable.
It is true that this dungeon reeks due to the decomposition of the hundreds of test subjects I used in my experiments. The air is thick with a sharp odor, as though death itself left its mark on every stone. However, soon, that will no longer matter. The bodies scattered on the floor contribute to creating an environment I deem suitable to attract a strong adventurer—the one who will find this artifact.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
The walls of the dungeon, covered in moss and dark stains, seem to pulse with the magical energy that infuses the place. The torchlight flickers, casting dancing shadows that take on grotesque, almost living shapes. The silence is broken only by the occasional sound of drops falling into small puddles on the floor, each drop echoing as a reminder of the passing time.
To ensure that only a powerful vessel reaches this place, I implemented a series of defenses. Intricate traps, relentless golems, watchful gargoyles, and deadly invocations are strategically placed and will be triggered at the slightest trace of mana. These measures will not only prevent insignificant individuals from advancing but will also urge the truly powerful ones to face the challenges, believing they have found a treasure of immense value.
And indeed, they will. However, the true treasure will be mine: a body worthy of carrying my immortal soul.
I placed the orb on the pedestal in the center of the room. The stand, made of stone in the shape of two skeletal hands, held it firmly in place. The ethereal glow of the orb cast a pale and cold light across the room, illuminating the runes on the floor. They pulsed softly with an unsettling energy, as if they were breathing. I withdrew to the outer limit of the magic circle, whose runes ensured a constant flow of mana into and out of the orb to sustain its energy. Additionally, crystals were scattered across the table, enriching the atmosphere with abundant mana, as though the room itself were alive.
The energy here should last for a few centuries before it fades. It’s a damn shot in the dark, but it’s the only sensible option—either that or become the damn lich. Although I have no problem killing in the name of magic, I feel that taking lives to extend my own would be an unbearable moral burden. This method, on the other hand, ensures that only a single sacrifice is required.
I began the ritual. My consciousness faded, and I watched my body fall as it was sucked into the orb on the pedestal. The sensation was like being torn from the fabric of existence, a sharp rift that left a cold emptiness in my being. My memories paraded before me like images projected on a blank screen. Each face, every moment of glory and regret, a succession of intense flashes.
Then, I was there. I could see and feel everything in the room through the mana, I could communicate through my mind. But there was no one else. The world was now a dense twilight of black shadows. And time continued to pass...
As the echo of the drops dripped from the ceiling or ran down the walls, I couldn''t help but wonder if everything I had done and was doing was just. It was a thought that returned like a constant hammer, striking my already fragmented consciousness. Was there no alternative to using people as tools? No, I was sure there was no other way, at least not one that would benefit me. It was this or oblivion... and the thought of disappearing forever was a prison far crueler than any dungeon.
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