(Book 2 Complete!) Tales of the Endless Empire [LitRPG Apocalypse]

The entire chamber trembled as Ankhet unleashed his beam attack. The black ray widened to over a meter and a half, tearing through the translucent souls only Thalion could perceive because of his title. But as the beam passed through them, it grew into something monstrous. Before, it had been like a disciplined blade—now it roared like a superweapon, a deathstar's fury condensed into pure annihilation.

The air howled around the beam as it cut across the chamber, raking the stone walls with a thunderous screech. Vibrations rippled through the air and earth, a tremor of unnatural power that made Thalion's skin crawl. Hovering above, he watched in grim awe as the beam struck the far end of the chamber.

But it wasn't over.

The souls who charged by the beam, detonated. The explosion that followed dwarfed everything that had come before—a tidal wave of darkness and lightning erupted outward, a shockwave laced with black arcs of energy. Thalion acted on instinct. He teleported behind one of the ancient pillars bracing the ceiling, his bloodline skill flickering crimson. Even there, behind cover, black lightning licked at his body, singing armor and flesh alike. He grit his teeth through the pain.

What was Ankhet doing? This couldn't be a mere skill. No magic Thalion knew of could twist a soul into a weapon like that. These weren't just ghosts—they were forged torment, tortured spirits twisted into ammunition. And he had seen something like this before.

His thoughts reeled back to the ball of souls that once powered the resurrection pillar. Ankhet must have absorbed it. Was he now drawing individual souls from that sphere, converting them into bombs to fuel his attacks? If so, every blast had to cost him dearly. The screaming, hollow faces that had haunted that sphere… They looked just like the ones Ankhet summoned now.

And yet, despite the devastation, Ankhet remained untouched.

How was he shielding himself from the very shockwaves that Thalion could barely endure? There was no time to ponder the mystery further.

A ghostly silhouette appeared beside him. Ankhet's spectral form, wreathed in miasma, slashing with a clawed hand. Thalion's soul defenses—once impenetrable to witches and mentalists—shattered like brittle glass under the blow. Pain lanced through his skull as if his mind had been physically torn.

An instant later, the real Ankhet mirrored the same movement, his speed unnatural. Thalion's instincts took over. He had just kicked the specter, and now his foot crashed into Ankhet's chest. A brutal crunch echoed through the stone chamber as Ankhet was hurled backwards. Six hundred points of raw strength were not easily ignored.

But the victory was short-lived.

Thalion's right arm hung useless at his side, barely responsive. His fingers twitched but could not grip. The Blade of the Blooded Templar slipped from his grasp, clattering against the stone. With his remaining strength, he reached out with his left hand and returned it to his spatial ring, mere seconds before Ankhet could strike again.

This new technique was lethal. A mental assault bypassing armor and energy shields entirely. The only advantage Thalion had was his title, it let him sense the soul projection before the real body mirrored its movement. That delay, slight as it was, kept him alive.

Still, the phantom moved as though reality itself could not restrain it, twisting through the air with impossible speed. Thalion barely dodged, his body screaming in protest. He had no solid counter. But Sanguis Impera did.

Three blood-forged vines erupted from his left hand, lashing out like serpents. All three struck Ankhet, piercing flesh. The undead's surprise was brief—his blood began to flow, vines growing rapidly within his body like roots in fertile earth. But before they could take hold, Ankhet dissipated into black mist once more.

He reappeared fifty meters above the chamber floor, another tortured soul glowing in his hand.

Normally, teleporting with foreign matter inside one's body—especially parasitic vines—would be impossible. Not for Ankhet. He bent the rules as easily as shadows bend to flame. With a sneer, he crushed the soul in his hand, triggering another devastating explosion.

Thalion was already moving. He dove behind the same pillar, his right arm still limp, the smell of ozone and scorched stone thick in the air. The shockwave screamed past. Lightning followed like snapping whips, and the chamber descended once more into chaos.

Thalion's soul was mending at an accelerated pace, the Outsider's power stitching it back together. Yet, the process was incomplete. The spirit veins had been severed, and they needed time to realign and reform. His soulbody was already stabilizing, enough that his right arm would soon be functional again, though perhaps not at full strength. Still, it would be serviceable. The difference, he hoped, wouldn't prove fatal.

He hovered in hesitation, unsure of his next move. A transformation, however, seemed logical. As Eagly, his right wing did not have the soulshape of his right arm, and in that form, it should function without limitations. This was because of the size difference and the shoul shape of his right arm should be around his lower back. More importantly, it would give his soul time to recover. Before another ghostly specter could slash it into tatters, Thalion shifted with a flicker of thought.

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In a flash of light and wind, feathers erupted across his body, and he launched himself upward with Skydive and Tempest Glide, wings thrashing against the air like thunderclaps. Four powerful beats and he soared nearly a hundred meters, just beneath the ceiling. He banked right, activating a cascade of skills mid-flight.

Below him, Ankhet's expression twisted in surprise, eyes wide and teeth bared.

"You're a shapeshifter!" Ankhet roared, spit flying from his serrated maw.

The sorcerer had been channeling something, but the shock broke his focus. A moment's pause—precious and rare—and Thalion seized it without hesitation. He unleashed the full fury of Stormcaller's Fury, Thunderous Eye, and began charging a lightning beam, amplified by the crystal embedded in his chest.

The chamber trembled. A storm ignited above them—sable clouds swirling with arcs of azure lightning. The once crimson flames that had bathed the room now flickered blue, casting eerie shadows along the carved walls. The air snapped with energy, wind howling like a chorus of spirits. Thalion became a silhouette against the maelstrom but Ankhet's burning orange gaze still found him.

Ankhet snarled and raised his hands, channeling lightning of his own, only to be struck from above by a wild arc that tore through the ceiling. The blast hurled him downward, forcing him to beat his black wings furiously to recover. His eyes blazed with wrath as he conjured a dome of oily black miasma above his head, an umbrella against the storm's wrath.

But it didn't save him from the beam streaking toward his chest.

Too slow to dodge, Ankhet punched the incoming bolt, his fist wrapped in swirling shadows and something else. Thalion blinked. Was that a soul screaming and entangled in the strike?

The impact cracked the air. For a moment, it looked as if Ankhet had won out, but then the soul detonated, releasing a shockwave that surged toward Thalion. The lightning beam dulled it slightly, but the force still hurled him sideways. He twisted in flight, feathers catching the wind, and narrowly avoided the brunt of the blow.

His soul, almost fully mended now, pulsed with restored strength. A few spirit veins had even reformed. Back in human form, he might be able to use his right arm again. But for now, he stayed as Eagly, darting across the chamber, pelting his enemy with relentless strikes. He never flew in a straight line—always circling, dipping, weaving—hoping to make himself a harder target.

So far, the battle had gone... tolerably well. One good hit from Ankhet, and it would be over. No regeneration could save him from a soul strike. Without his title, he wouldn't have even noticed the spectral form coming.

Speaking of which—another ghostly image stepped out of Ankhet's form, and this one was different. It wasn't tethered to its master. Thalion's suspicion was confirmed when the specter flapped its wings and launched toward him—Ankhet remained still, unaffected. Perhaps the soul attack was autonomous, a final executor meant to finish the job.

Thalion grimaced. That was a problem.

This specter was slower than the last, which gave him an advantage. He twisted into a wide arc, wings slicing the air as he built distance. Sparks danced across his body. A new lightning beam gathered while crackling violently, his horns conducting the storm's fury. Azure flames spiraled around him as the storm intensified, bolts raining down like divine wrath.

Ankhet, meanwhile, began conjuring something—a translucent spear forming in one hand, hazy and flickering with malice. While keeping a safe distance from the specter, Thalion loosed another lightning beam straight at Ankhet.

The sorcerer hadn't expected the sudden assault. At the last second, he crossed his arms defensively. The blast struck him hard, sending him skidding through the air. For the first time, Thalion landed a solid hit. The satisfaction lasted only a heartbeat.

Ankhet straightened, hissing with fury. Lightning sizzled harmlessly across his body, no wounds, no weakness.

With a howl of rage, he hurled the spear.

It sliced through the air with no sound, passing through the chamber wall like a ghost. Thalion dodged easily in eagle form but that only deepened his unease. Soul weapons like that didn't obey physical laws which would be a massiv problem in direct combat.

Ankhet, with all his strength, was a terrifying monster, perhaps weakened from death's grip, but still formidable.

He could already feel it, each time Ankhet used one of those tortured souls, something diminished in him. His power was finite.

If Thalion could survive long enough… dodge just one more strike, then another, and another… maybe, just maybe, he could win.