Free Web NovelChapter 112: I See You.
Maldred’s eyes snapped open.
The forced slumber that had been pressing against his consciousness, dragging him toward darkness, was gone. The weight that had been crushing his mind had lifted. He could feel his strength slowly returning to his body—seeping back into his limbs, his core, his ancient bones.
His eyes flickered in the darkness of the room with a defying glare.
"The other lord... he stopped."
Maldred did not know why. He did not care why. The only thing that mattered was that he was no longer being forced to sleep. His power was returning alongside his hunger was returning with his overall control as well.
But this was bad news for Thalion.
The fragment of his son’s consciousness, drifting in the void of his father’s soul, felt the shift immediately. Maldred’s defenses were hardening and awareness was sharpening. The cracks that Thalion had been hiding in were sealing themselves.
"If my father gains full strength," Thalion realized, "I stand no chance of taking over his body."
He would be trapped, forever. A whisper in a giant’s stomach, never to escape. frёeωebɳovel.com
Maldred smiled.
His cracked lips curled upward, revealing yellowed teeth. He assumed he had managed to overpower the awakening lord. That his will, his hunger, his centuries of cheating the natural cycle had finally paid off. He had won. The other lord had retreated, unable to force Maldred into slumber and in turn, being the one forced to slumber.
"I am stronger," Maldred thought. "Stronger than any of them."
But that was not what had happened.
The lord of the vines had not been overpowered. He had been smarter. He had found a way to not be recognized by the Marrow as a lord—by transferring a significant portion of his power into Jason. The Marrow’s barrier could not force him to sleep if it did not perceive him as a threat to it. He was no longer a lord in the eyes of this unique barrier. He was just... a creature. Bound, weakened but awake.
And he had given Jason the ability to bear threats. Because he had seen what Jason was capable of. The absorption, the adaptation and the endless hunger for power.
Maldred knew none of this.
He sat on his throne, basking in his imagined victory, his power swelling back into his body. His scars glowed red. The bones beneath him creaked.
Then he felt it.
The Marrow’s barrier began to destabilize.
Maldred’s smile vanished. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. His claws dug into the armrests of his throne.
"What is happening?"
The barrier—the ancient, absolute seal that had kept criminals imprisoned for centuries—was flickering. Not failing. Not breaking. But wavering. Like a candle flame in the wind.
Maldred’s mind raced. He could feel it in his body—a wrongness, a disturbance in the fundamental magic that held the Marrow together. Something had changed. Something had shifted the balance.
"If the barrier destabilizes," Maldred thought, "the other lords will wake as well."
Because there would be nothing left for them to sleep for. The barrier was their purpose. Their reason for existing. If it began to fail, they would rise—not to save it, but to protect themselves.
And the moment they woke up, they would come after him.
Maldred had breached the natural order of things. He had stayed awake for centuries while they slept. He had consumed his own children to maintain his power. He had cheated the cycle that had governed the Marrow since its creation.
The other lords would not forgive that.
They would not ask questions. They would not offer mercy. They would tear him apart—his body, his soul, his very essence—and scatter the pieces across the wasteland.
Maldred rose from his throne. His massive frame filled the chamber, shadows dancing across his scarred skin.
"I cannot let them wake," he growled.
But he did not know how or if he could stop it.
-
The minion crouched in the shadows of the upper corridor, its patchy scales blending with the darkness, its too-many joints folded into a posture of patient observation. Maldred had sent it to track the human—to watch, to listen, to report back. It had done so without question, without emotion, without hesitation.
But now, for the first time since its inception, the minion was afraid and it had only felt this fear the first time it met Maldred.
It had followed Jason through the Marrow. It had watched the creature walk through the roots that should have killed him. Had seen Ylva tear through vines with her scream, had witnessed the strange creature on Mae’s back—the ant king, small and hibernating, missing an arm.
This creature’s sight worked differently, it could see through things.
But it had not seen the watcher. It had not witnessed that battle. It only knew what Maldred had told it: that this thing before him was dangerous enough to be observed.
Now, crouching in the darkness above the lord’s chamber, the minion saw something that made its blood run cold.
Jason stood at the center of the roots, the symbol on his forehead gleaming faintly gold. The vines did not attack him. They obeyed him. They parted at his feet, curled around his fingers, responded to his will like loyal hounds to their master.
"This should not be possible." It thought to itself.
The minion’s black eyes reflected the scene below. There should be no one in existence—apart from another lord, or a potential next lord—that could house the power of the lord. It had served Maldred for centuries. It understood the nature of power in the Marrow. Vessels broke and their minds shattered with just a fraction of this power this thing before him was utilizing so casually.
Jason should be dead.
But he stood, unfazed. And the roots—the ancient, hungry roots that had impaled thousands—bowed to him.
"I have to stop him." It’s thought to itself.
The minion’s claws extended. Its body coiled, ready to spring. It could not allow Jason to reach Maldred in his current state. The lord was already destabilized by the awakening of the other lord. If Jason reached him now, with that stolen power and that impossible will...
"I cannot let that happen." It thought to itself.
The minion leaped.
It was fast—faster than it had ever moved. Its body cut through the air like a blade, aimed at the floor below. It would strike from above, catch the human off guard, end this before it could go any further.
Then it felt the branches.
They came from everywhere—from the walls, the very soil, and the floor. Not the slow, deliberate movements it had observed before. These were aggressive, they reacted completely different like it was now using the will of Jason. They shot toward the minion like spears, their tips sharpened to points, their bark bristling with thorns that dripped with something dark and viscous.
The minion twisted in mid-air. Its body contorted at unnatural angles, joints bending backward, spine curling. A branch whistled past its ear, close enough to shave scales. Another swept beneath its feet, trying to trip it. A third stabbed toward its chest.
It dodged them all.
But the branches were not done. They adapted and they learned, like they were extensions of his system. A wall of roots erupted in front of the minion, blocking its escape. It veered left—another wall. Right—another wall. The branches were herding it, corralling it, forcing it toward a single destination.
The minion realized too late.
It was not being stopped. It was being re-directed.
A branch appeared behind it—not attacking, not blocking, but waiting. The minion could not change its trajectory mid-air. It could not slow down. It could not stop.
The branch swung.
The impact was tremendous—a crack of wood against scale that sent the minion flying through the air like a stone from a sling.
Its body tumbled end over end, claws scraping uselessly against the air. It had no control or direction.
There was no escape.
The wind roared past its ears, the walls blurred. The roots parted before it, clearing a path straight toward—
Jason.
The minion’s black eyes widened. It tried to twist, to turn, to change its course. Too late.
It flew past the roots. Past the moss. Past Ylva, who was positioned right in front of Jason alongside Mae, who was crouched against the wall picking up the ant king.
Jason’s hand shot out.
His fingers wrapped around the minion’s throat with the speed of a serpent striking. Not gently. Not cautiously. His grip was absolute—iron and mana and stolen power all fused into one.
He slammed the minion into the ground.
The stone exploded.
A crater formed beneath the creature’s body, cracks spiderwebbing outward in every direction. The shockwave rippled through the chamber, rattling the roots, shaking loose dust from the ceiling. Ylva stumbled. Mae dropped to her knees.
The minion’s body went limp. Its black eyes stared up at Jason, unblinking.
Jason smiled.
Not a warm smile. Not a kind smile. It was the smile of someone who had been pushed too far, who had lost too much, who had finally had enough.
"Hello there," Jason said.
The minion could not respond. It could not breathe. It could not move.
Jason’s grip tightened.
