"Oh crap..... you gotta be kidding me!" Little One's voice cracked with fury and disbelief. His outburst wasn't misplaced.

The battlefield had shifted in an instant. The rocky terrain of the island was gone, replaced by a hellish field of molten earth. Cracks glowed with searing lava, heat waves rippled in every direction, and even breathing felt like torture. Fighting here? Insanity.

And yet, Little One felt it was his fault. If he hadn't taunted the Dark Emissary, demanding he face them on solid ground instead of hiding in the sky, maybe this nightmare wouldn't have been unleashed.

Ronan clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Why the hell does one man hold this much power? How many hidden skills does he even have? He knew one thing for certain: had he faced Magus alone, he'd already be dead. Even with four elite heroes beside him, defeating the Dark Emissary felt damn near impossible.

Magus stood calm in the inferno he had summoned, his expression as serene as if he were meditating.

"I told you," he said, voice like stone. "My mastery lies in fire and earth. Alone, they're strong. But together…"

His foot tapped the ground, and the molten veins pulsed brighter. "Together, I forge living lava.... creation and destruction as one. Now that my domain is complete, there's no point dragging this out."

He moved to speak further but froze. An eyebrow arched.

From his left, the void warped. Balor flashed into existence, twin daggers gleaming, ready to carve Magus's life out in a single strike.

But Magus didn't even lift a finger. He didn't need to.

The earth beneath Balor's feet shimmered then erupted. Lava spewed upward, swallowing him whole. The battlefield roared, air blazing with unbearable heat.

Little One's heart stopped. The others staggered. They had just watched one of their own vanish inside a living inferno.

Was he… dead? Just like that?

But then the void twisted again. Balor stumbled out, his body half-charred, skin blistered and blackened. His face was twisted in agony, every breath ragged. He had survived, but the cost was written across his broken form.

"Damn… it…" Balor growled through clenched teeth. "We have to end him now. All out, no holding back! Who knows what else he's hiding?"

The others nodded grimly. They all knew, if it was truly that simple, Magus would already be dead. But the Dark Emissary wasn't just powerful. He was a monster.

"Then we give it everything," Ronan said, his voice sharp as steel. His eyes narrowed. "No more restraint."

Energy flared around him, vicious and consuming. The Onslaught skill unleashed to its peak. His body screamed in protest, bones grinding, muscles tearing, but Ronan didn't care. Pain meant nothing. Victory or death....were the only choices.

"Let's move out!" Ronan barked, and then he charged.

Silver Wing tore into the sky, wings blazing. Shae brandished her long blade, aura crackling. Little One shrank back into his microscopic form. The battle ignited again.

But it didn't take long to realize, they weren't fighting Magus. They were fighting the battlefield itself.

The lava terrain he created was alive, bending, shifting, answering to his will. Every drop of molten earth moved like a soldier under his command. Predictable one second, wild and deadly the next. Just the environment alone was enough to crush them.

And through it all, Magus stood calm in the center of the storm. His face serene, almost saintlike, as if chaos itself bowed to him.

Even Balor, Ronan, and Little One.....the three with the best chances of breaking through had to tread carefully. Magus wasn't terrifying just because of his strength. It was his mastery of battle. He fought like a man born for war, always a step ahead, always dictating the flow. A single mistake, and any of them would die.

Ronan's mind burned. He knew they would need more than just small tricks. To kill Magus in one strike, they'd need overwhelming power. And that was exactly what he was preparing.

Magus, watching their struggle, let a faint smile curl his lips. He wasn't even attacking yet. Just defending, bending lava like a shield, letting them waste their strength.

But then he thought—what if he stopped defending? What if he pushed back?

The ground trembled. Magus lifted his hand. From the earth rose molten boulders, not liquid, but solid chunks of fire-etched rock glowing with hellfire.

"You've attacked enough," Magus said, voice calm, steady, absolute. "Now, it's my turn."

The lava stones burst outward. A thousand burning projectiles screamed through the air toward the heroes.

The battlefield became hell.

Each stone carried devastation, and when even one was destroyed, the explosion that followed rattled bone, shredded muscle, and hammered into their insides. Surviving the blast was one thing. Fighting after was another.

The heroes' plan....to kill Magus in one strike shattered in an instant. Survival became their only goal.

Silver Wing pushed his flight to the very limit, dodging, spinning, his blade flashing to slice away rocks before they could reach him. Each slash left aftershocks in the air.

Shae met the onslaught head-on, her sword roaring with drawn power. She flowed from defense to offense, pouring energy into her blade, slashing the molten rain apart. Sparks and fire trailed every swing as she forced back death itself.

Balor flickered in and out of the void, weaving between boulders. His daggers couldn't hold back the barrage, but his footwork and void mastery kept him alive, well for now.

And Little One… Little One screamed his lungs raw.

What were pebbles to the others looked like giant mountains of molten death from his small perspective. Each stone a world-ending meteor crashing down on him. He barely dodged, barely survived, his tiny body pushed to its limit.

"Why the hell did I have to join this monster battle!?" he shrieked.

But it was too late for regrets. They had chosen this fight. And they all knew the truth, if they didn't take down the Dark Emissary soon, there would be no tomorrow.

No dawn. No daylight.

Only fire.

The battle raged above them, and by now it was painfully clear even with five elite heroes fighting side by side, taking down this Dark Emissary was nothing short of brutal.

Yet among them, one moved like he was born for this hell.

Ronan.

His Switched Skill tore through the chaos. In an instant, he swapped places with flying pebbles of molten earth, using their insane momentum to accelerate, slashing down tens of them in a single swing. Each switch sent him flickering across the battlefield, carving destruction into the storm.

But even with his edge, Ronan didn't feel great. His chest burned. His grip was tight. He knew he was only keeping ahead because of his skill. If the pace didn't slow, if Magus pressed harder, his rhythm would collapse, and the moment it did, it would be catastrophic. He couldn't let that happen. He refused.

The so-called battle wasn't even a battle anymore. It was survival. A game of domination.

Magus hadn't moved an inch.

Hands folded behind his back, his face calm, his body radiating an aura that twisted the lava terrain into his throne. The battlefield obeyed him like he was a god of radiance and destruction.

His eyes slid across the struggling heroes. His thoughts cut colder than his expression.

Why are they still fighting? Don't they see? They have no chance.

If he unleashed his true domain, they wouldn't last a breath. He didn't even need that much. Right now, he was still holding back.

Magus' face remained unreadable, but his mind wasn't so calm. It had been a very long time since he'd seen people fight like this. People willing to die for the masses, to cling to ideals that shattered under reality's weight.

These young heroes… they reminded him of himself.

Once, long ago, he had been just as naïve. He had wanted to protect everyone in his world. To stand as a shield against chaos. But then the Mystic Overlords waged their endless war, and all the people he swore to protect were dragged to the jaws of death.

He hated it. His own weakness. His powerlessness. So he clawed for strength, bled for it, destroyed for it. Yet the faster he rose, the faster he lost the ones who mattered.

And then came his brother.

A talent so monstrous it shook the heavens. His growth was terrifying, his rise unstoppable. And Magus knew. The moment the Mystic Overlords caught wind of his brother's insane surge, he'd be hunted down and killed.

So Magus was faced with a choice.

Destroy his brother's core with his own hands… or find an artifact strong enough to slow his growth.

He chose the second.

He crossed worlds. He conquered some, barely escaped others. He searched, and searched, and searched. Each failure cut deeper. Each dead end pulled him closer to despair.

Until this world.

Until he met Drake Voss.

And finally… he found the answer he had been searching for.

What could cure his brother and save his life from the overlords?

The cursed serum.

TO BE CONTINUED…...

AUTHOR'S NOTE

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