Path of Dragons - A LitRPG Apocalypse (BOOK TWO ON KINDLE SEPT. 2)

A deep gloom hung over the skeletal forest, casting the barren trees in flickering shadow. Only the scarcest glimmer of light penetrated the darkness from above, which, rather than providing much-needed illumination, only served to create a more malevolent atmosphere.

Elijah stood at the edge of the forest, his heart beating wildly as he clutched a ridge of stone at the mouth of the tunnel. He’d been subconsciously following the sense of corruption for some time, though he only now understood the full breadth of the truth staring him in the face.

There was a rift nearby, and one that seemed far stronger than the one he’d found in the middle of Central Park. The corruption itself didn’t seem any thicker, but it was far more ubiquitous, and in a way that made his skin crawl. He’d yet to even enter the forest, but he already felt dirty.

He’d once worked to help clean up after an oil spill. The disaster itself wasn’t as widespread as some more high-profile events, but even then, it was an ecological tragedy. For his part, he’d been tasked with cleaning birds who’d become coated in the vile substance. The process was tedious, and they ended up losing more than they’d saved, but as Elijah felt the corruption wash over him, he felt like one of those poor birds.

It was like he was coated in oil, and he didn’t have a kind volunteer to meticulously clean it away.

The forest itself was dead. He knew that from the second the first tree had come into range of Soul of the Wild. There were no animals – corrupted or not – around, either. Elijah wasn’t certain what that meant, but he knew that he had a responsibility to do something to remedy the situation.

If not as a resident of Earth, then as a Druid.

So, he stepped forward, summoning his scythe to hand. The ground gave way beneath his foot. It was like treading on rot incarnate, and the oozing remnants of decayed life squished between his toes. Never before had he wished he’d worn real shoes, rather than the simple wraps that left his toes bare.

His foot came away with a wet squelch that seemed to echo in the eerie silence that had overtaken the forest. He paused, sure that something would respond. But there were no attacks. No angry Voxx. Just more silence.

As Elijah lay his hand on one of the trees, it crumbled like soft charcoal, filling the air with dusty blackness and more corruption. In a second, it was gone, leaving nothing behind.

It was nauseating, like the very life had been sucked out of it. No ethera remained either. Nothing to suggest that it had ever really been alive.

He proceeded further into the forest, careful not to brush against any of the other trees. In a way, it reminded him of walking in the wake of a forest fire. But even those had left life behind. This was something different. Something far, far worse. And as much as Elijah wanted to stay on track, he needed to find the source.

It was his duty.

After a couple of miles, Elijah encountered something different but ultimately expected. He knelt, running his fingers along the black tendrils of corruption. They were thick and pulsed with malice and hunger, ready to consume anything they contacted. Even as Elijah withdrew his hand, he felt them trying to drag the life and ethera from his body.

But he was no passive or innocent tree, and he maintained the integrity of his own system without issue. He stood, taking a deep breath before he continued toward the center of the forest, where he knew precisely what he’d find.

A few miles later, the ground was practically covered with those thick black vines. They writhed, ready to consume anything they could find. Elijah avoided them where he could, but after a while, he realized that he could progress no further without treading upon them.

He chose another tactic.

His Mantle of Authority burst free, spreading the boughs of his soul in every direction. He didn’t use the generic version of the mantle. Instead, he let it take shape according to his essence, and in doing so, he bathed the area in vitality while eradicating all corruption.

With every pulse of his ethera, the tendrils of corruption withered. However, they did not go out without a fight. They writhed, often erupting into the air and searching for something to consume. He allowed them no purchase, funneling great torrents of ethera through the branches of his soul. In doing so, he destroyed the abyssal tendrils.

It would not last, though. Elijah knew that. And as powerful as his Mantle of Authority was, it was far too small to affect more than a tiny fraction of the fallen forest. If he truly wanted to do some good, he needed to reach the center of it all and conquer the rift that was the source. Only then could he get down to the business of cleansing the effects.

With that in mind, he slowly carved a path forward. The tendrils rebelled. They tried to fight back. But his Mantle of Authority was too potent to be denied, and in his wake, he left a withered swathe of wasted wickedness.

Then, at last, Elijah saw his goal.

And he was floored to realize that there wasn’t a single rift there. Instead, there were three, arranged in a roughly equidistant triangle. Alone, none of them were as strong as the rift he’d encountered in Central Park, though the gap wasn’t as wide as he would have liked. And their collective power far exceeded that singular rift.

Seeing that, Elijah had no difficulty imagining why the forest had so thoroughly fallen.

As he stood before them, Elijah took a second to prepare himself. From an equipment standpoint, he was already as prepared as he could be. His Vespid Raiment glistened, new and largely untested. The set was powerful enough, and as Griff had demonstrated, extremely durable. However, what really interested Elijah was the attribute bonuses. Briefly, he recalled the description he’d received when he’d taken ownership of the set:

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