[COMPLETED]Jobless Reincarnation x COTE | A Masterpiece

VØⱠɄ₥Ɇ 4 - Respite: Epilogue

AUTHOR's NOTE--- Well, this marks the end of Volume 4. Short chapter since it is an epilogue but eh. Comment about your theories for what Jules might be planning and leave a vote, cause.......WHY NOT? JUST DO IT. DO NOT THINK. Ehm, anyways.

I will see you all in next volume.

|JULIAN GREYRAT|

The air hung heavy with a haunting concoction of ash and smoke, a chilling miasma that clung to every inhale, seeping into lungs and lingering like an unwelcome spectre. Swirling in a dance of despair, each particle a tiny wisp of darkness, suffocated the breath.

The sky---a canvas for the sun's warm embrace, had been usurped by a shroud of malevolent black and ashen grey, an impenetrable barrier that denied even the faintest whisper of sunlight's touch. It was an amalgam of desolation stretched across the horizon---a sinister and macabre scene woven from the threads of destruction.

The transformation was recondite and heartrending. The area that had once cradled a lush and vibrant forest, a sanctuary where life had thrived in harmony. Verdant canopies had whispered secrets to the wind, while the ground beneath had teemed with a symphony of creatures—monsters and humans alike was now no more.

The scene was one of woeful metamorphosis. The land lay stripped and flattened, an eerie tableau of loss. The very soul of the forest had been extinguished, replaced by a barren wasteland where the echoes of life had been silenced.

Amid this desolation, the remnants of what had once been flourished lay scattered like forgotten cadaver.

Trees---grand and venerable, were now skeletal husks—charred and bereft of their former vitality. The creatures----monsters and human travellers alike--- that had once roamed freely now existed only in the memories of those who had witnessed their existence.

No one.

The ground itself seemed to mourn, covered in a blanket of ashes, the remnants of lives that had been extinguished. The ashes told stories of lives lived and lost, each speck a fragment of a story abruptly ended.

The devastation was as visceral as it was sorrowful, a dance of destruction that played on the senses.

The acrid scent of burning wood and skin and smouldering embers pervaded the air, intertwining with the earthy aroma of upturned soil—charcoals and greys that held no promise of renewal.

Lost. Gone forever.

The silence was haunting, the absence of life's vibrant melodies a poignant reminder of the enormity of the loss.

"This is..." Orsted's meek utterance was carried away by the fierce gusts that swept through the scene. His words hung in the air for a moment, like the delicate skeleton of a leaf torn from its branch, before being swallowed by the howling wind.

His face, typically a fresco of intimidation, now bore the markings of bewilderment, a complex mixture of emotions woven with threads of uncertainty and disbelief.

"Yep. His magic output increased," Julian's words slipped from his lips, carrying a tone of nonchalant observation. His gaze swept over the surroundings, taking in the aftermath of whatever had transpired. His hands took a comfortable refuge within the pockets of his attire, fingers tracing the edges.

His demeanour held a relaxed air, as if the chaos around him was nothing more than a passing breeze.

With a languid motion, Julian initiated a casual twirl of his finger—a gesture almost dismissive in its subtlety. Yet, from that seemingly mundane movement, wind magic danced to life at his fingertip, a minuscule cyclone taking shape.