End of an Era (Project Chrysalis Book 2) by John Gold (always you kirsty moseley .TXT) 📗

The last and most valuable lesson I learned in Hell was to never rely on items that can be taken away. That lesson was only reinforced by the Hunters. The debuff I got to my energy channels made me utterly helpless as a mage, and I need to overcome my weaknesses once and for all.

I need to boost my skills as high as they’ll go. I have eleven streams of consciousness, an enormous supply of mana, and meditation in places of strength. I’m going to outdo myself! But first, I need to ask a question…

“Father, why are these cities and lands called the Godless Lands? They’re practically a storehouse for prana.”

“The River of Life is where the natural gods live. Dryads and ents, sea mistresses and storm lords, the gods of the animal world. They’re incredibly strong, on par with the young gods. People are allowed to be here, though any of the gods who tried to show up would be squashed at the border. Have you seen the huge tree at the center of the island?” I nod. “That’s the natural god Gambi, the keeper of the forest and all Fang Island. He’s intelligent and even talks with people when he wants to. This island is his protectorate.”

Excellent! My home is my castle. The last time the gods attacked my parents, I wasn’t there, and now I know there’s someone who will willingly protect these lands when I’m gone. I make a mental note to have a chat with him.

The next morning, I set off deep into the island to meet Gambi. The crown of the gigantic tree towers above the rest of the forest, and the whole place practically sings with harmony and magic power.

Middling place of power

Mana restoration speed: 150%

The whole River of Life is a place of power, offering an additional 25% to mana restoration. These are the kinds of places Bernard told me about.

Will the boost to my mana grow the closer I get to the tree?

It really is enormous. Of course, it’s smaller than the one I grew in the bog in Hell, but it’s still the kind of tree you can’t help but respect. The trunk is a good forty meters in diameter; the leafy cover stretches on for what seems like forever.

A man who looks around forty years old steps out of the tree wearing woven clothing.

“Well, look at this. I have a guest. What do you want, human kid?”

It’s not a very friendly local god we have.

After looking me over from head to toe, he scowls in disgust.

“I want to talk to you about the defense of the island. If someone attacks the people here, will you defend them?”

“I don’t touch them, but I don’t protect them, either. Where did you get that revolting blood aura? A renegade, yes? Your clothes, your rings…all so bloody.”

“You can see that?” So gods don’t have to touch things to know what they are?

“I’m a god; I see everything. You’re repulsive to this place! As the keeper of the forest, I understand that only too well, so leave before I kill you.”

When I get back home, I see Fem sitting at the table with father. My first instinct is to kill her and yell at him. Fem quickly realizes what’s going on, however, and tries to explain.

“Your father recognized me by your description and invited me in for tea, so calm down and put your spell away. The buzz it makes is annoying.”

I decide to work on the skills that not many can teach, and I haven’t met anyone on my travels better at hand-to-hand combat than my father. He’s happy to see me showing interest, so he invites us into the yard. Fem takes off her armor.

Watching him beating Fem up is a joy to behold. She’s sent crashing to the ground over and over again as father explains her mistakes.

“Sagie told me how your armor works, and I’m suitably impressed but that’s your weakness in battle against a stronger opponent. They could have faster reactions or more experience, and they’ll just step away or do critical damage after a feint when they see your armor glowing. You’re a counterattacker. Wait for your opponent to come after you and use the speed and agility your armor gives you right then. The easiest way to beat you is to set up a trap for you in the middle of the battle to knock you off your rhythm. That would put you on the defensive, and you can’t win without a good defense.”

“So, what should I do, Uncle Arman?”

Uncle Arman?! He’s my father! Don’t you dare call him that!

“Learn how to fight, the basics and the tactics. The minimum I can give you. Beyond that, you’ll have to find someone else.”

Next, Fem stands off to the side, and father lays into me as hard as he can. When I tell him that I can ignore up to 80000 physical damage, he uses one precise finger to jab through my larynx near my Adam’s apple. It has nothing to do with the strength he puts behind the blow; it has everything to do with his mastery and ability to find a weak spot.

“You rely on your resistance too much. All of the marauders in my squad knew how to do what I just did,” father says, holding a bloody finger aloft. “And you were boasting! You left yourself open during battle, and I used it.” Father is angry at me, the same as any hand-to-hand combat instructor might be.

Over the next twenty minutes, I get more than fifty debuffs from a variety of injuries. Father no longer has pity on me, going at me as hard as he can. He goes easier on Fem, though he gives her an injury and