My entry into the deserted castle was unchecked, a free passage made possible by mine and Takt's joined efforts.
The battle raged outside, the ripples of energy from Takt's battle with Ingracia’s champion spread enough for me to sense them vividly. It was an odd sensation pressing down on my senses, a confusing amalgamation of what was familiar and what wasn't.
“It seems their battle is even for the most part…” Undeniable concern ate at my mind, an unnecessary sentiment to possess in a situation like mine.
I had a good amount of confidence in Takt's ability to come out on top, but at the same time I couldn't deny the not so minute possibility that he might lose.
My surroundings quivered as I released and contracted my energy, my preferred method for discarding distracting thoughts and muses.
I continued my walk towards the location of my goal, the unfamiliar layout posed no hindrance for someone like me. Accompanied only by silence and the faint pulsation of magicules, I observed the symbol of oppression I had sworn to crush.
The meticulously crafted and maintained masonry, the large and excessive scale of every structure within sight, the opulence of the furniture and decorations. All were undeniable motifs in the morbid artwork I called my life, a piece crafted by Ingracia's hegemonic drive for conquest.
My Unique skill [Chained].
A fitting joke at my expense, authored by the world itself. It was an eidolon of my current state, shackled and unmoving. Forever attached to bonds and mistakes long gone.
Alas, it was not in vain. With this skill, I will either shatter the yoke that binds me, or drag my subject of vengeance into bondage with me.
Following an unfamiliar but indisputably accurate route, I arrived at the end of my short journey.
“So you're the one spreading all that energy filled with malice. Much more gentle looking than I expected.”
More like an acknowledgement than a question, the beautiful woman before me spoke her thoughts. Her eyes bored into my soul, her very presence was a testament to the height she had reached in this world’s hierarchy of martial strength.
This woman was undeniably a True hero, and probably a holder of an Ultimate skill.
Lord Rimuru was very clear when he talked about Ultimate skills. Hearing of the existence of such power flipped my perceptions of what strength truly meant.
“All this about being free from the laws of the world and all sounds scary, I'm sure. But keep in mind they they're not unbeatable. Under certain circumstances, those with no ultimate skill can beat those who do have one. I feel like that might be possible for you, Daria.”
My destabilised emotions fell into place as I settled into a state of calm, suddenly the overbearing weight I had felt seemed trivial, my surroundings slowed and my soul quivered in anticipation of the battle to come.
Compared to Lord Rimuru, she suddenly wasn't intimidating anymore.
“Daria of the Pneuma clan, etch this name into the tablet of your soul. I will be the one to bring an end to this festering sore you call a Kingdom.”
I declared my intentions, every syllable pronounced with magical force behind them. The woman, smiled, her facial features melting into a confusing expression.
“Yela Londar. For both our sakes, do your best.”
At the next moment, I blacked out.
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YOU ARE READING
Archive Of Potentialities.
AdventureA description that covers all aspects of this fic does not exist, as it's essentially an amalgamation of various different short stories and oneshots, with the latter being a noticeable minority. Each has Rimuru Tempest (obviously) as its protagonis...
