A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5735

"Begone!" the Soul Devourer snarled. With a lazy flick of one skeletal wrist, an obsidian soul spear congealed—dense as reality, honed to pierce creation itself. It shrieked across the void, aimed dead at Coall's skull.

The dragon whipped his serpentine body aside. Even so, the spear grazed his neck, shaving off a sheet of gun-metal scales. A gash to the bone yawned open, and black vapor rose to gnaw at the spirit beneath.

"Coall!" Jared cried, the name tearing from his throat.

Pain lanced through Jared—mind and sinew aflame—yet he forced himself into the air, wings of raw energy sputtering behind him. He understood one truth with brutal clarity. They could not survive a war of attrition.

The Draconian army was mighty, yes, but the Soul Devourer had lived through forgotten epochs and now fought in a citadel soaked with his own power. Here, his soul energy seemed endless, his tricks limitless. If the battle dragged on, only the Draconians would die.

Jared had to break the rhythm—now.

"Demon Seal Tower—seal him!" he shouted. Ignoring the taste of blood, Jared flooded the tiny tower in his palm with torrents of chaotic Power of Immortals.

The tower spun, ballooning until it loomed over him. From its base poured cleansing light and a brutal suction meant to smother Soul Devourer's power and grant the dragon a single desperate breath.

"Annoying trinket! Shatter!" Soul Devourer hissed. He split a sliver of will, raised the soul banners, and sent a column of compressed wailing spirits—thick as a fortress tower—slamming into the tower.

Dang!

The impact rang like a cathedral bell struck by lightning. Light guttered; hairline cracks crawled across bronze flanks now dim and trembling.

Agony ricocheted through Jared's link to the artifact. He spat blood, and the sky lurched as his body nearly dropped from the air.

"Mr. Chance!" Cyanna screamed. Her formation faltered, runes flickering like candles in a sudden gale.

That single, stuttering heartbeat was all the Soul Devourer needed—and he saw it.

"Now! Netherworld Soul-Devouring Curse!" he roared. Nine shadow-drakes—each forged from bottomless resentment—abandoned their clash with the golden energy dragons and whipped toward Jared in a black, spiraling tide.

The wraith drake nearest the Golden Dragon's burning talons convulsed midflight. A heartbeat later, two more followed, banking hard and letting the dragon's fire claw rents the size of canyons across their scale-less hides. Bleeding shadows instead of blood, the trio hurled themselves toward the spell-core—the glittering eye of the formation where Cyanna and the other Draconian champions hovered in tight, disciplined ranks.

High above them, Soul Devourer spread his spectral arms. Lines of black light folded between his fingers, knotting into a sigil so malicious it seemed to eat the color out of the sky.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

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