17: A Battlefield of Regret: The Aftermath of John's Spell
Seeing an opportunity, John decided to increase the strength of his magical punch. "MagicalStrike = World.create('strike'), MagicalStrike.strength = 500, MagicalStrike.speed = 80KM, MagicalStrike.location = 'Shadowclaw'," he thought, his mental voice clear and steady.
John assumed that if a strength of 15 had been powerful, then 500 must be exponentially more devastating. With a surge of determination, he activated the magic, bracing himself for the immense display of power that was about to unfold.
As the code executed, the ambient mana responded with a breathtaking spectacle. Countless motes of energy, each glowing with the brilliance of a miniature sun, erupted from the surrounding environment. They swirled and danced around John, forming intricate patterns and constellations that defied comprehension.
The mana particles began to coalesce, drawn together by an unseen force. They merged and fused, creating a massive, luminous sphere that pulsed with raw, untamed power. The sphere grew in size, expanding until it dwarfed John, casting an otherworldly glow across the battlefield.
Tendrils of energy crackled and arced from the sphere, lashing out like bolts of lightning. The ground trembled beneath John's feet as the mana concentration reached a critical threshold. The air hummed with an almost tangible vibration, as if the very fabric of reality was being stretched to its limits.
The group of goblins watched in awe and terror as the mana shaped itself into a colossal, ethereal fist. They had never witnessed magic of this scale or intensity before. The leader's eyes widened in recognition, remembering ancient texts that spoke of such displays of power.
"Get out of the way, Shadow!" the leader screamed, his voice cracking with urgency. "This is no ordinary magic!"
Shadowclaw, still reeling from the gust of wind, felt a sudden surge of fear as he sensed the approaching danger. "What is this?" his inner voice tinged with dread. "I can feel something immensely powerful coming my way."
The gargantuan fist of mana hurtled towards Shadowclaw with the force of a thousand raging storms. As it made contact, the impact was like a supernova detonating at point-blank range. The shockwave rippled outward, shattering the ground and uprooting trees in its wake.
Shadowclaw was blasted through the forest, his body ragdolling like a leaf caught in a hurricane. He smashed through trunks and branches, leaving a trail of destruction that stretched for a hundred meters. The goblin's screams of pain and terror were drowned out by the deafening roar of the magical explosion.
As the dust settled and the echoes of the magical explosion faded, an eerie silence descended upon the battlefield. John stood amidst the destruction, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. The acrid smell of burnt wood and scorched earth filled his nostrils, and a fine layer of ash coated his skin. He blinked, his eyes stinging from the smoke, and as the adrenaline began to recede, the magnitude of what he had done slowly sank in.
John stared in horror at the devastation he had unleashed. The sheer scale of the destruction wrought by his spell was beyond anything he could have conceived. Nausea churned in his gut, and an icy sense of dread crept up his spine. He had never meant to cause such chaos, to wield a power so terrifyingly vast. His hands shook, and he clenched them into fists, trying to stop the trembling. Guilt and shock warred within him, and he swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat. What had he done?
"I had no idea the difference between a strength of 15 and 500 would be this immense,' John thought, his brow furrowed with concern. 'If I had known it would be this destructive, I never would have used such a high value.'
John's gaze swept over the battlefield, taking in the shattered trees, the upturned earth, and the distant figure of Shadowclaw, lying motionless among the debris. The sight sent a chill down his spine, and he felt the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a physical burden. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a shaky breath as he tried to compose himself.
When he opened his eyes again, the world seemed to have shifted slightly, as if his perception had been forever altered by the knowledge of what he was capable of. John made a mental note to exercise more caution in the future when determining the strength of his spells. The realization that even small changes in the numerical values could lead to vastly different outcomes was a sobering thought.
'I need to be more careful,' John reminded himself, his inner voice tinged with a newfound sense of responsibility. 'This magic is incredibly powerful, and I have to use it wisely. I can't let my emotions or the heat of the moment cloud my judgment."
As he surveyed the devastation around him, John felt a pang of guilt. While he had acted in self-defense, the sheer scale of the damage he had caused weighed heavily on his conscience. In the distance, he spotted the Claw of Vengeance, the elite goblin warriors, approaching the spot where Shadowclaw had landed. Their movements were purposeful and calculated, their faces etched with a mix of anger and disbelief.
Rognak the Ruthless, the leader of the Claw of Vengeance, reached Shadowclaw's charred body first. His eyes widened, and his fists clenched at his sides as he took in the extent of the damage. A low, menacing growl escaped his throat, and his gaze darted towards John's distant figure, filled with a mixture of incredulity and rage.
Grimsnarl the Cruel knelt beside Shadowclaw's remains, his shoulders shaking with barely contained emotion. He reached out, his hand hovering over the burnt flesh, before curling into a tight fist. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, and a strangled sound, halfway between a sob and a snarl, tore from his lips.
Sharpfang the Relentless and Bloodmaw the Savage exchanged a look, their faces hardening with grim determination. Sharpfang's hand tightened around the hilt of his enchanted blade, the metal creaking under his grip. Bloodmaw's nostrils flared, and his teeth bared in a silent promise of retribution.
Rognak's gaze never left John's distant figure, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the human who had caused such destruction. His jaw clenched, and a muscle twitched in his cheek as he wrestled with the realization that they had underestimated their foe. With a low rumble, he straightened his shoulders, his stance radiating an unyielding resolve.
As the Claw of Vengeance gathered around their fallen comrade, Rognak reached into his pouch and withdrew an odd-looking stick. With a snap of his wrist, he broke the stick in two, and a swirling vortex of magic began to envelop the group.
John watched as the goblins fixed him with a final, menacing glare, their eyes burning with the promise of retribution. The magical energy consumed them, transporting them away along with Shadowclaw's body, leaving behind a sudden, deafening silence, broken only by the distant crackle of still-smoldering foliage.
John knew that this was far from over. The Claw of Vengeance would not rest until they had exacted their revenge, and he would need to be more prepared than ever to face the challenges that lay ahead. The weight of the responsibility he now carried pressed down on his shoulders, and he felt a flicker of doubt and fear.
'With great power comes great responsibility.' The words echoed in John's mind, a solemn reminder of the burden he now bore. What if he couldn't control this magic, this force that dwarfed anything he had ever known? What if, in a moment of anger or desperation, he unleashed something even more terrifying? The thought made his blood run cold.
But beneath the fear, a fierce determination took root. He had to master this power, to wield it with wisdom and restraint. He couldn't let it consume him, couldn't let it turn him into something he wasn't. Drawing in a deep breath, John squared his shoulders and made a silent vow. He would use this magic for good, to protect and defend, not to destroy. No matter the cost.
With a heavy heart and a newfound sense of purpose, John turned his attention back to the path before him, ready to face whatever trials awaited him. He knew that the journey ahead would be fraught with difficult choices and moral dilemmas, but he was determined to navigate them with wisdom and integrity.
As he surveyed the battlefield one last time, John felt a sense of resolve settle over him. The Claw of Vengeance would return, and he needed to be ready. But for now, he had to focus on the task at hand, to continue his quest and unravel the mysteries that had brought him to this point.
With a final glance at the destruction he had wrought, John turned and began to walk towards Barim, his footsteps heavy but purposeful. As he moved away from the devastation, the weight of his actions seemed to lessen, replaced by a growing sense of urgency. Barim needed him, and John knew that every second counted.
The acrid smell of burnt wood and scorched earth slowly gave way to the coppery tang of blood as he approached the bound boy. John quickened his pace, his heart pounding in his chest as he drew closer.
"Barim!" John called out, his voice hoarse from the smoke. "Hold on, I'm coming!"
Barim's eyes widened as he saw John approaching, a mix of relief and fear etched across his young face. His wrists were raw and bleeding from the rough ropes that held him, and his clothes were torn and dirty.
John knelt beside him, his hands shaking slightly as he began to work on the knots. "It's okay," he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm here now. I'm going to get you out of this."
The ropes were tight, and John's fingers fumbled as he tried to loosen them. Barim winced as the rough fibers rubbed against his already abraded skin. "I thought they were going to kill me," he whispered, his voice trembling.
"I won't let that happen," John said firmly, finally managing to slip one of the knots free. "I promise you, Barim. I'll keep you safe."
As the last of the ropes fell away, Barim threw his arms around John, burying his face in the man's chest as he sobbed with relief. John held him close, his own eyes stinging with unshed tears. "It's over now," he murmured, gently stroking the boy's hair. "You're safe. I've got you."
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone