Chapter 299: Alaric’s Great Battle Against Ingranad and Bartolmew

There were no more words.

The time for taunts, for declarations, for the petty games of dominance and submission, was over. The air in the ravaged borderlands of Eloriath, already heavy with the stench of death and the oppressive weight of demonic power, grew still. It was the absolute, crushing silence before a hurricane.

Alaric Steele did not wait for a signal. He did not brace himself. He simply… acted.

His calm, handsome features hardened, the faint, predatory amusement in his ruby eyes replaced by a cold, absolute focus. He took a single, deep breath.

And then, he erupted.

“ROAR!”

The sound was not from his throat. It was a silent, soul-shattering roar that echoed in the minds of his two formidable opponents. The ethereal, majestic avatar of the Azure Spirit Lion materialized behind him in a blinding flash of azure light, its form now more solid, more real than ever before. Its sapphire eyes, burning with ancient, untamed power, fixed upon Ingranad and the corrupted Bartolmew.

The sheer spiritual pressure was a physical blow, a wave of primal authority that made the very air around them tremble.

Ingranad’s multiple eyes narrowed, a flicker of genuine surprise in their fiery depths. ’This spiritual pressure… it is far greater than before. He was holding back.’

Bartolmew’s solemn, corrupted face twitched, his dark spatial magic wavering for a fraction of a second. ’The essence of a Mythical Beast… fully integrated. This boy is an anomaly of the highest order.’

Alaric raised his hands, his movements a fluid, elegant dance of destruction. He didn’t bother with single-element spells. This was a battle that demanded overwhelming, synergistic power from the very first move.

“Azure Inferno Tempest!” he roared, his voice now a resonant duet with the silent growl of the lion spirit behind him.

A colossal vortex of swirling, azure-infused wind erupted from his hands. But this was no simple tornado. Within its furious, cutting gales, a storm of pure, white-hot flame raged, not as a chaotic inferno, but as a controlled, spiraling river of annihilation. It was a perfect, devastating fusion of his two most potent elements, amplified by the spiritual might of the Azure Spirit Lion.

The tempest roared across the scarred battlefield, a beautiful, terrifying spectacle of azure and crimson, tearing up the very ground, its destination the two Archdemons.

Ingranad and Bartolmew did not falter. They were veterans of countless battles, their coordination forged in the crucible of demonic conquest.

“How… predictable,” Bartolmew rasped, his voice a chilling echo of his former scholarly tone. He raised a hand, not to erect a shield, but to weave an intricate, mind-bending pattern in the air. The space before them shimmered, warped. “Spatial Refraction Matrix.”

The roaring Azure Inferno Tempest slammed into the seemingly empty space before them. But it did not explode. The colossal vortex of wind and fire simply… bent. The space itself twisted, and the devastating spell was split in two, its trajectory violently, impossibly altered.

One half of the tempest was redirected harmlessly into the bruised sky, where it detonated with a silent, blinding flash. The other half was shunted sideways, directly towards Ingranad.

The Archdemon Lord let out a low, rumbling chuckle. “A fine test of my new armor, Bartolmew.” He didn’t move to dodge. He simply braced himself, his obsidian armor glowing with an inner, malevolent light. The redirected inferno washed over him. He stood within the heart of the azure flames, utterly unharmed, the fire parting around his form as if repelled by an unseen force.

“My turn, little mortal,” Ingranad growled, his multiple eyes fixing on Alaric. He took a single, powerful step forward, the ground cracking beneath his immense weight. “Ruinous Charge!”

He moved, his colossal frame a blur of obsidian and fury, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. His massive, clawed fist, wreathed in shadows and primordial fire, was aimed directly at Alaric’s chest, a physical blow backed by the full, crushing might of an Archdemon Lord.

Alaric’s ruby eyes gleamed. He didn’t retreat. He met the charge head-on.

“Magic Martial Arts: Five-Element Dragon Weave!” he roared, his body becoming a conduit for elemental fury.

His fists ignited with searing flame. His shins became coated in a layer of diamond-hard ice. Gusts of wind swirled around his feet, granting him impossible agility. And a faint, golden light, the essence of earth magic, shimmered across his skin, hardening it.

He met Ingranad’s demonic fist not with a shield, but with a strike of his own. His flaming fist slammed into the Archdemon’s, the impact a deafening explosion of fire and shadow. The force of the blow sent a shockwave rippling across the battlefield, shattering the nearby ruined farmhouse into splinters.

Alaric was thrown back, skidding across the ground, but he was unharmed. Ingranad, for the first time, staggered back a step, a look of genuine surprise on his monstrous face. He looked down at his clawed fist, which was now smoking slightly, the obsidian chitin cracked.

’He matched my strength?’ Ingranad thought, his mind reeling. ’A mage… matched my physical strength?’

But the battle was far from a simple duel. Bartolmew, his spatial magic a constant, insidious threat, was already at work.

“Spatial Lock,” the corrupted principal whispered.

Alaric suddenly felt the air around him thicken, become heavy, viscous. His movements, once so fluid and lightning-fast, were now sluggish, as if he were moving through thick mud.

“Dimensional Lacerations!” Bartolmew followed up, swiping his hand through the air. Shimmering, invisible blades of pure, distorted space appeared all around Alaric, slicing towards him from impossible angles.

Alaric gritted his teeth, his Azure Spirit Lion roaring in defiance. He couldn’t dodge. He had to block. “Azure Dragon’s Iron Scales!”

His skin shimmered, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed to be covered in a layer of ethereal, azure-colored dragon scales. The dimensional blades struck, leaving shallow, smoking cuts, but failing to pierce through the spiritually enhanced defense.

Ingranad seized the opportunity, charging again. “You are trapped, mortal! Die!”

The battle for the next hour was a brutal, desperate dance. Alaric, his movements hindered by Bartolmew’s spatial magic, was forced to engage Ingranad in a grueling, close-quarters brawl. He used every technique in his Magic Martial Arts arsenal – ’Thunderous Frostfire Fists’ that crackled with fused elemental energy, ’Azure Gale Kicks’ that were like razor-sharp gusts of wind, ’Earth God’s Iron Body’ to withstand Ingranad’s brutal blows.

But he was always on the defensive. Bartolmew was a master puppeteer, his spatial magic a constant, harassing presence. He would create pockets of null-gravity, throwing Alaric off balance. He would teleport Ingranad’s attacks, making his massive fist appear suddenly from an unexpected direction. He would litter the battlefield with shimmering, almost invisible spatial mines that would erupt in bursts of tearing energy if touched.

It was a true two-against-one, a brutal symphony of demonic strength and insidious spatial magic. Alaric was taking hits, his azure scales shattering and reforming, his body aching from the constant strain.

“Is this all you have, Steele?” Ingranad taunted, his clawed fist grazing Alaric’s side, tearing a shallow gash. “You are powerful, yes. But you are one. We are legion.”

“Then it’s time I stopped playing with you,” Alaric snarled, his patience finally wearing thin. He leaped back, creating a momentary distance. He knew he couldn’t win this war of attrition. He needed to even the odds. He needed to unleash his own true power.

“You have your demonic forms,” Alaric said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. “You have your twisted spatial magic. But you have forgotten, demons. You are not the only ones with an avatar.”

He took a deep breath, and the Azure Spirit Lion behind him, which had been a shimmering, ethereal presence, began to solidify, to grow. Its roar was no longer silent; it was a deafening, reality-shattering sound that shook the very heavens.

“And you, Ingranad,” Alaric said, his ruby eyes blazing with a power that seemed to eclipse the sun itself. “You call yourself a Lord of Ruin? Then allow me to introduce you to a true King.”

Ingranad watched, a flicker of genuine unease in his multiple eyes, as Alaric’s spiritual energy exploded outwards. He had underestimated this mortal. Grievously.

The true battle, the clash of avatars, the war of gods, was about to begin.

A profound silence fell over the cratered field, a stillness that was somehow more terrifying than the cacophony of their battle. Ingranad and the corrupted Bartolmew watched, their demonic senses on high alert, as the azure light radiating from Alaric intensified, reaching a blinding, unbearable crescendo.

“What is he doing?” Ingranad growled, his multiple eyes narrowed, a sense of genuine, unfamiliar dread coiling in his gut.

Alaric didn’t answer with words. He answered with power. The ethereal avatar of the Azure Spirit Lion behind him, no longer a mere spectral projection, began to coalesce, to take on a terrifying, physical substance. It was no longer just an aura; it was a being of pure, raw, spiritual and elemental energy, a god made manifest.

But it was Ingranad who truly unveiled his ultimate form first. Seeing the overwhelming power gathering around Alaric, he knew that his standard Archdemon form, for all its might, would not be enough. He let out a roar that was not of fury, but of transformation.

“You have forced my hand, mortal!” Ingranad’s psychic voice boomed, no longer just in Alaric’s mind, but in the minds of every living thing for miles around. “Behold the true glory of the Obsidian Revenant! DEMONIC AVATAR: ASCENSION OF THE RUIN KING!”

His obsidian armor cracked and shattered, not from damage, but from the immense power erupting from within. His body swelled, his muscles twisting and contorting, his form reshaping into something far more ancient, far more terrifying. He was no longer just an Archdemon; he was a living embodiment of demonic royalty, a true scion of the abyss.

His new form was colossal, easily towering over his previous one. He now possessed six powerful arms, each ending in razor-sharp, obsidian claws that dripped with a corrosive, shadow-like energy. His skin was no longer just black, but a swirling vortex of shadow and primordial fire, as if a galaxy of dying stars was trapped beneath his hide. A crown of jagged, pulsating obsidian now rested upon his brow, and his multiple eyes burned with the cold, absolute light of a black hole. He was a king of ruin, a god of destruction, and his very presence seemed to drain the life and hope from the very air around him.

Bartolmew, even in his corrupted state, instinctively took a step back, his dark eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror. This was the true power of his new master, a power he had only glimpsed before.

“Now, little mortal,” the Ruin King Ingranad rumbled, his voice a chorus of grinding worlds and dying stars. “You will know true despair.”

He raised one of his six arms, his clawed hand bigger than Alaric’s entire body. “Claw of Oblivion!” he roared, and the hand descended, not with physical speed, but with a terrifying, conceptual finality, as if it were erasing the very space Alaric occupied.

But Alaric was ready. The Azure Spirit Lion, now fully manifested, roared in defiance. It was a being of breathtaking, majestic beauty, a stark contrast to Ingranad’s grotesque glory. It was a creature of pure, incandescent azure light, its form that of a massive, winged lion, its mane a flowing river of celestial energy, its sapphire eyes burning with a wisdom and power as ancient as the stars themselves.

“Azure Spirit King’s Dominion!” Alaric’s voice, now a resonant duet with the lion’s silent roar, echoed across the battlefield. He didn’t meet the Claw of Oblivion with a single strike. He met it with a kingdom.

The azure light of his avatar expanded, creating a localized domain, a pocket of reality where his will was law. Within this domain, the very air crackled with his spiritual energy, the ground shimmered with his power, and the elements themselves bowed to his command.

The Claw of Oblivion slammed into the edge of his domain. The impact was silent, yet catastrophic. The space where the two auras met warped and buckled, reality itself groaning under the strain. But Alaric’s domain held, the Claw of Oblivion unable to penetrate its sovereign territory.

“Impressive,” Ingranad’s voice rumbled, a hint of genuine surprise in his tone. “You have created your own… kingdom of light. But a kingdom can be broken.”

He didn’t attack alone. “Bartolmew! Shatter his reality!”

Bartolmew, recovering from his initial shock, immediately obeyed. His spatial magic, now unhindered by Alaric’s direct attention, was unleashed with a new, terrifying precision. “Spatial Disjunction Barrage!” he shrieked, and a storm of shimmering, invisible blades of pure, distorted space rained down upon Alaric’s Azure Spirit King’s Dominion.

The azure domain shimmered violently, cracks appearing in its structure as Bartolmew’s magic tore at its very fabric. Alaric gritted his teeth, pouring more of his spiritual energy into maintaining the domain, the strain immense.

Ingranad pressed his advantage. His other five arms moved, each one unleashing a different, devastating attack. A torrent of primordial shadow from one. A beam of soul-chilling necrotic energy from another. A volley of razor-sharp obsidian shards from a third. A wave of pure, unmaking chaos energy from a fourth. And a final, crushing physical blow from the fifth.

It was an overwhelming, multi-faceted assault, designed to shatter any defense, to crush any opponent.

But Alaric was not just a defender. He was a king in his own right.

“Azure Soul-Rending Claws!” he roared, and the paws of the Azure Spirit Lion avatar, now massive and wreathed in azure light, met Ingranad’s assault head-on. The ethereal claws, imbued with a power that could tear at the very soul, shredded the primordial shadow, shattered the obsidian shards, and deflected the necrotic energy.

At the same time, Alaric, within his domain, unleashed his own counter-attack. “Celestial Roar of the Azure King!” He didn’t use his own voice; he channeled the silent roar of the Spirit Lion, unleashing a wave of pure, incandescent azure energy that met Ingranad’s chaos energy and physical blow, the two forces annihilating each other in a blinding flash of light and a deafening explosion of sound.

The battlefield devolved into a cataclysmic clash of titans. The two avatars, the Ruin King and the Azure Spirit King, were locked in a brutal, primal struggle, their powers tearing at the very fabric of reality. The sky above wept, the clouds torn asunder by their clashing auras. The ground below was a shattered, molten ruin, the landscape itself a casualty of their divine war.

And all the while, Bartolmew, the corrupted master of space, darted around the edges of their conflict, a deadly, insidious threat. He would create pockets of null-time, momentarily slowing Alaric’s reactions. He would teleport Ingranad’s attacks, making them appear from impossible angles. He would rip open small, temporary rifts to the void, their soul-chilling energies a constant, harassing presence.

Alaric was fighting a war on two fronts, against two foes whose powers were a perfect, terrifying synergy. He was holding his own, his Azure Spirit King avatar a match for Ingranad’s Ruin King, his own versatile magic a counter to Bartolmew’s insidious spatial manipulations. But the strain was immense. He was being pushed to his absolute limits.

He knew he couldn’t win this war of attrition. He needed to do something drastic. He needed to separate them.

With a final, desperate roar, he unleashed a pulse of pure, untamed spiritual energy from his avatar. “Azure King’s Sundering Wave!” The wave was not an attack; it was a pure, concussive force, designed to push, to separate.

Ingranad and Bartolmew were both thrown back by the unexpected force, creating a momentary, precious opening.

Alaric didn’t hesitate. He focused his will, his Archmage power, his spiritual essence, all on a single target. Not Ingranad.

Bartolmew.

“Spatial Anchor: Prison of a Thousand Mirrors!” Alaric roared, unleashing a spell he had created on the fly, a fusion of Bartolmew’s own spatial magic (which he had observed and analyzed during their battle) and his own illusionary expertise.

A cube of shimmering, mirrored space materialized around Bartolmew, trapping him within. The interior of the cube was an infinite, kaleidoscopic maze of reflections, each one showing a different possibility, a different angle, a different reality. Bartolmew, a master of space, found himself trapped within a prison of infinite space, his own powers turned against him. He could likely break free, eventually, but it would take time. Precious time.

“Now, Ingranad,” Alaric said, turning his full, undivided attention to the Ruin King, who was already recovering from the Sundering Wave, his multiple eyes burning with a new, more focused fury. “It is just you and me.”

The two avatars, the King of Ruin and the Azure Spirit King, faced each other once more, the fate of the battle, and perhaps the world, hanging in the balance. The warm-up was well and truly over. The true duel of gods was about to begin. Alaric’s ruby eyes, no longer holding any trace of amusement or arrogance, now blazed with a grim, serious, and utterly unwavering resolve. This would be the fight of his life.