Page 157 of Red Ruin
That’s easier done with weaker monsters.
The Supreme bloodlines were sired from leftover scraps of the SSS-tier, Apocalypse kind of monsters.
Like the chip from the naga queen’s scale, used to sire Mirta Supreme and begin the Mirta ducal line.
Ancient humans never could’ve subdued the queen herself.
We were too weak. They were too strong.
Basic undead math reveals the problem our ancestors would’ve faced aftersomehowlucking into capturing the grand-daddy of all liches.
For every human that could survive inheriting the lich king’s blood and magic, how many had to be sacrificed in the experiments?
Remy’s memory was from the early days of the war—not a single Guide among the soldiers. That was whenallSentinels rampaged and died young, and humanity was still being exterminated city-by-lost-city.
Meanwhile, liches aren’t alive.
They can’t be killed.
You have to destroy their vessels, which could be people, rocks, or old bottle caps slowly churning out micro-plastics from a trench at the bottom of the sea.
That fucking monster just had towaitfor its chance to rise again while we stockpiled corpses for its army.
I shiver.
I can even guess why the tomb-prison needed to be erased from history.
Lots of humans would’ve pushed back against the order to bury such a powerful test subject.
Kyorgos would’ve craved more power, more blood, more Sentinels.
Kevan still does.
He might not have wanted me as his duchess, but he sure as hell made me do the secretary work that went with the title. I booked his crypt-trips and signed off on his invoices for hauling grave dirt back to the estate.
His ancestors must’ve left him breadcrumbs, too.
Maybe the legend of a limitless source of power.
A way to become the ultimate necromancer.
This prison tomb is what he’s been searching for.
I can’t believe Kevan knows the whole truth. Not evenhecould be stupid enough to unleash an Apocalypse-tier enemy that Azrid Supreme couldn’t take down.
Either way, I need to know what Kevan knows.
“Guide,” Remy’s rasp draws me back to reality.
I comb my fingers through the silver streaks in his hair and soothe his battered soul. “Rest. You must be exhausted.”
“No.” Remy drags me to his chest, not noticing that Vhex is pulled along for the hug.
He squints, fighting to stay with me.
Something warm and soft moves in my chest. I clear my throat. “You’ve worked hard enough. Close your eyes.”
“Yes.” He tucks my head against his shoulder.
