Warlock of War: My Ares System

But then, as the momentum of the battle shifted irrevocably in my favor, an abrupt wave of exhaustion surged through my body. My knees gave way, and I dropped to the ground, losing all sensation within my limbs. It was as if the very life force had been sapped from my body.

Hm? What? Is his throne world still out? 

My vision blurred, and I struggled to maintain consciousness. The overwhelming fatigue was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The winds that had once been at my beck and call now seemed to elude me, slipping through my grasp like smoke.

Shit, I can't move a muscle!

The demon lord, sensing my sudden vulnerability, seized the opportunity to strike. With a chilling laugh, he gathered the remaining remnants of the forest's power and unleashed it in a torrent of natural fury. Vines and roots snaked toward me, binding me tightly and leaving me defenseless.

…

Both sides were eerily even. It was almost as if one side was limiting their power to the other in order to draw out the fight. This caused extreme exhaustion throughout Findir's entire fighting experience, but with the help of his opponent's training, he pushed himself past his limits. 

But, mental strength can only take you so far. 

[HP: 478/500 MP: 0/250 SP: 21/300] - Above Human

On top of activating his throne world twice and using so many of his skills repeatedly, Findir's mana was being drained at an unhealthy rate. Yet, the euphoria of revealing his true form and finally going all out caused him to subconsciously ignore this normally uncomfortable process. 

[Mana Sickness] 

[Mana sickness is a debilitating and mystifying ailment that befalls those who push their magical abilities to their absolute limits, leaving them with completely depleted mana points (MP), which are the reservoirs of magical energy within a mage or spellcaster. It is a condition of great concern among those who wield the powers of magic, as it can leave individuals in a state of profound physical and mental distress.]

Those afflicted by mana sickness experience an overwhelming sense of fatigue as if their very essence has been drained. Simple tasks become arduous, and even the most mundane activities can be a struggle.

A clouded and confused mental state sets in, making it difficult to concentrate, recall spells, or make rational decisions. The afflicted often find themselves struggling to focus on even basic thoughts.

The body's physical strength wanes and even the simplest of movements can be a challenge. Lifting an object or walking a short distance can become a daunting task.

Intense headaches, often described as throbbing or piercing, are common symptoms of mana sickness. These headaches can make it difficult to think clearly and exacerbate the overall discomfort.

Many individuals with mana sickness experience dizziness and may even suffer from bouts of nausea and vomiting. This further compounds the exhaustion and weakness they feel.

For spellcasters, it's not uncommon to see their magical abilities go haywire during an episode of mana sickness. Spells may fizzle, misfire, or have unintended consequences.

Severe cases of mana sickness can lead to hallucinations, as the lines between the magical and the mundane blur. These hallucinations can be terrifying and disorienting.

Recovery from mana sickness can be a slow and painstaking process. Rest, hydration, and nourishment are vital to replenishing one's mana points and restoring overall well-being. Magical practitioners often seek the assistance of healers or other experienced mages to accelerate their recovery.

Preventing mana sickness is of paramount importance to those who rely on their magical abilities. This involves responsible and measured use of magic, along with maintaining a healthy lifestyle. Mana management, adequate rest, and maintaining a balanced diet all contribute to minimizing the risk of succumbing to this potentially crippling condition.

And the demon lord was well aware of this. In fact, this entire time, this is what he was aiming for. He wanted to get rid of all the mana within Findir's body, leaving him a crippled mess that can only succumb to one thing: a replacement of mana and miasma. 

Currently, the system implanted within Findir's body didn't fully recognize the miasma that had replaced pretty much all of his mana. This was apparent as he still had an MP stat when he should have had no mana… but this was due to various reasons. 

But the main reason being, the miasma within his body was impure. Since this miasma was traveling through and being filtered by the miasma core, previously a mana core, it was still being grazed with excess mana within his body. This was further accentuated by the fact that he evolved which is a systematical process that NEEDS mana. 

But what if your body is incapable of creating or filtering mana? Well, it takes mana from the atmosphere around you and forces it into your body. And with this, Findir's body was ravaged with mana once more. 

"I am the liberator, the liberator is I," Mammon started to chant, enchanting white runes beginning to swirl around his being as Findir plummeted to the ground. The only reason why he came out hardly injured was due to the layers of vegetation on each tree, breaking the momentum with haunting ease. "Throne World…" 

Even though Findir couldn't hear him, he instinctively heard those words. Each cell in his body was seemingly being lifted away, carrying him to his feet and forcing his body into a fight-or-flight state. His breathing: was rapid, his lungs: quaking, his heart: pumping ferociously, his blood carrying so much adrenaline that even his own thoughts began to warp upon creation. It was a horrifying feeling. 

"... Overgrown Jungle of Sensikism."

A second throne world. Something unheard of under the heavens and even in the depths of hell. But, under the watchful eyes of purgatory, and advocating voices of the fallen, one can unchain their mortal shackles. 

…

(Mammon POV) 

The jungle is the only place I could call home. Above hell and thriving within the overworld did I learn the way of humanoid creatures. Talk, dialect, writing, reading, communicating, fighting, studying, cooking, baking, expressing emotions… all of it was taught to me by her. 

I remember the time we first met. In human years I'd say she was about ten years old. So was I, but she was much more mature, advanced, and competent than me. Even though we were both the same age, she was just better. 

With ebony skin, reminiscent of the rich earth itself, pointed ears like sharpened knives, and eyes like shimmering amethysts, she stood in stark contrast to the dark and often brooding reputation of her kin. Her hair cascaded like a river of midnight, adorned with intricate, bejeweled braids that caught the faintest glimmer of light.

This young dark elf was a beacon of light in a world of shadows. Her laughter was like a tinkling cascade of bells, echoing through the cavernous halls of her underground home. She was constantly in motion, her small feet barely touching the ground as she danced through the corridors, spreading cheer like a wildflower in a desolate landscape.

Her exuberance knew no bounds, and she greeted each day with the same unwavering enthusiasm as if she held the secret to perpetual joy. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity, and she was always eager to learn about the world above, a place she'd only heard tales of from the older elves.

Despite her radiant demeanor, she was no stranger to the challenges her people faced. She was a testament to resilience, her spirit unbroken by the shadows that surrounded her. She possessed an innate ability to see the beauty and wonder in the smallest of things, a quality that drew others toward her like moths to a flame.

This dark elven child, with her radiant heart and boundless cheer, was a reminder that even in the darkest corners of the world, a beacon of light could emerge, proving that joy and hope could thrive, even in the most unlikely of places.

She soon invited me to her humble abode, but first, there was the jungle. It was practically a  living, breathing entity. It was a place of untamed beauty and raw power, a testament to nature's resilience. As I was introduced deeper into its heart, I marveled at the lush, evergreen canopy that stretched high above, creating a mesmerizing mosaic of sunlight and shadows.

Massive, ancient trees, their trunks twisted with time, stood like sentinels, their roots forming natural bridges over babbling streams and small cascades. Vines and colorful flowers adorned every surface as if the jungle itself was an artist's painting with vibrant hues.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, blooming blossoms, and the fragrant herbs that the dark elves cultivated in their small, hidden clearings. Birds of every shade and size sang melodious songs from their lofty perches, and the chittering of unseen creatures provided a constant background symphony.

But the jungle wasn't just a place of beauty; it was also a realm of wonder and danger. Lurking amidst the foliage were creatures both majestic and fearsome. The eyes of prowling jaguars gleamed in the shadows, while massive, rainbow-feathered serpents coiled in the trees, a reminder that danger was never far.

The village, hidden within the jungle's embrace, was a tapestry of interconnected treehouses, their wooden platforms linked by rope bridges. The homes were adorned with intricate carvings and tended gardens, a reference to the dark elves' deep connection with the land. Each dwelling seemed to have grown organically from the trees themselves, harmonizing with the jungle's wild spirit.