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

I'm so fucked, Thalion thought, heart pounding like war drums. The specter wasn't giving up. It clung to him like death's shadow, its ghastly wings slicing through the air in relentless pursuit. No matter how fast he flew or how sharply he turned, it stayed on his tail. His lightning domain didn't even register the ghostly attacker. That fact alone made his stomach tighten.

He needed a way to fight back, but in this form, he had none. The idea that he might die without a single injury chilled him. Not because of pain or fear, but because it would be so final. One hit from that cursed specter and it could be over, no wounds, no warning. His regeneration wouldn't save him, and he doubted even his bloodline ability could mend a shattered soul.

To make matters worse, he still hadn't found a way to injure Ankhet. Every attempt had been shrugged off or redirected, and now the necromancer was preparing something new. Dark energy pulsed around him like a heartbeat, growing in intensity. Thalion wanted to strike, but the specter was closing in, closer than ever. He risked a glance back and saw it unraveling slightly, its form wavering like smoke in a high wind. But not fast enough.

Lightning crashed across the chamber floor, hammering Ankhet's shimmering shield. The resulting thunder echoed like cannonfire in the enclosed space, shaking loose dust from the ceiling. Thalion knew he had to act fast. He couldn't keep this up. Eagly had done his job, he thought grimly. Time to change the game.

With a surge of will, he shifted back into his human form. The storm that raged around him began to die, and the azure flames gave way to crimson flames once more. The oppressive heat returned, wrapping the chamber in a red, flickering haze. He locked eyes with the specter and activated Crimson Gaze. The ghost's form buckled, its cohesion breaking apart even more. Perfect. It worked.

Thalion had a theory—his gaze could interfere with Ankhet's mental attacks, possibly even weaken them. It wasn't much, but it was enough. The specter was now barely holding together, sluggish and slow. With no time to waste, Thalion fired three Blood Thorns toward Ankhet, who was still floating midair with eyes closed, deep in concentration.

Without hesitation, Thalion followed behind, shifting into Mistform, a blur of blood-red vapor streaking after his projectiles. If the thorns landed, he would follow up with Red Slashes, using the fear enchantment of his armor to tilt the battle further in his favor.

Unfortunately, the thorns shattered uselessly against Ankhet's bare chest. His robe had burned away, revealing skin as hard and lifeless as stone. His entire body bulged suddenly, muscle swelling grotesquely beneath his skin. He looked like he'd gained eighty kilos of raw, shimmering power. That same ghostly substance from the specter now coated his limbs—his body was becoming its own weapon.

Thalion cancelled Mistform mid-flight, but he was already too close.

Ankhet's fist came down like a falling star.

Thalion barely raised his arms in time. The impact was catastrophic. He was launched downward like a wrecking ball, a shockwave blasting through the air. He hit the ground hard, bones groaning, pain rippling through his limbs. It was a miracle nothing had broken. He rolled instinctively, softening the landing as best he could.

Ankhet descended like a meteor, transformed into a monstrous boxer. Every punch sent shockwaves through the floor. The chamber trembled beneath the fury of each blow. Thalion didn't hesitate. He shifted into the Crippled Eclipsari—a twisted but stronger form. For raw strength and durability, it was his best shot.

He now stood slightly taller than the undead brute—an advantage, albeit slim. Ankhet lunged, fist drawn back in a devastating overhead arc. Thalion rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a crater where he'd stood a moment earlier. Ghostly energy exploded from the impact, and even after dodging, the force shoved Thalion back.

But now he had the darkness.

Black lighting licked across his skin only to be devoured by the abyssal aura rising from his flesh. The pain vanished into the void. With a roar, he charged, shadow claws erupting from his fingers. He slashed at Ankhet, who responded with another punch.

The impact shook the chamber, but this time it was Ankhet who reeled back.

Thalion had anchored himself using shadow tendrils coiled around the stone floor. The explosion of force didn't move him an inch. Without pause, he lunged forward again, appearing directly in front of the stunned undead and striking at his midsection.

His shadow claw connected—solid, clean—and Ankhet was hurled backward into a pillar with a thundering crack. Yet the damage was superficial. That cursed shimmer—a second, illusory skin—absorbed the full force of the blow.

Still, Thalion didn't hesitate. He was already in motion, dashing after Ankhet, determined to keep the pressure up. No more waiting. No more running.

Thalion had the advantage in raw strength by default—but Ankhet held the upper hand in something far more lethal: experience and mastery. With skills honed over millennia and the unnerving composure of the undead, Ankhet was more than a match. Still, in their current forms, there were no esoteric soul attacks or twisted concepts—just brute force.

Neither of them had managed to deal serious damage yet. Thalion's strikes hadn't left a mark, and while Ankhet's blows were monstrous, they hadn't broken through the Eclipsari's enhanced resilience. Not yet. But Thalion was certain—maintaining that monstrous form had to come at a cost. Even if Ankhet's skin remained unbroken, the internal impact had to be building.

Then, without warning, Ankhet surged forward, propelled by his now-massive wings—something Thalion had failed to notice until it was too late. Their clash came midair. This time, Ankhet came out on top. He ducked beneath Thalion's shadow claw and drove a punch directly into his liver. The explosion that followed hurled Thalion backward with brutal force.

Before Thalion could recover, Ankhet seized his one remaining arm and yanked him forward, spinning around to suplex him with the power of a falling meteor. The impact shattered sent Thalion's vision reeling. With a grotesque howl, Ankhet followed up by launching Thalion like a cannonball across the chamber. His chitin armor cracked in several places, and though his regeneration kicked in instantly, he could feel the toll—his health had dropped to sixty percent.

Above, Ankhet beat his wings once and soared over twenty meters into the air. Dark energy coiled around his fist, pulsing with barely-contained destruction. Then he dove. Thalion was still sluggish, reeling, and rising wouldn't happen fast enough. Ankhet grinned—a crooked, grotesque smile full of jagged teeth.

Thinking fast, Thalion exhaled a thick cloud of black miasma, hoping it might obscure Ankhet's vision—though he doubted it would work. Still, it bought him a moment. He activated his bloodline ability and blinked—appearing just behind Ankhet mid-dive, flame-form igniting as he channeled energy into his blade.

Ankhet crashed into the spot where Thalion had lain moments before, confusion flickering in his eyes. Before he could turn, Thalion struck.

He brought down a massive greatsword of black flame, forged entirely from black fire, the air screaming as the weapon tore through it. With all his strength, Thalion slammed the blade into Ankhet's back and skull—and detonated it.

The explosion was cataclysmic.

Flame and fury tore through the chamber, walls shaking, dust falling in thick clouds. It was the same technique that had once killed both Nathaniel and the vampiress. A signature finisher. But when the dust cleared, Thalion's heart sank.

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Ankhet stood.

Almost untouched.

A faint red gash traced across his back, the only mark left by Thalion's strongest attack. His body remained intact—no shreds, no exposed bone. He had tanked it. The skill hadn't been fully charged. Thalion simply hadn't had the luxury of time. Still it wasn't enough to injure Ankhet.

But there was something: Ankhet's buffed form was beginning to flicker. His breath came in ragged bursts, and he trembled, struggling to stay upright. Thalion immediately shifted back into his Crippled Eclipsari form—flameform drained his mana far too quickly, and unleashing that attack had left him with barely fifteen percent remaining.

Falling toward the ground with no safe way to land, Thalion activated Umbral Spire. A massive spike of black shadow erupted from beneath the kneeling Ankhet, slamming into his skull like a titan's fist. It didn't pierce his skin, but it rocked his head back violently.

As he dropped, Thalion used a shadow tendril to pull himself safely to the floor. He didn't cast any more spells—he needed every drop of mana. Still, the hit had done more than expected. Ankhet remained on the ground, twitching, limbs refusing to obey him. His body spasmed like something else had taken control.

Good. No mercy.

Thalion blurred forward.

He descended upon the fallen necromancer like a beast—punching, kicking, clawing, even biting. There was no elegance in his assault. It was pure brutality. Ankhet tried to block, but his defense was sloppy, uncoordinated. Thalion didn't hesitate. He raked his claws across the undead's throat, grabbed his head, and drove three powerful knees into his skull in rapid succession.

It was absurd that Ankhet could still endure this onslaught—but he did.

Undeterred, Thalion seized Ankhet's legs, swung him in a wide arc, and smashed him into a nearby pillar. Again. And again. Stone cracked. Dust flew. The chamber trembled from the sheer ferocity.

Whatever was happening to Ankhet, it was interfering with his control. Thalion could feel it. Every hit disrupted something—a chant, a binding, a possession perhaps. He didn't care. He just kept slamming.

The fluctuations in Ankhet's form grew worse. His movements became erratic, spasmodic. His face twisted, shifting expressions rapidly—rage, confusion, pain. And then, for a heartbeat, Thalion saw it: the color of one of Ankhet's eyes flickered to a bright, unnatural yellow.

Something was happening inside him.

"NOOOO!" Ankhet screeched, his voice soaked in hatred and raw fury.

A massive shockwave burst from his body, hurling Thalion backward like a ragdoll caught in a hurricane. Still dazed but partially recovered—his strength now at roughly thirty percent—Thalion forced his battered body to shift back into human form. As he did, the entire chamber flared red; the black flames that once danced along the walls transformed into vivid, pulsing crimson.

Then, everything happened at once.

The Sanguis Impera, sensing Ankhet's faltering control, reacted. Thorned vines erupted from Thalion's torso, lashing toward the necromancer like bloodthirsty serpents. At the same time, Thalion summoned the Blade of the Blooded Templar into his right hand, its crimson edge burning with battlelust. Without hesitation, he charged forward. The distance between them was still over fifty meters, but his eyes locked onto his target like a predator on the hunt.

While sprinting, he activated Crimson Gaze and unleashed the fear effect bound into his armor.

Ankhet's head snapped back, his eyes widening with dread. He recognized the aura. It mirrored his own—a twisted echo of fear laced with soul-rending intent. As the vines reached him, they searched for weaknesses in his fluctuating defense. His skin was bulging, distorting unnaturally, like it was ready to rupture from within.

Thalion closed the gap fast, sword raised, ready to strike.

But then—it happened.

Ankhet's body detonated.

The explosion ripped through the chamber with devastating force. The shockwave hit Thalion mid-charge and launched him backward like a meteor. He flew across the entire length of the chamber and slammed into the wall—over fifty meters off the ground—with bone-breaking force. Crimson vines snapped around him, cushioning the blow, but even then, his armor cracked, his ribs groaned, and something in his back gave way.

Pain thundered through his body.

He fell like a marionette with its strings cut—limp, broken.

But the Sanguis Impera endured. It did not lose consciousness, nor did it register pain. Vines emerged once again, catching him mid-fall and gently lowering him to the floor. He could feel them working inside him, weaving through broken bones, knitting tissue, especially around his spine and neck. Healing was underway.

When he finally lifted his head, Thalion saw Ankhet hovering ten meters above the scorched ground where he had once lain. The ghostly energy that had cloaked his body had vanished—his monstrous form undone. He had reverted to his normal self... but something was off.

His head jerked from side to side like a puppet caught in a storm, erratic and twitching. His left eye now gleamed a vivid yellow—there was no mistaking it. Something had taken hold.

"NOOOOO!" Ankhet roared again, this time weaker, his voice distorted—two tones speaking in unison, as if another presence had joined the scream.

A smaller shockwave rippled outward, barely strong enough to disturb the dust. It was clear, though—whatever had possessed him, it had been driven back for now. Ankhet slowly turned his head toward Thalion, his movements disjointed, puppet-like.

His aura had weakened considerably.

His left arm, in particular, seemed disconnected from his will—moving on its own in erratic gestures, as if conducting a phantom symphony. Smooth one moment, then sudden and spasmodic the next. Ankhet ignored it entirely. He only had eyes for Thalion now—burning with absolute hatred.

Thankfully, that chaotic interlude had bought Thalion enough time. His body was mostly healed, and he had downed a healing potion to accelerate the process. Normally, he would have used his blood to assist, but the Sanguis Impera was already working internally. He didn't want to interfere. The current healing speed was good enough.

Ankhet slowly descended back to the ground, looking more stable, but far from whole.

Thalion rose as well, legs still heavy with strain—but steady enough. Their gazes met. Without hesitation, Thalion activated Crimson Gaze again, locking eyes with the weakened necromancer.

This time, nothing happened.

The feedback from his title confirmed it: Ankhet had resisted. But more importantly, he had weakened—significantly. Thalion's own recovery was progressing quickly, and for the first time, the momentum of the battle tilted in his favor. He just needed one more moment—one more window to restore his strength and gather his remaining energy.

Ankhet took a shaky step forward—but his left side buckled. He staggered, almost collapsing, his teeth clenched and his brow furrowed in frustration. Then, without warning, two ghostly apparitions peeled away from his body and sprinted toward Thalion. Simultaneously, Ankhet raised his functional right hand skyward. A soul materialized within his grasp, thrashing violently.

Thalion's stomach dropped.

"...Ah, shit," he muttered, watching what was about to unfold.