Chapter 7

Sutr


The cramped and cold passage led to a small cavern - wide enough to fit a company of soldiers and tall enough to fit a Minotaur. Although, to Nero, it looked more of a chamber than a cavern, given the smooth domed roof and the perfectly conditioned walls around him. Which leads to him speculating that this chamber wasn't natural, perhaps, some well-trained carvers built this place? But for what purpose would it serve?

That is when his eyes shifted to the centre of the chamber.

He saw it.

Floating upon an ornate pedestal, rested a single weapon.

By the length of its blade, Nero identified it as a Greatsword. The handle was large enough to be wielded by two hands. The guard was well-decorated with glowing carmine runes. The blade itself was long and simple in design and also has runes decorating the sides of the fuller.

It looked simple, yet he could feel the power radiating from it. This kind of power alone, Nero is shocked that the Goblins haven't noticed something like this underneath them.

"Perhaps this chamber is shielding its radiance from the outside?" He concluded. It seemed to be the more sensible theory. If it wasn't then the Goblins are just simply stupid for not noticing this under them.

"Gnarl, do you see what I'm seeing here?"

"Yes sire, to say I'm surprised as you are with this sword."

"Do you recognise the sword, Gnarl?" Nero asked the Minion. "It seems to have been here for a long time, so therefore we can assume that it's ancient."

"Apologies, sire, but I don't seem to recognise the sword in front of you. It appears to be either more ancient or predates our time."

"I see…" Nero sighed. He glanced back at the sword.

"Peculiar...there doesn't seem to be any security here. No golems, no wards or magical barriers that I can sense...I'm really surprised that this sword is still even here."

"Peculiar indeed, sire. I believe this is what you call a miracle..."

"This or is just a stroke of luck that these goblins just didn't find it. Either that or they're just really feeble-minded to not even notice."

Nero stared at the weapon before coming to a decision.

"Might as well take the weapon. we cannot leave just leave it here. Who knows if the Goblins will find it."

He slowly approached the weapon, carefully minding his step in case there were any weighted plates on the floor. Surprisingly, there were none, allowing him to reach the weapon safely. Once in front of the weapon, he could see ancient writing inscribed upon the stone altar.

"Familiar, sire?" Gnarl asked, sensing his master's familiarity with the writing.

"These were written in nordic," Nero told him. "A language most common in the North. A possible theory now is that this sword originated from The North beyond Dragundaala."

"I don't know much of the language, but I do know some... thanks to Ulfrik…"

The once-great leader of the Myrmidons sighed as he remembered the old northern comrade.

Quickly getting over his sorrow, he traced a hand over the inscriptions.

"II/780…Heathen King...the great northern army...hmmm, according to the inscriptions, this sword was once wielded as the Heathen King who attempted to conquer Dragundaala but was defeated by the king of that time. Interesting…"

His hand continued to trace the inscriptions.

"Forged in vexation, Baptised by abyssal flames, Wreathed with the rage and grief and horrors of the wicked and the condemned"

"Sounds...heinous, sire. I am now intrigued by this sword's origins. Perhaps, we should do some research on it if given the chance."

Nero nodded in agreement. He moderately extended a hand towards its handle. He hesitated as his fingers hovered around the handle…

He firmly grasped the hilt.

His world went dark.


He was awoken by the rays of light shining through the shutters of a nearby window. He was no longer within the vault. He was inside a bed! The cosiest and snuggliest bed that he ever felt. It was really big and really wide, but that didn't prevent him from enjoying its comfort.

He could lay in here forever, bashfully residing within the warmth it provided.

Yet, something felt wrong, very, very, wrong.

It wasn't anything to do with his body, which he soon realised was very, very small.

Nor was it the bed that he occupies.

His mind was screaming at him so for something else, but for what? He felt confused.

It was then that he looked, and a familiar picture stood nearby, next to a vase of perfectly kept flowers upon a small table.

His heart sank.

Recognition and disbelief kicked in.

This is-!

A knock at the door and he suddenly leapt out of the bed. He fell face flat upon the wooden floor, crying painfully as he clutched his face.

The door swiftly opened. A feminine voice gasped in fright.

"My Goddess, Nero!"

The person rushed towards Nero, helping him get up onto his feet. He froze, blue eyes stared up in shock and unbelief at the face of the woman above him, at the face of his mother. A worried, sincere look on her face as she checked to make sure if he was alright.

For the first time in so long, he felt vulnerable.

"M-M-Mother?"

"Are you feeling ok?" she cupped his face gently. She inspected his face for any bruises. "Did you hurt your face?"

"N-n-no," he replied meekly. "Ho-how is this-"

"I'm glad you're ok, Nero" his Mother beamed. Nero's breath hitched. Her radiating smile was just the same as back then.

"Anyways, you need to get ready soon, or else you'll be late for your first day in academe."

Nero hesitantly nodded. "Y-yeah, of course, mother."

He paused.

"Umm, mom?"

"What is it dear?"

"...you won't leave me… right? Like...him?"

His mother smiled. A beautiful smile. Like how he always remembered.

"Of course not my little Nero, I'd never leave you. I'm not like your father," She hugged him. He closed his eyes as he hugged her back. "I'll always be with you, Nero, I-"

.̶̧̞͆͊͒͗͊̀̚.̸̧̡̨̯̈͛̓̍͂̂̽͘͝.̴̡͎̺̦̌̚͠.̷̧̤̭͔͙̯̎̈̋͛̒̂̇̽́͜ͅ.̶̢̢̤͕͓̗͈͇̫̆́͛̓̓̈̋̈̓͜͝.̷͙̘͎͔̘͚̔̉͂̏͐̈́͂͝.̵̢̜͚̪̯͎̼̼̥͇̾͜.̵̫̈.̵̰͔͌̅͑͐.̷̻̭̣̫̘͍͖͖̓̓̽͗̈́̅̏̚̕͜͜.̶̡͉̪̝̺̞͐̈́̿̉̇.̸̧̦̦̬͉͚̯͉̳̋̃̍̅͆̒͌̇̌.̵̢͓͕̠̜̮͕̠̼̈́͒̀̅̎̕͜͠͝.̴̧͓͎̖̯̟̘̪̗̓̂̌͑̔̅͝.̴̡̛̣̦͕̹͕̥̯̲̹̀̊͆̃͘͜.̶̮͙̣̬͖̽̃̾̾͑.̵̛̬̩̮̖͓͕͓͚̠̼̔͛͝.̴̢͖̣̬̻͇̞͍̅̈́͠͝.̸̢̭̍̒̿̑̕.̴̞̼̝̃͆̓̾̉͂̇͠.̵̪̭̳͎͇͕̜͆̈̆̉̆̃̈́̚̕.̸̯̘̾́̾̌̽̈̑̏̋.̸̺̌̓͑̽̊̿̄.̷̨͓̾̎̄̏͝.̴̳͇̮̝̦̻̑̇̀̌̑̔̓̆̍͊͜͜͝.̵̯̙͓̝̅̉͝.̴͇͕͐̀͗͆̎͆͊.̶̛̞̦̝̥͚̦̝̱̐̒̐̎̇̇̕̕ͅ.̸̨̤̝̭͚̬͌.̶̨̲̠̹̱̳̣͕̺̈́͒͒̉̾͘.̵̢̛͈̦̲̣̰̼̹̦̠͌͆̓́̒̈́̈͊́̚.̸̧̦̠͈͙̉̏̌͗̆̏.̵̩̳͎͚͈̙̖̝̠̹̋̐͛̉̃̀͊̅̆.̴̛͓͈̠̻̂̒̔̽̑̿̆͜͝ͅ.̷͇̜̭̬͆͑͂.̸̨̛̬̠̭͎̞̅͒̓̋͋̆͠.̸͈͉̠̞̫̾̈̈̋͘͜͝.̵̧̨̺͙͔̪̙̝̰̒̈́͑͝.̷̥̩͇͔̈́̾͆͑͠.̶͇̣̉̆͑̐̈̚.̴̭̖͈̖̭͍̥̗̦͙̂́̌͜.̸̛̤͉͙̻͖̠͈̹̝̂̄͌̀̂͌͛͐͗.̵̪̠͗.̶̟̏̅͒͋͛͂̍͜.̶̢̧̨̖̠̩̪̉́.̸̫̗͒̎.̶̹̣͈͒̀͂̅͑͛͘.̵̤̪͗̈́̀̓̒͝.̵̠̹̳̥̫̩͓̠̤͛͊̓̈̚͜.̶̨̬͔͎͉͎̲̠͎̳͓̽̽͑̋̀͂̅̅̿̿̈́.̵̦̘̟̖̰͓͖͖̦̍̂͑́̑̾͒.̷̨̢̥͎̬͈̗̋͑.̵̲͛̇̈́̃̅̊͐.̴͍̩̫̼͔̲̝̫͈̜̓́̉̾̓.̶̢̣̊͘.̶̟̳̜̬͗̀͂.̷̡̯̬̮̜͚͋̈̏̊́͆̈́͘͝͠.̷̪͇͙̙̪̩́̃̈́̅́̏̑͐̋͠.̸̡͈̝̟͈̱͖̗̝̺̺͛̽̉̏.̴͕͈̠̱͔̬̦̥̗̳̌̎̌̓̂̚

.̶̧̞͆͊͒͗͊̀̚.̸̧̡̨̯̈͛̓̍͂̂̽͘͝.̴̡͎̺̦̌̚͠.̷̧̤̭͔͙̯̎̈̋͛̒̂̇̽́͜ͅ.̶̢̢̤͕͓̗͈͇̫̆́͛̓̓̈̋̈̓͜͝.̷͙̘͎͔̘͚̔̉͂̏͐̈́͂͝.̵̢̜͚̪̯͎̼̼̥͇̾͜.̵̫̈.̵̰͔͌̅͑͐.̷̻̭̣̫̘͍͖͖̓̓̽͗̈́̅̏̚̕͜͜.̶̡͉̪̝̺̞͐̈́̿̉̇.̸̧̦̦̬͉͚̯͉̳̋̃̍̅͆̒͌̇̌.̵̢͓͕̠̜̮͕̠̼̈́͒̀̅̎̕͜͠͝.̴̧͓͎̖̯̟̘̪̗̓̂̌͑̔̅͝.̴̡̛̣̦͕̹͕̥̯̲̹̀̊͆̃͘͜.̶̮͙̣̬͖̽̃̾̾͑.̵̛̬̩̮̖͓͕͓͚̠̼̔͛͝.̴̢͖̣̬̻͇̞͍̅̈́͠͝.̸̢̭̍̒̿̑̕.̴̞̼̝̃͆̓̾̉͂̇͠.̵̪̭̳͎͇͕̜͆̈̆̉̆̃̈́̚̕.̸̯̘̾́̾̌̽̈̑̏̋.̸̺̌̓͑̽̊̿̄.̷̨͓̾̎̄̏͝.̴̳͇̮̝̦̻̑̇̀̌̑̔̓̆̍͊͜͜͝.̵̯̙͓̝̅̉͝.̴͇͕͐̀͗͆̎͆͊.̶̛̞̦̝̥͚̦̝̱̐̒̐̎̇̇̕̕ͅ.̸̨̤̝̭͚̬͌.̶̨̲̠̹̱̳̣͕̺̈́͒͒̉̾͘.̵̢̛͈̦̲̣̰̼̹̦̠͌͆̓́̒̈́̈͊́̚.̸̧̦̠͈͙̉̏̌͗̆̏.̵̩̳͎͚͈̙̖̝̠̹̋̐͛̉̃̀͊̅̆.̴̛͓͈̠̻̂̒̔̽̑̿̆͜͝ͅ.̷͇̜̭̬͆͑͂.̸̨̛̬̠̭͎̞̅͒̓̋͋̆͠.̸͈͉̠̞̫̾̈̈̋͘͜͝.̵̧̨̺͙͔̪̙̝̰̒̈́͑͝.̷̥̩͇͔̈́̾͆͑͠.̶͇̣̉̆͑̐̈̚.̴̭̖͈̖̭͍̥̗̦͙̂́̌͜.̸̛̤͉͙̻͖̠͈̹̝̂̄͌̀̂͌͛͐͗.̵̪̠͗.̶̟̏̅͒͋͛͂̍͜.̶̢̧̨̖̠̩̪̉́.̸̫̗͒̎.̶̹̣͈͒̀͂̅͑͛͘.̵̤̪͗̈́̀̓̒͝.̵̠̹̳̥̫̩͓̠̤͛͊̓̈̚͜.̶̨̬͔͎͉͎̲̠͎̳͓̽̽͑̋̀͂̅̅̿̿̈́.̵̦̘̟̖̰͓͖͖̦̍̂͑́̑̾͒.̷̨̢̥͎̬͈̗̋͑.̵̲͛̇̈́̃̅̊͐.̴͍̩̫̼͔̲̝̫͈̜̓́̉̾̓.̶̢̣̊͘.̶̟̳̜̬͗̀͂.̷̡̯̬̮̜͚͋̈̏̊́͆̈́͘͝͠.̷̪͇͙̙̪̩́̃̈́̅́̏̑͐̋͠.̸̡͈̝̟͈̱͖̗̝̺̺͛̽̉̏.̴͕͈̠̱͔̬̦̥̗̳̌̎̌̓̂̚

.̶̧̞͆͊͒͗͊̀̚.̸̧̡̨̯̈͛̓̍͂̂̽͘͝.̴̡͎̺̦̌̚͠.̷̧̤̭͔͙̯̎̈̋͛̒̂̇̽́͜ͅ.̶̢̢̤͕͓̗͈͇̫̆́͛̓̓̈̋̈̓͜͝.̷͙̘͎͔̘͚̔̉͂̏͐̈́͂͝.̵̢̜͚̪̯͎̼̼̥͇̾͜.̵̫̈.̵̰͔͌̅͑͐.̷̻̭̣̫̘͍͖͖̓̓̽͗̈́̅̏̚̕͜͜.̶̡͉̪̝̺̞͐̈́̿̉̇.̸̧̦̦̬͉͚̯͉̳̋̃̍̅͆̒͌̇̌.̵̢͓͕̠̜̮͕̠̼̈́͒̀̅̎̕͜͠͝.̴̧͓͎̖̯̟̘̪̗̓̂̌͑̔̅͝.̴̡̛̣̦͕̹͕̥̯̲̹̀̊͆̃͘͜.̶̮͙̣̬͖̽̃̾̾͑.̵̛̬̩̮̖͓͕͓͚̠̼̔͛͝.̴̢͖̣̬̻͇̞͍̅̈́͠͝.̸̢̭̍̒̿̑̕.̴̞̼̝̃͆̓̾̉͂̇͠.̵̪̭̳͎͇͕̜͆̈̆̉̆̃̈́̚̕.̸̯̘̾́̾̌̽̈̑̏̋.̸̺̌̓͑̽̊̿̄.̷̨͓̾̎̄̏͝.̴̳͇̮̝̦̻̑̇̀̌̑̔̓̆̍͊͜͜͝.̵̯̙͓̝̅̉͝.̴͇͕͐̀͗͆̎͆͊.̶̛̞̦̝̥͚̦̝̱̐̒̐̎̇̇̕̕ͅ.̸̨̤̝̭͚̬͌.̶̨̲̠̹̱̳̣͕̺̈́͒͒̉̾͘.̵̢̛͈̦̲̣̰̼̹̦̠͌͆̓́̒̈́̈͊́̚.̸̧̦̠͈͙̉̏̌͗̆̏.̵̩̳͎͚͈̙̖̝̠̹̋̐͛̉̃̀͊̅̆.̴̛͓͈̠̻̂̒̔̽̑̿̆͜͝ͅ.̷͇̜̭̬͆͑͂.̸̨̛̬̠̭͎̞̅͒̓̋͋̆͠.̸͈͉̠̞̫̾̈̈̋͘͜͝.̵̧̨̺͙͔̪̙̝̰̒̈́͑͝.̷̥̩͇͔̈́̾͆͑͠.̶͇̣̉̆͑̐̈̚.̴̭̖͈̖̭͍̥̗̦͙̂́̌͜.̸̛̤͉͙̻͖̠͈̹̝̂̄͌̀̂͌͛͐͗.̵̪̠͗.̶̟̏̅͒͋͛͂̍͜.̶̢̧̨̖̠̩̪̉́.̸̫̗͒̎.̶̹̣͈͒̀͂̅͑͛͘.̵̤̪͗̈́̀̓̒͝.̵̠̹̳̥̫̩͓̠̤͛͊̓̈̚͜.̶̨̬͔͎͉͎̲̠͎̳͓̽̽͑̋̀͂̅̅̿̿̈́.̵̦̘̟̖̰͓͖͖̦̍̂͑́̑̾͒.̷̨̢̥͎̬͈̗̋͑.̵̲͛̇̈́̃̅̊͐.̴͍̩̫̼͔̲̝̫͈̜̓́̉̾̓.̶̢̣̊͘.̶̟̳̜̬͗̀͂.̷̡̯̬̮̜͚͋̈̏̊́͆̈́͘͝͠.̷̪͇͙̙̪̩́̃̈́̅́̏̑͐̋͠.̸̡͈̝̟͈̱͖̗̝̺̺͛̽̉̏.̴͕͈̠̱͔̬̦̥̗̳̌̎̌̓̂̚

He blinked and found himself no longer within his bedroom.

He found himself trapped within a small, tight closed space that left him with little room to manoeuvre.

A single crack above him only allowed for some light to shine through, barely illuminating this dark space.

Confused, he looked around this dimly lit prison trying to make sense of where he is. He raised both hands forward, suddenly feeling something give way, if only for a little bit.

He found it to be a set of doors that slightly opened, allowing for some more light to come in.

Horrific recognition dawned.

No! It can't be! It just can't be!

He peered through the gap, his horror increasing as he saw his mother standing in the middle of the room.

No….no…!

He banged his little fists against the cupboards uselessly.

Nonononononononononono-!

*Crack!*

Nero's blood froze, and his limbs became numb.

His eyes witnessing a nightmare playing out all over again.

He could scarcely breathe as the monstrous beasts sniffed around their home before their gazes landed on his mother. She whimpered, letting out a gasp of fear. She took a step backwards, legs shaking as they laughed and advanced on her.

She was standing still...and then, she was suddenly slammed onto the ground, her head cracking against their wooden floor. She let out a weak groan as her head began bleeding and Nero felt despair. He leaned on the cupboards, the wood creaking loudly but the beasts didn't even notice, so intent they were with the fresh piece of meat in front of them.

His mother begged, and she cried weakly, but they just laughed as they began tearing her clothes right off her. Nero felt a wretched pit of despair and fury grow inside of him, his face breaking into a visage of fear and anger.

"NO! NO! Get your filthy hands off her!" he thought, gnashing his teeth.

He so badly wanted to get up and barge out, to save her as a hero would. But he can't. He was simply afraid, albeit a coward through and through. His limbs felt heavy and his blood was cold as ice. He couldn't move, couldn't even speak even if he wanted to. He could only look on uselessly as his mother was violated by the filthy, disgusting beasts, who laughed in their barbaric tongue and taunted her with cruel obscenities.

He hated them. Despised them. The orcs laughing as they violated his mother over and over again. His soul shattered out of anguish. They practically tore her apart in their lust and he felt bile rise to his throat. He should have looked away, he really should have. He should have plugged his ears and closed his eyes as tight as he could but found that he couldn't. He watched helplessly as his mother's mind broke and she began crying out in bastard joy with them, gushing brokenly in bliss. What began as fervent screaming and struggle had soon became broken and docile acceptance, and he cried silently and bitterly for he knew she would never be the same again.

Those disgusting pieces of trash merely laughed again, their bleating cries causing him to gnash his teeth, but this time in hate. He looked on in blazing fury at their disgusting forms, their hedonistic grunts and moans, and he especially despised their cruelty and lust. He swore to repay the favour a thousand over.

The worst part was when she began calling out to them lovingly, her mind broken. He felt fury rise in him as she called to them, practically inviting them in again and again. He could have sworn, that he saw hearts in her broken eyes. His fists were clenched so tightly they grew pale and he felt his nails biting into his skin, drawing blood, but he didn't care. He could only envision himself ripping out their guts again and again.

"I'm sorry mother..." he wailed inwardly, "I'm sorry I'm so weak...I will..."

He broke down, unable to continue.

"...I will avenge you..." he whispered, "I swear it on my life...I'll rid this whole world of you filthy bastards!"

Tears rained down from his cheeks and he could only despair even more as the beasts brought in their friends, more and more orcs and goblins coming in and roaring victoriously. He saw their bloodied weapons, their grisly trophies, and their satisfied faces after yet another raid. He wanted so badly to rip those faces right off the piggish bastards. The Shields have failed them.

His village will be massacred and razed to the ground, and all because those uselessly whores couldn't defend their people! He felt indignant, he felt furious. He felt an incomprehensible hatred for all life and finally, he couldn't take it anymore as he passed out. The last thing he heard before he tipped over and blacked out was his mother's loud screaming of pain and pleasure and the barbaric, monstrous bleating and grunts of the orcs and goblins...

"Sad ain't it?"

Nero's eyes snapped open. Tears and anger apparent in his eyes. He found himself no longer trapped within that accursed prison, but now standing upon a desolate field; filled with inverted wilted trees and flames that stood straight like grass.

He no longer was his young self, now back to his original form except for his helmet and weapons which were missing.

"Your feebleness has stopped you from preventing such heinous events."

Nero snarled with rage. "Shut up, whoever you are. You don't know-!"

"Oh, I don't know? I believe we've seen your memories many times to draw a conclusive understanding."

"I won't ask again. Who. Are. You."

"Humph, a bit dense, are we? Surely, you can figure out who I am."

The gears within Nero's mind began turning.

"I'm guessing… you're the sword?"

The voice laughed. "Close. I am the entity whose name you've discovered inscribed upon the altar; The Heathen King. Though I am long dead, a part of my soul is bound with the sword, well until whoever wields the sword is worthy enough."

Nero's eyes narrowed. "Sure… last time a talking weapon said that it nearly devoured a dear friend of mine. So why should I trust something like you?"

"Humph, and not be able to hear the capabilities of my weapon?"

Nero grunted in annoyance. "You said you're soul-bound until someone worthy enough can wield it?"

"Correct. It is I who says who's worthy enough to wield Surtr and its power."

"Surtr?"

The name of my sword. Anyways, those who aren't worthy enough are incinerated by the sword."

"So… you decided to converse with me solely to tell me that I am dead?"

"Hah, that's funny. No, I didn't drag you in here to gloat of your death but rather congratulate you on your success."

Nero felt surprised by the spirit's declaration. "Success...you mean you find me worthy?"

"Yes, I find your hatred sufficient enough to wield Surtr. Weak as you are-" Nero glared at him for that. "Your hatred is more than enough to power the sword. To make up for your feeble strength I suppose."

"My own hatred?" Nero raises an eyebrow. "It powers the sword? Is that why previous candidates failed? Because their hatred is lacking?"

"Yes. I have forged Surtr to be a weapon that draws in hatred and rage but mainly the wielder's own hatred. The stronger the hatred the more powerful the sword becomes, and if sufficient enough will allow the wielder to wield the flames of the Abyss, and gives you fire immunity too. However, if your hatred isn't sufficient enough Surtr becomes nothing more than a fancy sword."

"Is the hatred based on active targets of one's own hatred?"

"As long as you hate them, even if they're dead, the sword's power will never wane."

"I see."

"I have nothing more to say. I have said all that I wish to say. I wish you the best of luck. Surtr is now yours to wield and do whatever you wish."

*Ding!*

"And that right there is the timer. Best to get going now."

And with that Nero's world blackened once more.


"-ello!? Master!?"

Nero groaned, his consciousness slowly regaining itself.

"Master? Master!? He's waking up. Quick put some acid in his eyes!"

"w-what-Ah! My eyes! It burns!" Nero screamed, clutching his eyes in pain with a single hand.

"Ah, sire! Great to see you're still alive!" Gnarl stated happily.

"You bloody sack of pus! Was that necessary!?"

"Well, we needed to make sure that you're not dead."

"There were other ways of achieving that."

"But this is better. By the way master, it seems you were successful in attaining the sword."

Nero raised an eyebrow in confusion but the confusion was erased as quickly remembered. He glanced down to his right hand, finding the sword itself now in his grasp, although it now glowed a dark crimson with specks of flames dancing across the blade.

"Congratulations sire! You have acquired a powerful weapon! I can feel its energy even from here, and also high levels of malice too."

"Thanks, I guess…" Nero raised up the blade, observing the sword.

He could feel it. A connection was formed between him and the weapon in hand. It was his now to use.

"The sword is being powered by my own malice. That's all."

He then got back up from the stone floor.

"Now then, I'd say it's time that we took care of the Goblins, and also make use of them as perfect test subjects don't you think, Gnarl?"

"Oh most certainly sire! Best that we put that new weapon of yours to good use!"

"Alright, you Minions! Gather up! It's about time we put this place under new management."


End


IT'S ALIVE!

So yeah, after so long I've finally updated the Seventh Overlord: Resurgence. It is back!

So a couple of news; firstly, I'm also on Archive of our Own now as well and am planning to move some of my stories there as well. Already, I have an Archive exclusive story present; Little Vibrant Nightmares; an RWBY x Little Nightmares crossover thats still in its humble beginnings. If you folks wouldn't mind going over there, having a read and tell me what you guys think of it and the chapters so far. The link is here.

/works/30092373/chapters/74117568

Also, thanks for reading and sorry that it took so long for me to update. Just been a lot of things happening recently is all. Let me know what you guys think and take care and be safe everyone!


Stories going to Archive soon:

- The Seventh Overlord Resurgence

- Lord of the Deep