A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5422

Jared ran for his life through the wild woods, Aurelius a heavy, bleeding weight across his shoulders. Warm blood soaked Jared's tunic, then his skin. Each crimson drop slowed his stride, and with every falter, the pursuing miasma crawled closer.

Behind them, the roar of countless specter soldiers swelled. The night itself seemed to breathe cold and hungry, ready to swallow king and protector alike.

"Jared... this can't go on," Aurelius whispered, his breath tremoring against Jared's sweat-soaked neck. "There are too many of those cursed souls—no matter how fast we run, they will swallow us whole."

"Don't you dare lose heart," Jared shot back, jaw clenched so hard the veins on his brow throbbed. "We'll find a way out—we have to."

"Hope won't save us." Aurelius's head moved in a slow, resolute shake. "Listen to me. The Ritual Manual must never end up in a demon's hands, yet we're out of options, Jared, completely out."

With fingers that already felt colder than stone, he wrestled a small gilded coffer from the folds of his robe and pushed it against Jared's chest.

"Absolutely not!" Jared's refusal cracked through the whipping wind. "If Soul Devourer captures that Ritual Manual, level six is doomed."

"There's no time to argue," Aurelius rasped, his words iron-hard despite the trembling in his frame. "My plan buys us life, Jared. Stay alive, steal the Ritual Manual back later, and then we save level six."

Far behind them, Soul Devourer's shadow burst through the trees. Black miasma condensed into a colossal hand that tore at the sky before arcing straight toward the two fugitives.

"Run—now!" Aurelius roared, fury and desperation colliding in his raw throat.

Even as the last echo of his shout faded, he hurled the golden box in the opposite direction, sending it spinning through the air like a dying sun.

The coffer traced a bright arc, struck bare earth, and snapped open with a brittle clap.

"The Ritual Manual!" Soul Devourer's voice cracked with ravenous delight.

Abandoning all other prey, the demon lord vaulted from his lion-steed and lunged toward the fallen treasure, greed blazing in his eyes.

Behind him, the Demonic Soul Army rolled forward like an ink-black tide. Ancient runes carved into Celestia City's streets winked out one by one, palace walls blossomed with violet corruption, and the very air grew sick with blood and rot.

"My Lord," Anepan called, his voice quivering with eagerness, "the mouth of the Netherworld Abyss is just ahead!"

Anepan—the elder of the twin swords who stood to the left—hurried past the rest of the procession. He lifted a trembling arm and pointed toward a canyon whose entrance had long ago been choked by a single, mountain-sized boulder. Heatless excitement glittered in the hollows of his eyes, too fierce to hide.

That boulder was no ordinary stone. Every inch of its pitted surface carried golden sigils—seals etched by the ancestors of the Celestia. Their light had faded to a tired ember, yet the runes still fought stubbornly against the creeping tide of demonic aura.

High upon his armored war-lion, Soul Devourer drew the reins tight. The fireless sockets of his skullish helm swept over the boulder, and the corner of his mouth curled into a vicious half-smile. "So this is what they considered unbreakable," he murmured, his tone thick with contempt. "Our ancestors rolled a rock into place, sketched a few charms, and believed the Abyss would stay silent. How laughable. Today, I will set the one hundred thousand imprisoned souls below free to taste daylight once more."

He swung down from the lion in a single fluid motion, the great beast rumbling low as he passed. Cradling the Ritual Manual against his chest, he strode toward the rune-scarred monolith.