Behemoth [Primordial Titan Cultivation/LitRPG]

Prince Cyril's first reaction was visceral disgust, like the first time he found maggots squirming in a chunk of meat. And, admittedly, it may have shaken some of his delusions of grandeur regarding his ability to take on a wyrmhorde.

No wonder the one with the high earth affinity had dragged him down here. He would have made a rich meal for the youngest of the horde. Well, given the size of this particular swarm, more of a tasty snack.

For now, they held back from the source of such sudden violence, though some of the more adventurous monsters squirmed in his direction.

Cyril resisted the urge to focus on adding additional Mass. Making himself heavier would have diminishing returns, slowing him in exchange for s bit more resilience.

Time to try his hand with Earth qi.

Since he was still in the Early Condensation Stage, the energy within his core remained pure. With a conscious effort, he circulated a large portion into his spiritual channels and aspected it with Earth. The transformation occurred as naturally as breathing, and it surged through his body like his own lifeblood.

In his mind's eye, the Earth qi was dark brown, solid and unyielding, yet tinged with a lively green. Like lichen clinging to stone. Without a Cantrip to guide its form and function, it was beholden to his imagination and willshaping capabilities. That color felt the most natural to him

Fortunately, he was above-average at energy manipulation relative to his peers. The downside was that his tribe practiced with Sun qi.

Once energy took on a particular form, it adopted many of the strengths and weaknesses of its respective element. Light and fire behaved much differently than Earth. While the Reinforcement Cantrip synergized with a broad spectrum of energy types, trying to infuse Flicker with Earth qi would make for a terrible light source.

Despite these limitations, Earth qi was far from useless. It resonated deeply with his soul, almost as much as it did in its purest form. When experimenting with a new Dominion, many people found that their aspected energy would react with other active enchantments and techniques--either corrupting an opposing element or attempting to fuse with a congruent one. Cyril's Earth qi obeyed his will completely, not even flickering when it came in close proximity to his Mass-infused Reinforcement.

Deep breaths. Focus.

Some of the larger wyrmlings had begun to venture over. No telling how many were already undulating his way beneath the surface of the cavern.

Cyril waved his arms around him, expelling Earth qi from the palms of his hands. It solidified upon contact with the external world. Swirls of stone hovered in the air as if he had painted them on the fabric of reality. They formed a half-finished chrysalis around him, his fleshy body exposed through the gaps.

He interlaced his fingers into a basic mudra, spreading both palms wide. Earth qi surged out, building atop of the existing framework until he was encased in a sphere of stone. Oppressive darkness settled over him.

After a moment, he added a few small holes to breathe through. Not yet pleased with his additions, he poured more Earth qi into the spherical barrier. Stalagmites burst out along its length, ranging in size from a thumb to an outstretched arm.

And not a moment too soon. The structure shook ominously as the first wyrmling crashed into it. Smaller tremors followed soon after as the monster spasmed, impaled upon the spiked exterior.

Another impact rocked the spiked cocoon. Then another. And another. Fissures formed all around him. Loose stones broke off and pelted his face. Despite being anchored to the ground, the sphere began to shift backward, its foundations cracking under the weight of the swarm.

Cyril flooded the cocoon with more qi. Death essence sparked into existence as the first wyrmling was destroyed, crushed between the expanding stalagmites and its brethren's fury.

How to distribute the new power? Keep working towards the Dominion of Gravity, or funnel it into Earth while praying the slight improvements to his makeshift bulwark outscaled the pressure from the horde?

The distraction almost cost him. The biggest impact yet shook the entire cocoon. If not for his Reinforced Mass he would have been sent flying. He grunted as a huge section of the front collapsed in on him, a half-ton of stone and enraged wyrmling bearing down on his head and shoulders.

Roaring, he shoved as much Earth qi out in front of him as possible. A battering ram of stone manifested from his outstretched palms, casting the burden aside. This column carried with it the full-fledged sandwyrm that had broken through his defenses; it grew twenty paces until it pinned the monster to the nearest wall with a resounding crash.

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Cyril coughed, rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand. The rubble had opened tiny nicks all along his face and neck. At least his clothing remained impeccable.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Another wyrmling crashed against the back of the cocoon and elicited another host of cracks. Waves of Earth qi billowed out, filling in the gaps and reinforcing the base.

Another wyrmling died. Another. Unable to see much through what was increasingly feeling like his sarcophagus, Cyril sent his still-active Flicker Cantrip toward the pinned adult wyrm. He knew the ethereal flame had made contact when the vibrations in the cavern intensified slightly from the wyrm's spasms. Turning their sensory tricks against them brought a savage little grin to his face.

The pressure on the stone cocoon only grew despite his small victories. He braced his feet into the ground, pushing against the sides in an attempt to bulwark the crumbling structure. Energy poured out from his core even faster than the Titan could replenish it.

He poured death energy into enhancing his Dominion of Earth in a panic. The counter ticked up: 16/100. 20/100. 23/100. As it did, the quality and efficiency of the aspected energy improved. The drain on his core reached an equilibrium.

Cyril took the upper hand, especially when the wyrm succumbed to Flicker. Its essence contributed an entire tenth to the Sphere's advancement. Hope blossomed in Cyril's chest as new layers compounded onto the barrier. Stalagmites extended outward until they broke against the adjacent walls.

Almost none of the swarm possessed basic intelligence, or even much of a survival instinct. They ground themselves into paste against the barrier and one other. The stupidest ones impaled themselves on the stalagmites, misjudging them as the grasping limbs of another monster in their territory.

At this rate, Cyril was going to reach the Second Sphere of Earth in no time. Such an advancement would turn the tides in his favor completely. He nodded to himself, growing in confidence as the Dominion reached 62/100.

Then, silence fell over the cavern, save for the trickle of loose stone and the thrashing of wyrms in their death throes.

A ridiculous thought struck Cyril: had he killed them all? But that was impossible. His harvest had been bountiful, but the visible swarm alone would have been enough to fill two--or maybe even all three--of his Dominions in the First Sphere.

He felt the faintest rumble. That was all the warning he had before he was flung off his feet, the spiked mass he had constructed sheared from the surrounding earth like a pebble whisked away in a tidal wave.

Confusion. Darkness. The world rushed around him. Pain throughout his entire body, like half of his skeleton had shattered despite his Reinforced Mass. He protected his head with his arms as he was flung end over end; each impact against the sides of the stone cocoon added a new note to the agony.

The Flicker Cantrip vanished, its connection severed. He had been thrown out of cast range—and quickly. The realization was almost as bad as the pain.

Cyril braced himself.

The world exploded around him as the cocoon smashed into the ground--but not until it had traveled several hundred paces. Fragments of exploded stone tore chunks of flesh from his body. He tumbled across the ground, curled into a ball and still protecting his head, certain that he would be torn apart.

Miraculously, he held together. Mostly.

He rolled to a stop. Threw up from the disorientation, from the sensation of leaving streaks of flesh along the ground behind him. Instinctually, he Reinforced himself with more Mass; it did nothing to fill the absence of his flesh, but what remained felt more firm, more solid.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to his feet. The dribble of blood sounded terribly loud in the sudden silence. What..what the hell hit me?

Heart pounding in his chest, Cyril summoned a Flicker of pale flame. The ethereal luminescence cast his shadow out into a gangly titan.

It also illuminated his surroundings, revealing the ruins of a building. Ancient, unfamiliar design, but its white marble skeleton radiated faint whiffs of divinity.

The temple of a lost civilization? Traces of such people littered the world. Behemoth had circled the world of Sangra many times; few societies persisted long enough for him to still sense them after completing a loop. No doubt the world contained far more ruins than it did populated areas.

Cyril gulped the stale air down greedily. The insane thought occurred to him that the discovery had probably advanced his Dominion of Knowledge quite a bit.

All silly thoughts and hopes died as a figure slithered into the outskirts of Flicker's luminescence. The harbinger of the cavern's silence.

At first, he thought it was a small child riding on top of a wyrmling. The lower half looked about right, sheathed in wicked bronze scales that protruded at a slight angle. As its sinuous body propelled the monster forward, the wrongness of its upper half became more evident.

A humanoid torso sprouted from the tail-end, drooping at its misshapen waist as if bowing over and over to a crowd of admirers. A trio of arms branched out in unnatural directions, one from each shoulder and another in place of its head.

Cyril froze. An Ascended Sandwyrm? Or Half-Ascended, at least, since he doubted it had merged with a heavenly spirit.

Such an abomination should not be permitted to exist. Even the wyrmhorde was an unconscionable oversight from the tribes, allowed to thrive in human-dominated territory. One headed by a Half-Ascended Wyrm would unite every tribe until its complete annihilation was assured.

It couldn't have been too old. Its failed metamorphosis into a humanoid form signaled it must be at the earliest stages of its power. Still, it took centuries for such an abomination to manifest a true core--especially from a race of monsters renowned for their self-destructive, mindless nature.

As unimpressive and deformed as it appeared, this wyrm was what had struck him and sent him flying.

Cyril steeled himself and banished all doubts. The abomination must have overcome and devoured thousands of its kin to reach this point. Somewhere in its life, it had encountered enough humans to attempt to transform itself into one as its mind approached consciousness. None of them had survived to raise the alarm. Until now.

Cyril wiped blood from his chin with the back of his hand. As a desert prince, eliminating such threats was his duty. He would see it through to the end.

Assuming a martial stance, he beckoned toward the wyrm.

In response, a vertical seam appeared in the humanoid torso, splitting it down the middle. Moist flesh peeled back, widening to reveal a cavernous mouth, ringed with teeth. Something about it made him certain that the abomination was smiling.