Unfortunately for Ronan, this was the first time his enemy was able to charge back. Unstoppable charge of the juggernaut drained his 103 momentum, and at the same time as he began to rocket forwards, the elite death knight cataphract echoed his movements.

The mounted undead knight was far slower than Ronan, but even the few steps it rushed forward before meeting his own charge gave it an advantage. Mace crashed against lance-point, all the momentum of the juggernaut's charge condensed into the heavy iron ball. The lance held, and the horse snorted in disdain. But, Ronan was stronger.

In a rippling burst of mana that exploded outwards, the cataphract charged past him, towards Jenna. However, it was an undirected charge, and the mage was easily able to leap out of the way. As the skeletal horse passed, Alyssa ducked low and slashed at one of its hind legs.

The shortsword left barely a scratch, and the knight's teeth rattled as it laughed at her futile attempt. Ronan hadn't gained any momentum from his charge—not enough to earn a full point, at least—but he had kept the 103 points he'd used to strike. The undead horse scraped its front hooves against the stone.

Before Ronan could even move, the elite cataphract was already running him down. Not one to back down from a challenge, Ronan leaned into his first epic skill, and charged right back.

This time, he felt the knight's lance trembling. Unfortunately the burst of mana that rippled outwards as magic strike was released forced them apart. Ronan was giddy with glee as he regained his footing. His momentum had reached 104 points.

Tharaxes did not stand idle while Ronan jousted with the death knight. The lich-lord cackled as it unleashed a torrent of spells, but the lightning strikes and jets and balls of flame were less effective now than they'd been when they first entered the throne room. Jenna was used to countering, and even managed to find some spare focus to launch mana bolts at both the boss and the death knight.

Over the course of the next two minutes, Ronan and the cataphract charged at each other. It was an endless battle; an unstoppable force meeting a kindred spirit.

However, much as there existed larger and larger infinities, no two forces were exactly equal. The elite death knight cataphract may have appeared an unstoppable force, but compared to Ronan, it was a shooting star nearing the end of its flight.

Cuts and grooves covered the skeletal horse, a result of Alyssa's constant harassment and Jenna's magic bombardment. As for the knight itself, it was on its last legs. Or more accurately, the last tenuous hold of its shoulder joint.

The first time Ronan and the knight charged at one another, it had been an evenly matched clash of wills and weapons. That had gradually shifted each time the bonecrusher mace struck the death knight's lance. Ronan roared as he pushed everything he had into the weapon that was little more than a lump of iron, and revelled in the waning mana of the death knight.

The undead knight was giving its all, pushing back against Ronan's swing, and the momentum of his charge. However, it had suffered one too many blows to its lance, and the weapon was, unlike its wielder's mount, very stoppable. With a metallic screech, the lance crumpled about two-thirds of the way down.

Ronan's mace, no longer impeded by the knight's strength, exploded to the left. No longer held back by his enemy's weapon, the bonecrusher mace smashed into the undead horse's neck. As the iron mace struck the protective bonemail plate, it did what it was named for.

Tharaxes had figured out centuries ago that he was not the original. Not in the classic way that a lich's mind would deviate the more they returned to their phylactery and then into a new vessel, but that he was not the original Tharaxes the First Ancestor of the Forgotten Goblin Worlds.

He wasn't sure when he'd noticed the difference. His memories told him that he had been born on the unremarkable jungle world of Fellanor, a runt of his species; an unwanted mutation to be cast aside.

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His only gift, if it could be called that, was his prodigious fertility. He had been able to breed with almost anything that remotely resembled himself, and he had fathered a tribe of thousands.

Goblins.

That was the name given to them by the ruling species of Fellanor, though he had long forgotten the arrogant moniker those pale fiends had given themselves. He did remember the satisfaction of hearing their screams, as his descendants overran their grand cities and tore them to the ground.

Tharaxes had eventually died in battle, as the goblins spread too far, and encountered enemies among the stars who posed a true challenge. They'd been deemed pests, even when they had freed themselves from such shackles on their original world. However, the First Ancestor had been a prodigal genius. Of all the shamans that rose from his descendants, none ever matched his own control over the dark and powerful energy that permeated the universe.

At the moment of his death, he refused to allow its dark claws to claim his soul. Looking back, he somewhat regretted sacrificing seven million of his own descendants, but it had been a worthy sacrifice. He had used their souls as fuel, along with those of his enemies, to forge the entire star system—which had been their battlefield—into his grand phylactery.

He had not been the first lich to arise in the multiverse, but he was the first hobgoblin to ever accomplish the feat, and the only one since. His descendants simply lacked his connection to mana.

Anyway, he'd eventually retired to his throne room, and his tribe had spread across the universe they originated in. The last he'd heard before his world was forgotten, and his throne room buried in the ice and snow, was that they had even managed to spread to other universes. His original gift remained strong in even his youngest descendants, and that pleased Tharaxes.

He'd… Languished felt like an admittance of defeat, but it was the truest description of what he'd done for eons, reclining in his throne and experimenting with his creations. Liches didn't necessarily need to dabble in necromancy, but it was enjoyable. His first love was his descendants, his goblins, but the thrill of designing and successfully summoning a new undead creature was unmatched.

Then, he'd felt it.

The shift. The vibrations. Wanderers had come to his cold, dead world, and they were eager to take what was his.

As they made their way through his hallowed halls, and the buried ruins of his species' cradle, Tharaxes watched them pick the bones clean. They took everything, from the most valueless trinkets, to sacred ritual bones left at long forgotten shrines. If not for the fact that he wanted to learn about the world beyond, and how it had changed, he would have snuffed out their insignificant lives the moment they stepped foot on Fellanor.

Eventually, after he tested them with some of his weaker, failed creations, the group of six entered his throne room. They were tall creatures, taller than an average goblin, but dwarfed by Tharaxes' towering body. He'd once been in a weaker vessel, but over the years his experimentation had not been limited to his summons. He'd spent plenty of time upgrading his own majestic skeleton.

They had baulked upon seeing him. Perhaps the living skeleton was an unusual sight. Certainly, it had repulsed his own descendants to the point that he'd cast them out of their homeworld and secluded himself.

Unfortunately, they were weak.

Tharaxes was barely able to enjoy their screams, they were so brief. However, he had been sure to keep one alive, to extract as much information about the outside world as possible.

And what he learned was startling. Goblins were unheard of for at least seven star systems. Though they were alive, and thriving. The group called themselves adventurers, which was apparently a profitable job that involved exploring dangerous places.

In the end, they became resources for his experiments. There were more adventurers who came to Fellanor over the years. They grew more frequent the more he killed.

Then, one day, while he was engaged in a battle that was actually pushing his giant skeleton soldiers to their limits, the world froze, and twisted, and floating words appeared in Tharaxes' very soul.

Congratulations, citizens of [Planet 462-C], local name [Fellanor], you have been selected for the 1st Grand Integration. Stand by for assessment…

Planetary Assessment for [462-C] complete!

Planetary Grading [462-C]:

Mass: D+

Size: B-

Population: G (C-)

Energy: C-

Overall Grade: C

He watched this 'assessment' of his homeworld with a mix of amusement and curiosity. The power that gripped his very soul was unbreakable, and he could barely sense its depths, but it didn't feel hostile.

Planetary grade is sufficient for successful integration!

ERROR!

Population size insufficient for natural integration, penalty clause applied!

Welcome to the penitentiary of the 1st Grand Integration! This introduction to the multiverse will serve to test your strength and skill, and to make up for your lacking species proliferation. Upon completion, you will return to your planet for the 1st Phase.

Initiating user assessment…

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