Chapter 15.3: August's Anger Unleashed - Forest Invasion
Personal System Calendar: Year 0009, Days 15-28 Month V: The Imperium
Imperial Calendar: Year 6854, 5th month, 15th to 28th Day
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More than Flames: A Seething Anger
August watched the chaos unfold before him. The screams of the dying, the acrid smell of burning flesh, the sight of corrupted black fire consuming people he had worked beside, trained with, and protected. He saw a young Imperial soldier, barely older than himself, collapse as the shadow corruption spread through his body. He witnessed a beastfolk woman he recognized from the food stalls desperately trying to crawl toward safety with legs that were melting beneath her.
Then something inside him snapped.
It was like a dam breaking, or perhaps more accurately, like the seal on a container that had been straining against mounting pressure finally giving way. All the unregulated emotions he had forcefully pushed down, shoved into the deepest recesses of his consciousness, suddenly broke free. The trauma from that terrible night when his original family had died, the weight of responsibility he carried for everyone depending on him, the frustration of never being quite strong enough, the fear he suppressed every time he entered combat, all of it surged forward in an overwhelming tide.
But above all else, there was anger. Pure, undiluted rage at the senseless death, at the corruption that twisted natural creatures into instruments of slaughter, at his own inadequacy to prevent the suffering unfolding before him.
A scream erupted from August's throat. It was not a cry of pain or fear but something far more primal. The sound resonated across the battlefield with a pitch that seemed to vibrate in the bones of everyone who heard it. The deep, reverberating tone carried such weight that it gave pause to the entire battle.
The Shadow Demons, mid-attack, hesitated. The defending forces froze, weapons raised. Even Wrathalios, preparing another devastating breath attack, stopped to locate the source of this extraordinary sound.
There seemed to be something wrong, and this time it was not coming from the demonic enemies. It came from the defenders' side. Something much worse than the Shadow Demons, something primal, something that had been experienced by every living thing since the beginning of time itself.
It was the seething, boiling rage of pure, unadulterated anger given form and power.
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The Seal Breaks
August's Personal System, the game-like interface that had governed his progression since his second life in this world, began displaying error messages and warnings. The Mechanical voice in his mind took on an urgent, almost panicked quality that he had never heard before.
"Warning! Emotional regulation failure! System limiters compromised! The player host is experiencing a dangerous power surge! Attempting emergency protocols!"
But August was beyond hearing her warnings.
What was happening went far beyond a simple boost to his powers. August was, in that moment, releasing the limiters that had been placed on him by the World System itself, manifested through his Personal System interface. These limiters had not been implemented merely as a game mechanic or to make progression more interesting. They served a critical, life-preserving function.
When the original human soul from Aerthe designated as 777-777 had made the request to have game-like powers after it got transferred into this world, the God responsible for his accidental death and this world, had given such a blessing by asking the World System to implement it, and it had agreed but with essential modifications. It had witnessed what unrestricted access to such abilities could do to a mortal vessel. Without proper safeguards, the raw power would annihilate the host before they could even begin to wield it.
The Personal System levels existed to hold this power back, to slowly integrate it into August's being in measured doses. Like a game, it made the vessel stronger incrementally, allowing body, mind, and soul to adapt to capabilities that would otherwise destroy them. Each level represented not just increased power but increased capacity to handle that power.
The question was: Why had these limiters been released now? Why could August suddenly access power that should have been locked behind dozens of future levels?
The answer was both simple and terrifying. His body, his vessel, could now handle it. Not all of the power locked within the system, not even most of it, but a glimpse. A fraction of what he might eventually become. His progression through constant combat, his refinement of skills, and perhaps most importantly, the tempering of his soul through hardship had advanced him to a threshold.
The Personal System was now working in overdrive, not to grant him power but to keep him alive while accessing it. The system's primary function had shifted from progression management to emergency life support, regulating the flow of power to prevent August's soul from being consumed by energies it was barely capable of channeling.
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The Transformation
August's consciousness did not merely slip away; it shattered. Just as it had in his direst time of need during his earliest experiences with the Personal System. As he almost died again with his fight with the Boarat Commander. The power had been new and overwhelming, and his mind while he was in a limbo between life and death, and it overtook controls temporarily and was saved by the system. But unlike those early instances where he had no thoughts of his own to maintain control, this time he simply let go of any of it.
He surrendered to his desires, his rage, his need to destroy everything that had caused this pain and suffering. His conscious mind stepped aside, and something else took the helm. Not quite instinct, not quite another personality, but rather the pure expression of his will unbound by the limitations of rational thought.
The transformation was visible to everyone on the battlefield. They watched as the boy they knew became something else entirely, something that approached divinity. Light erupted from August's body, brilliant and intense, illuminating the evening sky as if day had suddenly returned. Yet despite its brightness, the light was not unpleasant to look upon. It carried a quality of purity that made even the darkness of the Shadow Demons seem pale by comparison.
Everyone who witnessed it felt fear. Deep, instinctive fear that transcended rational assessment of friend or foe. They were experiencing the terror of overwhelming power they could not comprehend, a force so far beyond their understanding that it triggered primal survival instincts.
The Imperial soldiers, veterans of countless campaigns, found themselves trembling. Some had been privileged enough to stand in the presence of Emperor Janus himself, a half-god who walked among mortals. That experience had inspired awe and reverence. This was different. The Emperor's divine heritage was inherent, part of his nature. This power radiating from August was something a mortal had achieved, or was in the process of achieving, which made it somehow more terrifying.
Captain Commander Hilda found herself taking an involuntary step backward, her hand tightening on her sword not in preparation to fight but as a reflexive gesture of self-comfort. She had faced legendary beasts, confronted powerful mages, and survived battles that would have broken lesser warriors. Nothing had prepared her for this.
"What is he?" she whispered, though no one could hear her over the sound of raw power crackling through the air, as the wind, lightning and flames danced around him.
Master Ben Flameswrath, who had lived for almost two centuries and witnessed the rise and fall of kingdoms, felt his own hands trembling slightly. He recognized what he was seeing. This temporary form of August represented what the boy might become once he had reached his full potential, and mastered the power dwelling within him. It was a glimpse of August's final form, manifested prematurely through emotional overload.
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Light Versus the Emissaries of Darkness
August began to move, and the word "move" was inadequate to describe it. He did not run or fly but seemed to translate directly from one position to another, moving at speeds that even enhanced eyes could barely follow. Where there was light, there must also be shadow, and the battlefield was full of shadows. Hundreds of Shadow Demons, creatures of darkness that had been closing in for the kill, suddenly found themselves face to face with something they could not comprehend.
Wrathalios, the Shadow Demon Dragon, recognized immediately what had happened. In that instant of clarity, the corrupted beast understood why it had been sent here by that one, the intelligence dwelling in the deepest parts of Shadowfen Forest. The mission had never truly been to destroy the village itself. The buildings, the fortifications, even the people were secondary concerns.
This mortal, this aberration, was the real target. This person was the village in the truest sense. Without August Finn, the settlement would never have risen to such prominence, never have become such a threat to the forest's power structure. The village's strength was August's strength, and eliminating him would accomplish what no army of beasts could manage.
Wrathalios screeched a command to its minions, the sound carrying layers of meaning that transcended language. Every Shadow Demon on the battlefield received the same imperative: "Kill the mortal!"
The corrupted creatures abandoned their current targets and converged on August with single-minded purpose. Hundreds of shadow-wreathed forms descended upon the point of light, seeking to overwhelm through sheer numbers what they could not match in power.
It was futile.
August had gained access to his final form, even though it would last only a few minutes before the strain became too great. Abilities not yet known to him, powers locked behind future progression gates, suddenly became available. His main element of fire transformed into something unprecedented: divine fire, flames that did not come from mortal understanding of combustion but from something higher, purer.
It was fire taken from the gods themselves, or at least from the conceptual space where divinity and mortality intersected. This was not metaphorical or symbolic but literal truth. The flames carried properties that normal fire could never possess. Most significantly, they could cleanse corruption, burning away the demonic taint that had transformed these creatures from natural beasts into twisted horrors.
August's sword, the blade that had served him faithfully through countless battles, now blazed with white fire so bright it seemed to burn away the darkness simply by existing. With a single sweep of his weapon, a wave of divine flame washed over the charging Shadow Demons.
They did not merely die. They ceased to exist. The white fire consumed them completely, burning not just physical bodies but also the corrupted souls trapped within. There was no slow destruction, no prolonged suffering, just instant and absolute annihilation. Shadow Demons that had seemed nearly unkillable through conventional means simply vanished, leaving nothing behind, not even ash.
Everything happened in what seemed like the blink of an eye, though in reality, several seconds passed. To those watching, time seemed to distort, the battle moving in strange lurches between too-fast and too-slow.
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The Dragon Falls
Wrathalios, blessed or cursed with greater intelligence than its minions, recognized the danger and attempted to escape. Its massive wings, each one larger than a house, beat with desperate strength as it launched itself into the air. Flight was its advantage, the one thing that might let it survive this encounter.
But even the dragon was not fast enough. A tongue of white fire caught its left wing, and Wrathalios shrieked in agony. The pain was unlike anything the corrupted creature had experienced. The divine flames did not simply burn flesh; they seared the demonic essence that had transformed it, attacking the very foundation of what it had become.
Acting on pure survival instinct, Wrathalios used its own claws to tear away the burning section of its wing. Better to be maimed than to let the cleansing fire spread through its entire body. The severed wing section fell to the ground, still burning, and disintegrated before it hit earth.
But August was already running out of time. His body was not truly ready for this level of power, and the strain was immense. The Personal System's voice was a constant stream of warnings in his mind, alerting him to systems approaching critical failure, to damage accumulating in ways that might not be immediately reversible.
He had minutes at best, perhaps less. He needed to end this now.
August moved with the speed of light itself, or at least something approaching it. Physical laws seemed to bend around him, reality making concessions to accommodate power it had never been designed to contain in a mortal form. One moment he was on the ground; the next, he was in front of Wrathalios, his sword already in motion.
The strike was perfect. Not merely technically flawless but perfect in a deeper sense, the kind of attack that transcended skill and entered the realm of absolute execution. His blade, wreathed in divine fire, cut through the Shadow Demon Dragon's defenses as if they did not exist.
Wrathalios was not able to react. In truth, almost no one present could follow what had transpired. The dragon simply came apart, its massive body separating into countless pieces, each one immediately engulfed in white flames. August made certain that every fragment burned completely, leaving no possibility of regeneration or escape.
He touched the ground lightly, landing with impossible grace, and sheathed his sword in a single fluid motion. Behind him, the remains of Wrathalios finished their transformation into liquid fire before evaporating entirely.
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The Aftermath
The battlefield fell silent. The Shadow Demons were gone, reduced to nothing. Their leader had been annihilated. The corrupted flames that had been spreading through the village were being consumed by lingering traces of August's divine fire, which seemed to possess a limited autonomous existence even after he had stopped actively channeling it.
Master Ben was the first to move, his centuries of experience allowing him to process what had happened faster than others. He could understand, at least partially, what he had witnessed. He had only caught glimpses of August's actual movements, and even those glimpses had been at the absolute limit of his perception.
Aetherwing descended from the sky, landing near his bonded partner. The great eagle's thoughts reached Master Ben and others nearby who possessed the sensitivity to hear them. "This may not be fully the August that we know. That power inside him was controlling him, regulating this dangerous form. Because if it had not, I fear the result would have been far worse than what we witnessed. The boy might have ceased to exist, consumed by power he cannot yet truly contain."
The battle had been won easily, almost absurdly so given the threat they had faced. But the cost was not yet fully understood. August stood alone in the center of the battlefield, still radiating fading light, his body trembling with strain. As his transformation began to reverse, he collapsed to his knees, then fell forward onto his hands.
Blood dripped from his nose, his ears, the corners of his eyes. His body was paying the price for channeling forces it was not yet ready to handle. Internal injuries were accumulating, the kind that would not be immediately apparent but would require extensive healing to fully address.
Master Ben immediately ordered the preparation of the medical tent. Whatever August had done to himself, the old wizard suspected the boy might not fully recover from it, at least not quickly. The damage was not merely physical but spiritual, the kind of harm that occurred when a soul tried to channel more power than it could safely contain.
Even Master Ben, who had previously slain a transcendent demonic entity from the cosmos before it could fully manifest, found this version of August far more terrifying than what he had faced that day. The demon had been powerful, certainly, touching the clauses of godhood, but it had been something external, something that could be fought and defeated.
This power dwelling inside August was different. It was part of him, or he was becoming part of it. The distinction was unclear. Master Ben wondered if mortals could truly achieve such transformation on their own, or if, as Aetherwing had suggested, this was entirely the result of whatever extraordinary power had been granted to August by the World.
He shuddered involuntarily, remembering the sensation he had felt during his first meeting with August. Even then, before the boy had accessed even a fraction of his current power, Master Ben had sensed something unusual. Now he understood what his instincts had been warning him about.
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The Cost
Everyone moved with practiced efficiency, checking the battlefield and bringing casualties toward the camp rear. The busiest personnel were the healers and support units, who found themselves overwhelmed with patients despite the battle's swift conclusion.
It was unmistakable to those who had witnessed everything that transpired: this village could not be underestimated any longer. The Imperial observer assigned to evaluate the settlement would be filing a report that would fundamentally change how the Empire viewed this frontier community. But such political considerations would have to wait. Life had to continue, and there was immediate work to be done.
Teams moved to assess damage to buildings and fortifications. The initial fire breath attack from Wrathalios had caused structural damage that needed to be evaluated and repaired. Magical barriers had been stressed to their limits and required examination to ensure they would hold in future attacks.
The final casualty report, once compiled, painted a sobering picture despite the ultimate victory:
Two human residents of the village were confirmed dead, their injuries too severe for even magical healing to address. Several others remained in critical condition, fighting for their lives. Most of the wounded had been stabilized, but some might still perish if complications developed from their injuries.
Three beastfolk had perished, their bodies consumed by the corrupted black fire before it could be extinguished.
Four Imperial soldiers had fallen, veterans who had survived years of campaigns only to die in their first engagement defending this remote village.
Overall, there were over two hundred casualties of varying severity from the initial fire breath attack by the Shadow Demon Dragon. Burns, shadow corruption, crush injuries from falling debris, and dozens of other trauma types filled the medical tents.
August himself lay unconscious in the primary medical facility, his condition stable but concerning. Master Ben and the village's healers worked together, combining Imperial medical techniques with local knowledge to address injuries they barely understood.
As night fell over the village, the defenders maintained their vigilance. The immediate threat had been eliminated, but the forest war continued. This had been a targeted assassination attempt, which meant someone or something in the depths of Shadowfen was specifically aware of August and viewed him as a critical threat.
The war had become personal, and the stakes had never been higher.