Inheritor Of Magic: The Magi King

The lower planes were a lawless sort of place, not because they valued independence, but because the vast majority of the population lacked any instincts except to kill and torture. The need for food, for shelter, for water, those were all alien to them. All they knew was death and suffering.

Of the beings here that did have some sort of true intelligence, all were very much the same, with a small sense of community born of allegiance to a more powerful being added on.

So, as Wolfe fought with the Trolls, they didn't care who was winning, they didn't care why he was even there. What they cared about was that he was there, and that he was absolutely brilliant at making others suffer.

In their minds, the subjugation of the undead was the most amazing piece of magic they had seen in centuries, able to steal the freedom of other beings and bind them to yourself to the point they could not betray your will.

That was the condition that most of these creatures lived under, subjugated to the will of the Divine One, but that being was far too busy to constantly monitor them, whereas Wolfe was doing it directly, from right behind them.

But the ruler of this place knew that the people would feel no sympathy. Instead, they would celebrate even harder when he was brought down after multiple victories. For the further they would fall, the more entertaining it would be for the people.

The gathering of the undead had been a shock to him. They were supposed to be nothing more than puppets, bound to their bodies by the magic of the Divine One, but the Magi Saint had used some trick to steal them.

The Lightning Sprites were another inconvenience. He could feel the imbalance in his realm as the souls, which should have been recycled for eternal torment in the lowest planes, were destroyed by the Nether Lightning.

That should not be possible. No such magic existed in this place.

It was better that this Magi Saint was either neutralized quickly or sent back to his home world, the Divine One decided. The Fallen Army could deal with that annoyance, as their souls were worthless, barely worth mentioning, even if they were harvested for the strength.

Then it realized, that was a brilliant option. The portal didn't have to return him to his own world. Once they finished here, they could be sent to the strongholds of the Fallen Army, and his people could watch them try to get home.

That would entertain the people as much as anything, and an entertained population was a content one that didn't slack off or fall into ennui.

That was the problem that the creature calling itself the Divine One had. Suffering had gotten bland. The entire realm had gotten used to it, but they weren't capable of understanding anything else, at least not the way that he was.

The majority of them didn't even understand power. You had it, or you didn't, but they didn't strive for it. They didn't think like that. If they did, the Lowest Planes might be able to challenge the Upper Planes more effectively than simply throwing masses of bodies against the weak spots, trying to break in and gather energy for their planes, to shift the balance of light and dark magic in the multiverse.

That was its only true goal. To steal the balance of power from the Divine One in the realms of Light, also known as the Upper Planes, and become the true power of the universe, gathering the power of the Mortal Realms to improve the denizens of his Plane.

The Upper Planes had a massive advantage after all this time, but there was still hope that he could steal it back. The mortals were foolish creatures with short memories. They would continue to help him.

So, as the Trolls fell under the withering attacks of the Nether Lightning, it prepared the spells that would be needed to alter the destination of the prepared portal.

But before Wolfe could be allowed to get there, it needed one more challenge, something that could bring true despair, either to him or the defenders. He had to remind his people that there was no hope here, and no point in striving toward anything different.

They would all wish for his suffering, and that something would replace him. That was their nature, but a little reminder that it would never happen helped keep them in line.

For that, he had the perfect enemies.

The Magi and the Witches had no idea how to tell the Lower Planes species apart. They only say alien beings, with features they didn't fully understand. So, if he reinforced the elite soldiers nearest the portal with their own children, the Magi would never know the difference, but those watching would get the most intense display of despair imaginable as the bonds of loyalty were shattered by death, and then the Divine One could rebuild their bodies just as he had a thousand times before.

Wolfe and the others looked around at the charred bodies of the trolls in satisfaction, while the bone dragon led them toward the portal. It wouldn't be long now, just a few more chambers and they would be at the portal.

As far as trials went, this one hadn't been the most challenging he had faced in his life, but he understood that wasn't the point. It had been arranged for the dark residents of this place, and his mana sense could sense the corruption, the absolute lack of positive emotions beyond intense loyalty and a vague sense of protectiveness.

This whole place gave him the creeps, and he would be happy to leave as soon as they had their entertainment, but he suspected that it wouldn't be that easy, and he was likely going to have to find a way to break himself free of the time loop after they went through the portal and returned to the start.

The creatures of this world would find that greatly amusing, having him start over again.