Rise of the Archmage Alister

Hair as white as bleached bone, eyes grey and glowing with visible wisps of mana, the Archmage Raalin hovered above a valley of lush green.

He was so high that the angry storm clouds of the night sky nearly touched his back. Below, twelve golden glowing dots denoted each of his targets - the gods. The people that had been hunting him for over a year now.

Damn bastards. He was exhausted. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, his stomach contorted with hunger, and his figure was far gaunter than it used to be. They gave him no rest. Better him than his disciples, though. If their focus was leveled here, it meant the students could rest.

The sky shook and the clouds dispersed with the force of the forming spell. An arrangement of magic circles formed, 100 meters wide with numerous smaller circles interlaced within, all glowing bright blue and brimming with power. Raalin floated at the center, hands outstretched. He could no longer run.

His long hair whipping around in the wind, grey cloak billowing violently, he grit his teeth through the drain on his mana and cast the numerous spells.

Grand Display of Ice! Shatter!

Seeking Tendrils, Lightning Field!

Pull of the Void!

Hellgate of Magma!

There was no starting off small with these people. He had to attack with all his might from the very beginning.

Standing on the ground below were the twelve gods. They had been searching for the Archmage, but this was the first time he had decided to retaliate. Even though they had been intending to kill him, the scale of his spell barrage was incredible and unexpected. How much had he prepared in advance? For a human, it was impressive.

Millions of thin needles of ice were the first sign of the spell, each of them so small they were difficult to see, though moving with such speed that they tore through trees and stone as though through paper. The gravity magic served twofold - slow the gods down and speed the projectiles up.

As if that wasn’t enough, the two other spells took effect in the whole area. The ground began to heat until it was bubbling and glowing hot. Lightning struck over and over again from the storm above and scattered endlessly between the shards of ice. Each needle served as its own lightning rod. Even those that had struck the ground simply embedded themselves instead of breaking, making the whole scene a mess of ice, lightning, and fire.

As expected of the gods, they held the magic at bay with their own protective domes of various hues. One of the twelve, a woman, screamed in pain as the electricity made its way through and coursed through her. That was enough of an opening for the ice shards to shred her to pieces. He needed to make sure there was no coming back. He’d make mincemeat, just to be certain.

One god down, eleven to go.

Archmage Raalin knew he needed to buff himself while he still had the chance. Something strong. He muttered a spell under his breath, focus unwavering. Surrounding power of the will of the world, grant me strength. Raging Feast!

Another god, a man, was injured by the lightning, but it wasn’t enough to break his focus, and so his warding remained stalwart. As the spell crackled and neared its end, all remaining eleven gods had already readied spells of various elements and cast them towards the archmage.

The mage’s form blurred and tore side to side, moving with incredible speed to dodge or deflect the projectiles. Thin magic circuits encircled his wrists and ankles, and even so, each divine spell came close to taking his life. They rippled the air around them with power. He was riddled with cuts and a few deeper gashes as he prepared his next spell.

“As expected of the Archmage Raalin…,” one god chuckled grimly. To be able to cast and dodge at the same time was notoriously difficult. He was the de facto leader of this band of deities, a god of power, of the sun. Iker. The fiery-haired god ended his spell moments before the others to bring up a ward, “A shame that won’t be enough today!”

It was just in time, too, as Raalin retaliated again with a fireball the size of an entire tavern. Flames sizzled the air and licked at the plants, coming closer and closer until it carbonized everything it touched. There wasn’t enough time for a fire to spread - it was too hot.

Raalin followed it down with blinding speed, drawing his two-handed great-axe from his pocket space. Made of an adamantine alloy with a green hue and a black wood that hungrily absorbed light from around it, the blade began to vibrate and glow as he cast silent magic across it while he fell. He slashed at the barrier with both hands gripped on his hilt. His glowing grey eyes contained so much intensity and hate.

“I will bring you down with me!” Raalin shouted, voice deep and booming, “Even if I have to fight until my soul gives out, I will kill every one of you damn gods until my last breath!” He was drenched in a mix of sweat, blood, and rain but showed no signs of stopping.

True to his words, he took down two of the male gods in his fiery attack, injuring most of the others. The leader, God Iker, was unharmed, however, and drew his own golden spear from midair. “Brethren! Take down the prideful mage! He who dares trespass on the domain of gods!” Invigorated by the rallying cry, they pushed the archmage back.

Hours passed.

Over half of the gods were dead. The other half were heavily injured. The valley they were fighting in was scarred and pitted, devoid of life, ravaged by the battle. Charred columns of charcoal stood in for what was once trees. Ash coated the ground. A deep gorge had been formed running from halfway up the mountain that defined the valley on one side, to the base of the other. It was carved so far down that the bottom could not be seen, darkness swirling at its deepest points.

In the center of this battlefield, flesh torn in various places, bruised and with all his limbs broken, laid Raalin in a pool of blood.

He was laughing, coughing up blood as he lay dying. Seven. Eight, if the one girl died from her injuries later. That was a good number. He knew most of his bones were broken, ribs in splinters, lungs barely taking in breath, bleeding internally. Even if the gods did nothing at this point, he would succumb to his injuries.

Even if it takes an eternity… I will return… and I’ll kill you all… he threatened telepathically, grinning despite the pain.

The leader of the gods gripped his throat and lifted his broken body up. Raalin gagged and choked on his blood, shattered arms unable to do more than twitch in defiance. He tried to cast a spell on instinct, but God Iker merely squeezed and the pain broke his concentration.

“After you, I will hunt down all your disciples. I will destroy everything you’ve fought for. Everything you’ve built. Everything you love. And you… are helpless. I hope you can watch from the afterlife and curse us,” the god seethed with an evil grin, crushing the human’s windpipe in his hand. His body dropped to the ground. After a few more seconds of gurgling, it was done. It was finally over.

To make sure the archmage couldn’t somehow defy logic and return, or that someone couldn’t manage to resurrect him, the god lifted his bloodied hand and consumed the body in flames. He charred the body until it was nothing more than ash blowing in the wind, adding to the soot of the now-dead land.

Raalin felt himself falling into darkness. There was nothing. No sight. No sound. Not even smells permeated the silent abyss. He supposed no god would have wanted him in their afterlife, but… he didn’t want to die. Didn’t want to stay in this… empty place, where his very breath was stolen from him. Whatever consciousness he still had, left him.