The Glitched Mage

The morning after the celebration dawned soft and grey, the skies veiled with mist that clung to the spires of the obsidian palace. The streets of the Shadow Kingdom stirred slowly, as though even the undead had been lulled by the warmth of the night before.

Riven stood in the war chamber, eyes distant as he gazed at the updated projections of his kingdom's growth—mana lines pulsing faintly over black stone, trade routes etched with light, farmland slowly overtaken by his abyss-touched soil.

But his mind wasn't on roads or crops.

It was on his mana heart.

"I'll be beginning my ascent to the Fourth Mana Circle today," Riven said at last, his gaze sweeping over the room, settling on each of his generals. "The next phase of the kingdom's growth is going to demand far more mana than I currently possess. I need to advance—quickly."

Mal's eyes widened slightly. "You're already that close to a breakthrough?"

The others turned, expressions shifting to varying degrees of surprise and awe.

"Not that shocking," Damon muttered under his breath. "He absorbs mana like a beast."

Riven ignored the comment, continuing, "I'll be out of commission for a few days while I ascend. I'll need you all to handle things in my absence—just like when I was at the Academy."

"We will, my king," they answered together, their voices firm.

"I'll stay behind and guard the chamber," Damon offered without hesitation. "Krux can join me. We'll make sure no one interrupts the process."

"We constructed a new row of reinforced training rooms by the barracks," Krux added quickly, already eager to be useful. "Sealed and rune-protected."

"Perfect," Riven nodded once. "Then let's not waste any more time."

He turned without another word, Damon and Krux falling into step beside him as the others returned to their tasks.

—x—

The halls of the palace echoed with their footsteps as Riven, Damon, and Krux moved through shadow-forged corridors toward the barracks. The lanterns along the walls glowed with violet fire, casting flickering silhouettes that danced behind them like wraiths.

Outside, the mist had begun to lift, revealing the blackstone towers and fortified walls of the Shadow Kingdom in full. Merchants stirred to life, undead sentinels resumed their patrols, and the hum of progress began anew. But Riven's mind remained inward—focused on the throbbing of his mana heart like a cup that was about to spill over.

They passed the main training yard, where Shadow Knights were already forming ranks, steel clashing against steel in measured drills. A few paused at the sight of their king, bowing low as he passed, but Riven gave no indication he noticed. He was already drawing his mana inward—preparing.

The newly constructed wing of training chambers loomed ahead, built into the blackstone foundations just beyond the main barracks. Its entrance was sealed by a pair of thick, rune-etched doors, flanked by skeletal guards who stepped aside without a word.

Krux moved forward, placing his hand on the embedded sigil. "Chambers are keyed to our mana signature, my king. No one enters unless we allow it."

The door rumbled, then creaked open, revealing a vast interior chamber reinforced with obsidian-veined stone. The walls shimmered faintly with protective enchantments. In the center, a wide circular platform had been inscribed with ancient glyphs—etched to amplify and contain volatile mana during a breakthrough.

Riven stepped into the center of the circle, his cloak billowing behind him before settling against his frame. He took one slow breath, then removed it, folding it neatly and placing it beside a crate of mana potions and etherbloom extracts.

"You'll remain guard?" he asked without looking up.

"Of course," Damon said, his tone firm. "No one's getting near you while you ascend."

Krux nodded, already sealing the door behind them. "We'll keep the chamber locked down. Even if Solis sends a damn dragon."

Riven gave a short nod. "Good."

He sat cross-legged in the center of the circle, shadows curling around him like smoke. The hum of ambient mana began to rise, reacting to the command of its master.

"Do not open the door," he said calmly. "No matter what you hear."

Damon placed a fist over his chest. "Understood."

Riven closed his eyes.

[[ Mana Heart Expansion Ready ]]

[[ Initiate Fourth Circle Formation? ]]

[[ Yes/No]]

[[ Yes ]]

The moment Riven accepted, the world peeled away.

—x—

There was no transition. No flash of light or pull of weight.

Just silence.

Then—

Sound.

Screams. Steel. The roar of beasts. The clash of mana.

Heat exploded across his senses as the world reassembled—violent, overwhelming. He landed hard on scorched earth, boots skidding against a field choked with ash and smoke. The sky above was a haze of fire and falling embers, blood-red clouds streaking across the heavens. Mangled bodies lay in every direction—both armored knights and scorched undead. Siege engines belched fire in the distance.

Riven sucked in a breath, the stench of war and blood immediately filling his lungs.

He stood in the heart of a battlefield—chaos stretching endlessly in every direction. The ground beneath his boots was scorched and blood-soaked, the soil cracked and steaming from recent magic. Arrows hissed overhead. Distant siege fire rumbled like thunder. Screams tore through the smoke-choked air, blending with the clash of steel and the roar of beasts.

And yet, amidst it all, he stood alone.

Not as a king.

Just a solitary figure—one shadow among thousands.

His armor was blackened, dented, forged for function, not ceremony. It clung to his frame like second skin, marred by scorch marks and the faint glimmer of blood runes that pulsed faintly beneath the metal. A twin-bladed glaive rested across his back, its edges stained from battles already fought, its weight a silent promise of what was to come.

And on his wrist, barely visible beneath the scorched gauntlet, a crimson ring pulsed—its glow alive, flickering like a heartbeat made of embers.

There was no fanfare.

No announcement.

Just a warrior, cast into the furnace of war.

[[ Trial of Ascension: Fourth Mana Circle Initiated ]]

[[ Objective: Eliminate 1,000 enemies of the Shadow Kingdom ]]

[[ Target Priority: Solis Paladins and Divine Beasts yield greater ascension value. Kill count tallied based on performance. ]]

[[ Current Progress: 0 / 1,000 ]]

[[ Additional Modifier: You are unknown. No command authority. No assistance granted. Survive. Adapt. Destroy. ]]

A scream tore through the air as a Shadow Knight was impaled not twenty paces away, his body thrown from his mount. Paladins in golden armor pushed forward in waves, their shields gleaming with divine light, their swords etched with Solis' holy glyphs. Behind them marched white-robed battle mages and summoned beasts—phoenixes, light-forged lionns, even an arch griffon.

Riven's heart slammed in his chest, not with fear—but readiness.

This wasn't just a test of mana.

It was a test of will.

And he would not be found wanting.

He reached over his shoulder, unhooked the glaive, and dropped into a low stance.

Another notification pulsed at the edge of his vision.

[[ Bonus Objective: Survive for 3 consecutive days without leaving the front. Reward: Enhanced Mana Channel Efficiency ]]

[[ Optional: Kill enemy commander. Reward: Hidden Advancement Perk ]]

He didn't hesitate.

Riven moved.

The first paladin didn't even register him as a threat—until the glaive swept low, a wave of shadows lashing out like razored tendrils, and severed his spine in a single motion.

The light in the paladin's eyes flickered and died as he collapsed to the blood-soaked ground.

[[ +3 points: Paladin kill ]]

Riven didn't pause.

He pivoted into another strike, fire igniting along the edge of his blade, the heat curling outward in searing ribbons. Shadows surged behind him like a cape caught in a storm, twisting and writhing as they tore into the next line of Solis soldiers. Screams rang out—cut short by a burst of abyssal flame that exploded from his palm and devoured a shield wall in black fire.

A divine beast lunged from the chaos—a lion wreathed in radiant gold, its mane shimmering like starlight. It roared, eyes glowing with celestial fury.

Riven met it head-on.

He hurled a sphere of abyssal fire directly into its open maw. The explosion swallowed the beast mid-leap, searing its divine flesh with a scream that echoed across the battlefield. He didn't give it time to recover. In the same motion, he vanished in shadowstep and reappeared above its charred form—blade glowing crimson—and cleaved its head clean from its shoulders.

[[ +7 points: Divine Beast slain ]]

"Keep formation!" a voice barked beyond the smoke.

Riven turned toward it, a slow grin stretching across his blood-smeared face.

—x—

The sun never fully rose in this cursed place. The sky hovered in a perpetual dusk—neither day nor night, a war-torn limbo where time itself had fractured.

Riven's armor was battered, his skin bruised and burned, but his steps never faltered. Blood—both Solis and his own—dripped steadily from his hands. His glaive was chipped, his cloak torn, but his shadow magic was sharper than ever.

The kill counter hovered at 468.

And still, he pressed on.

He didn't sleep.

At night, he meditated amidst the corpses, shadows coiling protectively around him while he fed on ambient mana from the slain. The flickering crimson bangle on his wrist pulsed faster now—brighter with every soul taken. His abyssal flame had grown hotter, darker, more alive, reacting instinctively in battle—leaping from his fingertips, erupting from the ground, clinging to his enemies like tar.

By the second day, they began to fear him.

Enemy commanders issued kill orders.

Paladins formed hunting parties. Divine beasts circled from above.

None of it worked.

He moved like a specter, vanishing into one shadow and emerging from another. His blade carved through steel like paper. His flames set holy banners alight.

He was no longer fighting like a soldier.

He was fighting like a kingdom's wrath made flesh.

—x—

By the third day, the battlefield had shifted once again.

Riven stood atop a ruined ridge, ash swirling around him, his silhouette crowned in flickering shadowfire. The land below was a sea of golden plate and fluttering crimson banners—the final line of Solis' elite.

At their center, mounted atop a warhorse clad in radiant silver barding, rode a towering paladin general.

His armor gleamed like molten gold, etched with divine runes and blessed oaths. A massive warhammer rested across his back, and his tower shield burned with holy light—radiating judgment with every step the horse took forward.

[[ Target Identified: Paladin General — High Crusader Serath ]]

[[ Final Challenge Unlocked: Defeat High Crusader Serath ]]

[[ Progress: 999 / 1,000 ]]

Riven exhaled once.

Then descended like a storm raining hellfire.

—x—

The final duel was a cataclysm.

Ten brutal minutes of divine discipline clashing with abyssal ferocity.

Serath fought like the embodiment of Solis's wrath. His armor blazed with runes of judgment, and his greatsword radiated light so intense it scorched the earth with each swing. Every movement was precise, calculated, and righteous. Shields of golden mana flared around him, absorbing what they could, retaliating with blinding bursts of divine power.

But Riven met it all head-on.

No crown. No throne. Just shadow, fire, and the will to carve his path.

His glaive carved arcs of flame through the air, each strike echoing with the pulse of the Abyss. Shadows surged from his body like a second skin, intercepting Serath's radiant assaults, tearing through the light, dragging it down into the dark. Where holy fire seared flesh, abyssal power knit bone. Where righteousness tried to smite, ruin responded with fury.

Riven bled.

He staggered.

But he never stopped moving.

Serath roared, raising his greatsword overhead, its edge shining with the full weight of his divine order.

Riven didn't flinch.

He lunged, shadows bursting in a storm around him, fire coiling along his blade. The glaive struck like a falling star, driving straight through the paladin general's chest—shattering armor, light, and lungs in one brutal thrust.

Black fire erupted from the wound, engulfing Serath in a bloom of voidlight.

His eyes—once golden with purpose—dimmed in silence.

And then he fell.

[[ Kill Count: 1,000 / 1,000 Complete ]]

[[ Bonus Objective Complete: Enemy Commander Eliminated ]]

[[ Reward: Hidden Trait Unlocked — "Thronebreaker" ]]

[[ Ascension Initiated… Mana Heart Advancing… ]]

The battlefield began to crumble around him—stone fading to ash, holy banners dissolving into whispers of forgotten light. The shadows peeled back into the void, carrying Riven with them.

Bloodied.

Unbroken.

Grinning.