Shattered Sovereign

I read through the cascade of system prompts flooding my vision, each message appearing and vanishing in rapid succession as the ancient framework struggled to process something it had seldom encountered before: the birth of a new god. The text scrolled faster than human eyes could follow, but my enhanced perception caught every detail as reality itself rewrote the rules around me.

The first significant prompt materialized with crystalline clarity:

I absorbed the ability's description with growing understanding. This power would let me forge weapons directly from my own flesh and blood, transforming my very substance into implements of war. The realization struck me as this explained how the Prophet had created Arctur's impossible red spear. That weapon hadn't been crafted in any traditional forge; it had been born from the Prophet's own Primordial flesh, shaped by will alone.

Another prompt flashed:

The ability promised access to a dimensional vault where countless weapons could be stored and summoned at will. But before I could fully process this new power, warning messages erupted across my vision.

The system paused, processing for several heartbeats that felt like hours. Then:

This new ability merged the best aspects of both powers. Arsenal would allow me to store not just weapons but also the raw materials needed for their creation, all within the same interdimensional space. More importantly, I could now use Assembly within that realm, crafting weapons from stored materials in the space between spaces.

The next prompt confirmed what I suspected. My construction ability had evolved beyond mere machinery. Where once I had needed minutes or hours to build complex devices, I could now forge weapons with the speed of thought itself. Swords, spears, bows, siege engines… any instrument of war I could imagine could spring into existence within mere moments.

A final prompt appeared.

The final prompt revealed the mystery behind the Prophet's Voiceless army. I understood now how those crimson warriors had come into existence. According to Mobilize's description, I could create soldiers from any base material: soil, wood, stone, even metal. The prompt emphasized that stronger materials would yield more powerful troops, which explained everything about the Prophet's situation.

He had been trapped in that volcanic caldera for a century with only one material at his disposal: the endless grains of black obsidian sand that blanketed the Central Hellzone. The Prophet had transformed that volcanic glass into his Voiceless army, shaping each grain into soldiers of living stone. If those creatures could achieve such formidable strength from mere sand, I could barely fathom the power of troops forged from auric steel.

The possibilities stretched before me like an infinite armory. I could craft battalions from steel, legions from mythril, entire armies from materials that had never been tested in warfare. Each soldier would possess the inherent properties of their construction material, creating specialized forces for any conceivable conflict.

After the final prompt faded, my status screen materialized with drastically altered information. My race still read "Dirtborn," but where "Monster" had once appeared, now it displayed "God" in bold letters. My level showed "N/A," indicating I had transcended the System's numerical limitations entirely.

The most startling changes appeared in my attributes. Strength, endurance, dexterity, intelligence, wisdom; all displayed the same message: "Limitations Removed." The System no longer bound my capabilities within artificial constraints. I had become something beyond its original design parameters.

I dismissed the cascading prompts and examined my transformed body. My system stats weren't the only things to have changed. The godseed's hatching had shattered my war frame completely, leaving twisted fragments of auric steel scattered across the obsidian battlefield. I had emerged like a newborn deity breaking free from a mechanical chrysalis, the frame serving as nothing more than a discarded shell.

My fundamental anatomy remained partially unchanged. My head, black hair, neck, left arm, and upper chest retained the same pale white flesh that had marked me since awakening. The damaged portions (those ragged red edges that had once defined my incomplete form) had regenerated into something far more complete.

A new torso had grown from the previously ruined flesh, svelte and smooth with perfect symmetry. My chest remained featureless, lacking the biological markers of either gender, while my flat belly showed no navel. I had never been born in any traditional sense, so such details held no relevance to my existence.

Where my right arm should have been, a massive crab claw now extended, its serrated edges promising devastation to any enemy. The shell possessed the same pristine white coloration as the rest of my body, but its size and vicious design spoke of pure predatory function.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Instead of human legs, six crab-like struts now emerged from my lower half, each one articulated and powerful enough to support my transformed frame. These limbs moved with fluid precision, adjusting automatically to maintain perfect balance across the uneven obsidian terrain.

Two jagged white spikes had erupted from my back where the old wounds once marked my incomplete state. These protrusions matched the bone-white coloration of my crab appendages, completing my transformation into something that perfectly blended divine authority with mechanical precision.

I flexed my new claw experimentally, watching the serrated edges catch the Hellzone's ambient light. Despite its fearsome appearance, it felt… wrong. This wasn't me, not truly.

I examined my new claw more closely, expecting to find the organic ridges and natural curves of true crustacean anatomy. Instead, what I discovered sent a thrill of understanding through my divine consciousness. The appendage possessed no organic qualities whatsoever.

The surface that had appeared to be carapace revealed itself as pristine white metal, polished to a mirror finish. Where a real crab's claw would show natural growth lines and chitinous segments, this limb displayed deliberate mechanical engineering. Hinges connected the major segments with perfect precision, while the wrist joint operated on a sophisticated ball-and-socket design that would allow three-dimensional rotation far beyond biological limitations.

Thin lines traced patterns beneath the metallic surface like veins beneath skin, but these carried mana instead of blood. I could perceive the intricate network of channels that distributed magical energy throughout the appendage, parallel to hydraulic lines that would provide the crushing force necessary for combat. The entire structure represented a fusion of magical engineering and divine craftsmanship that no mortal smith could replicate.

The realization sparked a memory of my newly acquired ability: Internal Forge. This power allowed me to create weapons from my own flesh, but the description had been incomplete. If I could form weapons from my body, then those weapons became extensions of myself, didn't they? They weren't separate tools to be wielded; they were integral parts of my own anatomy.

I stared down at the mechanical claw and concentrated on changing its form. Despite possessing the ability for only minutes, activating Internal Forge felt as natural as breathing had been for Vardin. The transformation began immediately.

White metal flowed like liquid mercury, each molecule responding to my will with perfect obedience. The stubby claw elongated, joints realigning and reconfiguring as my divine essence reshaped itself according to my desires. I formed a clear mental image of what I wanted: a fully articulated arm terminating in a gauntleted hand designed for both precision and destruction.

The metamorphosis continued with mesmerizing fluidity. What had been a crude crushing implement stretched and refined itself into something elegant yet deadly. The arm maintained the same pristine white coloration as the rest of my body, but its proportions now matched human anatomy while retaining obviously mechanical origins.

The gauntlet formed last, each finger emerging as a sharp-pointed talon capable of piercing even the most sophisticated armor. When the transformation completed, I flexed my new digits experimentally. The articulation felt smoother than my mechanical prosthetic did, with joints that moved without friction or resistance. Every movement flowed with precision enhanced by divine power.

The success filled me with exhilaration. So long as what I envisioned qualified as a weapon, I could reshape my body to accommodate it. This ability transcended simple tool creation; it represented fundamental control over my own form.

My attention turned to the six crab-like legs supporting my lower body. These appendages felt wrong, too rigid and inflexible for my preferences. I had grown accustomed to the serpentine grace of my war frame's tendrils during months of combat. Those appendages had moved like living creatures, writhing and striking with fluid coordination that no static limb could match.

I began the transformation immediately, using memories of my destroyed war frame as the template. The stiff crab legs responded to my will, their mechanical structure flowing and reshaping. Rigid segments became flexible joints as the appendages elongated into the familiar sinewy tendrils I preferred.

Three additional tendrils emerged from my lower torso, restoring the nine-appendage configuration that had served me so effectively. Each tendril grew to its full length, white metal flowing into the familiar thickness and flexibility that allowed both crushing power and delicate manipulation.

The final touch required creating the dragon heads that had become my signature weapons. This time, however, I drew inspiration from the Apocalyptic Dragon whose defeat had elevated me to godhood. Instead of the simple fantastical dragon-headed designs I had used previously, these heads would honor the creature that had inadvertently granted me divine ascension.

White metal flowed into the distinctive elongated skull shape, complete with the swept-back horn clusters and intelligent eyes that had marked the ancient beast. Sharp teeth emerged in perfect rows, designed to tear through any material that dared resist them. Each jaw could open wide enough to engulf a human head, with bite force sufficient to crush steel.

The completed tendrils writhed around my transformed body like living creatures, each dragon head moving independently as they surveyed our surroundings. Their sharp-toothed jaws snapped at the air experimentally, testing their range of motion and mechanical precision. The sight satisfied me immensely.

I had recreated myself as something beyond the limitations of both flesh and simple machinery. This body represented the perfect fusion of divine power and mechanical engineering, shaped by will alone into the ideal form for my new role as the God of Weaponry. Every component had been designed for war, yet retained the flexibility to adapt to any combat situation I might encounter.

I turned my attention to one of the towering obsidian pillars that had survived my battle with the Apocalyptic Dragon. The spire stretched thirty feet into the sulfurous air, its surface scarred by ancient volcanic forces but still intact despite the devastation surrounding it. With nothing more than a focused thought, I activated Assembly.

The transformation began immediately. Where once I had needed careful planning and deliberate construction techniques, divine power now flowed through me with effortless precision. The obsidian responded to my will like clay in the hands of a master sculptor, its molecular structure reshaping itself according to my desires.

Black volcanic glass flowed upward and outward, the pillar's height collapsing into width as I redistributed its mass. The rough, jagged surface smoothed itself into perfect curves while maintaining the material's inherent strength. Within moments, the thirty-foot spire had become something entirely different: a massive circular shield, fifteen feet in diameter and perfectly balanced despite its impressive size.

The obsidian's surface polished itself to mirror perfection without any conscious direction from me. The transformation felt as natural as breathing had once been for Vardin, each molecular adjustment flowing seamlessly into the next. When the process completed, I found myself staring at a shield that could have deflected the breath of the dragon I had just slain, its reflective surface capturing the Hellzone's ambient light like captured starfire.

I approached the obsidian mirror and gazed upon my transformed reflection for the first time. The being staring back at me stood twelve feet tall, a fusion of divine majesty and mechanical precision that defied easy categorization. My appearance had evolved beyond the incomplete fragments I had been since awakening.

My upper torso retained humanoid proportions, svelte and graceful without the bulky musculature that marked mortal warriors. The chest remained perfectly smooth and featureless, neither male nor female but something transcendent of such biological limitations. My skin maintained that pristine white coloration, unmarked by scars or blemishes, as if carved from the finest marble by a master artist.

Two arms extended from my shoulders with elegant symmetry. My left arm remained bare, its pale flesh gleaming like polished ivory, while my right terminated in the white metallic gauntlet I had crafted moments before. Each finger ended in a razor-sharp talon, yet the overall design maintained an almost artistic beauty despite its obvious lethality.

Long black hair cascaded from my head in waves, framing an androgynous face that possessed an otherworldly serenity. My features balanced masculine strength with feminine grace, creating something that transcended human concepts of beauty. The combination felt appropriate for a being who had never possessed gender in any traditional sense.

Most striking was the white metal mask that covered my eyes, its surface as smooth and featureless as polished porcelain. The design reminded me of the crude disguise I had crafted in Weath so long ago, but this version emerged from divine power rather than desperate necessity. The mask had formed spontaneously during my transformation, apparently responding to some subconscious desire for concealment or protection.

My lower half bore no resemblance to human anatomy. Nine thick tendrils of white metal emerged from my torso where legs would normally be, each one moving with serpentine fluidity as they supported my elevated form. These appendages writhed constantly, never remaining still, their movements creating hypnotic patterns as they shifted my weight and adjusted my position.

At the terminus of each tendril, a mechanical dragon head snapped and tested the air with predatory hunger. Each were perfect replicas of the Apocalyptic Dragon's skull, scaled down but retaining every detail of the creature's fearsome majesty. Sharp teeth gleamed within each jaw, ready to tear apart anything that dared threaten me.

The last of my inhuman features were the two white spikes of metal jutting from my shoulders. They added a fearsome touch to my already semi-monstrous appearance. They were like two malformed wings emerging behind me, half-formed and non functional.

I studied my reflection with growing satisfaction. This form represented everything I had been meant to become: not the broken fragment that had awakened in the Lodrik Hellzone, nor the makeshift construct that had struggled through the Academy, but something complete and purposeful. The various influences that had shaped me (Machalaziel's ancient power, Vardin's memories and knowledge, the System's constraints and my own experiences) had finally harmonized into a unified whole.

For the first time since awakening, I felt genuine peace settle over my consciousness. The constant sense of incompleteness that had driven me forward for almost two years had finally vanished, replaced by quiet satisfaction. I was no longer shattered remains trying to rebuild myself; I was exactly what I had been destined to become.

I turned away from the obsidian mirror and gazed across the Hellzone's endless expanse toward the enclave. Drawing upon my Mind Sight, I focused my perception across the vast distance separating me from my destination. Now that the System's limitations no longer constrained my abilities, I could push my mental vision far beyond its previous boundaries.

The volcanic mountain materialized in my consciousness as if I stood at its base. What I saw there filled me with cold fury. Over a thousand human soldiers had established an enormous camp around the enclave's perimeter, their cooking fires adding black smoke to the already polluted sky. Siege equipment dotted their formations while banners bearing various kingdom insignias fluttered in the sulfurous wind.

Worse still, enemy forces had already breached the enclave's defenses. Soldiers poured through the eastern gates in organized formations, their weapons gleaming as they advanced through streets that had once offered sanctuary to the dispossessed and desperate.

I activated Mind Speech, reaching across the distance to contact the Voiceless Prophet. The unfamiliar method of communication required concentration, but soon I felt an alien yet familiar consciousness touch mine.

"Shard of Vardin?" the Prophet's mental voice inquired before quickly correcting himself. "No. You are complete now. You are Vardiel."

What news of the assault? I asked, my mental voice carrying both authority and urgency.

"The enemy controls much of the city, but the children - both yours, mine, and the others' - keep them at bay. But their two champions thwart us at every turn. One is a force of nature, a whirlwind of death that cuts down any who step forward. The other turns our fallen against us, the children attacking their siblings that still breathe."

The description confirmed my fears. Sedna the Dervish and Coln the Hand of Death had brought their legendary abilities to bear against the enclave's defenders. One specialized in pure destruction while the other corrupted the dead into weapons against the living.

I will be there soon, I assured the Prophet before severing the mental connection.

I surveyed the desolate battlefield around me, calculating travel time. Conventional movement would require weeks to traverse the Hellzone and reach the embattled enclave. Yet I had witnessed gods employ instantaneous travel, both Vardin and Kaldos demonstrating such abilities before me. The knowledge of how to accomplish this feat rose unbidden in my consciousness, the Mantle of Armament providing information as needed.

Three of my tendrils lashed out suddenly, their dragon heads snapping at what appeared to be empty air. Yet their teeth found purchase on something invisible, reality itself yielding to their divine bite. As my appendages pulled with increasing force, space and time began to tear like fabric under stress.

The rent widened as I applied more pressure, reality splitting apart to reveal what lay beyond. On the other side of this impossible wound in existence, I glimpsed the enclave's familiar cobbled streets and black buildings.

I dismissed the System prompt with barely a thought. The ability functioned exactly as I had expected, confirming what I had observed from other gods. With my path opened, I moved toward the spatial rift, my tendrils carrying me forward with deadly purpose.

The time for restraint had ended. Those who threatened my creations, my companions, and the sanctuary I had helped build would face the full wrath of the God of Weaponry. I would show them no mercy.