Congratulations!

You have achieved Rank 10 in Arcane Weapons (Blaster Rifle!)

Arcane Weapons (Blaster Rifle) has achieved Journeyman Tier!

You now enjoy +2 to Finesse & +1 to Perception, as mastery over the battlefield means mastery over yourself!

For successfully slaying over 100 opponents on the field of battle with a Tier 2 Arcane Weapon in a single day, you have earned the Advanced Title: Arcane Sniper!

+5 to Quickness, Perception, and Finesse, and a +15% bonus in the efficiency and use of all sniper rifles & arcane weaponry means you’re able to lock on and eliminate your targets faster than all your competition!

You have shown yourself to be a necromantic prodigy like no other, having raised over 8000 souls from the dead in a single day!

Master Necromancer is now level 22

Master Necromancer is now level 23!

You have elected to evolve your Undead Legion Perk!

Undead Legion is now Tier 6! You may summon up to 3200 of your fallen foes to serve you in eternal unlife after any battle where your foes are dead or fled! At the cost of 500 mana, Call to Battle can now summon up to 1600 fallen soldiers to serve you, rising over a period of 1 minute or less, even in the middle of battle! (Hard limit: no more revenants may be raised than bodies that have been slain in any given battle).

Spirit Mastery has reached Rank 29.

Rituals of Summoning and Binding has Reached Rank 30!

Rituals of Summoning and Binding has achieved ELITE Tier Status!

You have chosen Tier III Path of Dominion (Without even considering any of your other options) as your Elite tier skill enhancement!

Soul Reserves, Arcane Potential, and Willpower have each gone up 9 points, symbolizing your continued mastery over the dead, and yourself!

Congratulations! You are among the first 5 Terrans in the Northeast Sector to Achieve an Elite Tier skill!

You now learn all skills 5% faster than you otherwise would!

You have achieved an Adept tier feat! 10,000 souls are now sworn to your eternal service.

(Note! Both perk title and stat boon for this feat have already been claimed by another! All necromantic classes are now open to you! - Note. You already have a maximum tier Master Necromancer class!)

You have achieved an Adept tier feat! You have successfully fielded 10,000 undead revenants in a single battle!

(Note! Both perk title and stat boon for this feat has already been claimed by another! All necromantic classes are now open to you! - Note. You already have a maximum tier Master Necromancer class!)

Sling is now Rank 12!

Journeyman Javelin Throwing is now Rank 21!

Boar Riding is now Rank 7!

Eric’s eyes lit up at the surge of power flooding his soul when he successfully achieved the Adept title he had gambled over a hundred precious charges he could never get back. And how sweet a boon it was to find out that he was right, that those goblins, with their Mark II Deathblaze sniper rifles had paid him back far more than they could have imagined, with boons of wealth, illicit treasures, and permanent increases to both his stats, and his Advanced Arcane Weapon skill. A very specific boon and not at all the focus of his class, but damn if he wouldn’t gladly take it all.

Yet even more remarkable was the surprising boon he received after advancing a skill all the way to Elite tier. And to earn what amounted to 3 Primal Adventurer levels worth of stat points with that singular achievement was beyond what even he had hoped for, making it clear that every tier tripled the bonus of the one before. And should he ever achieve a Master skill tier? He flashed a cheeky smile at the very thought, for all that his Interface was making it damned clear that just hitting Epic tier was beyond rare, that no more than 4 other people had achieved the feat before him.

His rate of learning was both magnificent and beyond absurd.

It seemed that Finesse, Perception, 12 nodes, and a surprising talent for Necromancy had all but maximized his Interface’s ability to download as much potential as was possible with every lesson learned and every kill flooding his psyche and soul with unbridled potential.

The sense of accomplishment he felt, having come so far, so fast, from a terrified boy just fighting desperately to survive under the noses of those massive brutes that had terrorized an entire city, to riding triumphant upon his two story high spirit boar to hound those now terrified orcs to their graves with over ten thousand undead troops now bound to his soul for eternity… was a rush like no other.

It was the ultimate strategy game, the ultimate campaign of conquest. Only instead of spending the rest of the evening joking with his friends over pizza and beer after they all had a good laugh at whoever had won… the winners of this game would be feted as kings and lords, showered in gold and glory. And the losers, far from laughing it off, would be on their knees in chains, sworn to serve or die before their ultimate lord.

Eric’s grin stretched wide, and for just a single halcyon moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like not just to conquer and release… but to actually rule.

A crown upon his head after crushing countless foes and competing Contenders with magic, necromancy, and flame, smiling coldly as he bathed in the love of an entire world full of kneeling supplicants who would be grateful to their merciful lord and master till their dying day.

It was a dark fantasy that filled his bitter heart with a sweet warm glow. And he might never know how dark a path he might have taken, had he not caught just a glimpse of his own expression in the mirror bright finish of his serpentine ring as he raised his arm high to spear yet another screaming orc struggling to outrun the herald of their doom.

He saw no monster. No hellish demon.

Just the too intense expression of a boy with fierce bright eyes and a desperate hunger underneath features that had indeed become strikingly handsome. Now completely unable to deny whose child he truly was. There was no mistaking the hunger in that gaze. The predatory intensity.

Just a single glimpse was enough for him to hiss and jerk back, his javelin missing for the first time all day.

Shaken to the quick to see none other than his mother’s eyes gazing back into his own.

“It is time for you to take what is yours, my son. It is time for you to lead our tribe to greatness. Death to our foes!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Eric snorted, angrily shaking away the shimmering fragments of his too lucid power fantasy daydream. And how stupid to have those in the middle of battle, he thought, happily shaking all thoughts of power-mad conquest out of mind.

Because the sweet, sweet boon he got for daring a crimson path all his own, drinking deep of the cup of endless potential every land promised, just couldn’t be beat. And he was both graceful and wise enough to leave a significant boon behind for all to enjoy as well. He would savor personal power that no foe could ever take without taking his head. Power that made the territories he had already enhanced all the harder for his foes to wrest free. And that was a boon no territorial power fantasy could match.

Besides, with Blue Corp in his corner, he’d get a fat 20% cut of all the profits his mercantile partners could squeeze from the territories he tossed their way, while leaving administrative headaches and the hassles of rulership to those far, far more suited to such roles than he.

He’d far rather level up and kill things than be forced to worry about budgetary hassles and middle-management headaches.

If there was one truly sour note, he thought, while his twirling sling hummed before he released with a snap and a fresh pair of fleeing orcs exploded, it was that he had lost out on not one but two titles, and both of them Adept Tier.

Which meant that one or more parties had already raised over 10,000 undead, and fielded that number in a single battle.

Which also meant that even on this glorious day, he was still behind the cutting edge, and he had no idea how badly he was being passed on the invisible ladders of ascension, as a Classer and Necromancer both. It also meant that the days of title poaching were inevitably coming to an end.

A chilling thought.

Not to mention frustrating.

For all he knew, he had left 40 stat points on the table.

But still, he thought, gazing intently at the still massive swarm of orcs he was happily herding through his sister’s lands, he couldn’t help but hope that there was room for at least one more title that he might claim that day.

As the interface itself had quite deliberately pointed out, he had already raised 8,000 legionnaires to his eternal service that day.

What would happen, he wondered, if he were to raise just two thousand more?

Of course, it was possible that someone had already managed that feat already. But perhaps not. And if there truly was a title, and it lay unclaimed… how the hell could he resist picking it up for himself?

Best of all, no matter what else happened… he’d still be up another two thousand legions.

But only if he acted fast. Acted NOW. Before the waning sun stretching the shadows of panicked orcs and implacable revenants finally kissed the horizon in truth, and this precious opportunity was lost to him, perhaps forever.

Two thousand enemy troops were about to slip out of his fingers and into the forest now less than two miles away. A force that still doubled the count of all surviving elves. A force he refused to ever let raise their banners or muskets against his sister, ever again.

And that’s when he got the message that he absolutely dreaded.

A message that changed everything.

Elonia Silver has surrendered Claimance upon Queensland!

Queensland is now in play!

“No, no, no, that’s complete bullshit!” he hissed as the orcs squealed, racing for the treeline now just a mile and a half distant, as if their lives depended upon it.

Because they did.

Somehow, one of the orcs found the strength to turn around and wheeze a declaration that shivered through the weaves of fate, altering fabric of reality itself.

“We surrender all Claimance!” The orc squealed.

Which was all that was needed for the mantel of power to squeeze tightly upon Eric’s soul.

All active contenders for Queensland have conceded or fled!

You have successfully conquered Queensland territory!

How do you wish to shape your realm?

“The fuck!” Eric hissed in equal parts disbelief and dismay. Sensing at that moment just how perilous, how precarious Queensland’s situation truly was.

A Lesser Bounty pulled and strained in ways inconceivable, beyond the pale, thanks to ritual, sacrifice… far too many sacrifices, and more than a bit of his sister’s essence. Perhaps even a bit of her soul as well

Instantly his head throbbed with the pressure of causality’s demands needing his full attention and focus… at the worst possible time. His Adept tier perk was now at risk of slipping out of his hands. Worse, there was no way he could carry on past the border. Not without utterly collapsing the probability wave that all of them now swam through, endless possibilities generated and discarded as demands were made, and a glorious heavenly city about to tumble forevermore into the quicksands of folly. Fools daring to dream far beyond their means.

So Eric was determined to do what any good Contender would do.

Break all the rules until causality itself bent to his will.

Time itself seemed to freeze as endless probabilities flared through his mind, seeing past the impossibility of a desperate last-ditch effort to break entropy’s bonds with the memory of a silver throne that had never been.

Not in this sector of the galaxy at least.

Even catching sight of its reflection dominating near the entire territory was a marvel beyond comprehension.

But his mother and sister were both fools if they thought a simple key was all that it would take to forge a communion between that glorious vision of wonder and endless dream… and the war-torn remnants of a half-built keep amongst marble ruins below.

It would take a miracle.

OR, perhaps, a Greater Boon.

And even that sacrifice had Eric crashing to his knees, howling with a strain beyond mortal ken as his soul was strained beyond transcendence, serving as single fragile lead line that couldn’t possibly hold this floating citadel to any earthly port.

But that was okay.

For only seconds did he need to serve as a connection, as the endless possibilities of a twin realm shivered through his soul.

For three solid cables of inevitability would moor it fast to the reality Eric called his own.

Cables that included a cultivator’s virtue, an elementalist’s paradise, and resonance with the unorthodox path that gave him such power in the first place, the path of the Contender, he who would shape the world to his bidding.

Much as he would shape that city of ivory towers, sparkling jeweled minarets, and endless wonder, containing so many secrets tied so intimately with delvers who would dare the most perilous of paths.

It was a truth Eric understood with a certainty that bordered on the prophetic. For it was not coincidence but inevitable truth that compelled that ancient lost city flung free of a shattered world to fuse with his own. Quantized harmony itself demanded that it be here.

Had always been here.

A causal certainty that had, in fact, only been a single revelation away.

Entropy the lock.

Eric’s soul the eternal key.

You have dared to Anchor a Silver tier Node aligned to the virtue of Knowledge to a newly blossomed world!

You have successfully saved versus Oblivion!

You have successfully forged 3 Anchors locking this realm to your own.

Warning! This Silver Tier Heritage Library has no fourth anchor! Contender’s Sanctum has broken free of time’s bond! - Beware all who dare the pearlescent gates to this realm, lest you return a moment after you enter, or centuries after your kingdom has fallen!

Eric couldn’t help but smile with sweetest release as he once more forged glorious dream into reality, just a half-step away from claiming the silver-tier crown he sensed so close to his trembling fingertips as his body and soul were infused to full strength, a final Contender’s boon, knowing damn well that he could ask for no greater capital than the one forging itself before his very eyes.

Instead, he tore his hand free of temptation’s grasp, making no choice at all. A wave function oscillating at ever more perilous frequency as Eric met the gazes of countless orcs gazing at him in awe and fear, more than a few dropping to their knees… and smiled.

Flashing the fierce cold predatory grin of someone grasping tight hold of those last flickering traces of revelation’s promise, before chanting out loud runes of creation and destruction his mind still struggled to hold tight in his mind’s eye.

Yet after daring to grasp the endless vistas of wisdom and wonder promised by the silver tier citadel now locked tight to Queensland’s shores, Eric allowed those terrible words to flow free of his lips, magnified beyond anything he would have dared, outside the brief window of pristine illumination that was his own.

You have dared to cast Runic Chant: Flame Surge at triple standard magnitude! 20-fold Mana multiplier in effect! You have -10 penalty to your skill check for daring to fast-cast this chant!

You are presently embracing the transcendent, daring to shape the world itself to your whim!

Shape the arcane arts as you will, Contender!

You have expended 600 Mana!

Triple magnitude fast-cast Runic Chant: Flame Surge has suffered unavoidable failure CRITICAL SUCCESS!

1728 musket cartridge boxes have burst into flame!

1728 powder horns have burst into flame!

Runic Lore is now Rank 8!

You have been thrown free of your mount!

“Ignis! Plures! Hodie!” Eric howled as thousands of orc eyes bulged with surprise when every tuft of hair upon their frames burst into flame, before quickly snuffing out. Just a single quick flicker of heat that hardly singed any clothes at all. For all that every part of their person, attire, and any part of their kit exposed to the air were kissed by that instantaneous blast of heat.

And though Eric hadn’t expected the agonized winces of countless eyes suffering retina burns, which perhaps he should have, what came next was everything he had hoped for.

The inevitable consequences of specializing in fielding massive numbers of classless grunts who were taught only the basics of spear use and black powder firearms, as close to an early game hack as the System seemed to allow, and one the orcs had taken to in spades, with ten fold the number of gunpowder grunts as standard class Javelineers and Berserkers, which, save for a single shaman or two per territory, was as specialized as the orcs got. Crippled long term potential, but devastating during these early days of global conquest, long before any power-leveled Titans might emerge.

Eric had thought long and hard on counters to the orc’s trump card. His fire suppression runic chant had been the first counter that had been so effective in Greystone. So why not see just how far he could push the inverse of that, kissing every inch of every surface exposed to the tiniest trace of air with just the gentlest kiss of flame? A flame so quick and mild, it wasn’t even strong enough to sizzle past the protective mucous lining the mouth. But the lenses of one’s eyes, like the black powder each and every musketeer carried, were most definitely fair game.

He recalled reading of more than one account declaring that paper cartridges were near harmless when exposed to flame, at least in ideal circumstances. But powder horns, on the other hand, would erupt much like an early black powder grenade. Especially when secured against one’s back, it nearly always resulted in fatal injuries.

And each and every one of the orcs was carrying at least one of those horns.

He counted it a small miracle that he himself had suffered no more than a slightly store wrist, when the blast wind of nearly 2000 black powder grenades going off simultaneously pummeled him with a wave of hot air and body parts alike, actually toppling him off his mount, Eric not willing to clench his thighs so tightly that he damaged his poor tusker.

Even with his ears ringing, and absolutely covered in quickly healed cuts from a storm of bone fragments, with his Interface seeming to delight in informing him that he would have suffered multiple critical injuries and arterial bleeds had he not achieved an absolutely absurd 32 Physical Damage resistance… and guarded his eyes with a mithril-covered forearm.

All things considered, he was still a hell of a lot better off than the storm of orcs that had been blasted apart by those horns.

Cold, appraising eyes caught sight of the ones that by some miracle hadn’t been killed in the original eruption of gun powder and body parts, those writhing forms twisting around amongst the shredded bodies of their compatriots desperately trying to hold in their own ruptured bowels, or gibbering in high pitched squeals, trying to stem the spray of blood from limbs torn free of their sockets. Odd outliers among the thousands that were utterly still, wide eyes gazing upon whatever lay beyond death’s door.

None of them looked like they’d be getting back on their feet, any time soon.

At least, not normally. Not even with the best healers imaginable.

But with Eric’s help, they’d be in fighting condition before they knew it.

No matter how they shrieked or begged when Eric calmly thrust his blade between occipital bone and the base of their spine, stilling them completely, for all that their bulging eyes continued to gyrate with ever more frantic intensity, before stilling at last as the desperate need for air that would never come again was replaced with oblivion.

“Surge, centuria! Imperator imperat tibi!”

The command of a Master Necromancer who dared to claim the very essence of Dominion echoed endlessly through the air between mundus and realms far darker as nearly 2500 utterly still orcs snapped their eyes open in eerie unison once more, slowly shuffling back to their feet as bones crackled and fused back together while a sea of viscera slurped back into hardened flesh that instantly sealed itself once more. By the time his troops had fully mustered, every last trace of mortal injury suffered had already faded, the orcs now looking just as fit as they ever had in the prime of their lives. Fitter, in fact. A full 23 levels tougher than they had ever been before. Only now they all had crimson Marks of Resilience blazed on their foreheads, right above eyes that glowed with a fanatic fiery green intensity, a vibrant contrast to the deathly pallor to their purple and green-hued features.

Yet it was only after the final shattered bone in the most damaged recruit finish fusing back into place that every last risen soldier abruptly turn in perfect lockstep, slamming fists to chests as they saluted their new commander.

The lord who had reclaimed them from death’s own river.

The master they’d follow to hell and beyond.

“Ave Imperator Abedimus!” Countless thousands of voices roared in perfect concert. Voices that would never again shriek in pain, terror, or dismay.

Congratulations! You have successfully raised over 10,000 revenants in a single day! You have earned the Adept Title: Harvester of the Harrowed! In addition to enjoying +10 to Arcane Potential and Soul Reserves, you learn all necromantic skills and spells 20% faster than you otherwise would! Your mastery over the dead means perilous failures (for you!) are almost unheard of, and your chances of successfully forging fresh abominations is now better than ever!

Your current army consists of

11350 Infantry Centurai

1600 Shambling Revenants

540 Orc Berserkers

40 Pristine Greater Revenants (Cavalry Tuskers)

5 Crippled Greater Revenants (Cavalry Tuskers)

1 Greater Abomination (Slurpy)