Marcus laughed—a sharp, guttural sound that cut through the still air of the ruined chamber. His eyes burned with grim anticipation as they locked onto the mirror's blank, bone-white mask. There was no hesitation now. No room for doubt.
He would destroy it—whatever the cost.
"Charge!"
His voice rang out like a commandment, echoing against stone and void alike.
At once, the specters responded. His summoned warriors surged forward without hesitation. The melee trio—spear, axe, and blade—rushed toward the pale figure with unnatural speed, while the two riflemen flanked Marcus on either side, calmly raising their weapons and firing calculated volleys.
The clash was immediate and violent.
Though these summons had once fallen easily to Marcus himself, now, under his command and boosted by his mana, they held their ground with shocking effectiveness.
The spearman lunged with relentless thrusts, forcing the mirror back several feet. Each jab was fast and forceful, pressing it with relentless pressure. The axeman followed, his swings wide and thunderous, powerful enough to make the figure's arms tremble under the weight of parried blows. Meanwhile, the swordsman darted in and out of range, harassing with quick slashes, keeping the figure constantly on the move, never letting it regain its rhythm.
Beside Marcus, the riflemen provided precise, rhythmic suppressing fire—not meant to kill, but to control. Their shots weren't careless; they were surgical. Each round supported the melee, forcing the mirror to dodge into exposed angles or preventing it from retreating.
They're actually pushing it back…?
Marcus narrowed his eyes in disbelief as the mirror struggled under the relentless onslaught.
Then the system chimed in, cold and clinical.
[The summons scale on mana pool and regeneration + (-10%) of user stats]
His lips curled into a smirk.
So they weren't just puppets. They weren't disposable fodder like he'd assumed. They were amplifiers of his own power—reflections of his growing magical might.
Turns out they're beasts of their own.
"Well…" he muttered, straightening with renewed excitement. "That's perfect for me."
Without another word, Marcus raised both arms, magic thrumming beneath his skin like electricity in a live wire. He began weaving the runes—fire, combustion, necrotic—letting them crawl across his flesh like living ink. Each symbol ignited as it appeared, wrapping around his limbs in glowing spirals, pulsing with arcane energy.
It was more than spellcasting.
It was transformation.
"I guess this would be a good time to start experimenting then."
The runes multiplied, twisting and overlapping, forming complex sigils that danced across his skin like a painter's fevered strokes. His entire body began to shimmer with vibrant hues—red, green, violet—like stained glass lit from within.
And then the system began to protest.
[Warning: Low on Mana]
The alert blinked into existence—and vanished just as fast, overpowered by Marcus's regeneration.
Then again—
[Warning: Low on Mana]
And again.
Each new rune pulled more power from his core. The system cried out in futility as his mana threshold dipped and rose like a tide, his passive regeneration barely keeping pace with the spellwork consuming him from the inside out.
His skin tingled. His limbs grew heavier.
"I think I can start to feel the strain…" Marcus murmured, flexing his hands as he looked down at the glowing runes etched across his arms.
His body felt like it was vibrating, overcharged with raw power.
"I should let off some steam."
He smiled—dark, amused, dangerous.
Then he waved one arm casually in the direction of the ongoing battle. It was a careless gesture, almost lazy in appearance.
The result was anything but.
With a thunderous roar, a tidal wave of raw magic erupted from the ground, tearing through the floor like a breach in reality. Flame, necrotic decay, and volatile combustion collided in a single, uncontrollable surge—a torrent of destruction that raced forward indiscriminately.
It consumed everything in its path.
Enemy. Ally.
It didn't matter.
[Warning: Summon Killed]
[Warning: Summon Killed]
[Warning: Summon Killed]
The system's monotone voice rang out again and again, coldly acknowledging the annihilation of three of his own.
The chamber itself buckled beneath the force of the blast. Walls were torn asunder. The ceiling cracked. The back end of the battlefield was reduced to a void—a vast, white nothing where once there had been stone and structure.
Only the two riflemen at Marcus's sides remained, their tattered forms barely holding together.
"Brutal…" Marcus exhaled, the word leaving him in a quiet breath of awe. He stared into the devastation, almost impressed by himself.
This power… it's no joke.
"Now then…"
His eyes narrowed as they landed on the far edge of the destruction. There, lying just outside the blast radius, was the mirror. Its feet were charred and smoking, caught in the edge of the spell. The rest of it, however, had survived—barely—its white mask cracked but intact, its expression still blank and unreadable.
It stirred weakly, trying to rise.
"I may have gone overboard with the power-ups…" Marcus admitted, his tone light—almost amused—as the glow of his runes continued to burn like molten brands.
But even as he joked, his grin never faded.