The cerberus launched forward with its claws aimed directly at my throat. The beast was far too strong to try and block or redirect the attack, so I was forced to roll away. Finding my feet, I jumped forward, slashing my spectral sword in a downward arc. The blade bit into the shoulder of one of the heads, eliciting a deranged growl from the beast as its three heads tried to bite me. Stepping back, I only narrowly avoided it, spittle flying in my face and stinging my eyes in the process. Although from an outside perspective it may have seemed that I had the advantage, that was far from the truth. Every movement drained me of energy, as I strengthened my muscles just to maintain a similar pace to the beast. Without it, I would have been dead long ago.
My muscles burned from the strain, but I had no choice; this was do or die, and I'll be damned if I die to some dog. The mana in the air grew static as its glowing red eyes burned with a brighter intensity. Fire blossomed from its throat as it shot out in a large ball aimed directly at me. Mana left my body as I formed my soul into a dome surrounding me. It blocked the brunt of the fireball, but it was incapable of withstanding its full force. The fireball struck me in my midsection, breaking through a part of my spirit armor and leaving a nasty third-degree burn on my stomach. The fireball was only a distraction, though, as the cerberus was waiting for my shield to break before pouncing at me; its claws slashed my face. Leaving four deep gashes running sideways along my face across my left eye. If I had not stepped back in that moment, I would have been dead.
My heart was thumping in my chest with increased speed and velocity, and my face burned from the wounds. Blood was leaking into my eye from the wound, limiting my vision. I made two spear-like constructs of soul mana and sent them directly into two of its heads. There was a sickening squelch as the spectral spears dug into flesh. Blood is spraying from the wounds. I quickly dissipated the spears to conserve energy and to open the wounds so the blood could flow freely. The claw marks on my face never stopped bleeding, causing me to begin feeling lightheaded. Damnit! I need to finish this boss monster quickly so I can get this wound treated. But it was not that simple; this was a boss from an E rank rift close to the Zulu lands.
My gift was still in its infancy, and I had closed a weak rift before, but I had nowhere near enough energy to unlock my second aspect ability. Or at least I didn't until my damn uncle's so-called training. This was the third E rank rift he has made me close within the last week. To be frank, I am utterly exhausted, but what choice did I have? I only had another 5 months before my conscription, and I needed to sort out my business before then.
The Cerberus, now down to only a single head, was no less dangerous. Without its two other heads, it had perfect control of its body. Its movements were no longer clumsy and easy to dodge. Greater Cerberuses did not have this issue, but they only start appearing in B-rank rifts. This was forcing me to draw more on my dwindling supply of energy. But as they say, fortune favors the bold, so I took a risk. I pretended to trip over a rock while avoiding a lunge, making the hound think that I was distracted. Causing it to pounce on going in for a deadly bite that would have taken half of my torso. In the last moment, when it was only a meter away from me with the last of my energy, I summoned a final spectral spear that pierced through the back of its mouth straight into its frontal lobe. The hound fell dead on me, pinning me under its heavy body.
By the end of the fight, I was breathing heavily. In no small amount due to the large dead dog crushing my body with dead weight. Also, from the adrenaline finally leaving my system, I felt every scrape, scratch, and bruise on my body. Greedily taking in the few gulps of air that I could, I gathered the last of my strength to push the corpse to the side, finally freeing myself.
When the dog died, a pulse of energy was sent throughout the entire rift. Some of that energy travelled directly into my core. A strange feeling blossomed from my diaphragm as my core finally reached its next rank. A system message flashed in front of my vision.
[Your gift Asura's Wrath has reached E rank. A new aspect of your gift has been unlocked. Aspect 2: Wrath's Judgement - Summons the asura's wrath in physical form. Produces spectral flames that burn the sinners with the Asura's scorn.]
I was so shocked after reading the message that my mind did not register the pain still lancing through my body. Everything inside of me screamed for me to test it out, mana exhaustion be damned, I had to know. Sitting upright, I channeled the mana in my body, activating my new ability. And sure as shit, there it was, a blue and black flame that was all too familiar. The blue was unique, but the unmistakable black flame of the Whither family was floating above my hand. So they threw me away for nothing.
I had all but given up on truly being seen as a worthy scion of the Whither line. Without the family gift, I was nothing but an imposter, yet here it was. As mesmerising as I remembered it. While lost in the flames' beauty, I did not notice as the last of my mana ran out and the fire flickered from existence. The properties of the black flame were strange; they were neither hot nor cold. It did not feed off oxygen; instead, it fed off life force. This caused the afflicted to
wither away. It was a large part of the origins of my family name. But my own flame was different, and I was unsure how this change would affect its properties. With great effort, I took out a knife to start dissecting the corpse. A E rank boss monster was sure to have not only a valuable core, but its fire gland could be used in alchemical explosives. The knife cut through sinew and flesh before reaching the core at the center of its diaphragm. While the fire gland was within its throat muscles.
Covered in blood, dirt, and grime, I finally left this cursed terrain. My head was pounding from mana exhaustion, while the blood loss only made it worse. My wounds demanded attention as I hobbled to the exit of the rift. A wave of vertigo hit me as I was displaced from reality, appearing once again in the outside world. Sipho was sitting at a table set up outside of the rift playing cards with a few Zulu warriors. But they dropped everything and rushed towards me when they saw the state that I was in. There was no strength left within my body when they finally arrived. I did not pass out this time, which was a plus. But there was absolutely nothing that I could do. I could barely move a finger, let alone walk, the 3 km back to the Zulu village. Unfortunately, that burden fell quite literally on Sipho's shoulders as he carried me back to the village. The constant up and down movements made me start feeling nauseous.
The healing salve they applied to my wounds stopped the bleeding but did nothing for the pain or blood loss. I just lay there being carried across Sipho's shoulder's watching as the trees passed by. It was late summer, turning into autumn, so the leaves were already starting to lose color. The cool breeze on my face was a pleasant distraction from the pain. During the trip back to the village, my mind wandered back to the past month of strenuous training. When the training first started, we mostly went through the theory of soul magic and practiced using it in various forms. I spent most of that time with the village elders, thinking back to how crudely I used my gift in the past made me cringe. But after a week of theory, I was put back into Mandla's hands. He was a firm believer in the teaching method of throwing you in the deep end in hopes that you would learn to swim.
In the beginning, it was bearable; he made me clear F-rank rifts one after the other. When he realised that they were not much of a challenge for me was when the real hell started. We started the day with a sparing session. If you have ever sparred against a grandmaster, you would know the feeling of utter insignificance in the face of such a powerful warrior. Uncle Mandla was one of the few grandmaster Warrior Shamans within the African continent. Needless to say, I was utterly obliterated within those sparring sessions. Even when holding back, he far outclassed me in speed and power. But I could see the advantage of the training. It made me used to fighting opponents of a higher degree than my own. Forcing me to think before acting rashly, as a single mistake could lead to death.
And in the afternoons, he made me clear E-rank rifts solo; usually, people clear rifts in groups of five or more. But my uncle made it explicitly clear that I would not have that type of support. In almost every single one of those rifts, I walked the line between life and death. Whether it was my own pride or arrogance, it did not allow me to die. Not before I proved to myself and the world that I was worthy of my name. A sigh of relief escaped my lips now that the hellish training was finally over. Although the training was very beneficial, it did not make it any less inhuman. For the first time in weeks, I wasn't fighting for my life. Maybe that was reason enough to celebrate.
"Yo, cuz," I spoke, trying to get Sipho's attention.
"Yeah, what's up?" He asked while walking. We had gotten far closer in this last month.
"What say, you and me head to the city tomorrow?" I asked. I really needed a break.
"You're not shitting me, right?" His voice showed his skeptical excitement even when he tried to hide it.
"Nah, bro, I'm dead serious. I have not been clubbing in a while, and I really need a break." I already knew that he would accept.
"Well then, of course I'll go with you." The skepticism left his voice replaced by eager excitement instead.
We arrived at the village half an hour later, and Sipho took me directly towards the village healers. Where they made quick work of healing my wounds, they were not true healers, of course. Instead, they had made a pact with a certain type of spirit that gifted them the minor ability to heal. It was not a perfect fix, but it was enough. I stood shirtless in front of the mirror in my room, staring at my reflection. My once unmarked flesh was now riddled with many scars. A large burn scar was present on my midsection. The most prevalent scar by far was the four claw marks across my left eye. I hardly recognised myself in the mirror. Gone was the arrogant teenager with far too much anger inside. In his place stood a defiant young warrior, and even if I have to say so myself, I looked quite imposing.