Northern paused, drinking in the scene before him for several heartbeats.
He liked it.
Maniacal as that might sound, he couldn't deny the truth. The twisted beauty of what lay before him stirred something dark within.
Northern stared, mesmerized, for a dozen seconds before muttering under his breath.
"So, this is what I can do when I don't depend on Chaos and Void."
The reach of his abilities stretched only as far as his imagination—a vast territory he'd barely explored because he'd never needed to.
Chaos and Void had been such flawless weapons that everything crumbled before them. Northern had instinctively relegated his other talents to mere support beams for these powers.
When it should have been the other way around.
Now, thrust into a position where Chaos and Void threatened to consume him faster than his enemies, Northern discovered the raw beauty of his talents when pushed to their limits.
He etched this scene into his memory. This would be the foundation of a new path—one free from Chaos or Void.
This could be his key to fighting through whatever Koll was planning.
He'd be a fool to think this was Koll's entire scheme. That bastard never stopped halfway—always plotting something darker, something worse.
Northern knew he needed his own contingencies. Starting now.
The Night Terror helm folded back with swift precision, leaving only the small devilish horns crowning his head.
Northern's olive face bore the marks of battle. Despite being hidden behind the helm, his skin appeared battered—like weathered leather stretched too thin.
He swung Illusioned Hefter in a wide arc, slashing through the monster blocking his path. Blood sprayed like purple rain, painting the air around him. Then, muscles coiling like a spring, he launched himself skyward.
He soared over the sea of monsters, cutting through the boundary of shadow before landing beyond the tangle of corpses.
Even the creatures outside Eclipsing Dread's reach hadn't escaped—all slaughtered by the vicious ice that spread like hungry fingers across the ground.
This had been intentional. Northern had planned to use the strange shadow as a conduit for one of FrostHeart's abilities—[Frigid Nova]—triggering an explosion of ice spikes.
But when he wove the talent into Eclipsing Dread, he sensed something more powerful stirring. Something that whispered of total annihilation.
That's why he'd extended the first tendril of ice outward and used it as a prototype.
Eclipsing Dread was a shadow that obeyed its own laws. Within its boundaries, Northern commanded absolute control. At its core, these laws were woven around a single thread—dread.
He couldn't bend the shadow to purposes of joy or comfort. Such manipulation went against its very nature. Facing an enemy that thrived in darkness was bound to be a grueling battle, like fighting water while drowning.
But Northern had more weapons in his arsenal than just shadows.
The unique properties of Eclipsing Dread allowed him to chain Frigid Nova endlessly, casting the same devastating ability over and over in mere heartbeats. Ice spikes erupted from the ground like teeth from a frozen beast, tearing through the horde until the overwhelming crowd of monsters lay still.
His plan had worked perfectly—but at a steep price. His Void essence drained rapidly, a reservoir running dry.
Northern had solved this problem long ago, or so he thought. The bitter realization that his solution was merely temporary left a sour taste in his mouth.
He craved an endless flow of essence.
And technically, he had one.
It just didn't pour directly into him, despite residing in his very soul.
'What a strange thing to say…'
He'd been forced to place a clone of himself inside his own soul, creating a crude pipeline that siphoned talent from the depths of his being into his physical form.
A disturbing concept, he realized now. Like performing surgery on yourself while remaining conscious.
But these were the bizarre compromises that Void and Chaos demanded in exchange for their overwhelming strength.
Sparing the beautiful carnage one last glance, Northern launched himself forward, cutting through the air like an arrow. The scattered monsters—hunched over the corpses they'd claimed—froze mid-feast and swiveled toward him.
Immediately. All at once. As if responding to some silent command.
They abandoned their grisly meals and charged toward Northern.
He'd sensed them coming. With practiced precision, he extended his sword and watched as its blade slowly faded from sight.
Armed with this invisible weapon, Northern carved a wide arc as the monsters closed in. Their purple blood painted the air in thick droplets as they crumpled before his unseen edge.
Within moments, he joined the fray on the opposite side of the arena where his duplicate—the Molten Vein Northern—was still trapped within the enormous numbers of the enemy.
In this form, Northern lacked the vast repertoire of talents his other self possessed. But what he did have was strength.
Titanic strength.
And the support of his other self.
With one Northern now freed from the crushing pressure of numbers, he felt capable of managing both forms simultaneously.
His mind ached with the effort—the mental strain of controlling dual bodies more demanding than he'd anticipated. Sweat beaded on his brow as concentration threatened to slip from his grasp.
But he had to contain this threat before it spilled into the city streets. More monsters would inevitably pour from the rift.
He wasn't worried about those, though. Unless Verulania was catastrophically incompetent, reinforcements would already be rushing toward them.
The kingdom boasted powerful Drifters of its own. Their princes were formidable, their generals—many of them Sages—were the stuff of legends he'd heard as a child.
Most notable among them was the kingdom's only Duke—a childhood friend of the king himself. They called him Prominent Leg.
Northern suspected that was actually his true name. Though he'd never met the man—only seen his portrait—Prominent Leg had always been the first to arrive wherever danger threatened. He stood as the embodiment of heroism throughout the nation.
If any of Verulania's powerful figures were to appear, it would be him.
Regardless, soldiers would arrive soon enough. The situation would become manageable.
And if that didn't happen? Well, all the best for Verulania, they would have to find their own way to protect the blood-soaked streets of their nation.