Third Implantation (23)

The massive hammer descended. This was it. The end of Vastarael Richinaria.

But then it didn't land.

Because a sapphire spike floated right above his head, causing a shockwave.

"Wha—"

A blinding beam of searing heat tore through the battlefield, slamming into Permafrost's chest and blasting him backward like a ragdoll. The hammer wrenched from his grasp, crashing to the ground with an ear-splitting boom.

He staggered, gasping, clutching at the steaming hole burned straight through his icy armor. His eyes darted wildly, searching for the source of the attack, only for his gaze to fall on the glowing remains of a Third Star Heat Circle etched into the icy ground beneath them.

Permafrost's face twisted in disbelief.

"What—?! Impossible!"

Permafrost immediately realized his plan. He had already created a Heat Circle beforehand. He positioned himself in the same place he cast it. Only Heat Circles could go against his ice. He wondered why he never used them since they fought.

Now he knew.

He anticipated the possibility of being frozen.

The ice encasing Vastarael shattered instantly, exploding outward in shards that glittered like dying stars. Steam hissed violently from his body as the frost melted away, his sapphire-encrusted form revealed once more, standing tall and unharmed. His golden eyes blazed with an intensity that made Permafrost freeze, not from his own ice this time, but from pure, primal fear.

Before the Divine could react, Vastarael closed the distance in an instant. His fist shot upward in a flawless uppercut, colliding with Permafrost's jaw with enough force to send shockwaves rippling through the air. The sound of bone crunching reverberated across the battlefield as the Divine's head snapped back, his body lifted clean off the ground.

But Vastarael wasn't done.

With a furious roar, he summoned a long, sapphire blade straight from his fist still on the Divine's chin, the crystalline weapon crackling with essence from all seven of his pseudo-cores.

He drove the blade upward, piercing straight through Permafrost's skull with horrifying precision, the blade emerging from his fist right to his chin up to the top of his head, piercing his brain.

Permafrost's scream was raw but it was cut short as the sapphire blade shifted. Vastarael's muscles bulged as he poured every ounce of his strength into it. With a sickening sound, he sliced vertically, cleaving Permafrost's skull in half from forehead to chin. Blood and frozen fluids sprayed in a grotesque arc, painting the icy ground in crimson and blue.

Permafrost's body twitched violently but Vastarael wasn't satisfied. His free hand shot forward, summoning massive sapphire spikes infused with the combined essence of all seven pseudo-cores.

The spikes erupted from the ground with a deafening crack, impaling Permafrost's mangled body from every angle. They tore through his chest, his limbs, his abdomen, ripping his form apart in a horrific display of mutilation.

With one final movement, Vastarael raised his foot and kicked Permafrost's limp body, sending it flying like a broken doll. It crashed into the icy ground, sliding several meters before coming to a stop, twitching weakly.

And then Vastarael turned his attention skyward.

A massive Plasma Circle spun into existence above him, glowing with a catastrophic intensity. Lightning-like tendrils of energy crackled outward from the circle, illuminating the battlefield in blinding white and blue light. Vastarael poured every last drop of his remaining essence into the Circle, the sheer force of it causing the ground beneath him to quake violently.

"Even though you're dead, I'm not taking any chances."

The Plasma Circle unleashed its fury. A colossal beam of pure plasma energy shot downward, engulfing Permafrost's mutilated body in an explosion of cataclysmic proportions.

The blast incinerated everything in its path, vaporizing the icy ground, shattering frozen mountains from shockwaves and reducing the very air to searing heatwaves. The shockwaves ripped outward, tearing through the landscape and leaving nothing but molten ruin in its wake.

Permafrost's body—if it could still be called that—disintegrated instantly. His flesh, bones, and even his soul were consumed by the plasma, reduced to less than ash. The once-pristine icy domain was no more, replaced by a smoldering, glowing wasteland of molten sapphire and charred earth.

As the light faded and the dust settled, Vastarael stood amidst the carnage, his body battered, bruised, and drenched in blood, not all of it his own.

His breathing was heavy, his golden eyes still glowing faintly as he surveyed the devastation. Despite his injuries, his posture was unbroken.

Permafrost, the Winter Labor, was no more.

[Congratulations! You have killed a Divine, Permafrost's Grasp!]

[You have killed a Divine.]

[You have performed a feat that is impossible for Ascenders. The Spire accepts you as its new master!]

[You have gained a new Codex from the Obsidian Runic Spire, Obsidian Towermaster!]

[You have gained a new artifact, the Frost Spike!]

Vastarael looked at the holograms and began laughing.

Vastarael's laughter echoed through the shattered wasteland. The holograms flickered around him, their glowing text cutting through the lingering haze of plasma smoke.

He ran a bloodied hand through his damp, white hair, smearing a mix of gore and frost over his face, but he didn't care. He had done it. Against all odds, against a foe that even the heavens might fear, he had emerged victorious.

His body twitched as his regeneration kicked into overdrive, patches of torn muscle knitting themselves back together with a sound similar to the tearing of wet fabric played in reverse.

The sapphire fragments embedded in his body receded into his skin, reforming into a crystalline layer as smooth as armor. His golden eyes shone brighter as his faint mist-like aura rising around him as he greedily absorbed the remnants of Permafrost's Soul Energy using Omniphage.

The change was immediate. His wounds, horrific moments ago, began sealing at a speed that defied logic. The shattered remnants of his ribs snapped back into alignment, his cracked skull restructured itself with grotesque precision, and even the missing flesh on his legs regrew in seconds, leaving only flawless skin behind.

Vastarael flexed his fingers experimentally, watching as raw power coursed through his veins once more. His stamina was restored almost instantly, his essence pools refilling at a staggering rate.

He clenched his fists, feeling the revitalized strength within them. The once-deadened exhaustion had evaporated, leaving behind an invigorated, primal energy that hummed through his very being. His laughter died down into a satisfied chuckle as he raised his head to the sky, his gaze sharp and full of intent.

"A feat impossible for Ascenders, huh? Seems like I'm not your average Ascender."

The land around him bore the scars of their battle. The battlefield was so utterly devastated it hardly resembled the icy domain it had been moments ago.

Molten craters replaced frozen cliffs. Charred earth stretched as far as the eye could see, and the scent of burning frost filled the air.

Vastarael walked forward, his boots crunching against the brittle, blackened ground. Every step he took radiated confidence, his form no longer the broken wreck it had been moments ago. His glaive, Calimostria, materialized in his hand. He twirled it lazily as though the weapon weighed nothing, his eyes narrowing in focus as he looked around.

He won by trickery and he knew that.

Permafrost was a Divine and letting his guard down was close to impossible. So he had to make himself lower his guard by making himself targeted and vulnerable. Only by making himself completely defeated would make him lower his guard for a second, which he used it to plant a blade in his brain.

And he had seen a lot of scenes in novels in his past life about people leaving bodies of their enemies behind. He wasn't going to let him come back to life no matter what.

As the spire's energy surged into him, Vastarael let out a sharp breath, his head tilting back as the power coursed through him like an electric storm. The holograms returned once more.

[The Obsidian Spire welcomes its new Towermaster.]

[Your essence has been harmonized with the spire's core.]

[You have gained control over the Obsidian Runic Spire.]

The flood of energy was intoxicating. It wasn't just strength; it was knowledge, ancient and forbidden, pouring into his mind like a torrent. He saw glimpses of the spire's history, the countless battles fought over its control, and the untold secrets it held.

But he couldn't understand it. It was like looking at a mathematical equation and know nothing about it. And yet, amidst all of it, Vastarael remained calm. He clenched his glaive tighter, his golden eyes now glowing with a fiercer intensity.

"Looks like you're mine now. Even though my Destiny is annoying, it does produce good rewards."

An obsidian portal appeared right in front of him. From the fragmented knowledge he got from the Spire, he knew one thing.

The portal led to the forty seventh floor, the uppermost floor of the Obsidian Runic Spire.

And that he would finally get the answers he needed.

He took a deep breath as he summoned his inventory portal. He took out a black hoodie and sweatpants and tore the remnants of the other ragged outfit.

He then drew a Clean Rune in front of him, producing a slight sapphire glow on his body, making him feel refreshed. Then he wore his new outfit and new boots. He was glad that he had a lot of clothes for himself.

He walked inside the obsidian portal, ready for what awaited him.