Chapter 268: Destroy The Cursed (84)

Chapter 268"Is this your great plan?" Magus’s tone was flat, almost bored. He shook his head slowly. "If this is all you can do, then I’m sorry to inform you. You’ve already lost."

Ronan’s brow furrowed. What the hell was this bastard going on about? He could feel it, Magus knew what was coming next. He wasn’t moving. Not a twitch. He stood there, calm, certain. Too certain.

Ronan scoffed inwardly. Overconfidence. That would be his downfall.

He took a step forward. His figure blurred, warping into one of his silver needles. The Onslaught had begun.

In the blink of an eye, Ronan was behind Magus. Another blink and he was in front, the shadow at Magus’s back nothing but an afterimage. His two swords blurred, crossing with lethal intent.

"Twenty Splitting Strikes," Ronan hissed.

Steel screamed through the air—

But a massive wall of earth surged up, blocking the blades. Ronan cut it down, shattering stone into rubble, but by then Magus was gone.

The ground rumbled.

Behind him.

Ronan spun.... Magus was there, his arm sheathed in rock, his fist glowing with crushing force. The strike thundered toward him.

Ronan swapped. His body dissolved, vanishing into another needle.

Magus’s punch connected with the silver shard instead. The needle vaporized instantly, and the shockwave ripped outward, annihilating several more needles in the air.

Ronan’s eyes narrowed. Shit. The earth-fist wasn’t just solid, it was devastating, every bit as destructive as Magus’s lightning.

This was unfair. Fighting this monster wasn’t even a battle anymore. It was surviving a natural disaster. How could one man wield so many damn elements like they were toys?

But Ronan didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

They clashed again, weaving strikes and counters at blistering speed. Ronan warped from needle to needle, his movement sharp, unpredictable, his blades a blur of killing arcs. But Magus was faster. Stronger.

Every strike Ronan unleashed was blocked, smothered, dodged. And every counter Magus threw forward the earth, lightning, wind, fire, they all erupted with waves of destruction that shredded Ronan’s needles one after another.

Piece by piece, his advantage was crumbling.

If nothing changed soon, he was done.

They tore into each other, weaving strikes so fast the air itself cracked. Ronan warped from needle to needle, swapping anchors, his movement swift and unpredictable. Blades blurred, the Splitting Strikes ripping in from every angle, lethal and relentless.

But against Magus, they were useless.


Magus wasn’t just fast. He was strong. Too strong. The earth bent for him. Lightning obeyed. Wind and fire answered like hounds at heel. He wasn’t fighting a man, he was fighting a force of nature.

Every strike Ronan threw was blocked or dodged. Every counter Magus unleashed erupted in waves of destruction that shredded Ronan’s needles one after another. The sky shook, the ground split, his advantage crumbling piece by piece.

If nothing changed, Ronan was finished.

Truth be told, from the start he’d been at a disadvantage. This wasn’t a duel. This was survival against something impossible.

A blow landed. The shock hurled him across the battlefield. He smashed through stone, rolled hard, gouging a path through the dirt before he finally ground to a halt.

Armor cracked but held. Inside, his body screamed. Blood slid from his lips as he pushed himself back to his feet, blades trembling in his grip. The Onslaught skill roared in his veins, the Dread Crown wrapped him in its defense, yet he was still falling behind.

Maybe he wasn’t weak. Maybe Magus was simply too strong.

His needles were gone. Every last one, crushed. Now he would have to use whatever was left around him to anchor his swaps. More taxing, more dangerous, but it didn’t matter. He had no choice but to believe he could still win.

High above, Magus hovered in the air, face drawn with slight irritation. His voice cut coldly.

"Why are you still resisting? You should know by now you can’t beat me."

Ronan gave a dry laugh, blood wetting his teeth. He raised his chipped blades, steel still gleaming despite the cracks.

"It’ll take more than that to break them. And you...." his voice steadied, eyes burning, "....you’ve got all these flashy skills, yet you still can’t finish me. What makes you so sure I won’t eventually overpower you?"

He knew he was bluffing. He still had energy, his health wasn’t drained yet, but at this pace he’d be finished soon. Landing even one solid hit on Magus was nearly impossible. Landing several in a row? A damn miracle.

Still, he had to think of something. Anything.

Above him, Magus’s lips curled. Subtle, almost imperceptible. A smile. Wicked. Or amused. Ronan couldn’t tell.

Then Magus spoke, voice like iron.

"You’re right about one thing," Magus said, his voice low, steady. "I can wield elemental abilities. But out of them all, I only have true mastery over two. And one..." his eyes burned as he raised his hand, "...is fire."

The air around him warped. Heat shimmered, then erupted.... miniature suns of pure inferno roaring to life, dotting the sky like burning gods.

Ronan’s chest tightened. His heartbeat skipped. What the hell is he about to do? He didn’t know, but he knew it was nothing good.

The burning orbs fused, roared, twisted and then the sky itself spun into motion. A maelstrom of fire spiraled down, forming tornadoes of flame that tore into the earth, climbing into the air again like pillars of hell.

The size. The heat. The dread they carried. It was monstrous.

And there weren’t just one. There were three.

All of them bearing down on him.

Ronan’s face hardened. Running’s useless. If I wait, I’m dead.

So he moved. Straight at the inferno.

He hit the ground hard, shattering stone, kicking boulders into the air. With a snap of his foot, he launched the rocks into the blazing funnels, his plan clear: get them to Magus, switch anchors, close the distance, strike.

But the second the stones touched the flames, they blackened. Charred. Then vanished, reduced to vapor.

Ronan’s gut dropped. The heat wasn’t just unbearable. It erased matter itself.

The tornadoes surged closer, roaring like beasts. Faster. Hotter. There was no escape. He couldn’t outrun them. He couldn’t hide.

Only two choices: destroy them. Or kill Magus.

Both sounded impossible. But impossible was all he had.

Ronan stopped backing away. His eyes darkened, jaw tightening. The Dread Armor shifted, creeping over his head, plates fusing into a helm. More armor coiled out, sealing every weak point, every gap that the fire could rip through.

He didn’t know if his plan would work. Maybe it wouldn’t. But he wasn’t about to just stand there and burn.

With a roar, Ronan charged straight into the inferno.

Magus floated above it all, calm, detached, watching the madness below. His brow twitched. If he hadn’t been sure before, he was certain now..... these so-called heroes were lunatics.

Who in their right mind dives headfirst into a tornado of fire? That wasn’t courage. That was insanity.

And yet...

Magus’ eyes narrowed. His calm cracked. Inside the raging inferno, a flash of violet light flickered.

No. Impossible.

He didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t. He knew how much mana he’d poured into those tornadoes. Even an awakened monster should’ve been reduced to ash by now. And yet, right there. A shape. A figure carving its way through fire that should’ve erased him.

The purple glow in the visor of that damned helmet gave him away.

Ronan.

Still alive. Still moving. Not just surviving, he was tearing through the storm itself. Each strike shredded the inferno apart, ripping flame and heat like paper.

Magus’ mind stuttered, stunned by the sight...just for a moment. Then his focus snapped back. His hands spread wide. His palms closed.

The remaining tornadoes screamed, fusing together into one monstrous vortex. The roar of fire shook the skies.

And once again, Ronan was buried alive in flame.

Inside, his lungs burned. The oxygen was gone. Every breath was a countdown to death. His armor held, his body endured, but even an awakened had limits. If he didn’t end this now, the inferno would.

He clenched his teeth. No fear. No hesitation. The Onslaught skill surged, the Dread Armor locked him tighter, and the sword in his hand glowed like a killing star. His power peaked.

"Forty Splitting Strikes!"

He blurred, body vanishing into motion, carving through flame again and again. Each swing ripped the tornado apart, piece by piece, until the raging vortex was thinning, breaking and dying.

From above, Magus watched as the storm weakened. His eyes darkened. There was only one reason for that. The hero inside hadn’t just survived. He was winning.

Magus’ hand rose. Calm again. Cold.

His fist closed.

"Explode."

The inferno folded in on itself, then it detonated. A blast split the air, shaking heaven and earth.

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To be continued........

AUTHOR’S NOTE

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– Ultra