Episode-936
Chapter : 1871
"System," Lloyd commanded internally. "Engage filtration protocol. Separate the noise from the signal. Compress the raw mana into a physical vessel."
The grey roots carried the energy down to the floor and then up through the soles of Lloyd’s boots. It traveled through his body, not as fuel, but as raw material. Lloyd acted as the conductor. He directed the torrent of power down his right arm, forcing it into the palm of his hand.
He activated his Void Power. A small, spinning sphere of grey gravity appeared in his palm. This was the mold.
He poured the siphoned energy into the sphere.
The process was violent. The air around Lloyd’s hand distorted, rippling with heat and static electricity. Sparks of gold and black lightning arced from his fingers, striking the stone floor and leaving scorched marks. The sheer density of the mana was enough to crush a normal human's hand, but Lloyd’s Aegis Suit reinforced his bones, and his will held the energy in place.
He compressed the energy. He squeezed it down, forcing the chaotic waves of magic to stabilize. He stripped away the madness, the hunger, and the personality of Rubel, leaving only the raw, potent fuel.
Slowly, a shape began to form in his hand.
It started as a swirling ball of liquid light, but as the pressure increased, it solidified. The light hardened into matter. The abstract energy became a physical object.
When Lloyd finally opened his hand, the siphoning stopped. The roots holding Rubel went dormant, leaving the traitor hanging limply in his cage, gasping for air, stripped of everything that made him dangerous.
In the palm of Lloyd’s hand sat a fruit.
It was roughly the size of a pomegranate, but it felt as heavy as a cannonball. The skin of the fruit was a masterpiece of accidental alchemy. It was a deep, glossy black, like polished obsidian, but beneath the dark surface, veins of brilliant, molten gold pulsed rhythmically. It looked like a golden star trapped inside a shell of darkness.
The fruit hummed. It emitted a low, dangerous vibration that made Lloyd’s teeth ache. It was warm to the touch, radiating a heat that the sensors in his gloves registered as critical.
Lloyd lifted the fruit to his face, inspecting it with his analytical gaze. The data stream scrolled rapidly across his internal visor.
[Item Analysis Complete]
[Name: Condensed Spirit Fruit (Grade: Calamity)]
[Composition: 40% Sovereign Ferrum Essence, 60% Refined Abyssal Mana.]
[Effect 1: Immediate restoration of all Mana and Stamina reserves.]
[Effect 2: Forces a 'Limit Break' on the consumer’s Spirit Core. Highly volatile.]
[Warning: Consumption by un-attuned entities may cause the subject to explode.]
"A volatile battery for a desperate situation," Lloyd muttered to himself. "Perfect."
He turned away from the sobbing, broken form of Rubel. The traitor was no longer his concern; Rubel was just an empty husk now. Lloyd’s attention shifted to the other side of the room, where the real cost of the battle lay.
Ben, the Ironwood Sovereign, was on the floor.
The scene was grim, but Ben was not weeping or begging for help. He lay curled on his side, his body wracked with tremors, but his single eye was fixed on his own ruined limbs with a look of hateful, analytical fury.
The "Rust Blood" attack had done terrible work. Ben’s prosthetic limbs—the mechanical arms and legs he forged through his own mastery of Steel Blood—were locked solid. The magic that powered them had been eaten by the rust. The metal was pitted, dull, and immovable.
Lloyd walked over to him, the heavy metallic boots of his Aegis suit crunching on the debris. He knelt beside his rival.
Ben’s face was grey, coated in a layer of sweat and grime. Dark veins were spreading up his neck—the sign that the rust curse was starting to attack the iron in his own blood. His organs were shutting down. He looked like a tank that had been left to rot in the rain for a century.
Ben sensed Lloyd’s approach and dragged his gaze upward. There was no gratitude in his expression, only a sharp, wounded pride.
"Stop staring, General," Ben rasped, his voice a wet rattle of gravel and phlegm. "I'm running a diagnostic. The oxidation rate... it’s faster than my density shift. My Sloth spirit is stalled. I can't freeze the reaction."
"Your engine is flooded, Ben," Lloyd said softly, his voice devoid of pity, speaking soldier to soldier. "Your organs are shutting down. You're dying."
Chapter : 1872
"I know," Ben snapped, coughing up a speck of bloody foam. "I can calculate my own mortality rate, thank you. Just... give me a hand up. If I’m going to die, I’m going to do it standing, not curled up like a rusted hinge."
"You're not done yet, Lord Ironwood," Lloyd said, his voice firm. "We still have to walk out of here. And I am not carrying your heavy ass."
"I don't think... I have a choice," Ben murmured, his eye flickering as his consciousness wavered. "My core is empty. I can't... I can't force the steel to move."
"Don't you dare give me a tragic final speech," Lloyd snapped. The sarcasm was gone, replaced by the intensity of a commander refusing to lose a valuable asset. "You are the Ironwood Sovereign. You don't rust. You forge. You survived Earth. You survived the trenches. You aren't dying in a basement."
Lloyd held up the glowing, black-and-gold fruit. The light from the object illuminated Ben’s pale, furious face.
"Listen to me, Ben," Lloyd said. "Rubel stole the potential of our family. He stole the power that should have protected the North. I took it back. But I can't use it. My core is Void; this is Spirit. If I eat this, it will just dissolve."
Lloyd pressed the warm fruit against Ben’s cold, rusted metal hand.
"But you," Lloyd continued. "You possess Sloth. Your spirit controls Stasis and Density. This fruit is pure Sovereign-grade fuel. If you eat this, you won't just heal. You’ll have enough density to crush this entire mountain."
Ben’s fingers twitched. He felt the heat radiating from the fruit. It scared him. It felt dangerous. It felt like holding a live grenade. But more than that, it felt like power.
"It feels... volatile," Ben whispered, his analytical mind assessing the risk. "Unstable isotope."
"It is," Lloyd agreed. "It’s the anger of a betrayed family condensed into mana. It’s a bomb, Ben. And I need you to be the casing."
Ben looked at Lloyd. He didn't see a savior. He saw a rival offering him a weapon. Lloyd wasn't offering him magic out of charity; he was offering him a tactical solution because Lloyd needed a heavy hitter. That, Ben could respect.
"Give it here," Ben growled, forcing his frozen fingers to close around the fruit. "If I explode, I'm taking you with me for suggesting this."
"Deal," Lloyd said. "Eat it. Finish what your father started at the forge. Don't let a traitor like Rubel have the last word. Take his power and make it yours."
Ben looked at the fruit. He thought about his father. He thought about the forge. He thought about the humiliation of lying on the floor while Lloyd cleaned up his mess.
He forced his rusted metal hand to his mouth, the joints screaming in protest.
"Trust the chef," Lloyd whispered.
"The chef is a lunatic," Ben muttered.
He opened his mouth and took a bite.
The moment Ben’s teeth broke the skin of the Spirit Fruit, the reality inside the Inner Sanctum shifted violently.
It wasn't merely a flavor that hit his tongue; it was a sensory overload that bypassed his taste buds and struck directly at his central nervous system. It tasted like raw, concentrated ozone—like licking a high-voltage cable wrapped in honey and dipped in liquid gravity. A thick, burning fluid flooded Ben’s mouth, sliding down his throat not like food, but like molten lead pouring into a mold.
Ben’s body reacted instantly to the intrusion of such volatile power. His back arched violently off the cold stone floor, lifting his heavy, rusted armor into the air as if he were being pulled by invisible strings. His single remaining eye rolled back into his head, showing only the white, as his brain struggled to process the sudden influx of Sovereign-grade mana.
A guttural, animalistic scream tore from his throat. It wasn't a scream of fear, but of profound, cellular reconstruction.
BOOM.
A shockwave of heavy, grey energy blasted outward from Ben’s core. It was a physical force, kicking up the dust on the floor in a perfect, expanding ring. Lloyd Ferrum, standing ten feet away, had to brace himself, his Aegis suit servos locking down to keep him upright against the sudden gravitational pressure.
Inside Ben’s dying body, a microscopic war was being waged.