Finishing the job! - The World of Fractured Realms

The red light enveloped Alter as the teleportation rune activated, casting his divine form back into the depths of Wyrmgate Hollow. Cold mist swept across his armored frame the moment he arrived, the air dense with the residual malice of the dungeon's abyssal influence.

But this time, it was different.

Alter took one step forward.

The entire dungeon shuddered.

System Prompt —

[Extreme Mode – Activated: Wyrmgate Hollow]

Dungeon Affinity: Shadow, Abyss

Threat Tier: Mythic++

Restrictions Lifted for High-Authority Bearer

All Guardian Sigils Reacting to Creator Authority [4.2%]…

Compensatory scaling disabled.

Alter unsheathed Astral Requiem, the divine katana now shimmering with azure arcane threads and galaxy-blue veins of mana running along its blade. No hilt guard. No flourish. Just one edge of annihilation.

"Let's finish what we started."

The dungeon mobs surged forward. Dozens of abyssal knights, corrupted mages, and spectral hounds lined the blackened hallways.

Slash.

They ceased to exist.

No light. No sound. No resistance. Just nothingness in the wake of a single sword wave.

He walked through the dungeon without pause. His form blinked across time-space fractures, avoiding traps automatically. His very presence broke the sequence of the dungeon's scripted ambushes.

Not a single enemy got within a meter of him.

System Prompt –

[Abyssbound Fangbeast] slain.

[Abyssal Lancer] slain.

[Wyrmgate Priest] slain.

[No EXP Gained – Threat Level too low.]

Alter paused at the final chamber—the colossal doors carved with ancient draconic runes.

He extended his hand.

The doors didn't wait to be pushed.

They disintegrated.

Inside, the boss awaited.

Boss Encounter – [Abyssal Knight Duranis]

Tier: Mythic – Mid-Boss Class

Elemental Affinity: Abyss

Resistances: Shadow (Complete), Magic (High), Physical (Moderate)

Authority Detected: None

Combat Initiated

The black-armored colossus stood at the center of the chamber. Twin abyssal blades rested in each gauntleted hand. Crimson mist spilled from under its helm.

Its voice echoed like thunder laced with void:

"Another bearer of power… of shadow. I am the Abyss. You are but—"

He never finished the sentence.

Alter vanished.

The next moment—

Dimensional Slash.

A single streak of severed space tore through the chamber. The energy wave carved through the knight's armor, its core, its words—everything—leaving only scattered fragments.

System Prompt –

[Boss Defeated – Abyssal Knight Duranis]

Completion Time: 00:06:23

Rewards Granted

3x Mythic Cores (Abyssal Origin)

[Mythic Title Unlocked – Abyss Cutter]

1x Abyssbane Sigil (Anti-Shadow Artifact)

Dungeon Cleared: Wyrmgate Hollow – Extreme Mode

EXP Gained: 0 (Threat differential too high)

Creator Authority Resonance +0.01%

Alter sheathed Astral Requiem in one smooth motion.

He exhaled.

"…He didn't even land a hit."

He glanced around the chamber. What had once taken him hours of exhausting combat, strategic positioning, and elemental countermeasures was now undone by the sheer pressure of divine evolution and sheer Creator Authority. Not even the dungeon's deepest abyss could resist him.

His eyes, shimmering with swirling galaxies, pulsed faintly as he opened a portal to the Still World.

It was time to assess the loot—perhaps upgrade the Abyssbane Sigil, and add a few traits to his new armor.

But one thing was certain.

The Alter who once bled and crawled through Wyrmgate Hollow was gone.

Only the being who walked among gods remained.

The heavy doors of the Veltharn guild hall swung open on polished hinges, letting in the first shaft of morning light—and the figure cloaked in it.

Alter stepped through.

Gone was the Varyth wolf cloak he once wore in silence. What adorned him now was nothing less than divine—his armor gleamed with a faint celestial luster, etched in gold and azure lines of arcane runes. The Astral Requiem was sheathed across his back, humming faintly with restrained power. His presence was unmistakable, like the coming of a storm.

He moved with purpose, the clinking of his armor light—silent for one of his weight and power. At the guild hall's main counter, a young attendant spotted him and froze mid-ink stroke, wide-eyed.

A moment later, several heavy storage pouches dropped gently onto the counter.

Thud.

Then another.

And another.

With a small flick of his wrist, Alter unsealed them.

A blinding sheen of glimmering monster cores, glowing ores, mythic pelts, and divine herbs spilled out—like treasure pouring from a dragon's hoard. The entire front desk was buried under the haul.

A heartbeat of silence.

Then chaos.

Attendants scrambled behind the counter, shouting for vault keys and sorting tags. Several adventurers standing nearby gawked at the display with slack jaws.

A familiar voice snapped from above. "What in the blazes is going on down here—?!"

Guildmaster Garron appeared on the staircase, coat half-buttoned, his coffee forgotten in hand. But the moment he spotted Alter, he halted—eyes trailing from the young man to the mountain of rare goods.

"…This is yours?"

Alter turned toward him and gave a short nod. "Three runs through Wyrmgate Hollow. Extreme mode. Cleared solo."

Garron blinked. Then he approached, crouched slightly, and let his fingers trail over a shard of divine crystal.

"All in a day?" he asked, voice dry.

"Yes," Alter replied simply. "There's more, if needed. I'll be heading to Newvale tomorrow to contribute there as well."

Garron stood fully and crossed his arms. "Still planning to leave?"

"One month," Alter confirmed. "But I want to leave both cities with enough materials to fund the next generation of adventurers. This isn't farewell. Just a transition."

The Guildmaster let out a long sigh, shaking his head with a bitter smile. "Every time I think I've wrapped my head around your scale, you go and do something like this. I'll draft the introduction letters. You'll have priority access to all capital guild branches. If they know what's good for them, they won't get in your way."

"Thank you," Alter said softly.

"You're a damn walking legend, Alter. But more than that…" Garron looked over the pile of riches again. "You're a foundation builder. We'll never forget that."

A ripple of red light shimmered through the teleportation crystal as Alter stepped into the Whispering Vault.

It greeted him like a wound in space.

Twisting corridors stretched and bent impossibly, lit by shifting lines of fractured runes. Time pulses beat like a second heartbeat within the walls, echoing memories long erased.

But Alter felt none of the confusion from before.

His Creator Authority—now nearly 4.5%—shimmered invisibly around him like an armor of reality. The distortions parted before him like fog from a blade. Time-warping traps and recursive loops collapsed under his feet. Illusions of past, future, and potential had no sway over his path.

He moved through the dungeon like a ghost.

Flicker Wraiths hissed and shimmered into being—slain the moment they materialized.

Temporal Hounds lunged with paradoxal fangs—cleaved in a single horizontal sweep from Astral Requiem.

Mid-bosses attempted to corner him within dimensional mirrors—but Alter blinked through space, leaving only golden arcs of runes in his wake.

When he reached the final chamber, the Chrono-Magus of Null Time stood waiting.

"Bearer of Authority," it said, voice echoing from a thousand timelines at once. "You are not bound to this realm…"

Alter didn't reply.

He raised his blade.

Dimensional Slash.

The Chrono-Magus was erased.

📜 System Prompt: Dungeon Cleared

Difficulty: Extreme

Completion Time: 27 minutes

All bonus challenges completed

Reward Chests Acquired ×3

The divine chests shimmered into being, pulsing with ethereal light.

He opened each slowly.

📦 Divine Material Obtained:

[Sable Thread of Evervoid] ×2

[Lament Core – Whispered Origin] ×1

[Mythic Chrono-Bark Plating] ×5

[Stellar Phasing Dust] ×3

He held the Lament Core aloft. Its power surged in odd rhythms—too complex for mortal hands to shape casually.

"Brokk will want this," Alter murmured.

He activated his teleportation marker.

The forge was alive with the glow of molten steel and the rhythmic hammering of effort. Brokk stood over the anvil, sweat running down his brow as he cursed under his breath.

The ingot in his tongs shattered once again.

"Damn it! Not enough compression on the mana flow—!"

A shift of wind.

Brokk turned and nearly dropped the tongs.

"Alter?! You're—wait, are you glowing?"

Alter chuckled. "Only a little."

He reached into his inventory and withdrew the divine materials, setting them beside the forge.

Brokk stared.

He blinked. Once. Twice. His knees nearly buckled.

"Th-These… these are divine-tier?! You're just—just giving these to me?!"

Alter stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Brokk's shoulder.

"You're almost there, Brokk. These should help you break through. No thanks needed. Just keep forging."

The blacksmith swallowed hard, his hands trembling. "I… I will. I swear it."

Alter gave a single nod and turned toward the forge.

"One more dungeon left," he murmured, mostly to himself. "Then… we move."

The sun had only begun to crest over the distant hills when Alter appeared just outside the stone-braced gates of Farrin's Forge, a quiet snap of teleportation energy lingering in the air. The scent of steel, oil, and a faint breeze of ash greeted him—an oddly nostalgic aroma.

The heavy oak doors swung open before Alter could knock.

"Ha! I was wonderin' when you'd come 'round again," Farrin's booming voice echoed from within the glowing forge hall. The old smith stepped out into view, apron dusted in soot, hammer in one hand, and a grin tugging his weathered face. "You never could sit still for long."

Alter offered a rare, warm smile. "It's good to see you, Farrin."

The two clasped forearms in greeting—no titles, no formalities, just respect forged in battle and time. But as the warmth of their greeting faded, Alter lifted a hand, his gauntlet parting as glowing motes swirled into existence.

From his inventory, he pulled free several crystalline ingots, shards of divine ore, essence threads, and mythic hides—materials that sang with mana the moment they touched the open air.

Farrin's jaw slackened. "By the flame… these are—?"

"Mythic. Some divine," Alter confirmed, placing them gently beside the anvil. "I want you to have them. But more than that, I want to teach you something."

Farrin narrowed his eyes, curiosity quickly overtaking shock. "Teach me? You?"

Alter nodded, removing the outer plating of his armor, revealing the brilliant arcane tattoos laced down his arms like golden veins. "Not just how to forge with power. But how to forge with Authority."

He stepped toward the anvil, summoned a slab of Mythic Soulsteel, and let the Creator's Flame surge through his palm. The air around him shimmered. The metal hummed like a living thing as he drew a sigil in the air, embedding runes into the alloy mid-swing.

Each strike was controlled, precise—his hammer etched sequences that resonated beyond mana, touching onto the fundamental laws of the world. Elemental cores were merged, not fused. The structure responded. Adapted.

Farrin stood frozen, the sparks reflecting in his eyes like stars.

They worked for hours—through bellows and hammerfall, alloy and arcane chant. Divine cloth was interwoven with crystalthread, forming seamless robes that pulsed with spellcraft. Leather hides bonded with elemental fangs became boots that allowed the bearer to run on wind.

Farrin, to his credit, matched rhythm for rhythm. His mind, though old, was sharp. His instincts forged through decades of practice allowed him to absorb every word, motion, and essence transfer Alter demonstrated.

As twilight began to blanket the land, a faint chime rang in Farrin's mind.

📜 Skill Unlock: Divine Forging – Tier I

📜 Skill Unlock: Arcane Channeling (Passive)

📜 Craftsmanship Rank Increased: Master → Divine Artisan

He staggered backward, blinking as knowledge rushed into his mind like a dam bursting.

"Alter…" Farrin whispered. "This is—this is beyond what I could've ever imagined. With this… we can arm an entire generation."

Alter placed a gauntlet on the smith's shoulder. "That's why I came. Veltharn and Newvale need people like you and Brokk. I won't always be here. The next wave needs more than hope. They need gear that can survive what's coming."

Farrin nodded, throat tight. "I swear it. By hammer, by flame, by my life—I'll forge for the people, 'til the last of my breath. You have my word."

A system chime echoed in Alter's ear.

📜 Oath Registered: Artisan's Pact – Veltharn Forge Expansion Unlocked

He smiled faintly, stepping away. "That's all I needed."

With dusk now thick over the forge, Alter turned toward the city walls.

"I have one more stop before I go."

The wide double doors creaked open once more as Alter stepped through, pausing just past the threshold.

Behind her desk, Guildmaster Elara looked up from a stack of scrolls. Her emerald eyes brightened faintly behind round lenses.

"I had a feeling you'd stop by," she said with a knowing smile. "Word travels fast when you break half the economy in a single delivery."

Alter chuckled softly and removed his helmet, resting it on the edge of her desk. "Then you already know what I'm here for."

Elara leaned back in her chair. "Your relocation."

He nodded.

"I'll still be here for a few more weeks. But after that… I'll be moving to a capital—likely one where the greater guild network can support higher-tier projects. I want to establish a base of operations. A real one."

She nodded, her fingers steepled. "And the girls?"

"They're coming with me."

Her eyes softened slightly. "I'm not surprised. Lira's eyes follow you like a sunrise."

A pause.

"Still…" Elara stood and walked to a nearby shelf. She retrieved a sealed letter embossed with silver runes.

"Here. A formal recommendation from the Newvale Guildmaster to the Central Alliance. It'll open every door you need."

Alter took the envelope, tucking it into his inventory.

"Thank you."

"No," she said, walking him to the door. "Thank you, Alter. The guild, the city—even the continent—we're better because of you."

He inclined his head, then left in silence, the echo of his armored steps fading into the quiet halls.

The Newvale Guild Hall bustled with activity—adventurers arguing over bounties, quest boards covered in fresh parchment, and porters hauling crates of monster cores and shattered relics. But the moment Alter stepped through the tall brass-trimmed doors, a hush rippled through the room like a silent gust of reverence.

He was no longer a myth, nor a shadow on the battlefield.

He was Alter—the blade-wielder of divine rank, the breaker of dungeons, the one who stood where gods had once fallen.

At the front desk, the attending clerks scrambled upright from their chairs. The head attendant—a silver-haired young woman in guild uniform—met his gaze and swallowed nervously.

"A-Alter…! W-We've been expecting you."

Without a word, Alter unslung his dimensional satchel and released its contents with a single swipe of his hand.

A cascade of shimmering items flooded the counter.

Rare minerals, elemental cores, divine fragments, blessed pelts, mystic herbs, and shattered remnants of dungeon artifacts. The entire marble counter vanished beneath the shimmering weight of his offering. The room fell silent again, a sea of wide eyes and parted lips.

One of the younger attendants stepped forward in awe. "S-Should we… appraise it now, sir?"

Before Alter could answer, the silver-haired woman gently stopped her with a raised hand. She shook her head subtly and whispered, "That's Alter. These aren't for sale. They're for the guild… to help fund training and supply chains."

The young clerk gasped quietly. "He's that Alter…?"

By the time they turned back, Alter was already walking away.

His cape fluttered behind his divine armor, faint golden sparks trailing his steps. He said nothing as he passed through the arching entry hall, vanishing in a shimmer of silver light.

The rustle of grass and the sharp twangs of arrows being loosed filled the air. Trees shivered as fire spells cracked through monster packs like disciplined executions.

Kaela flipped mid-air, her arrow skewering the last wyvernling in one shot. "That's twelve, Lira!" she called out with a grin.

"Oh please," Lira replied, brushing strands of hair behind her ear, staff still glowing. "I've wiped out two entire groups on my own."

Before the banter could escalate, a silver light flashed behind them.

A heartbeat later—

"Alter!" Lira turned with radiant joy, her voice cutting through the field like music. She sprinted toward him without hesitation.

Alter caught her as she jumped into his arms, her legs curling up around his waist. He held her easily, bracing her in one arm as she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips, full of warmth and affection.

"I missed you," she whispered against his mouth.

"I wasn't gone long," he replied with a faint smile.

Kaela approached with a lazy smirk, casually knocking another arrow onto her bowstring. "Tch. You two are getting bolder by the day. At least let me finish killing monsters before you start making out."

Lira giggled, still clinging to Alter. "Jealous?"

Kaela rolled her eyes but smiled. "Hardly. But if you're gonna be loud again tonight, at least give me some warning. I'll sleep in a tree this time."

Alter chuckled softly, setting Lira down with surprising gentleness for someone clad in divine metal.

"You're both improving," he said, scanning the smoldering battlefield. "You've become efficient. Fast. Precise."

Lira beamed. "That's because we've had the best teacher."

Kaela slung her bow over her back and stretched. "So? Did you drop off the loot?"

Alter nodded. "The guild will have their hands full for a while."

Kaela whistled. "You're going to spoil the next generation of adventurers. They'll think divine-grade weapons grow on trees."

Lira laced her fingers with Alter's. "You're doing more than spoiling. You're building something… lasting."

He didn't respond to that. Not immediately.

Instead, he looked to the sky—at the pale blue light dancing behind clouds, the whisper of wind brushing his cheek.

"I'll keep going," he murmured. "Until every frontier is lit by firelight… and no one has to die in darkness again."

Lira squeezed his hand tighter.

Kaela nodded. "Well then, boss. Lead on."

Time flowed like a quiet stream in Veltharn, the days moving with the steady rhythm of iron on anvils and quills scratching parchment. The adventurers' guild had become a thriving hub of life and progress. Where once there were scattered requests and small-time hunts, now even the most formidable dungeons were being tackled by teams of hardened warriors equipped with high-tier gear forged from Alter's own contributions.

Whispers passed from lips to lips—tales of a man in divine armor, a god-slayer who walked like a mortal but wielded the will of something far greater.

Alter.

Not a man.

A myth walking.

And yet he stood that afternoon with his companions like any other adventurer, peering at the mission board inside the bustling guild hall.

The air buzzed with movement, quarreling voices, laughter, and the clang of coin. Kaela had just returned from the bar with a tray of sweet drinks, and Lira was carefully scanning each parchment nailed to the board.

"There," Lira said, voice soft but excited. "Capital-bound caravan. Three days of travel. Moderate risk, high pay… and a fast route."

Alter turned slightly, his gaze flicking toward the sheet. "Three days, huh."

Kaela tilted her head. "Think the capital will have more of those crazy dungeons you like?"

"Probably," Alter said with a small smile. "But this isn't just for exploration. It's time we had a proper home base. Something stable."

Lira nodded slowly, her fingers brushing along his gauntlet.

"We'll go with this," Alter said, turning to the clerk. "We'll take the caravan escort to the capital."

The remainder of the day was filled with a quiet sense of farewell.

Alter walked the familiar paths of Veltharn, visiting the places that had once welcomed him, watched him rise, and benefited from his guidance.

Garron, the weathered Guild Master, shook his hand firmly—then drew him into a hug. "You'll shake the heavens next, boy. Just don't forget where you started."

Brokk met him outside the forge, his arms dusted with soot, face damp from the heat of divine forging. "You gave me a spark I didn't think I had left," he said, gripping Alter's wrist. "I won't let you down."

And in Newvale—so distant, so humble—he returned to a quiet place long left behind.

Farrin, too, welcomed him like family. "The flame you carry… it's not just your power, it's your will. I'll honor it with every blade I make."

The library.

There, the old librarian blinked through thick glasses, nearly dropping her tea when she saw him.

"My stars," she whispered. "You've grown into a legend."

He spent the evening there in peaceful conversation. No divine power, no politics or quests. Just quiet memories of the boy he used to be.

That night, back in Veltharn, the room was bathed in soft candlelight.

Lira curled against him under the covers, her bare skin warm against his chest, her breath calm as it traced the curve of his neck. Their time together was unhurried, quiet and deep, far from the fiery passion of their first nights.

She gazed up at him, flushed and half-lidded. "Three days, Alter… and we'll be surrounded. No sound barriers. No Still World. Nothing."

He gave her a lopsided smile, brushing strands of silver hair from her cheek. "So we make tonight count."

She pressed a kiss to his lips. "You've changed, you know. Not just your strength. Your heart… it's gentler than when we met."

He didn't answer right away.

Instead, he simply held her tighter, his mind drifting—toward the road ahead, the secrets still unspoken.

The Still World.

His Creator Authority.

The war between gods.

One day, he'd share it all. When the time was right.

When they had a place to call home.

Whispers passed from lips to lips—tales of a man in divine armor, a god-slayer who walked like a mortal but wielded the will of something far greater.

Alter.

Not a man.

A myth walking.

And yet he stood that afternoon with his companions like any other adventurer, peering at the mission board inside the bustling guild hall.

"There," Lira said, voice soft but excited. "Capital-bound caravan. Three days of travel. Moderate risk, high pay… and a fast route."

Alter turned slightly, his gaze flicking toward the sheet. "Three days, huh."

Kaela tilted her head. "Think the capital will have more of those crazy dungeons you like?"

"Probably," Alter said with a small smile. "But this isn't just for exploration. It's time we had a proper home base. Something stable."

Lira nodded slowly, her fingers brushing along his gauntlet.

"We'll go with this," Alter said, turning to the clerk. "We'll take the caravan escort to the capital."

Their first stop was the Veltharn guild office, where Garron greeted Alter with his usual gruff demeanor. The older man stood from his desk, eyeing him with a mixture of pride and resignation.

"So, you're really leaving."

Alter gave a respectful nod. "Only relocating. The guild needs time to grow—and we've done what we can here. I want to continue supporting it from afar."

Garron sighed, folding his arms. "You've given more than anyone could ask, Alter. When the day comes, I'll write your letter of introduction myself. Every guild branch across the continent will know your name."

"I appreciate that," Alter said. "Let's keep this world moving forward."

The two men clasped hands firmly, a bond formed through action more than words.

They arrived first at Brokk's forge, the heart of the crafting district in Veltharn. The clang of steel echoed rhythmically through the building as smoke curled from the chimney.

Brokk looked up, soot-streaked and smiling the moment he saw Alter walk in, divine armor dimmed for travel.

"Alter," the young blacksmith called, dropping his tools. "You came."

Alter stepped forward, pulling back his helmet. "Of course. I couldn't leave without saying goodbye."

Brokk wiped his hands on his apron and extended an arm, which Alter clasped firmly.

"You've surpassed me long ago," Brokk said with a quiet laugh. "But because of you, I've walked a path I never thought possible."

"You forged your own way," Alter replied. "I only showed you the door."

They walked through the workshop, passing racks of enchanted weapons and armor glowing faintly with mana. Divine-tier weapons, half-complete, sat waiting on workbenches—proof that Brokk's craft had soared far beyond Veltharn.

"I'll keep supplying the guild with what they need," Brokk promised. "Even after you leave."

"I know you will," Alter said. "This city still needs a forge strong enough to shape the future. You're it."

They exchanged one final nod—no need for flowery farewells. Just purpose. Respect.

As Alter turned to leave, Brokk called out one last time. "Hey… come back and visit someday."

"I will," Alter said, pausing in the doorway. "With new stories. And harder materials."

Brokk grinned. "I'll have the anvil ready."

Alter traveled back to Newvale.

The small town was quieter than Alter remembered, but warm and familiar. Villagers waved as they passed, their smiles honest and grateful.

At the blacksmith's forge, Farrin looked up from his anvil and immediately set down his hammer, wiping sweat from his brow. His expression lit up the moment he recognized Alter.

"Well if it isn't the storm that shook Newvale," Farrin grinned, stepping forward.

Alter clasped the older man's wrist, eyes sincere. "You taught me how to shape more than metal."

Farrin laughed. "You left me in the dust the moment your blade could cut through fate itself."

They spoke long into the afternoon. Alter handed him a small box filled with mythic and divine materials—fragments of dungeons and beasts far beyond the reach of Newvale.

"With these, you can forge equipment for the next generation of adventurers here," Alter said. "Let them rise."

Farrin looked at the materials, hands trembling. "You trust me with this?"

"I trust your fire."

Their final stop was the Newvale Guild Hall, where Guild Master Elara welcomed him with a warm smile and tired eyes.

"Back again?" she asked as he entered.

Alter nodded. "One last time before I move on."

"You've grown beyond this little place," she said, motioning him into her office. "But it's been our honor to watch you become who you are."

She poured him tea, and they sat for a time, speaking of old days, distant memories, and the state of the world beyond Newvale.

Before he left, she placed a gentle hand over his. "No matter where you go, Alter, you will always be welcome here. This guild is your home."