Overpowered Wizard

There were seven Evil Gods.

Zarian was already in a partnership with one of them, Shadowfell, who was known as the great slothful and somber evil. The goddess was a vast power of inevitability, tragedy, corruption, and self-death.

Despite her young age, everybody knew her as possibly the third or second most powerful of all the good and evil gods.

She could be Zarian’s sister, Ariana, but he doubted it.

Then there were the other evil gods:

Hisscreep.

Sinfeast.

Goldhound.

Sickspread.

And, finally, the most terrible and powerful god, the First Evil King, the First Destroyer, The Dragon.

If Zarian’s party was staged in a city or nation that subscribed to the evil alignment, the altar of the evil gods would be more pronounced. Since Zarian’s party was currently in a quote-unquote ‘good aligned’ kingdom, the presence of the evil alignment remained underground.

Could the good aligned forces eradicate them from every corner?

Perhaps.

However, based on everything Zarian had experienced, researched, and observed so far, he’d concluded that everybody was making use of both alignments. The divide between good and evil, order and chaos, wasn’t so clear cut as it seemed.

Good aligned nobles were dibble-dabbling in using evil for their own aims, or for what they claimed was ‘the greater good.’

Yes, that was contradictory.

But there were opportunities and flexibility in contradiction. Zarian couldn’t attempt to do good things while part of the evil alignment without the contradictions.

In a twisted way, it was beneficial that the alignments had some blurriness to them. Most people and creatures might not know that. But those who knew could maximize the power of both alignments for the best effect.

Of course, that came with costs.

And Zarian could feel it in the altar room. The presence of the gods was on him. His evil alignment was tied to them. Their influence could dictate how much further they could push his evil, regardless of his say so.

As of now, Zarian would prefer to stay as evil +2, but he couldn’t control that. The evil gods were in control, and they kept that part of the System obscured and out of mortal reach.

Thus, they could dictate who or what rose in the alignments. Yes, part of the alignment subsystem required great deeds of good or evil. Every time Zarian or Bianca rose, that was because of something immense they’d accomplished. But they couldn’t decide for themselves.

They had no freedom in that part of their adventure.

Thus, the gods could meddle as much as they wanted. In fact, Zarian was certain that the good gods had their sights set on Bianca to use her as a weapon.

This was why Zarian lived by the code ‘fuck around and find out’ for a reason. Somehow, someway, he would meddle back if the gods crossed the line with him and his party.

For now, he wanted to overturn the worst outcomes possible with the evil alignment. He fixed his attention first to the altar of The Dragon. Might as well get the big guy out of the way.

“The Dragon, do we have problems?” Zarian asked.

The dirty, rot-filled, and divine room had sections for each of the Evil Gods. The Dragon, obviously, took up an entire wall section for himself.

His altar was also bigger than the others, with tapestries and framed paintings depicting fire-breathing dragons. There were gold coins left in a small pile along with a dead herd animal that looked like a goat with three eyes and multiple sets of horns.

There were drake skins, bones, and teeth stacked on some stone blocks. Some incense was burning from a bowl, the smoke wafting upward in calm, curvy streams. The ground under the altar was scorched, too, more of divine magical touch than something by a mortal’s hand.

Zarian braced himself. Out of all the evil gods, The Dragon was the one that was the most dangerous, the most mighty. It was the original overpowered creature of the Infinita Star System, and Zarian had to give some due respect to that.

The minutes ticked by.

The Dragon didn’t respond.

Zarian let out a slow breath, and so did the other gods from their altars.

Apparently, Evil God The Dragon was always in hibernation. Or he would rouse and eat worlds and stars to feed his insatiable hunger. Then he would go into hibernation again and dream of terrible things.

There were legends saying that the most terrible creatures were dragons born from the wicked imaginations of Evil God The Dragon.

“Alright, you’re asleep. No problem. Next up, Killall?” Zarian asked.

The altar of Evil God Killall was a simple knife stuck in a hunk of flesh that looked like a man’s delimbed and headless torso. Blood bled out in constant streams from the wounds and stained the floor beneath. Insectoid beasts swarmed around the bleeding flesh and filled the stone room with their buzzing noise. When the god spoke, the buzzing flowed with his voice, hiding the edge of a blade that lived perpetually in Killall’s entire existence.

“We have problems, Zarian Darkrun,” Killall said from his altar.

“Okay. I’m going to hold off on you. Because I sense some tension there. Let me check with everyone else first and get back to you.”

“You will die a terrible death, and so will all of your friends,” threatened the murdersome god of evil.

Zarian ignored the threat and turned to the next altar. He grimaced at the representation of Sickspread.

The altar was made of feces, a small humanoid corpse, and many more disgusting and revolting things. This was the type of evil goddess Zarian would rather avoid, so it would be a serious issue if Sickspread had problems. Ironically, her voice sounded sweet and inviting compared to her foul and loathsome altar.

“Do not interfere in the towns west from here,” Sickspread said.

“I have no intentions of going west as of now,” Zarian said simply.

“Then I shall overlook your folly here, sweetie.”

That was that.

Zarian nodded and turned to an empty, raggedy treasure chest. That was about it with Evil God Goldhound.

“Give me the dungeon core!” roared Goldhound, who had a doggish bark in his voice.

“No,” Zarian said plainly.

There was a tense silence. Then Goldhound said, “Give me gold.”

Zarian urged Para to extend her tendrils. She dropped some gold coins they’d taken from the Lovewar Mansion’s coffers. They poured a hefty price from the pocket dimension and into the treasure chest. The coins disappeared the moment it touched the bottom. Then Zarian stopped Para when he felt he’d paid enough.

“I want more,” Goldhound demanded.

“No,” Zarian said.

The greediest evil god grumbled for a little while. Then he said, “Fine then. We have no problems, as you say. Don’t cross me again.”

Moving on, the Sinfeast altar was similar in the style of The Dragon, but more mortal and hellish. There were framed paintings depicting individuals giving in to various sins. Their painted faces were stuck with expressions of ecstasy and tragedy as they enjoyed and suffered the consequences of their sins.

There was one painting that stood above all the others. A wolf was feasting on many sinners who were stuck between enjoyment and suffering in a constant cycle.

The wolf’s face was the most horrifying. It was nearly humanoid while showing absolute glee.

“Zarian Darkrun, what an interesting creature you are,” Sinfeast said, with a voice that was feminine, while holding a hint of masculinity.

Sinfeast was a trap of a god. If nobody knew better, it was easy to mistake him for a goddess, which was something Sinfeast enjoyed among other heinous things.

“Do we have problems?” Zarian asked.

“Now, now, let’s not be hasty. You have our attention. Few can gather the gods like this so easily, especially at your low level.”

“Do we have problems?”

“I don’t believe in such negativities. And why so brusque? Can’t we get to know each other a bit more? I really like your style. I think if we collaborate, we can do wonderful things together, honey.”

Zarian sighed.

It was time to up the ante.

“Look, I can be dumb, but I’m not so dumb that I can’t make some predictions. I’m a hot item in the market. However you guys do your godly business, it’s clear playing games with lowly mortals on the come up helps you in the long game.”

Sinfeast tried to cut in.

“Shut up. I’m not done,” Zarian snapped. Then he continued. “With that established, I know I have some leverage here. And I’m already partners with one Evil God. What is that you can say that’ll convince me otherwise, Sinfeast?”

“Ha ha ha ha. How vile. How disrespectful. How grotesque. My, my, my, oh me, you’re feisty! I’ll love to bend you over and make you purr, my dear Darkrun.”

Zarian gave the altar of Sinfeast a hard look. “I think, Sinfeast, there’s no helping this. I declare that we absolutely have problems. Fuck off.”

The pressure of the gods increased. He was in their house, close to focal points of their power, which allowed him to talk to them directly, but that also meant he was accepting a more direct approach to their power outside of boons.

In a sense, he had placed himself at their mercy.

Sinfeast peeled back the horror of his power. He crashed into Zarian with the ecstasy and disgust of sin, a mind-breaking combination.

Every sinful, pitiful, wrong thing Zarian had done came back to him like hellish wolves tearing and lapping freely at his existence. His vitality was no help here. His aura couldn’t stop it.

This was a direct strike to his life energy, which was getting shredded away. The power of Sinfeast burrowed deep and fast, nearing the point of touching Zarian’s soul. Sinfeast laughed all the while, toying with the Madness Wizard, doing to Zarian the things that would break most men.

Yet, Zarian withstood. He glared at the altar as if he was looking into the eyes of the evil god himself. Sinfeast only laughed at this act of defiance.

“My little boy toy, I’ll have so much fun with your soul. We’ll be well acquainted for the thousands and thousands and thousands of years to come,” mocked Sinfeast.

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The power of Sinfeast drew ever closer to having Zarian’s soul. Nobody intervened, not even Shadowfell.

Incredibly, that was fine with Zarian. This was his battle. He was not exactly helpless.

“I alone am the Honored Outsider.”

Zarian cast Void Step.

He took one step and broke free of the god’s manipulations.

In the void, Sinfeast had no power. Zarian couldn’t stay there for long since he wasn’t going far, which was perfectly fine.

Zarian popped in and out of reality, the air wrinkling around him. He placed himself at the mercy of the gods again, but he had a plan.

Before Sinfeast could try anything else, Zarian surged forward with thin tendrils whipping out from his hands. He seized Sinfeast’s altar, every piece, and pulled it close.

“If I ever catch you outside, Sinfeast, I won’t spare the rod,” Zarian said.

“Oh, please, punish me with all you have! I’ve been around longer than most gods for a reason, dear Darkrun! I’ll make you my bitch!”

Sinfeast attempted to use his invasive power again.

Zarian cast Void Step once more and dumped a large amount of aura into the spell. He took the altar, along with a portion of Sinfeast into the void, and released all of it.

The darkness was forever in the void. It was silent and without air. It was an empty place where only the creatures of the deep abyss could live. And in that endless abyss, a part of Sinfeast screamed and died, cut off from its host, left at mercy to the creatures of the void.

Zarian left the altar behind to return back to reality, which cost him even more aura. It was almost too much as he crashed down into the altar room.

Clearly, he found a loophole where he could take significant items into the void, including items of a god, and leave them there. That was probably a gray area to exploit.

Zarian imagined if he tried that with people, they would pop back into reality with him regardless of letting them go. The System would pull them back. But the trip into the void would surely do damage.

The System recognized that with rewards, regardless of how ridiculous the maneuver.

<Your skill, Grimoire of the Mad Voidling Prince, leveled up from 4 to 9!>

<You’ve leveled up from 46 to 48! Stat points dispensed!>

Zarian must’ve gotten the new levels for giving Sinfeast a hard time.

That’s one god I really want to beat the shit out of.

Zarian shuddered as echoes of Sinfeast’s power passed through him. Thankfully, he had Fractured Mind to compartmentalize the absolute mind-fuck of having Evil God Sinfeast invade his existence and brush close to his soul.

His life energy felt ragged, too, and he might’ve lost some years in his life. It was a damn good thing he had his first spell, Bloody Lifesteal. He could replenish his life energy with that.

It took Zarian a minute to regain his composure. Then he was back on both feet before he noticed an ominous atmosphere filling the room.

“You’ve harmed Sinfeast,” said Hisscreep.

The altar of the most buggy evil god was a simple skull with a many-legged creepy crawler moving about in and out of the openings. It was a centipede type of insect beast, and it looked creepy, too, which made sense to Zarian.

Centipedes looked like the type of creatures that would be a nightmarish monster template most universes would have. Despite the creep factor, Hisscreep had a strangely serene and inviting voice.

“He was being a jerk,” Zarian said.

“It is not often someone of your level can harm a god,” Hisscreep said. “While I’m not satisfied with all of your actions, I don’t like Sinfeast very much and find him terrible. For that, I have no problems with you. However, I would prefer it if you were more … involved with the evil alignment.”

“Only if it serves my goals.” Zarian smiled sharply. “Good, evil, it doesn’t matter. As long as it serves what I want, I’ll do whatever.”

“Hm, is that so? Then answer this. You are heading to Carrowmore, yes?” Hisscreep asked.

“That’s on the list.”

“I will watch closely when your party is there, if you make it there.” The evil god hummed. “You’ll make for a curious case. What will you do in an evil city nation like Carrowmore? It is the strongest in all the World of Castles and Caverns. It is the most infamous of cities in the many lesser worlds, in fact.”

“Other than murder everyone who thinks they can mess with us?” Zarian shrugged. “I like to keep my options open. Who knows? Maybe we’ll have a party around a bonfire and sing Kumbaya. We could do some real soul healing for a lot of the evil aligned folks.”

“Amusing.” Hisscreep sounded like he was done with the conversation. But he caught Zarian off guard when he continued. “Take care of that dungeon core. Take care of Reiki of the White Silk Dancers.”

Zarian responded with a little more tact this time. “Yes, sir.”

Hisscreep left the conversation.

Zarian turned to the altar of Shadowfell. He hesitated to think about how to approach her.

The altar room was mainly empty now, with just Zarian, Shadowfell, and Killall. The other gods stopped being present once Zarian had found a solution to their problems, especially with throwing the altar of Sinfeast into the void.

Unfortunately, the murdersome evil god couldn’t wait any further. He interrupted with a vengeance.

“Die,” growled Killall.

The air rippled and screamed as reality tore apart near the Killall altar. A rip in the world appeared and howled like going through a wind tunnel.

A leg wearing a nice laced-up shoe extended through the rip and took a step into the altar room. Then the rest of the person came through the ragged portal, revealing a drider in a dark green and red three-piece suit.

Eight dark eyes focused on Zarian with curiosity and killer intent. With a flick of six hands, multiple knives appeared in the drider’s hands.

It didn’t take long for Zarian to know the drider was powerful. More powerful than the White Roses and the Gnoll Elders.

Could Zarian kill the drider?

Maybe if he had enough time and a lucky shot. But as a wizard enclosed in a small space, his best winning strategy was to use Void Step and run away.

But that would be lame.

“Hello, I’m Dikir the Assassin. I will be killing you today,” said the drider, with a polite and gentlemanly voice.

“Hello, Dikir, I’m Zarian Darkrun. Before you attempt to kill me, I must say you have a nice suit,” Zarian replied, standing relaxed while unarmored.

Dikir nodded, his eyes glimmering with humor. “Thank you. Your mixture of a tattered cloak, the monstrous hat, and your own suit is interesting and unique. It is a shame that I must kill you, or you might find some popularity in the streets of Carrowmore.”

“Oh, well, I’m planning to go there soon. In fact, my friends and I have an invitation.”

Dikir quirked his head to the side. “Who invited you?”

Zarian reached behind him slowly. Para passed a small item into his hand from her pocket dimension. With a flick, Zarian threw the card.

Dikir put away one knife and caught the card in a blurring motion Zarian couldn’t track fully. The assassin was clearly the fastest creature Zarian had ever seen.

But the way Dikir stiffened, all of his eight eyes widening as he examined the card, was even more notable. The assassin was clearly bewildered.

After a minute of awkward silence, Dikir promptly walked over to Zarian and gave the card back. Then the drider pivoted on his heels and returned whence he came through the ragged portal. Once he was gone, the portal sealed up, and the reality of the altar room returned to being stable again.

Zarian looked down at the card Naomi had received from her mysterious spider friend. He felt over its high quality material with a thumb and reread its fancy text:

Ekri the Tailor

Silk Felt Delights - Tailor Shop

White Silk District - Carrowmore

‘Look your best for every adventure. It could be your last.’

“Huh, I actually got to use the name drop this time.”

Zarian put the card back in Para’s pocket dimension. He glanced over at Shadowfell’s altar. He wondered how she was reacting to this.

He would’ve asked, but Killall wasn’t done with being an ass just yet. The murdersome evil god interrupted Zarian and Shadowfell once again.

“Die, die, die!” Killall grouched from his altar.

Zarian felt a bloodthirsty, heinous, and genocidal power sweep around him. However, instead of attacking Zarian directly, Killall’s power surged out of the altar room.

It flowed elsewhere, toward someone else.

By the time Zarian’s spectral spiders caught sight of the recipient of Killall’s power, the Madness Wizard realized what was truly happening. Killall was using his boons.

The evil god had used one to bring in a drider assassin from Carrowmore. Now the evil god was empowering someone beyond their levels.

The Man Butcher roared with inhuman power. The divine boon of a murdersome god filled every part of the savage warrior’s flesh.

The Man Butcher would surely die afterward, but that didn’t seem to matter. He had power that was so destructive it could cause immense damage, deaths, and tragedy across the underground and on the surface before Killall’s boon ran its course.

There were still plenty of beggars, along with the little boot girl, who was near enough that they would suffer the Man Butcher’s wrath. Unless Zarian held his ground and ignored the easy way out by using Void Step.

Zarian swapped his dread mire hell gator and dark magic grimoires from the alpha section to the beta section. He swapped his Summoned Wizard Hat and Straight Darkness +2 from the beta section to the alpha section.

By then, the Man Butcher was running through the walls on a nigh unstoppable collision course for Zarian and the altar room. Again, the best and most logical move would be to Void Step out of there.

Zarian still held his ground and spoke a skill incantation:

“Straight Darkness: One Shot One Kill.”

With barely no time to charge, Zarian poured as much aura as quickly as he could into a dark projectile between his hands. He used every aura-based ability he had to speed up the process.

He wasn’t truly ready when the Man Butcher burst into the altar room like a runaway train. Chunks of the wall flew faster than the divinely empowered warrior could run, bashing off Zarian’s body.

The Madness Wizard endured. He went as far as setting the killing field, too, to encapsulate the ensuing destruction to come.

Dark pillars rose in a tight circle around them.

The Man Butcher brought down his cleavers.

Zarian released his attack and struck the empowered warrior dead in the chest with the densest and strongest dark bolt ever formed.

The impact was enormous.

Zarian had some defense against his own attacks as a spell caster, but there was a limit to how far the System would protect him from the consequences of his own actions. He broke past that threshold easily and was blasted back hard.

Para denied her initial instincts to protect him. Instead, she covered up the dungeon core, which was perfectly okay with Zarian.

That would be Zarian’s first priority, anyway, leaving the host of the Parasite Cloak to survive his own attack. All of his prior efforts to toughen himself up would have to come to play here. The only unfortunate part was that he hadn’t slept for over four days. Vitality was one part health and one part stamina, and his depleted stamina dragged down his vitality.

His spine cracked against a darkness pillar he placed behind him. His muscles ripped. His organs ruptured. The wizard hat, thankfully, was just hard enough to save his head from busting open at the back. He still felt the jarring impact through his skull anyway, suffering a heavy concussion to go with the whiplash.

When he landed back down, the remains of the squat hideout of evil collapsed. Most of his dark pillars fell to ruin. Despite the pain and confusion, Zarian’s Fractured Mind prioritized his safety and the integrity of certain altars. He kept casting Straight Darkness +2.

Evil God Killall kept screaming “die, die, die” as a large chunk of rubble crushed his altar. The other altars remained fine throughout the roaring mess, especially Shadowfell’s altar.

By the time everything settled down. The hideout was entirely demolished.

Para caught the nearest edges above and used strings and tendrils of flesh to pull up Zarian’s ruined body. His vitality did its best to patch up the worst injuries, saving him from bleeding out badly. But it could only do so much without outside help.

He wouldn’t die soon, at least. He just had to use Para’s help to puppet his screwed up body around. They took their time figuring out how to make it work.

Then Para jerked and staggered Zarian’s body over to Shadowfell’s altar. He spat some blood to the side. Then he glanced at his notifications.

<You’ve defeated a Boon-Avatar of Killall, Human, Level 55 Man Butcher!>

<You’ve defeated two boons of Evil God Kill for the current campaign! Congrats!>

<You’ve leveled up from 48 to 53! Stat points dispensed!>

<Your skill, Summon Wizard Hat, leveled up from 8 to 16!>

<Your skill has advanced! From Summon Wizard Hat to Summon Wizard Hat +1!>

<Summon Wizard Hat +1 (Level 16): Improve your aura manipulation, aura channeling, and aura power by summoning a wizard hat that’s soul bound to you. This apparel can blend with other items you wear. Advancement: +1 improves aura recovery. Scales with Mysticism.>

<Your skill, Parasite Cloak +2, leveled up from 18 to 21!>

<Your skill, Straight Darkness +2, leveled up from 25 to 30!>

<Achievement rewarded! Boon Wrecker (Unopened)!>

<Achievement opened!>

<Boon Wrecker (Divine): You’ve gone up twice against powerful boons of a god, which should’ve killed you. Thus, your reward: 20 high value levels you can distribute as you please.>

<Choose who to give high value level ups: 20>

“Oh, yeah. That’s that good, good stuff. Fuck me for nearly dying again. But fuck it, I’ll snort those gains if I could.”

Zarian laughed wheezily, still in pain. He didn’t care. That was twice he’d told the gods to fuck off. All within a short time.

He grinned like a loon as he distributed his free points before he finally turned his attention to the last altar.

“Alright, now with those lame asses out of the way, it’s time for the main conversation.”

The Shadowfell altar was a thick, dark tome held on a short, dark stone pedestal. On the ground in front of the pedestal, a bowl filled with Shadowfell Tears waited. It remained perfectly pristine while surrounded by rubble.

Zarian took a seat on a throne made from Para. The pearly core fell gently into his lap, remaining whole and unharmed, Reiki and her dungeon still evolving.

“Hi,” he said.

The air quivered. A somber, sultry, and pleasantly dark voice responded. “Hello, Zarian Darkrun.”

She sounded like dark chocolate and silky dark sheets. She sounded like dark, stormy nights and heavy rain on a metal rooftop. She sounded tragic, but welcoming.

She sounded like the ultimate goth chick of a goddess.

“You’re not Ariana,” he said, smiling.

“No, I am not.”

“But you know who she is, don’t you?”

“I will not say.”

“Why?”

“I will not say.”

He squinted. His smile sharpened. “Ariana’s a big deal, isn’t she? Is it just you who knows? Do the other gods know? Where’s Ariana?”

“I will not say.”

Zarian huffed, blood speckling his lips. He turned to the side and spat out more of his crimson essence. Then he slouched wearily on his throne, the dungeon core adjusting slightly on his lap.

“Well … I’ll figure out Ariana’s case later. Do we have a thing or something, Shadowfell?”

“I will not say. But …”

He raised an eyebrow. “But?”

“I will say my first name. You may call me … Luciana … if you will.”

“Then call me Zarian. It’s a pleasure to be well met, Luciana.”

Her voice passed through him in dark, mysterious, and magnetic waves. It was like standing on a slick cliff at night, looking down at the heavy waves crashing back and forth, and having a feeling to take the plunge and end it all forever.

“The pleasure is all mine, Zarian.”

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