The Glitched Mage-Chapter 39: Second Circle Part 2

Dark energy crackled in the air as Riven steadied himself. He exhaled, forcing himself to focus - not on the pain, not on the overwhelming presence of his opponents, but on the fight itself.

This wasn't just about survival.

This was about domination.

The five generals were watching him now, their gazes sharp, assessing. They moved like predators, circling him in slow, calculated motions, waiting for an opening. Nyx and Krux were at the forefront, their weapons gleaming with the eerie glow of shadowed mana. The silver-haired woman with twin daggers shifted lightly on her feet, her stance fluid, deadly. The brute with the greatsword stood like an immovable wall, his molten-red eyes unblinking. The final general, a slender figure cloaked in flowing midnight robes, simply stood at the edge of the battlefield, watching.

Their lack of hesitation told Riven everything he needed to know.

They didn't see him as their king.

They saw him as an intruder.

Fine.

Then he'd show them exactly who he was.

With a flick of his wrist, his shadows surged, coiling around his arms and legs like living tendrils. His fingers curled into claws, dark energy crackling between them.

The silence shattered.

Nyx moved first, vanishing in a blur of shadows.

Riven felt it - felt the pull of mana, the way the air shifted just behind him. He twisted at the last moment, raising his arm just as her blade came slicing down. Metal clashed against the hardened density of his shadow-coated forearm, sparks flying.

But he wasn't given a moment to counter.

Krux was already there, a hammer-like fist hurtling toward him.

Riven shifted, raising a wall of shadows to absorb the brunt of the blow. The impact sent ripples through the dark energy, but he used it to propel himself backward, gaining distance.

Not that it helped.

The silver-haired woman was already there, daggers flashing as she lunged.

Riven barely managed to twist his body, the cold bite of her blade grazing his side. A sharp pain flared, but he pushed past it, his instincts screaming as he caught sight of the brute with the greatsword lifting his weapon overhead.

Too fast.

Riven snarled, slamming his hands against the ground.

Shadows erupted in jagged spikes, forcing his attackers back just as the greatsword came crashing down. The floor cracked under the sheer force, tremors shaking through the temple hall.

He barely had time to breathe before Nyx flickered back into existence.

Her blade was already descending.

This time, Riven didn't dodge.

He caught it.

His hand, wreathed in dark energy, closed around the steel, stopping it just inches from his throat.

For a single moment, their gazes met.

And for the first time since the battle began, Nyx hesitated.

Riven smirked.

Then he twisted, yanking the blade free from her grasp and flinging it aside.

A pulse of mana exploded from his core, and shadows surged outward in a violent shockwave, forcing all five generals back.

Silence stretched in the aftermath, the air thick with tension.

Velmorian's voice cut through it like a blade.

"Interesting."

Riven's chest rose and fell with steady breaths, his shadows still flickering like restless flames.

The five generals regrouped, but something had changed. They no longer rushed in recklessly. They were watching him differently now, their eyes filled with something beyond mere aggression.

Recognition.

Riven straightened, his smirk deepening. "What's wrong?" he taunted. "Starting to see it now?"

Nyx's grip on her retrieved weapon tightened.

Krux's brows furrowed.

Even the silver-haired woman hesitated for a fraction of a second.

But it was Velmorian's low chuckle that truly caught Riven's attention.

The previous king of shadows leaned forward on his throne, his violet eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "You have strength," he admitted. "But strength alone is not enough."

His presence pressed down on the chamber like a living force, thick with the weight of something ancient.

"You have their attention," he murmured. "But will you earn their loyalty?"

Riven's eyes narrowed.

That was it.

This trial wasn't about proving he was strong - It was about proving he was worthy.

Worthy of their loyalty.

Worthy of the throne.

A slow grin spread across his face. "Well then," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Let's get started."

His mana surged.

Dark energy crackled in the air as Riven steadied himself. He exhaled, forcing himself to focus - not on the pain, not on the overwhelming presence of his opponents, but on the fight itself.

The five generals were watching him now, their gazes sharp, assessing. They moved like predators, circling him in slow, calculated motions, waiting for an opening. Nyx and Krux were at the forefront, their weapons gleaming with the eerie glow of shadowed mana. The silver-haired woman with twin daggers shifted lightly on her feet, her stance fluid, deadly. The brute with the greatsword stood like an immovable wall, his molten-red eyes unblinking. The final general, a slender figure cloaked in flowing midnight robes, simply stood at the edge of the battlefield, watching.

Riven took this moment to summon three fireballs. Heat pulsed through the chamber as Riven's fireballs flared to life, their intensity warping the air. The flickering glow cast jagged shadows along the obsidian floor, illuminating the five generals who had momentarily halted their attack.

He had their attention.

The fire orbs spun lazily around him, each one charged with raw, volatile energy. This wasn't just about brute force anymore - he had to make them submit to him.

Riven flicked his wrist, sending one of the fireballs streaking toward the silver-haired woman. She dodged effortlessly, her form twisting like liquid shadow, but he wasn't aiming for her.

He was testing their reactions.

The second fireball shot toward Krux, forcing him to brace his gauntlets in front of his face. The flames struck, splintering into molten embers as Krux dug his heels into the ground, absorbing the impact.

Again, Riven noted their movements.

Fast. Efficient. They were warriors who had spent lifetimes perfecting their techniques… but now, they were only reacting.

Not attacking.

They were waiting for something.

For him.

Riven's grin widened.

If they needed a reason to serve him - then he would give them one.

Riven's gaze snapped up to Velmorian, still seated upon his throne, untouched by the chaos unfolding around him. The former King of Shadows remained motionless, his piercing violet eyes gleaming with something unreadable - assessing, waiting.

And that was the problem.

The generals weren't submitting to Riven because their king still sat before them.

He needed to change that.

With a sharp breath, Riven summoned a spiral of fireballs, the scorching heat warping the air around him. Flames roared to life, casting wild shadows along the temple walls. The generals instinctively braced for impact, momentarily shifting into defensive stances.

That was all he needed.

A distraction.

In that split second, while they were focused on the blinding heat, Riven moved.

He launched himself forward, his body a blur of shadows and flame, cutting through the battlefield like a blade aimed directly at the throne.

The moment Riven surged forward, the weight of the trial shifted.

The five generals reacted instantly, their instincts honed through centuries of battle. But they weren't his focus—not anymore. Their loyalty was bound to Velmorian, their oaths sworn to a king who no longer ruled. If he wanted them to submit, he had to make them.

Not through strength alone.

But through conquest.

Velmorian's presence loomed at the heart of the temple, an unshakable force of shadow and power. His violet eyes tracked Riven's movement, still unreadable, still waiting.

Riven wasn't going to give him time to decide his fate.

He was taking it.

His fireballs spiraled outward, erupting in brilliant bursts of heat that forced the generals to recoil, shielding their eyes. The air warped, heat waves distorting their vision for a fraction of a second.

That was all Riven needed.

He closed the distance between himself and the throne in a single bound, shadows coiling around his arms like hungry tendrils. The weight of Velmorian's gaze bore down on him, heavy, suffocating.

But he didn't hesitate.

He struck.

His shadow-cloaked fist rocketed toward the seated king, a blow meant to shatter stone, to drive through whatever illusion of power remained.

And then-

Darkness.

Velmorian didn't move. He didn't even blink.

Yet, in an instant, Riven's attack was swallowed whole.

Reality warped.

Like a ripple through existence, the space between them twisted unnaturally. Riven's fist met not flesh, not resistance - only the cold, unrelenting embrace of the void. His momentum collapsed inward, swallowed whole by a vortex of pure, suffocating shadow.

The temple fractured.

The walls of the throne room wavered, dissolving into an endless abyss. The pillars that once held the chamber upright stretched, twisted, then faded into nothingness. The world itself was unraveling around him, pulled into a realm of absolute darkness.

Riven's breath hitched.

The cloaked General had finally revealed his hand.

A patient strategist, he had waited, watching, calculating the perfect moment to strike. Now, standing at the far edge of the dissolving battlefield, his shrouded form remained eerily still, save for the slow, deliberate motion of his hands.

A massive dark-blue magic circle pulsed in front of him, glowing with sinister intent.

Riven's smirk returned.

"You're using shadows against me?" His voice carried amusement, undercut by something sharper - something almost insulted.

The General hesitated, if only for a fraction of a second.

Riven exhaled, reaching deep within his core, into the thrumming mana heart. He didn't a special skill for this.

All he needed was a single command.

Devour.

The abyss obeyed.

The vortex surged outward, a consuming force that swept across the battlefield, swallowing every last tendril of shadow magic the General had conjured. The magic circle shattered. The spell collapsed.

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The General staggered back, the dark hood of his cloak billowing from the sheer force of the energy being stripped from his control.

Riven stepped forward.

"I. Am. The. King."

Each word reverberated through the void, an undeniable decree that echoed across the endless black. The weight of his authority settled over the battlefield like an unbreakable chain.

Velmorian had not moved.

The former King of Shadows remained seated upon his throne, watching—waiting. His violet eyes, unreadable as ever, gleamed faintly in the dying light.

The abyss coiled around Riven, a swirling tempest of power, bending reality itself to his will. His dark-blue eyes, glowing with the depths of his mana, locked onto Velmorian.

This was the moment.

This was his moment.

He raised a hand.

Velmorian's expression didn't change as Riven's fingers pressed against his face, sparks of fire crackling between them.

The shadows trembled.

The temple groaned.

Velmorian's mouth curved, just slightly, as though he found something amusing.

Riven didn't care.

"Now, you die."

The fireball detonated at point-blank range.

Flames exploded outward, consuming everything in its path.

And then, the world shattered.

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