Resurgence VI

As soon as Magnus's attack landed on the Red Sun, he felt it—the unmistakable shift in the air, the warping of space, and the sinister touch of something ancient and vile brushing against his skin.

It was sickening, a familiar sensation that clawed at his instincts.

Black mana.

Vampires.

The space around him and Arthur began to twist unnaturally, an invisible force attempting to wrench them apart. Magnus reacted immediately, extending his arm to cancel out the spatial distortion around Arthur, aiming to pull the boy back to his side.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Chains appeared without warning, shimmering in the air like serpents of black steel, and coiled tightly around his body. Magnus's eyes narrowed as he felt the weight of their power. 

'Strong,' he thought grimly. Even with his astral energy blazing, the chains resisted his attempts to shrug them off, tightening like a predator refusing to relinquish its prey.

This wasn't ordinary magic. This was a nine-circle spell, one of immense complexity and strength, woven with a level of precision that made even Magnus pause.

Before he could act further, the space around him collapsed inward, dragging him into a vortex of warping mana. He braced himself as the sensation of displacement overtook him, the scenery around him twisting and vanishing into darkness.

When the spell completed its pull, Magnus found himself standing in a new space, one entirely artificial. The walls and floor shimmered like obsidian, pulsating with the energy of the nine-circle spell that had crafted it. 

He tested the boundaries immediately, his astral energy flaring as he assessed the containment. The space was strong—remarkably strong. But it wasn't unbreakable. If he hit it hard enough, he could shatter this prison.

That wasn't what concerned him.

It was the presences.

Magnus turned his head sharply, his senses honing in on three figures standing at the far end of the chamber. Their auras rolled over him like a storm, oppressive and sharp, their power undeniable.

"Vampires," Magnus muttered, his voice low but steady as his golden eyes locked onto the trio.

Two men and a woman stood before him, their features pale and striking, their crimson eyes gleaming with malice and curiosity. Their postures were relaxed, almost casual, but Magnus could feel the raw strength radiating from each of them.

These were no ordinary vampires.

The woman took a step forward, her movements smooth and deliberate. Her black hair cascaded down her back like a shadow, framing a face that was both elegant and cold. She held a long spear in one hand, its tip glowing faintly with blood-red light.

"Magnus Draykar," she said, her voice soft yet laced with venom. "The so-called Martial King. It's an honor."

Magnus didn't respond immediately, his gaze flicking to the two men who flanked her. One was tall and broad, with a scar running down his cheek, his heavy axe resting against his shoulder. The other was leaner, with sharp, angular features and a pair of daggers spinning lazily in his hands. 

Their power was staggering. Individually, each of them was just a sliver below Radiant-rank—a hair's breadth away from reaching that fabled tier. Together, they were a formidable trio that could suppress even Radiant-rankers.

Magnus's lips curled into a smirk, the weight of their power failing to daunt him. "Three of you, all to deal with little old me? I must say, I'm flattered."

The woman's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. "Don't mistake this for courtesy. If it were up to me, you'd already be dead. But we have orders."

"Orders?" Magnus raised an eyebrow, his tone tinged with mockery. "Let me guess—keep me entertained while your precious Vampire Monarch gets his beauty sleep?"

The lean man with the daggers let out a low growl, his grip tightening on his weapons. "Watch your mouth, human."

The woman raised a hand, silencing him with a glance. Her gaze returned to Magnus, her crimson eyes gleaming. "You'll find out soon enough. For now, consider this your grave."

Magnus's smirk widened, his sword materializing in his hand with a flash of light. The edgeless blade gleamed like the night sky, its surface absorbing the faint light of the chamber.

"Then let's get started," he said, his voice calm but laced with undeniable confidence. "It's been a while since I've had a proper warm-up."

The vampires moved as one, their weapons cutting through the air with terrifying precision. The chamber erupted in a flurry of blood magic and astral energy, the clash of their power shaking the very foundation of the spell that contained them.

But Magnus didn't falter.

His sword moved like a streak of light, cutting through the onslaught of attacks with ease. Every strike was precise, every movement calculated, his mastery over the blade unparalleled. The air around him shimmered with golden astral energy, his Sword Unity amplifying his every swing.

"Come on," Magnus taunted, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Is that all you've got?"

The vampires pressed harder, their combined strength creating a storm of destruction that would have overwhelmed any lesser warrior. But Magnus Draykar wasn't a lesser warrior.

He was the Martial King.

And this was his battlefield.

Despite the dire situation, Magnus wasn't afraid. Fear of death was a foreign concept to him now, one left behind long ago on the battlefield where weaker men faltered.

No, death wasn't a possibility here. Not for him.

His opponents, formidable as they were, could scarcely hold a candle to him. Even other Radiant-rankers might struggle to escape unscathed from their combined strength, but Magnus? He had surpassed them all. The so-called Martial King didn't just stand among the strongest—he stood above them.

Yet, that wasn't the problem.

Magnus could feel it in the air, a gnawing certainty that this wasn't about defeating him. This was about buying time.

'The Red Chalice Cult,' he thought, his mind sharp despite the clash of weapons around him. The name of the cult lingered like a bitter taste. Devotees to the vampires, desperate enough to rebuild what the world had sought to destroy. Without the Vampire Monarch to lead them, the vampires lacked a Radiant-ranker of their own. A glaring weakness for any species seeking to survive.

Except for one figure—the Red Chalice Cult Leader.

Magnus's sword carved through the air, its edgeless brilliance glowing faintly with contained power as it met the weapons of his opponents. The clash rang out like the tolling of a bell, steel and magic reverberating through the chamber.

The axe wielder snarled, his broad frame pushing against Magnus's strike with all his might, while the dagger-wielding vampire darted around to aim for Magnus's flank. The spear-wielding woman lunged, her weapon weaving through the gaps in their assault with precision.

Magnus's expression didn't shift. Calm and composed, he shifted his stance. His blade hummed as it intercepted all three attacks, the energy of Sword Unity radiating out like a shield. Sparks flew as the weapons clashed, their force repelled with almost effortless efficiency.

'She was likely the one who prepared this nine-circle spell,' Magnus mused, his thoughts as sharp as his blade. The spell's intricacy, its near-flawless execution—only a mage of her caliber could craft such a thing.

His sword spun in a smooth arc, sending the axe crashing back into its wielder's chest. The vampire stumbled but recovered quickly, his eyes gleaming with fury. Magnus barely gave him a glance, already pivoting to deflect the daggers that aimed for his ribs. The dagger-wielder hissed as his attack was parried with surgical precision, Magnus's blade nicking his hand in the process.

"Is this it?" Magnus taunted, his voice low but carrying easily in the chamber. "Three of you, all that effort, and you still can't even scratch me?"

The spear-wielding woman didn't respond with words. She moved again, her weapon spinning in a blur of blood astral energy, creating a vortex that tore through the air toward Magnus. It was a technique designed to overwhelm, to corner an opponent with sheer force.

Magnus smirked. "Predictable."

He raised his sword, the black blade glowing faintly as he brought it down in a clean, deliberate motion. The vortex shattered like glass, fragments of blood magic dissipating into the air.

"You'll need more than that," Magnus said, his voice carrying a razor's edge of amusement. "A lot more."

Still, the weight of the situation lingered in his mind. Each attack, each clash, only confirmed his suspicions. These vampires weren't here to defeat him—they were here to delay him. Every second he spent in this chamber was a second they could use to complete whatever twisted goal they were working toward.

'The Red Sun. The Vampire Monarch. It's all connected,' he thought grimly. Time was slipping away, and he didn't have the luxury to waste it.

With a flick of his wrist, Magnus's sword shimmered, its glow intensifying. The chamber seemed to dim around him as he took a step forward, his gaze locking onto his opponents.

"No more games," he said, his voice steady, his presence commanding. "If you're going to waste my time, then at least make it worth the effort."

The vampires hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty passing through their eyes.

Magnus Draykar wasn't just a man.

He was a storm.

And he was done waiting.