The first thing Arthur did was recall Wovan, something he’d learned was possible the moment his Soul Splinter was fully formed. The ten deadly spiders flashed red before disappearing, returning to his soul core, the place where his soul splinter would now live, it seemed. Arthur was dying to test his new minion in battle and take a deeper look at her abilities but pitting her against a group of powerful bounty hunters all beyond level 200 when she’d only just been born was perhaps a little hasty.

  Knowing that his Soul splinters also had their own levelling systems had altered his plans for the little beast too. Arthur would make sure Wovan’s progression to a universal threat was as optimal as possible, just as he had streamlined his own build.

  “Stand down, Originator,” a stocky human male ordered, stepping forward. “Surrender peacefully and we’ll spare the green one. A warrior with such heart deserves to live another day. Honour her sacrifice and make your own.”

  Arthur glared at the man. If there was one thing he hated, it was hypocrisy and this man reeked of it, speaking of honour while he had none.

  “And if I say no?”

  “Then you shall die and so will she. You are an Originator. One day, you will be far beyond us but today, you are a man who has only just obtained your first class. Your ritual magic is some of the strangest I have ever seen but such skills do not translate well to head-on combat. You will die all the same.”

  Arthur was confused for a second but then it dawned on him. In retrospect, it made sense that they thought he was a ritual mage, considering what they’d just seen him accomplish. Being underestimated was always welcome. Arthur took a step towards Alyssia and smirked when he saw the stocky man flinch backwards. Reaching down, he cast the orb version of Reflective Shield over her. It wasn’t the most powerful defence in the world and he’d never tested its effectiveness when used on another, but it was the best he could do.

  Arthur was surprised the bounty hunters were letting him do all this. Since when had they been so polite? The stalemate, unfortunately, was not to last. An insectoid was the first to attack. He’d noticed she’d been charging up her energy for a while now, concentrating all the poisonous ether at the tip of her scorpion tail. It was very similar to his Poisoned Fang of The Hydra Fang, perhaps even at the same tier. Twenty thousand ether was absurd for people with normal resource pools to invest into a single strike and Arthur suspected the insect had used her health to fuel the spell.

  Arthur was durable but taking such a blow head-on was a daunting task. So he cheated. The woman exploded into motion, jumping off her legs so fast it was almost like she’d teleported in front of him. Her stinger moved even faster, so much so he was sure even Alyssia would have struggled to dodge it. Arthur didn't even try. Instead, he activated his greaves. Alyssia had demonstrated the power of her own. It was only polite that he did the same.

  The stinger struck him dead in the chest, right over his heart, delivered at speeds far surpassing sound. There was a sonic boom, an explosion of light and dust, but when things settled, Arthur remained standing. The explosion had destroyed his t-shirt, but it hadn't cut even a millimetre into his skin. All that ether expended and there wasn't a single drop of blood to speak of its passing.

  He'd neutralised the attack in its entirety. The insectoid woman dropped to her knees, her energy drained, awe and fear fighting for dominion on her face.

  "You can have that back," Arthur said and flicked the woman on her forehead.

  Her neck snapped back, eyes now trained on the bright sky. It would be the last sight she ever saw. Her flesh aged rapidly as if all the moisture was rapidly being drained out of it. Her mandibles fell from her mouth and stabbed into the earth, before liquifying into pools of black poison. Finally, the returned attack ran its course and the woman disintegrated into dust, the only signs of her passing dead grass from where her poison had fallen.

  As far as intimidation tactics went, Arthur felt he'd done quite well. Judging by the terror, easily identifiable even on the alien faces of his attackers, perhaps he'd done too well even. The bounty hunters didn't move, the death of one of their own had shocked them into stillness. Prey fled or froze in the face of death, and Arthur's had chosen the latter. He could work with that.

  He exploded forward, fifteen hundred points of agility fuelling his footwork. Shadows wrapped around his hands, forming spiked gauntlets that looked as evil as they were deadly. He launched a left hook. His first target, the stocky spokesperson, didn't even have a chance to cry out before Arthur's fist pierced through his skull. There was no delay, no hint that he'd encountered any resistance at all. Ten metric tons of force had just met a very movable object and the explosion of gore and brain matter spoke of the results.

  Seven Seconds.

  Two down.

  Twenty-one to go.

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  Reality finally caught up with the bounty hunters and the mages amongst them rushed backwards to create distance. The physical fighters, meanwhile, cast all manners of skills and engaged him in melee. A cow lady came at him first, head lowered to gouge him on the single horn that grew there. Arthur didn't understand the biology going on here, nor did he care. Like a matador with a bull, Arthur moved to the side at the last second, dodging the woman's charge by a matter of millimetres.

  Unfortunately, he dodged right into the swiping claws of a lion beastkin. He managed to take the blow on his shadow gauntlets, but it sent him reeling back. His luck finally ran dry and he was caught by the swing of a club-like tail, right in the small of his back. He went with the momentum of the blow, using the force to roll forward and out of the encirclement of his foes. While he was faster than each of the bounty hunters individually, he couldn't quite keep up with five of them attacking simultaneously.

  Small mercy that it was, the situation also prevented the mages from attacking him with impunity, having to ensure they didn't strike their fellow hunters. While there were specialised teams amongst the hunters, they weren't a single cohesive whole. Their goals aligned. They all wanted him dead, but there was only one bounty to be claimed. They were as much against each other as they were against him. Only his continued survival allowed them to maintain a semblance of cooperation.

  Spending ten thousand ether, Arthur generated a few thousand bullets of water in the air and let them fall on his enemies. It wasn't the most devastating attack in the world, but it was distracting enough that it took some of the heat off him. In those three seconds, he dispatched another two of his attackers, the club-tailed bastard and the cowkin, the former with a shadow-edged elbow strike that opened up his neck and the latter with a point-blank water bullet through the eye. Arthur was now down to three melee attackers, the lion-man, a halfling and an elf. On the bright side, at least Arthur was despised by a whole array of species. His enmity was inclusive to all.

  Arthur's rain barrage had sadly accomplished nothing on the damage front and now that he'd cleared the melee hunters, the mages were now free to unleash their magic. The three fighters disengaged and rushed backwards just as the spell barrage finally reached him. Arthur cursed. With no time to muster a defence, Arthur did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed the cowkin corpse, the largest of his felled foes and used it to shield himself.

  Corpses didn't make very good shields.

  The fact that they were corpses tended to mean their defences didn't hold up to snuff. The cowkin exploded like the world's goriest firework, an explosion of flesh, guts and splintered bone that stung his skin. It served its purpose though, and Arthur only had to contend with the attack at half-strength. Ice, wind, fire, poison, metal and a dozen other affinities he couldn't recognise hit him all at once. Arthur didn't even try to hold his ground. He went with the explosion's momentum, shooting backwards like a human cannonball. His shadow gauntlets had been destroyed and his left arm was broken in at least three places, but he'd fared far better than his makeshift shield.

  It was more by luck than design that his stint as a cannonball was brought to an end when he crashed into one of the attacking mages. The woman's outstretched hands snapped like dead twigs and her ribcage shattered like china glass. She died instantly. Arthur remained airborne for another dozen metres before touching down, bouncing thrice before his journey finally came to an end.

  Reflective Shield worked its magic and two of his attackers crumpled to the ground as a single percent of their magic returned to strike them. They weren’t dead, but they were out of the fight. The other mages had either mastered their skills or a concept sufficiently enough that he couldn’t reflect their attacks, but the fear on their faces meant they’d be a lot more cautious with their spells in the future.

  Arthur’s broken arm was screaming for attention but the bounty hunters weren’t going to give him the time to heal it. Before he could get to his feet, the lion man was on him, all claws, teeth and aggression. The beastkin was stronger than him and far larger. With a broken arm, fighting such an opponent on the ground was as disadvantageous as fighting went. The lionkin knew this too and did everything he could to prevent Arthur from getting up. From all the physical fighters, he’d faced today, the lion was by far the most skilled and he had the stats to back it up.

  “You are a great warrior,” the beastkin rasped, panting for breath. “The greatest I have ever met on the battlefield. Coming to Earth was not the mistake I had feared.”

  “Any chance that respect will see you walk away today," Arthur asked.

  The lionkin didn’t deign the question with an answer, instead swiping at Arthur's unprotected throat with his claws. Arthur managed to get his working arm in the way, which the lionkin promptly bit. Arthur swore loudly. He’d never been bitten in a grapple before but in hindsight, he probably should have seen it coming, what with the fact that his opponent had a lion's head.

  Two can play at that game. Arthur coated his teeth in shadows and returned the favour, chomping down on the lion's snout.

  The beastkin roared in agony and tried to pull back, but Arthur held on tight. The remaining bounty hunters seemed content to let their scrap play out. He was happy to take advantage of their indifference. Perhaps they thought he would lose, or maybe they wanted to get rid of the competition. Arthur didn’t care why. He’d make the most out of this opportunity. Lionkin blood poured into his mouth and down his chin but he used his shadows to prevent any from touching the insides of his mouth. Just because he fought like a savage didn’t mean he’d abandon civility altogether.

  The lionkin was laying into his ribs with his fists, but Arthur held on fast, pouring ether into his shadow bite. No way was letting this bastard go now.

  Three hundred ether. Five hundred. Seven hundred and fifty. One thousand. One thousand three hundred.

  That would have to be enough. Arthur's jaws couldn’t hold on any longer. Arthur grinned menacingly, black teeth embedded in the lion's face and finally let go of his control.

  His shadow bomb exploded from right within the lion's face, blowing off the front of his skull and pulverising his brain. Arthur too faced the blast, but he was made of sterner stuff. Four of his teeth fell from his mouth and his jaw fractured, but Arthur couldn’t help but grin, a terrifying red smile that looked downright demonic.

  He’d just swallowed a bomb.

  Standing up, Arthur turned to face his foes. Eight down. Fifteen to go.

  Etherious: Originator

  Etherious: The Locus of Power has gone live. As a self published author doing everything myself, my novels success lies entirely on my shoulders. As such, the first day of a books launch is by far the most important time that determines how well my book will do.

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