A Bored Lich

Anchored within the sea of people was an old, empty shell of a house, just as Kilot had left it. He was surprised the key could still fit into the lock, and that the door hadn't rusted shut. Slowly stepping inside the once-familiar place, he realized how faded his memory really was. 'Is this the right place?' he wondered.

He instinctively gravitated towards the forge and he knew he was in the right place, even though he didn't wish to acknowledge it. He thought he had left his shame behind, yet it remained; It had only festered in his absence. The hearth was cold and coal-less. Dust plagued every plank of wood, every wall-mounted weapon, and every inch of countertop - even the anvil. 'Looks like I got my work cut out for me,' he thought, scanning the rest of the workshop.

Kilot found his…the old hammer he used amongst a pile of failed products in the corner. He dragged it out, causing a half dozen blades to come tumbling to the ground. It felt like just the other day he was pounding away at them, sweat beating down his face as he struggled to craft the "perfect" blade.

A "perfect" blade meant it had to be sharper. A "perfect" blade had to be stronger. A perfect "perfect" was a legend never forgotten. Those cancerous ideals had stuffed the workshop with failures and shoved him out the door.

Kilot rolled up his sleeves, placed a random "failure" into a foundry, then threw them both into the hearth. The warped metal might not be remade into something "perfect", or maybe it would be. Whatever the result, it was merely a process. A sword sharper than average was still, at its core, just a sword. The past was the past. He couldn't go back to the glory days, nor escape to the Bloodwood. Moving forward was the only option left.

'I just got to keep moving,' was Elero's sole thought as she ran into the tunnel's depths, slashing through monsters along the way. Even though she fell and bled and cursed, she would pick herself up and keep moving. The pain was nothing compared to the screws and nails she used to shove into her leg braces.

So what if she fell? She hadn't adjusted to her new legs; she knew that, but then Doevm just had to point it out. He even had the nerve to offer her help. 'I'm done with begging for people's help,' she thought. 'I have my legs. I don't need anything else ever again.' She could feel rage flare up in her stomach like hot coals.

Kilot fanned the flames until the metal was aglow and he could feel the heat radiating from the hearth. Next was maintaining the exact temperature he wanted. Not too hot or the metal would warp. Not too cold or it wouldn't bend. Controlling flames was hypocritical, which was why it was difficult.

Frey felt his white, flaming aura travel down his fingers and touch the creature squirming within his grip. As he struggled to keep it still, he accidentally slammed the goblin against the wall, the force rendering it limp - lifeless. Frey tossed the creature's corpse aside and cursed. 'Can I do this?' he thought. He shook his head. 'Doevm said I could. I just need to practice. Don't think. Just practice.'

With the metal heated, Kilot's hammer descended, and a shower of sparks shot out from the impact. He beat the metal to bend over itself again and again. With the foundation set, he gradually hammered it into a solid image of a sword.

Thomas slowly raised a severed monster finger to his lips and chewed on it, grimacing at the…freshness. Through many of these disgusting trials he found that, no matter how much he ate, he could never achieve a state of fullness - only an absence of hunger. His strongest sensation however, wasn't hunger; it was fear of what he would become, or rather how much more of a monster he would become. He trusted everything to Doevm and set off for another prey.

Kilot grabbed the blade with some metal tongs and dunked it into a vat of oil, quenching the heat and shrouding the top of the vat in a layer of steam. He pulled the blade out and examined the shape. 'It had maintained its shape quite well,' he thought. 'Though it's still weak.' Next was tempering the blade in order to give it its strength.

Olpi sent her magic into the humanoid shape of water, her new water spirit, and a geyser of water spewed forth, knocking both her and the monster to the ground. "Stop! Stop!" She begged as she retracted her mana from her spirit. Looking at the corpse of the monster, it seemed she got off far better. The spirit silently chuckled and danced through the air; it seemed to find the situation humorous.

"Why did you come to me? Who are you?" Olpi asked, although she had realized a long time ago that the spirit couldn't talk. It only did as it was commanded, however Olpi needed a certain persuasiveness in her mana. That's what Doevm had told her anyway. She had no idea what that meant. Olpi had willed the geyser and utilized the spirit's magic but it almost felt like someone else's magic. The connection was still weak.

Kilot pulled the blade away from the grindstone and tested the sharpness on a strip of paper, finding it to be satisfactory. Next was the last step: enchanting.

He mounted a Powerstone, an orange crystal infused with raw mana, to the tip of a small, metal rod. Kilot gently dragged the Powerstone's tip along the spine of the blade, and the metal parted before its touch. Inscriptions morphed the Powerstone's energy into runic imbuements. Kilot ran his hand along the finished inscription, and felt the depth of each new power. The metal had accepted it without hesitation.

The map was simple enough; it lead Doevm straight to Maximus Draken's next legacy. There were no tricks nor trials. It was simply a door at the end of a tunnel, as if it had been waiting for him all of this time. That was not to say that it hadn't been difficult to get there. Doevm had to descend to the deepest, most dangerous part of the mine and fight through dozens of monsters. Monsters, however, he understood.

Then there was the door to the legacy, of which he had only brief experience with. He could have turned back. The others needed time to get stronger and Kilot to make the weapons and artifacts. Attracting the attention of the world was, quite literally, to be the most dangerous action he could undertake. Logically, opening the door this soon would only be a detriment.

Then the image of Wilhelm's face flashed across Doevm's mind, and he chuckled to himself. 'I came here for one reason, to fight,' he thought. He stepped towards the door and read the inscription.

"Those that know the origin of magic,

Those that realize she is not everlasting,

Even those that happen to come across this door,

All are welcome.

Confident that no person will find this until long after my demise,

I made this to warn you of the repeating future.

Please hear me.

Even if it takes until every last plant is gone,

Even when the last humans die out,

Even after the gods have finished their game,

She must be stopped."

As Doevm finished reading the last line, the door's runes lit up, showering the tunnel in a blue radiance. A pillar of pure mana shot into the surroundings and into the sky, lighting the entire world up. The fiercest storms were no match. Not even the sunlight made it through a field of mana that appeared around the world. Doevm, restricted to the tunnel, was blasted through the set of doors that swung open.