Paragon of Skills

Malrik can't believe his ears.

How does the brat know that the people he brought along were—

"Orrivane, blast those damn things! They're puppets! He's killed them already and they're infested with curses! They'll detonate as they get closer!"

Before Malrik could even react, Orrivane, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed guy beside Jacob summons several scythes of Void Magic and blasts his puppets apart. A few survive the highly destructive magic, but only in tatters.

Body parts fall to the ground and as robes got torn apart, a horrific vision is revealed to all the present.

The bodies of those people did not look like anything human anymore. The skin is twisted, bubbling, it contains pus and black liquid that make several of the attendants following the Champions empty their stomach.

"You vile creatures," Malrik hears the Highblood Champion say. "Why do you keep hunting innocent people like this? What is that you're after?"

The Highblood takes out his spear and points it at them, but the Fake Champion, the kid who revealed Malrik's trick, stops him.

"Asterion, step back," he says. "This is just the beginning."

"Listen to the little brat, Highblood. Finally, it seems like your people are learning their place—at the bottom of the food chain. Little freaks, the Highblood and all of their spawn. Dirty Heretics."

Asterion seems to take offense, but once again, the voice of the Fake Champion cuts through the noise.

"Sabrina, surround them with water," he says.

Malrik gathers Blood Magic from the dead corpses and, seeing a tidal wave of blackwater similar to the one he saw when the Champions fought a Boss, he chants several words in a language unknown to everyone.

The water that Sabrina had summoned suddenly sizzles away as Malrik and Toran move forward.

"You've done a good job of avoiding my magic so far, kid," the Cultist says, "but you have no idea what kind of power you're about to witness. Blood Magic is my bread and butter—I was born in it. I was made by it. You think that a few Champions who have yet to reach Platinum Rank can do anything to me? Do you have any idea how powerful a follower of our Lord Asmodeus is?"

Malrik isn't boasting. He means every single word he just said. Normally, accessing and developing Blood Magic would be very hard. It's a branch that is considered taboo and, most importantly, it's not taught anywhere but in secluded conclaves. In fact, he suspects that Highbloods might have some conclaves specializing in it.

Most importantly, not only the difference between someone at a Diamond Rank and Gold Rank is gigantic, but even if Malrik was a common Diamond Rank, which he's not, there would be the matter of preparation. Blood Magic can gather power from killing, from sacrifices, and much more. And currently, Malrik has accumulated a horrific amount of power inside of his body thanks to all the people they have killed so far.

The Fake Champion might know a lot, including a Primordial Spell, something that Malrik has no idea where one would even find, but he's nothing compared to him, compared to how strong he is.

Malrik's lived all his life waiting for a moment like this. He has dreamt of humbling these bastards, especially the Highblood, for so long. Everything his Lord preaches is about equality, about real power, not about the heretical choices that the world has made so far.

Now, he's ready to showcase to these bastards what he can really do.

"I will turn your blood dry and grind your bones to dust," Malrik smiles, feeling power thrumming through his body, through his own flesh and veins. "Once you're sacrificed for our Lord to come back, I will keep a few of your skulls and use them as cups for the wine I will be toasting to your deaths—"

"EEW!" Malrik's ominous threat is dispelled by a very fat Squire shouting out loud. "EEW! EEW! Don't say that! That's disgusting! Who would ruin a good wine like that! And a skull is too large to use as a cup! You'd, AT BEST, use it as a pitcher!"

Everyone now, including the Champions, including the angry Asterion, turns to look at the guy.

"Fatty, can you not?!" the Fake Champion loses his patience. "Do you think this is the moment to talk about food?!"

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

"He started it!" Malrik sees the Fatty point at him.

"You, I will eat," Malrik says slowly, feeling anger bubble in his chest. The Highblood couldn't upset him, but something about the sheer stupidity of that kid is now making him fume beyond what he imagined could bother him.

"You filthy little pig," Malrik roars as his robe starts fluttering around him. "You will be roasted with a damn apple in your mouth! I will show you—"

"An apple?! Just use an orange! Why an apple?! And you'd add it at the end for show, not as something to cook with! It'd only add moisture and you want to pat the skin dry to make it crisp! Have you ever grilled anything in your life?!"

Malrik's magic sputters for a moment before his eyes go red.

"I will have you witness one of the most powerful curses your lot of sorry bastards will ever see in your lives!" the Cultist shouts at the top of his lungs. "I, Malrik of Calderone, will show you what real terror is made of before sending you to hell!"

Malrik summons a gigantic vortex of Blood Magic above everyone's head, with the corpses of his puppets turning to dust and their energy swelling and snaking toward the vortex.

He sees the void mage launching attacks at him, but a blood barrier flashes in front of him, protecting him from that.

"Void Magic is powerful, brat," Malrik cackles, "but if you think that's enough, then, you're clearly wrong!"

Malrik abandons himself to a sweltering laugh as several Champions ready more attacks before his curse falls upon them, but then he hears a voice cut through the noise.

"Stop! His curses are weak, I'll take care of it!"

Malrik's eyes almost fall out of his sockets when he hears that.

WEAK?!

"How do you dare, you little bastard, you Fake Champion brat?! My curses have been granted by Lord Asmodeus himself! Who do you think you are to speak to me like this?!"

It was true, Malrik had received a good chunk of his powers from Asmodeus, the God of Monsters, also known as the Dark God of the Eclipse, the strongest God to ever walk this world.

Not even a full-fledged Knight would take the brunt of his curses lightly. Even a True Diamond Knight could die if Malrik prepared well enough—and he had had weeks to prepare.

For the Fake Champion to say that his curses were weak... what a fool!

Malrik looks at the vortex above everyone and smiles, "you're all about to become my puppets! Be ready for an eternity of your souls being tormented by my Lord!"

Malrik changes the incantation now and the Vortex starts contracting and becoming smaller and denser, with the blood taking a dark red hue and glowing deeply.

Then, he sees the Fake Champion raise a hand toward the vortex.

What a fool. He really wants to touch my magic as its transcending its physical state? Does he have any idea what that means? As soon as his Mana makes any contact with it, he's done for. The most powerful version of my curse will infect his entire body. He'll lose his free will and his soul will be forever enslaved to my magic! HAH! Fool!

Then, however, Malrik feels a tremor in the air around them.

He sees that something is up.

"What is he doing?" the Cultist mutters under his breath.

"Is everything alright?" the brute behind him asks.

"Yes, yes," Malrik says, squinting at whatever magic the Fake Champion has just summoned.

Is that another Primordial Spell? Malrik is flabbergasted. There's something in the power that the Fake Champion is summoning that is not impressive in terms of power, but something about the sheer quality of whatever spell he's using is...

He sees the Fake Champion opening both his arms up like he had done before against the stone monsters. Yet, this time, he feels his own Blood Magic being pulled downward.

That can't be! Malrik has an idea of what the guy is trying to do, but he can't believe he's doing it!

"He's absorbing my damn Blood Magic?! Has he gone insane?!" not able to contain himself anymore, Malrik shouts at the top of his lungs. "What the hell does he think he's doing?!"

Hearing him, several Champions turn toward the young man and scream, "Jacob, stop!"

"Don't kill yourself to save us!"

"Your life matters, lad! We can take care of him, don't throw it away like that!"

He sees the Fake Champion's skin covered in dark, blazing veins that pulse violently, almost threatening to split his skin.

"Shut up!" the Fake Champion, Jacob Cloud, says. "I've got this! Don't listen to that bald idiot!"

Malrik slaps a hand on his head, "I'm not bald! It's perfectly normal to lose some hair at my age!"

"Sure, whatever!" Jacob Cloud shouts back and then, he inhales.

Suddenly, all the blood is pulled from the vortex and into his veins, giving him several seizures as all his muscles spasm and his eyes turn backward.

That inane spectacle, however, lasts barely half a minute before all the magic that Malrik had accumulated is nowhere to be seen.

Jacob Cloud almost falls but Asterion, the Highblood, catches him before he can faceplant.

"Thanks," the young man says and then turns to Malrik. "And thanks to you for the feast. That was delicious. I think you might have just unlocked me a new Skill, in fact."

Malrik trembles but then he feels a giant hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry," a deep, resonant voice says. "I'll break all their bones. Starting with that brat."

Then, an aura, a terrifying one, sweeps the place.

An aura so strong several attendants faint.