Jason moved through the roots like a god.

The vines did not just part for him—they carried him. They rose beneath his feet, forming platforms of woven wood that propelled him forward at impossible speeds. Ylva and Mae stood beside him, their feet planted on the moving roots, their bodies steady despite the velocity. The ant king remained in Mae’s arms, his tiny chest rising and falling, still hibernating.

The roots moved like a living transport system, carrying them through the labyrinthine corridors of the Marrow at ten times the speed they could have managed on foot. The walls blurred.

The impaled corpses became streaks of grey and black. The wind roared past their ears.

Then they burst out of the dense forest that coated the area.

The open air hit them like a wave—cold, biting, carrying the scent of decay and stone. The roots beneath them did not stop. They continued to move, carrying Jason and his companions across the grey wasteland, through the withered trees, over the cracked and barren soil.

Jason’s eyes were fixed ahead. His mind was racing because he knew this was all about Thalion. Thalion had to be alive or all of this would be in vain.

"The only limit to this power is imagination." Jason realized these branches could basically form anything as long as he could imagine it.

And Jason came from a world where technology and advanced engineering had pushed the boundaries of what was possible. He had seen skyscrapers that touched the clouds. He had watched vehicles move faster than sound including numerous forms of weapons. He had dreamed of flying, of teleportation, of moving through space and time.

Of course, even this power had its limitations but it was enough.

His imagination was above the average person of this world.

And the roots responded.

They twisted and weaved, creating shortcuts across the open wasteland that was originally devoid of life. They bridged gaps that should have been impassable. They rose and fell like a rollercoaster, carrying Jason and his companions toward their destination with relentless speed.

Ylva’s ears were flat. Her claws dug into the root beneath her feet. "I do not know if I will get used to this." Ylva screamed at the top of her lungs as this was the only way for Jason to be heard.

"Get used to it," Jason said. "We’re almost there."

-

The ruins of Maldred’s domain appeared on the horizon.

Unlike the lord of vines, whose castle had been a living, breathing structure of roots and flowers, Maldred’s territory was a wasteland.

Crumbling stone pillars leaned at impossible angles across the open plain. Broken walls jutted from the grey soil like fractured bones.

The ground was scarred with craters and trenches, evidence of ancient battles fought and forgotten.

This was not a castle, this was the aftermath of a war.

The roots carried them to the edge of the ruins and stopped. Jason stepped off the roots and onto the cracked stone. Ylva and Mae followed, their eyes scanning the open area for any sign of movement.

"Stay on guard," Jason said, his voice low. "I can feel something. There is something off about this place."

Mae’s hooves scraped against the stone. "What kind of something?"

"Like we’re being watched."

Ylva’s nose twitched. Her ears swiveled. "I don’t smell anything out here."

"Neither do I." Jason’s jaw tightened. "That’s what worries me."

Before they could take another step, the ground around them erupted.

Minions. Dozens of them. They burst from the soil, from the broken walls, from the shadows of the ruined pillars that dotted the open landscape. Patchy scales, too many joints, black eyes reflecting no light. They formed a barricade around Jason and his companions—a living wall of claws and teeth and hunger across the grey plain.

Over thirty of them, Ylva and Mae panicked but Jason? Jason looked as calm as one could be.

And they all had one objective: kill Jason.

Ylva’s claws extended. Mae dropped into a defensive stance, the ant king clutched against her chest. The minions advanced, their movements synchronized, their eyes fixed on the human at the center of their formation.

Jason did not flinch as the felt like just another day to him.

"Well," he said, his voice cold and calm. "This is going to be interesting."

Jason raised his hand casually because he knew the fight that was about to occur was going to be very violent. And he couldn’t risk Ylva or Mae getting injured either.

The roots beneath Ylva and Mae shifted, rising and curling inward, forming a spherical dome of woven wood that sealed them inside. Small gaps remained—just enough for them to see out, to watch, to bear witness. The wood was thick, layered, reinforced by Jason’s will. It would not break. It would not yield.

Ylva slammed her fist against the interior wall. The impact sent a dull thud echoing through the confined space. Her voice was muffled but sharp, edged with frustration and something that might have been fear.

"What the hell?! Jason! Let us out!"

Her claws scraped against the wood. Splinters flew. But the dome held firm, regenerating faster than she could damage it, this felt familiar.

Jason did not turn around. His back was to them, his silhouette framed against the grey sky of the Marrow. The twisted trees clawed at the horizon. The ruined pillars leaned like broken teeth. The wind carried the scent of decay because this place was a graveyard but it wouldn’t be his.

"Stand down," Jason said. His voice was calm. Detached. Almost bored. "I don’t need your help for this fight."

Mae pressed her face against one of the gaps, her eyes wide, her breath fogging the wood. She could see the minions clearly now—dozens of them, their patchy scales gleaming in the dim light, their too-many joints folding and unfolding as they circled.

"Jason, there are over thirty of them!" Mae’s voice was strained. "You can’t fight all of them alone!"

"Can’t I?"

The minions had stopped advancing. They circled him now, their black eyes tracking his every movement, their claws scraping against the grey soil. They were waiting. Assessing. Looking for an opening.

Jason’s expression did not change.

"There is one thing I would ask you," he said, his voice carrying across the ruins, echoing off the broken pillars. "Before the slaughter begins."

He paused. Let the words hang in the air. The wind howled between the stones.

"Where is Thalion?"

The minions exchanged glances. A few of them hissed, their forked tongues flickering. One of them—larger than the others, its scales darker, its joints more numerous—stepped forward. Its mouth opened, revealing rows of needle-like teeth that dripped with something dark and viscous.

It cursed Jason in a language that was old and guttural, filled with sounds that should not have been possible for a human throat. The words grated against the air like stones grinding together.

"You are meat. You are nothing. You will die screaming. Your bones will be picked clean by the Marrow’s children. Your soul will be fed to the lord who waits."

Jason’s system auto-translated.

He sighed. "That’s not very helpful."

The lead minion shrieked.

The sound was not a normal scream. It was amplified, enhanced by mana, a frequency that should have shattered eardrums and liquefied brains. The shockwave rippled outward, cracking the stone, rattling the ruins, sending dust and debris spraying into the air.

It bounced off Jason’s barrier like water off glass.

He didn’t even flinch. His hair didn’t move. His clothes didn’t rustle. The barrier absorbed every ounce of force, dissipating it into nothing. However, he closed the opening of the dome he had two of them trapped in.

The minions stared. Their shriek had killed lesser creatures. Had driven others mad. Had torn through armies. It had been their greatest weapon.

Jason stood untouched.

He looked down at his hands. Flexed his fingers. A faint golden glow flickered beneath his skin, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.

"I have no idea how many abilities I have," Jason thought to himself but he understood his abilities were endless.

He had absorbed the watcher and that gave him access to a range of abilities but Jason wondered if it was temporary, all of this had to be temporary as he now had access to these roots, somewhere, deep in the recesses of his stolen power, he could feel there was so much more that his body hadn’t simply unlocked.

"I have access to all of them," Jason thought to himself.

The minions charged.

They came from every direction—from the front, from the sides, from behind. Their claws extended, their mouths open, their black eyes blazing with hunger. They moved in perfect synchronization, a wave of scales and teeth and killing intent. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

Jason did not raise his barrier. He did not step back. He met the first creature head-on.

Its clawed fist shot toward his face—fast, precise, aimed to kill. Jason caught it. His fingers wrapped around the minion’s wrist, stopping it cold. The creature’s black eyes widened in shock.

Jason’s other hand moved.

It was all a blur. The minion’s head separated from its shoulders, severed in a single motion. Black ichor sprayed across the grey soil. The body dropped, twitching once before going still.

"Isn’t this a bit unfair?" Jason asked, turning to face the rest of the horde. "Thirty of you. One of me."

He smiled.

It was not a warm smile. It was the smile of someone who had been pushed too far, who had lost too much, who had finally stopped caring about the consequences.

The minions hesitated. For the first time, they looked uncertain. Their movements faltered. Their black eyes darted to the corpse of their fallen comrade but in the way in which he was killed.

But they were bound to Maldred. They had no choice. They attacked.

Jason’s hand rose. The trees around the ruins—the twisted, skeletal trees that had been dead for centuries—began to change. Their bark split. Their branches twisted. Wooden forms emerged, pulling themselves free from the trunks, shaping themselves into figures that bore Jason’s face.

They were clones.

Not the lord’s apparitions—he could not create those. Not yet. But a watered-down version. Wooden duplicates, their bodies formed from the ancient trees of the Marrow, their movements synchronized with his will.

Ten of them, anymore would require significantly more concentration.

And Jason did not feel tired. He did not feel the drain of expending that much mana. His reserves were limitless, the lord’s power flooding through him like an ocean.

"Let the orgy begin," Jason said.

The clones moved.

They were extensions of him, every thought, every movement, every intention. They lunged into the horde, their wooden limbs becoming spears and blades. Tendrils of bark shot from their bodies, wrapping around minions, crushing them. Branches erupted from the ground, impaling, tearing, destroying.

The minions tried to fight back. They slashed at the clones, but the wood regenerated faster than they could damage it. They tried to flee, but the clones were faster. They tried to scream, but Jason’s barrier absorbed the sound.

Within minutes, it was over.

Bodies littered the grey soil. Ichor pooled in the craters. The minions were dead, every single one of them.

Jason looked up at the sky. Dark clouds were gathering, heavy with rain. As if on cue, drops began to fall.

He formed a wooden umbrella above his head, its canopy spreading wide, shielding him from the downpour but it wasn’t rain falling but the aftermath of the slaughter.

"Strange weather we’re having," he said.

Behind him, in the dome, Ylva and Mae watched in silence as the hole had reopened.

Their mouths were open. Their eyes were wide. They had seen Jason fight before. They had seen him rage, Mae, specifically, had seen him tear the watcher’s arm off.

But this was different, this was absolute power.