Trinity of Magic

Vulcanos took a steady breath, then another, exhaling cold mountain air as steam, transformed by the furnace within him. The glowing lines across his body flared brighter, and his eyes lit up like lanterns. His body heated, the exhaustion melting away. It was time.

Blood Boil!

All wariness, apprehension, and fear left him as he felt the familiar surge of Blood Boil coursing through him. His senses sharpened, and the exhaustion from his earlier stunt seemed to vanish. His body was now a vessel of raw power and fury. He roared in challenge, and the enemies ahead paused, momentarily taken aback by his sudden change.

Vulcanos raised his hand, pointing toward Polaris and Razeth, surrounded by hundreds of enemies. With a manic grin, he slowly drew his hand across his neck in a throat-slashing gesture. Without hesitation, he started moving straight toward them.

The Frostscale warriors nearest to him hesitated, their faces contorted. Vulcanos didn’t give them time to recover. He charged forward with a berserker’s fury, his massive frame crashing into the front lines. Each swing of his fists sent soldiers flying, and his powerful legs propelled him across the battlefield with frightening speed.

With each punch, bursts of magma erupted, splashing onto his enemies like rain. While scaled foes were often resistant to fire, his magic was a different story. The magma clung to them like tar, searing both scales and flesh. Once hit, it was nearly impossible to shake it off.

As he barreled through the enemy ranks, he felt the effects of Blood Boil intensify. His instincts were razor-sharp, his reactions almost preternatural. When one of the Frostscale warriors threw a spear at him, he caught it mid-flight, snapping it in half with a single, crushing grip.

Vulcanos’s fury intensified with every foe he felled. He struck with relentless force, his movements a blur of devastation. The Frostscale warriors struggled to keep up, their counters crushed by his brutal strength. His blows shattered armor, and his mere presence forced the enemy to retreat. For a moment, Vulcanos felt invincible. The Blood Boil filled him with an unshakable resolve, driving him to obliterate everything in his path. He became a whirlwind of destruction, clearing the area around the battering ram.

Suddenly, Vulcanos felt a sharp discomfort in his back. He turned to see one of his fallen enemies glaring up at him, a spear thrust into his back. With a grunt, he incinerated the man and ripped the weapon from his flesh. Inspecting the tip, he noticed it gleamed with a blue liquid—it was poisoned.

Even in his enraged state, Vulcanos rememberd that this was something he ought to be conserned about. He took a brief moment to focus on the area, feeling a slight tingling. However, the sensation wasn’t that of the poison spreading, but a sensation of burning around the wound. A moment later, it vanished altogether.

Vulcanos grinned. The Frostscale poison had little to no effect on him, burned away by his fire. With that concern gone, he turned back to the soldiers encircling him. They looked weak, fragile—mere prey for his hunger, fuel for his flames.

Out of the corner of his eye, Vulcanos caught a sudden movement—a long spear of ice hurtling toward him. Polaris had clearly taken notice. With a disdainful snort, he unleashed a burst of magma, instantly melting the icy projectile.

“Nice try, little girl,” Vulcanos yelled in her direction, already resuming his rampage.

The troops encircling him hesitated, clearly shaken by his display of shrugging off their poison. Suddenly, the battle paused as a tall figure approached on two legs, the soldiers parting to make way.

"This is as far as you go, beast," the pale man said coldly, locking eyes with Vulcanos. It was Razeth—the overall commander had left his post to confront him personally.

Vulcanos’s grin grew wider. He didn’t speak and instantly charged. Before he could make it halfway, a shroud of pale blue mist encircled him. His keen senses picked up where it had come from. It was formed from the blood of the many dead soldiers lying at his feet. How cunning!

Even so, he didn’t fear the poison. With each breath, it was quickly incinerated, along with the layer closest to his skin, giving the impression of an invisible shield. However, his joy soon faded into a frown as he came to a halt. Was he feeling colder? The flame in his chest had visibly diminished, and his mind was starting to clear. The effects of Blood Boil were fading, along with his strength.

Vulcanos realized what was happening. Although he could burn away the poison, the effort was draining him. Soon, his immunity would fade, and he would become a frozen statue. As the effects of Blood Boil wore off, he also began to feel the injuries he had sustained; the spear in his back was far from the only wound he had suffered.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. This was like waking from a blissful dream only to find oneself locked in a nightmare.

With an effort of strength, Vulcanos incinerated the blue mist around him, clearing his sight. Enemies surrounded him on all sides, with Razeth grinning triumphantly. Vulcanos glanced behind him, only to find the wall far away—too far. He would never reach it.

A light chuckle escaped his lips.

“This is what I get for playing the hero,” he murmured to himself. Yet, he felt no bitterness in his heart. He had chosen this path, and he believed it had been the right decision. He had been willing to risk his life many times, and this was one of the few moments that truly mattered.

Vulcanos raised his head, an easy smile on his face. He swept his gaze over the dozens of figures surrounding him. “At least I won’t be going alone.”

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Before anyone could even make sense of his words, he gathered all his remaining power, forcing every last drop of sweat into his Magic. His body blazed stronger than it ever had, the lines across his chest like windows to the sun.

“SHIT!” Razeth yelled, quickly retreating.

Too late.

Like an erupting volcano, waves of heat and fire surged outward, consuming everything in their path. The shockwave knocked back soldiers, and the air filled with the screams of the damned. Flames danced wildly, engulfing enemies in a sea of destruction as Vulcanos unleashed the full fury of his Magic, determined to leave an unforgettable mark on this battlefield.

In that moment, he was not just a man; he was an inferno, a force of nature that would not be easily forgotten. The enemies who had once surrounded him were now nothing but shadows swallowed by the light of his wrath.

But as the flames began to die down, reality crashed back in, reminding him of the cost of his fury. The snow and ice had been cleared, leaving only charred ground and burned corpses around him. Vulcanos dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. The air felt colder than anything he had ever experienced. With no flame in his chest to keep him warm, he shivered, feeling as if he had lost half his mass. He felt like a shriveled corpse himself, not unlike the many dead surrounding him.

His head sagged; he lacked the strength to hold it up. From the fog, he heard approaching footsteps—likely Razeth. He didn’t think the Pureblood had died in the attack. Vulcanos tried to stand, wanting to go out like a man—on his feet. But he couldn't even get his legs to move. He had nothing left.

The pair of feet came to a stop before him, but he couldn't even raise his head to face his opponent.

“Why couldn’t you just stay in the tower,” a familiar voice said, its tone exacerbated.

Despite his condition, Vulcanos grinned. “My feet were getting itchy…” he rasped, his voice like that of an old man. He felt two hands slide under his shoulders, lifting him off the ground until he found himself face-to-face with Ash.

“…You should not have come,” Vulcanos said.

Ash smiled lightly. “Like I couldn’t escape whenever I wanted in all that mist. Though, I have no intention of leaving you here.”

“You really should…” Vulcanos countered weakly, though his resolve was already wavering now that he had found a chance at life.

“Hush now,” Ash said, gracelessly tossing Vulcanos onto his shoulder. Even this light movement managed to knock the wind out of Vulcanos. However, there was no time to be gentle. The mist created by his final attack was already vanishing, and they would soon be discovered. Every second counted.

Ash sprinted like the wind. Within moments, they encountered their first enemies, but the wolfkin slipped past them effortlessly, moving like a specter among the confused soldiers. Vulcanos's weight didn’t seem to hinder Ash at all as he avoided attacks and dodged projectiles. It was as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

They soon left the area of fog completely, the wall coming back into sight. However, it was not a sight to rejoice. Countless foes still stood between them and their target.

“Shit,” he heard Ash curse under his breath, but his movements never slowed.

His vision blurred as Ash dashed through the chaos, his body a jumbled mass of pain and exhaustion. The remnants of his fire flickered dimly within him, leaving only a cold void. He could barely make sense of their surroundings—the battlefield had morphed into a twisted maze of shadows and blood, and he was struggling to hold on to his consciousness.

“Keep your head down!” Ash urged, shifting Vulcanos slightly to shield him with his own body.

The soldiers ahead had regrouped, their faces hardened by the flames and devastation that Vulcanos had wrought. They shouted commands, rallying for another assault. The Frostscale warriors, encouraged by their frantic flight, redoubled their efforts.

“Just hold on a little longer,” Ash muttered, his voice a fierce whisper. “We’re almost there.”

But as they neared the wall, the air crackled with tension. Razeth’s voice cut through the din of battle, sharp and commanding. “Don’t let them escape!”

Vulcanos could feel their malice, the burning hatred radiating off the warriors as they positioned themselves. He forced his eyes open, catching glimpses of their icy weapons glinting in the dim light.

“Ash, you need to—”

“No!” Ash growled, veering sharply to avoid a spear thrown their way. “We’re almost there…”

Vulcanos glanced ahead. Almost there? They weren’t even halfway. Was Ash trying to comfort him? However, he soon realized the meaning behind those words as a chorus of screams resounded from ahead.

There, he spotted a Frostscale warrior impaled by a long spear that had pierced his midsection and anchored itself into the ground. This wasn’t an isolated incident; many others faced a similar fate. Vulcanos strained to study the wall again, and that’s when he saw it—a figure shrouded in a whirlwind of spears, standing right above the gate.

Gravitas's face was a mask of concentration. She was going all out, releasing a literal torrent of projectiles. Her attack was not precise, barely keeping the spears confined to their general direction. Her onslaught was fueled by dozens of tribesmen frantically collecting more spears from all along the wall, supplying her with an almost infinite amount of ammunition.

How ironic, Vulcanos thought—the snakes were being decimated by the very weapons they had brought.

Suddenly, the way forward was clear. Not all the enemies had been killed, but they no longer had time to focus on Ash. A moment of inattention could mean death under this relentless barrage. The same applied to them; Ash had to dodge frantically more than once to avoid being impaled. Gravitas’s attack was indiscriminate, not differentiating between friend and foe.

Even so, they made steady progress and soon reached the wall's vicinity. Vulcanos wondered how they would scale it; Ash certainly didn’t have the strength to jump with him weighing him down. Just as he began to ponder this, he felt a sudden sense of weightlessness.

His eyes widened as he felt himself soaring into the air. That bastard… had thrown him? The cold air rushed past him as he ascended the wall, but before he could even reach halfway, he felt his momentum fade. Of course, it wasn’t enough. What had Ash been thinking?

Just as he was about to curse the Wolfkin again, he felt a different force take hold of him. His eyes widened in recognition. Gravitas had used her power to reverse gravity, allowing his ascent to continue. He was moving again.

He… he would live!

Just as the thought crossed his mind, he noticed a flurry of projectiles hurtling toward him. This was the Frostscale tribe’s last attempt to kill him, and it was a good one. He could barely distinguish individual spears from the mass. He would be turned into a pincushion!

A frosty gale gripped his limbs as a blizzard of frozen spears whizzed past him, aimed at the mass of projectiles. Frost and his men had not been idle, countering the attack with equal force. Vulcanos closed his eyes, hoping against hope that he would emerge in one piece.

With the sound of a thousand objects colliding, the two volleys met. Vulcanos grunted in pain as debris struck his body, leaving him bleeding from numerous cuts, both old and new. All he felt was pain and cold.

Then, warm arms wrapped around his back. “I’ve got you,” Gravitas whispered in his ear. It was the most angelic phrase he had ever heard. Vulcanos felt himself relax, finally succumbing to a profound exhaustion.

“I am back,” he murmured just before darkness claimed him.