The Cost of Weakness
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The desolate corridors of the ancient ruins seemed to stretch endlessly. Every stone exuded an aura of decay and danger, as though the place itself sought to consume any who dared enter. Lennon Uranus walked at a brisk pace, his cold golden eyes scanning the path ahead. Behind him, Aleron stumbled, his face pale with fear and exhaustion.
"Wait…Lennon," Aleron gasped, his voice strained. "I…I can't keep up."
Lennon didn't slow down. "Then you'll be left behind," he said flatly.
Aleron stopped, leaning heavily on his staff. His robes were torn, and blood trickled from a wound on his arm. "You can't just abandon me! We've come this far together."
Lennon turned, his expression as emotionless as stone. "You're a liability, Aleron. You've been slowing me down since we entered these ruins." His voice was calm, almost clinical. "I don't carry dead weight."
Aleron's eyes widened in disbelief. "But we're allies! You need me—"
"I needed you to buy time earlier," Lennon interrupted coldly. "That debt has been repaid. Now, you're nothing but a risk to my survival."
Aleron's face twisted with a mix of fear and anger. "You'll regret this, Lennon. You can't do everything alone!"
Lennon didn't respond. He simply turned and walked away, leaving Aleron in the darkness. The older Magus's desperate shouts echoed behind him, growing fainter with each step.
In the Magus World, sentiment was a death sentence. Lennon had no use for weaklings who clung to outdated notions of loyalty and camaraderie. Survival was all that mattered, and he would not let anyone drag him down.
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**Encounter with the Vordax Tribe**
Hours later, Lennon emerged from the ruins into a barren wasteland. Jagged rocks jutted from the ground like the bones of some long-dead beast. The sky above was a swirling mass of dark clouds, crackling with ominous energy.
As he surveyed the landscape, his sharp senses picked up movement in the distance. A group of humanoid figures approached, their forms distorted by the shimmering heat.
Lennon's expression remained neutral, but his mind was already calculating. From their appearance—ashen skin, elongated limbs, and glowing red eyes—he recognized them as members of the **Vordax Tribe**, an alien race notorious for their savagery and greed.
The Vordax were Level 2 creatures at their weakest, with their chieftains sometimes reaching Level 3. Lennon, now a third-circle Magus, knew he could handle them. But he also knew better than to underestimate their cunning.
As the Vordax closed in, their leader stepped forward, a towering figure clad in jagged armor made from the bones of his enemies. He spoke in a guttural language, his voice dripping with malice.
"You trespass on sacred ground, outsider," the chieftain snarled. "Surrender your treasures, or die."
Lennon's response was simple. He raised one hand, and with a flick of his fingers, unleashed a wave of icy blue flames.
-- **Annihilation**
The Vordax didn't even have time to scream. The flames engulfed them, reducing their flesh to ash and their bones to brittle shards. Those who tried to flee found their paths blocked by towering walls of ice, conjured with a mere thought.
Lennon moved methodically, casting precise spells that decimated the tribe without mercy. Bolts of dark energy lanced through the air, disintegrating any who dared resist. When their chieftain charged at him, wielding a massive bone axe imbued with dark power, Lennon calmly raised his staff and countered with a torrent of gravitational force.
The chieftain's body crumpled under the pressure, his armor shattering like glass.
Lennon didn't stop until every last member of the tribe lay dead at his feet. There were no survivors, no mercy. Mercy was for the weak, and weakness had no place in the Endless Void.
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**The Spoils of War**
With the battle over, Lennon began to systematically loot the Vordax's encampment. He found chests filled with rare ores and magical crystals, their energies humming with potential. Ancient tomes and scrolls, inscribed with alien spells and techniques, were carefully packed into his dimensional storage.
Most valuable of all was a small, pulsating orb—a relic of immense power, likely stolen from some unfortunate traveler. Lennon studied it briefly, his analytical mind already devising ways to harness its energy.
Once he had taken everything of value, Lennon set the encampment ablaze. He watched impassively as the flames consumed the remnants of the Vordax Tribe, erasing their existence from the world.
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### **Two Years Later**
The wasteland had long since been left behind. Over the next two years, Lennon's name became whispered among the lower-ranked Magi and lesser beings of the Endless Void. Tales of his ruthless efficiency and cold detachment spread like wildfire.
He had ascended steadily, consolidating his power through relentless study and calculated conquests. As a third-circle Magus, he had become a force to be reckoned with, feared and respected in equal measure.
Lennon had grown colder, more detached. He spoke little, and when he did, his words were measured and deliberate. To strangers, he was an enigma—an unreadable figure whose motives were known only to himself.
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**The Approach of Danger**
One day, while meditating in his hidden sanctum, Lennon's eyes snapped open. His sharp senses detected a disturbance—a powerful presence approaching from the Void.
He stood, his mind already racing through possible scenarios. Whatever this presence was, it was strong. Likely a Level 4 entity or a group of high-level enemies.
Lennon's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Interesting."
For two years, he had focused solely on his own growth, avoiding unnecessary conflicts with stronger foes. But now, it seemed the Endless Void was sending him a challenge.
He would face it as he always did—alone, ruthless, and unyielding.
Because in the Magus World, there were no eternal allies, only eternal benefits. And Lennon Uranus intended to claim every advantage he could, no matter the cost.
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**End of Chapter 8**