Meanwhile, far away from the cursed base.... back on the massive battlefield where Ronan and most of the elite heroes fought the atmosphere was turning heavier. Darker.

And the reason was a single figure.

"Don't tell me this bastard's been holding back all this time…" Silver Wing muttered, his tone low, but no one answered. They were all too tense, their grips tightening on their weapons, their hearts pounding in unison.

Why? Why the hell must a monster like this exist in the Cursed?

Ronan's jaw clenched, fingers digging hard into his blade's hilt. Frustration burned through him. Every time, every damn time they thought they'd cornered this dark emissary, he unveiled something new, something devastating. It was like he never ran out of aces.

Even surrounded by seven of the strongest heroes, his presence alone weighed on them like an executioner's blade.

Floating above the blood-soaked field was Magus.

Pure mana coalesced around him, condensing into a massive sphere that pulsed with raw, destructive energy. And then it broke apart revealing him.

But this wasn't the same Magus they'd faced before.

The air bent to his will. Rings of elemental energy orbited his body..... flame, water, wind, lightning, earth, they were divine and absolute, each one radiating the authority of a god. His long red hair danced wildly in the storm he himself had birthed, his expression calm, composed, almost… sage-like.

He looked less like a man and more like a deity reborn.

The pressure suffocated the battlefield. Breathing became difficult. Even the bravest among them felt the crushing truth: killing him was impossible.

"You may have more cards hidden in your sleeves," Magus spoke, his voice eerily calm, unshaken, unbothered, "but I promise you this..."

His eyes gleamed with killing intent.

".... in this form, there is nothing you can do. You will all die here. Right here. Right now."

Not a single hero argued. His words felt less like a threat and more like a prophecy, one their souls had already accepted.

Because Magus who had already been a nightmare.... was now something far worse.

The elements bowed to his will. His aura screamed annihilation.

Ronan's teeth ground together, veins bulging as rage boiled inside him. Was this it? Was this how it ended? No. No. He refused to let fate dictate their end.

His eyes blazed purple as the glow of the Dread Sword consumed his arm. With a sharp leap, he soared skyward.... straight at Magus.

"Die, you monster!"

Magus didn't even move.

"Moron," he said flatly.

And then the elemental rings detonated outward.

Fire engulfed Ronan's face, searing his flesh. Wind sliced him open, leaving gashes across his body. Lightning ripped through him, convulsing every nerve. Earth slammed him like a hammer, bones crunching.

It was carnage. A man thrown into a hundred wars at once and losing every single one.

Ronan's body fell, broken, bleeding, charred.

"You are too stubborn," Magus' voice drifted down, calm as a judge delivering sentence. His eyes locked on Ronan's battered frame. "Why? Why throw yourself away like this? Why play hero?"

Blood dripping, vision blurring, Ronan staggered to his feet. His wounds should have killed him ten times over, but his body refused to stay down. His physique held. His will roared louder than pain.

Ronan staggered, his body drenched in blood, but he didn't fall. His wounds sealed themselves just enough to keep him standing. A dark smirk twisted onto his lips.

"You're wrong about one thing," he said, his voice calm, steady, unflinching. "I'm no hero."

His eyes burned purple, the glow of the Dread Sword crawling up his arm like a curse.

"I'm not here to save the world. I don't give a damn about that. The reason I'll burn the Cursed to the ground is simple... vengeance."

His tone sharpened, every word venom.

"You talk about chasing power… but at the cost of lives? That's not strength, that's filth. Disgusting filth."

His face darkened, the last memory of little Sam flashing through his mind, the serum ripping the boy apart, drowning his screams, until death was the only mercy.

"But that's not even the worst of it," Ronan snarled. "What disgusts me most is that you monsters would even use children in your twisted experiments. You crossed that line, and for that—you're finished."

The battlefield trembled with his oath.

"I swear it. The Cursed will fall by my hands. Today. By the end of this day, your kind will be nothing but corpses rotting in the dirt. Even if it costs me my life, I'll drag you all down!"

His fury, raw and absolute, ripped through the suffocating pressure. For the first time, the other heroes looked at him differently, not the cold, dead-eyed warrior they thought they knew, but a man burning with unbreakable conviction.

Silver Wing stepped forward, his voice rough. "You're not the only one who swore." His hand tightened on his blade, eyes flashing with old grief. "The day my city burned… I swore on every soul that died that I'd see the Cursed wiped out. I'll keep that vow."

"I agree," Balor growled, his fists igniting with heat. "The Cursed are monsters. They need to be ended... no matter the cost."

One by one, the elite heroes stepped beside Ronan, their fear of Magus stripped away, replaced by the same consuming fire.

Magus watched them, his expression shifting.... calm, almost curious. He could feel their conviction pressing back against his overwhelming aura. To him, it wasn't bravery.

It was stupidity.

"Convicted fools," Magus muttered.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Ronan roared, his blade raised high. "Everyone, attack with everything you've got!"

They charged. A storm of rage, steel, and blazing power tearing through the battlefield.

But in Magus's eyes, they weren't storms. They were sheep throwing themselves into the slaughter.

"Very well," Magus said softly. His hands lifted, elemental rings crackling to life. "I'll honor your deaths by making them quick."

Then chaos.

The battlefield erupted as Magus unleashed torrents of fire, lightning, stone, and wind, hammering them into the ground. The heroes were torn apart, bodies shredded, blood spraying into the dust.

It wasn't a battle. It was a massacre.

But something unexpected made Magus's eyes narrow.

They weren't breaking.

Every time they were crushed down, they rose again, like damned corpses clawing out of their graves. Torn apart, bones broken, blood pouring but they still kept coming.

They were relentless. Mad.

And the one who burned the brightest, the one he couldn't tear his gaze from.... was Ronan.

The young warrior fought like a man possessed. Pain didn't matter. Death didn't matter. Only one thing filled his eyes: kill Magus.

And step by step, blow by blow.... he was getting closer.

The battle raged on, and no matter how hard the heroes struck, it was like hitting a mountain, Magus stood untouchable. But Magus wasn't a fool. He knew this state of his was temporary. When it collapsed, his mystical core would burn out, leaving him weaker than even the lowest grunt among the allied forces. If they survived long enough, killing him would be child's play.

That could never happen.

Before his time ran out, he would end this fight in one move, one absolute massacre.

With a savage roar, he unleashed a burst of wind that tore through the battlefield, flinging the heroes back like rag dolls. They hit the ground broken, bodies cracked and bleeding, but somehow… somehow, they stood back up.

Like corpses dragged back by sheer will, they rose again... limping, swaying, but unyielding.

"Undead warriors…" Magus muttered, shaking his head. Their conviction burned strong, yes but conviction wouldn't save them from annihilation.

He raised his hand.

The sky itself seemed to fold in on his command. A vortex of storm clouds spun into being, pulling in fire, ice, lightning, and earth. The elements fused, twisting into a single, monstrous orb of raw destruction. The air screamed with its power. That ball promised only one thing, and that isi obliteration.

The heroes looked up, despair shadowing their eyes. For them, this was the end.

"Everyone… with everything you've got!" Ronan's voice ripped through the fear.

They turned to him, teeth clenched, then unleashed their strongest attacks at once. The sky lit up with holy light, blazing fire, divine spears, elemental fury, an orchestra of destruction aimed at Magus.

He swept it all away. With just a flick of his palm.

Ronan didn't flinch. He had already expected it.

He leapt, dread sword in hand, the blade glowing with a deep, unnatural purple. Energy poured into it, burning his veins, fueling the strike. Before anyone could register, he was already descending, the blade aimed straight for Magus's skull.

Magus didn't panic. He waited, calculating. When Ronan got close enough, when escape was impossible... then he struck.

A bolt of pure lightning tore from Magus's free hand, screaming toward Ronan's chest.

It hit.

No... it didn't.

Ronan's body vanished. In his place, a rock was shattered by the bolt.

And then, the lightning itself flickered out of existence.

Where it should've been… Ronan stood.

Magus's eyes widened. He had only ever seen Ronan swap places with objects... never energy itself.

Too late.

"Vibrant Thrust!"

The dread sword pierced through Magus's chest, sliding straight into his heart.

Blood sprayed. Magus froze, eyes burning with disbelief.

---

TO BE CONTINUED…....

AUTHOR'S NOTE

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