Chapter 267: Destroy The Cursed (83)

Chapter 267: Magus Vs Ronan (1)"Shut up, you hypocrite."

Ronan’s voice cracked with venom. "You talk about sacrificing minors for the greater good. You talk about saving lives through your actions. But tell me.... do you not know how many lives your Cursed have ruined? Men. Women. The able, the disabled. Old. Young."

The image of Sam, the boy flashed across his mind. Ronan’s grip on his blades tightened until his knuckles bled white. His teeth ground together, his eyes locked on Magus.

"So stop trying to justify your vile actions. That isn’t righteousness....it’s pure evil. You and your Cursed need to be destroyed."

The Onslaught skill flared back to life. Ronan didn’t know why it returned, but he guessed it was the restoration pill. Maybe it had repaired the skill’s broken threads. He didn’t care. Gratitude burned hot inside him, but there was no time to savor it.

He summoned the Dread Crown from his system storage, not to unleash its terror but to forge it into armor. Simple. Efficient. Brutal. It wrapped him like a knight’s shell. It was light, balanced, covering every vulnerable inch. No excess. No weakness. A warrior’s armor.

His eyes glowed a seething purple. His body trembled with power.

"Let’s roll."

Then he vanished.

In his place hung a silver needle.

Magus, hovering in the sky, didn’t twitch. His calm was eerie, carved into his face like stone. Then the air to his right rippled. The silver needle warped and Ronan appeared.

Magus pointed. A condensed bolt of lightning screamed forward.

It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t need to be. The strike was so fast it reached Ronan instantly. The blast slammed into him and knocked him out of the sky. For a breath, Ronan fell.

The next, he was gone.

He reappeared right behind Magus, blade already swinging to cleave the man’s throat.

A whirl of energy detonated from Magus’s chest, fire condensed into a dome, wind sharpening its edges until it ripped across the air like a storm. His sword parted the fiery shield with ease....

But Ronan was already there.

Wind blades spun out like guillotines, aiming to slice Ronan apart.

Ronan twisted midair, sword flashing. He hacked the blades down one by one, steel screaming through the wind. He didn’t stop moving, didn’t stop striking, even as more blades cut across the sky.

But he felt it.... Magus wasn’t done. The bastard was already shaping the next attack.

Terrifying. That was the only word. Not just his elemental control were flawless, deadly but also his battlecraft. Defense and offense woven into one. Perfect rhythm. Perfect grace.

Ronan, a veteran of countless battles, couldn’t help but feel it. A grudging respect. A silent, bitter awe.

But awe didn’t matter. Awe got you killed.

He kicked off the air, steps blurring.... two, then three more, twisting his body sideways as another bolt of light smashed through the space he’d just vacated. The air where he’d been burned.

Ronan didn’t hesitate. He hurled a blade.

It tore through the sky, wrapped in a purple aura, aimed to split Magus in half.

The blade tore through Magus’s windscreen like it was paper. No resistance. No delay.

But Magus didn’t panic. Not even a flicker. He snapped his hand twice and then two bolts of condensed lightning ripped out to intercept.

The sword shredded them like twigs and kept flying straight for his face.

No escape. No time. The kill was set.

But at the very last instant, lightning and wind exploded around Magus’s body. He didn’t vanish, he was just too damn fast. The sword cut only empty air.

Ronan was already counting on it. The next breath, he was behind Magus, slashing down.

A massive swirling fire shield roared into existence, clashing against his blade. The impact split the shield, a deep scar glowing across it before it shattered apart. Ronan’s blade was still falling, still hungry.

There was no time to swing it back up. So he didn’t.

Instead, he thrust forward with one of his silver needles.

Laughable. What would a tiny needle do?

Fatal mistake.

As the needle plummeted toward Magus’s throat, it twisted, shifted and in Ronan’s grip the sword reformed, edge gleaming with Onslaught’s deadly light.

The blade was back, screaming down for Magus’s neck. This wasn’t improbable anymore. This was real. If the strike didn’t kill Magus, it would rip him apart. Ronan was sure of it.

But before steel could kiss flesh, a colossal fist of wind, lightning, and fire slammed into the strike. It caught the sword, if only for a split second.

Then the blade cut through.

But Magus was gone again, already at Ronan’s back, whispering words under his tongue, eyes closed in eerie calm.

Ronan’s brow furrowed. Damn it. Not a single clean hit. Just how fast, how slippery was this bastard? If this dragged on, one of two things would happen: his energy would run dry, or Onslaught would fade. Either way.... he’d be done. He had to change the pace, now.

Magus opened his eyes. Fire and lightning cracked inside his gaze.

"I’ve wasted enough time. I need to wrap this up and move on."

His voice was quiet, cold.

And then the sky ignited.

A thousand swords shimmering, forged entirely from fire, lightning flickering across their blades... lit the heavens. Each one radiated death. Each one aimed for Ronan.

Ronan’s face hardened. His chest tightened. This was it.

Every sword carried enough force to obliterate a hero. One would cripple. Ten would destroy. A thousand...

If Magus had faced the full Allied Heroes with the elite, they would have been wiped out in minutes. Ronan knew it now. This wasn’t arrogance. This was fact.

Even he, he wasn’t sure anymore. Could he kill this monster? Or would he be buried here?

The swarm of flaming blades screamed as they rained down, a tidal wave of death descending on his head.

Ronan drew in a sharp breath. His silver needles shot outward, scattering across the battlefield like a storm of stars.

The instant he vanished, a red blade smashed down where he’d been. It tore through, but it hit nothing. Only a needle.

Again and again, the fiery swords rained, guided by Magus’s will. Each one tracked Ronan, but he was gone before the strike landed, slipping from needle to needle, warping through the silver echoes scattered in the air. It was only thanks to his cursed skill that he was still breathing, still unbroken.

But Magus wasn’t slow to catch on.

His gaze darkened, subtle but sharp. He watched the silver silhouettes flashing across the sky, tiny glimmers that betrayed Ronan’s path. His lips curled as he whispered, voice calm, almost bored.

"So that’s what you’re doing."

Then his hand cut the air.

A crushing gale of wind blasted out, fast and merciless, engulfing the field. One after another, Ronan’s needles shattered, crushed to dust, scattered into nothing but dying sparks of energy.

Ronan realized too late. One of his marks was destroyed before he could switch.

The swarm of red swords descended on him, and this time they landed.

The sky exploded.

A deafening roar tore the heavens apart, smoke and ash boiling outward as if the world itself had cracked. The destruction was cataclysmic, the kind of violence that could erase armies in a breath.

Magus floated there, untouched, his face neutral, expression carved from stone. He waited. Sensed. Nothing.

After a moment, he exhaled softly, almost like a sigh. He turned, ready to leave.

But the air split.

A pebble, flung from the chaos, whistled through the sky toward him. Pathetic. Magus flicked his hand, releasing a small gust to swat it aside.

The pebble twisted. Shifted.

Ronan was there.

He struck with everything he had, blade screaming down.

Magus’s windscreen flared, but Ronan’s sword shredded it in a heartbeat. Magus’s body ignited with fire and lightning, but the strike still blasted him out of the sky. He hurtled downward, flames and sparks scattering, before halting midair. He refused to crash. Crashing was beneath him. He landed on his feet, calm as ever.

Ronan descended too, his armor still glowing faintly.

Magus raised a brow, confusion flickering across his calm. He knew how much power he’d unleashed earlier. Yet this was all it had done? A few shallow cuts across Ronan’s armor. Nothing more.

Ronan’s voice was low, sharp, cutting.

"Now that you’re on the ground, I’ll take the advantage."

He hurled his last silver needle.

It split the air, then multiplied. Dozens, hundreds, thousands. They spread, grew, until the battlefield itself was walled in by glimmering silver. A cage of needles, endless and merciless, surrounding Magus and sealing every direction.

Magus looked around, expression unchanged. After a while, he turned his calm eyes back to Ronan.

"This is your great plan?" he said, voice steady. He shook his head, almost pitying. "If this is all you have... then I’m sorry to inform you..... you’ve already lost."

Ronan’s brow furrowed. What the hell was Magus rambling about?

But he could feel it. Even knowing what was coming, Magus didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. He was certain. Too certain. The kind of certainty only a monster could carry.

Ronan scoffed under his breath. Overconfidence. That would be his downfall.

To be continued......

AUTHOR’S NOTE

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– Ultra