Stormblade 5 C1: Dawn of the Stormsteel Path

Thank you for your patience. The replanned, rewritten chapters are much stronger than what I originally came up with, and I think I can reuse some of the concepts from the old ones in the future. Sometimes, it's better to take a little time. I appreciate you giving it to me.

Without further ado, Book Five of Stormblade.

1 - Dawn of the Stormsteel Path

Twenty Thousand Years Ago

The Thunder King’s master stood on the knife’s edge.

Stormlord Nalthelas was an elf, much like the pathetic silk-and-spider elves who lived in the trees below. But unlike them, Nalthelas had long since set aside the weakness of wood and cloth for the unyielding strength of the storm. He was, without a doubt, the strongest lightning mage in the universe. SS-Plus-Ranked. A Paragon of a Path. For over a hundred, hundred years, Stormlord Nalthelas had forged the Thunderstrike Path, pushing it ever closer to his ultimate goal: ascension.

And the Thunder King had followed him, blinded by devotion—and by the Stormlord’s words. The promises that the lightning elemental would one day ascend beside Nalthelas, and that he’d hold an honored place in the elf’s heart for his sacrifices.

That last one wasn’t a lie. But if the Stormlord had his way, the first would be. The Thunder King realized it now.

Now…when it was too late.

Stormlord Nalthelas’s power rippled outward, only to be stopped dead in its tracks by the copper-and-portal metal cage around him. The cage connected to countless conduits and batteries, woven amongst themselves in the flowing, arboreal style the elf built all his creations in. Lightning surged outward. Power. Power overwhelming. The strongest being in the universe was attempting to leave it.

To do so, Stormlord Nalthelas would have to open the way between realms—an effort that required even more power than he possessed. And that was where the Thunder King and his brethren came in.

He wasn’t Stormlord Nalthelas’s only pupil. He wasn’t even the only one the elf had promised to take with him. There were dozens of monsters—each a Paragon in their own right. Together, they could have challenged the Stormlord. Together, they might even have overthrown him. But he’d lured them on with promises of power, played them against each other, and when he’d sprung his trap, they’d been powerless to resist him.

That betrayal burned in the Thunder King’s soul. But he couldn’t do anything about it now.

Could he?

Energy surged outward from the Stormlord. The elf was emptying his core completely in a bid to force the way between realms open. It wouldn’t be enough—but already, his machine was draining the weaker disciples of their Mana and power. The first Paragon’s core shattered as it emptied, and a wail of agony ripped through the air.

The Thunder King needed a way out. But there was no way out. He was trapped by the Stormlord’s machinations and lies, by promises never meant to be kept, and by his own hubris.

Another core broke, and the Thunder King set his will against the Stormlord’s and waited for the end.

◄▼►

Present Day

The God of Thunder awoke from a nightmare.

That was unusual and interesting enough that he didn’t immediately move. Magda’s body lay near his—her core was still entangled with his from their core bonding, and even though she was a treacherous wyrm, he didn’t want to kill her. Not yet. She was one of the few beings in this universe who understood an aspect of him completely. Magda, the Crone, the Placid King…and the kid.

It made sense. The nightmare. It was entirely the God of Thunder’s fault, and he knew it. The kid had cut more deeply with his words than he could have with that new sword, even with the power of a nascent Path behind the blow. He couldn’t have known it, but he’d deployed the best weapon he could possibly have used against the God of Thunder. The only weapon he had that would be effective, given the gulf in power that, even now, existed between them.

Doubt.

It was a nagging wound—and had been since the day the God of Thunder had first taken his new name after breaking free and killing Stormlord Nalthelas. That act had pushed his core past S-Rank, to the cusp of SS, and he’d taken the extra strength gladly, the better to eliminate any other survivors and begin forging his own portal world into a reflection of the elemental plane he’d been created on. His new form, that of a massive dragon of lightning and storm cloud, was but one he could take, but that world would be perfect for it, and it was his favorite.

Instead, a weight had landed squarely on his shoulders. The weight of a universe that couldn’t quite contain his sheer spiritual bulk. It was overwhelming. All-encompassing. And as the days turned to years and the years to millennia, the God of Thunder began to understand Stormlord Nalthelas in a way no one could.

Even Magda would never understand him like he understood the Stormlord. The constant pressure. The constant feeling in the back of his mind. The feeling that he had to hide that truth from every being he encountered, save two. The Crone felt it, that masochistic old hag. She reveled in it. Her power was more than enough to open the way between realms. But she chose not to for reasons the God of Thunder refused to comprehend. Fear? Pleasure? Sheer ornery stubbornness? He had no idea.

The Placid King, though…he should have been the God of Thunder’s closest confidant. An ally. Maybe even a friend. The two were one and the same. Both felt the spiritual weight, and both wanted it gone. Both wanted to move onward and upward, into the next realm. And if it weren’t for the sheer amount of energy needed, they could have been true allies.

Instead, they were threats to each other.

The God of Thunder had sworn he wouldn’t be anything like Stormlord Nalthelas. One pupil at a time. Minions aplenty, yes, but only one pupil. He’d train his disciple well, invest power in them, and be honest about their eventual fate. Then, when the time came, that pupil would be given a chance.

Not much of one, but more than the Thunder King and the rest of Stormlord Nalthelas’s minions had gotten.

For twenty thousand years, it had been enough.

For two hundred centuries, the God of Thunder had—slowly, so painfully slowly—pushed himself toward ascension.

And now, mere days from the finish line, he was uncertain.

“Damn that kid,” he growled.

The Paragon of the Sliding Surge shifted. Magda’s core pushed against the God of Thunder’s, and he focused his attention on the wyrmlike eel. She was tiny by comparison. Her power was inconsequential, but when her eye opened to stare up at the lightning dragon, he recentered himself.

“What kid?” Magda asked. “Your apprentice? My master wishes for more information on him. He was a poor weapon against you, but now, the Paragon of the Stillwave Path has more of an interest in him as a possible threat.”

“Ha! Miss Sliding Surge, your master’s failure is entirely your fault,” the God of Thunder boomed.

“I am aware. My master was slightly irritated by my failures.” Magda twitched in agitation. “He nearly raised his voice at me. It was truly terrifying.”

“Go back to sleep. We’ll talk about Kade Noelstra another time,” the God of Thunder said. He curled his bulk around Magda, his core’s weight wrapping around hers like a blanket. And, mercifully, she did.

But he didn’t.

◄▼►

Twenty Thousand Years Ago

Something went wrong.

Stormlord Nalthelas’s engine had gone rogue, and the Paragon of the Thunderstrike Path had been forced to…not abort his project, but delay it. The battery-and-conduit array around the Thunder King was full to bursting with energy, thousands and thousands of cores completely filled with Mana. He’d stopped it at the last possible moment, right before the point of no return.

A half-dozen pupils remained.

Three were core-broken already. Two more were badly damaged. They wouldn’t survive the machine’s second activation—not even for a full minute.

But, somehow, the Thunder King was intact. And not only intact, but filled with power. With enough power to push himself forward to freedom.

He simply had to do it. To deviate from the Path he’d been on since his system had first awakened and elevated him above his portal world’s other denizens.

He’d always been a monster. He, like the others, had felt the urge to kill anything that stepped into his realm, and any realm he stepped into. But unlike them, he’d maintained his sanity, and when a chance at power had arrived in the form of Stormlord Nalthelas, he’d embraced it with open talons. The Stormlord had brooked no deviation, though, and the lightning elemental had no idea where to start. He simply knew that he had to—and that if he failed, he would be nothing more than a catalyst to propel his master into a new universe.

The Thunder King was not a mere catalyst.

He would overcome. The storm was patient, but his patience had run out.

The portal metal cage he was trapped in. That was the start. It was built to withstand even an S-Rank Paragon’s power. But the Thunder King had helped build the device. He understood it. And with the elf Paragon distracted, the elemental got to work.

He’d forge that cage into armor.

His eyes closed, and when they opened, he floated in a blue-and-red sky, high over the myriad floating obelisks of his home. No. Not his home. There were key differences—a lack of horizon, a massive platform strung between the obelisks, and a simultaneous lack of Mana and the choking presence of too much of it. And there were also the thirty or so runes, carved in the sky in burning lightning. The steps of the Thunderstrike Path.

The Thunder King focused on the first rune. He pulled a massive panel of portal metal into being from nothing. Metal. Steel. The storm. He would forge his own Path. He would deviate from Stormlord Nalthalas’s, and in doing so, he would end this twisted experiment…before it ended him.

Then, he’d have his revenge on the lightning mage.

◄▼►

The God of Thunder felt Magda awaken again.

He opened a portal back to her world silently, gesturing with a single claw. The eel stared at him for a long time, but he didn’t say anything, and mercifully, she stayed silent too. After too long, she left, and the God of Thunder collapsed into his humanoid form, spear in hand.

He sat and stared out at the myriad obelisks that dotted his portal world. Every one of them represented a pupil’s stored power. He’d been preparing for ascension for a long, long time.

Doubt kept weighing on him, though.

The push to S-Rank had been fast for him. It was always fast. Every one of his pupils had hit their maximum potential quickly, whether it was A-Rank like Tallas, C like so many of his early failures, or the dozens of beings he’d helped reach S-Rank.

There’d only been one he’d allowed to push beyond S. One experiment. One attempt to speed his ascension along. His side ached at the memory. Never again. It had been far too slow, and the risk of failure too high. Allowing a pupil that much power when they knew his intentions was too dangerous.

Allowing Kade three days was dangerous, too.

But the kid deserved them. The God of Thunder was certain of that. After all, the kid was the only one in twenty thousand years who’d deviated enough to forge his own path. In that regard, both he and the God of Thunder were the same. He was a being worthy of respect—the head of a Path—now. And then there was the doubt. The nightmares. What if he was wrong about something? What if he had betrayed promises he’d never made? Could the kid be right?

No. No. The kid couldn’t possibly be right. And even if he was, in three days, it wouldn’t matter. Twenty thousand years of work, and now, only seventy-two hours—or less, now—separated him from his prize. Plus the hour or so it’d take to hunt down Kade, feed on his core, and begin ascension. He could wait three days.

“Three days, then,” he rumbled. “Three days.”

He stared out at his portal world, and at all the Mana and cores he’d assembled in the twenty thousand years he’d worked toward ascension, and forced himself to relax. Soon, it would be over, and any doubts he had about his plan would be assuaged by the paradise that was a universe capable of holding him properly. It would all be worth it.

It had to be.

Three days.

◄▼►

I had three days.

In those three days, I had so much to do.

The most important thing was preparing to fight the God of Thunder. He’d be an all but unbeatable opponent. I’d sparred with him, and hunted with him in the Crone’s forest, and I’d never once seen a weakness in his humanoid, spear-wielding form. His lightning dragon body was probably even stronger—and who knew what else he could muster? Preparing to fight one of the most powerful beings in the universe in three days was a tall task.

But preparing to fight two? That was impossible. The Placid King had made it abundantly clear that the Paragon of the Stormsteel Path wasn’t the only monster who’d be hunting me. Worse, he wouldn’t give me three days. I was lucky he hadn’t found the Black Tower yet—and as for Earth, there was no way I could return there. It was too much of a risk when either monster’s sheer weight was enough to fracture my world.

That made my other two biggest problems much, much harder to figure out.

First was Jessie’s impending conflict with the Guilds. She’d discovered something about the guilds and the Governing Council—she’d implied that much when she’d mentioned the deaths of Bernard the Wall and Angelo Lawrence would be kept quiet. The political games were going to be a nightmare, and I didn’t have time to deal with them. I had other things to deal with.

Things like Ellen’s cracked core. I sat on the throne I’d built high atop the Black Tower. I’d forged it from Kaloran’s original seat, but in my own style. It was simple. A single lightning bolt touched the square, simple chair from above. Hardly a gloating, arrogant seat like the dias the former Lord of the Black Tower had occupied.

And I held a brass, S-Ranked core in my hand.

It was the wrong core. The right thing to do would be to trade it to the Governing Council and try to find something there to help Ellen with. But I couldn’t do that. They’d traded most of their value to the Crone after the Siege of Phoenix, and even before that, they hadn’t had what she needed. A-Rank Paragon cores were rare, and specific elements were rarer still. And what I really needed was an S-Rank one, to ensure that her core would hold together.

Not that it mattered. Even if I found one, I lacked the tools to repair hers. The God of Thunder had them, but I couldn’t simply ask him for them. He’d made that clear with his sarcastic invitation.

I had three days and four tasks, and there wasn’t enough time to do them all.