Overgeared: Saharan Successor

Chapter 68: Assimilation

As Odin draped it over his shoulders, the fabric seemed to ripple and shift. Its material was impossibly soft to the touch, like a combination of velvet and smoke, yet it carried a sense of weight and presence far beyond its physical form.

When Odin fastened the clasp—a polished black onyx brooch shaped like a serpent devouring its tail—he felt a cold, whispering energy settle over him. 

The cloak adjusted itself to his form, fitting snugly across his broad shoulders before cascading down his back in fluid waves. Its length was perfect, reaching just above the ground, with its tail-end flowing like a liquid shadow, constantly shifting and never still.

'Fits like a glove.'

Gorath's thunderous charge shook the ground with every step, the massive Hobgoblin Warlord bearing down on Odin with unrelenting ferocity. 

His eyes burned with rage. His jagged bastard sword was raised high, ready to cleave through anything in his path. But Odin remained calm, his crimson eyes locked onto the advancing threat. 

With a sharp motion, he turned to Malfurion, who was shifted into his Owl Form.

"Up you go," Using the momentum of Gorath's approach, Odin spun on his heel and hurled Malfurion into the air.

The druid soared upward in a graceful arc, his wings instinctively flapping to steady himself. He ascended well beyond Gorath's reach, screeching his displeasure. "You could have warned me, you maniac!" 

Malfurion's voice carried down, his irritation only adding to the surreal humor of the moment.

As Gorath skidded to a stop, Odin activated the Cloak of Shadowsilk's Shadowstep skill. 

[User has consumed 500 MP]

Shadows rippled around him as he vanished, leaving behind a ghostly decoy that exploded a moment later.

The Warlord snarled in frustration as he turned to find Odin already beside Yorga.

The Beastmaster barely had time to react as Odin materialized from the shadows, the shimmering form of his sword already raised.

 [Tidal Strike Activated!]

With a swift motion, Odin brought the sword down in a diagonal slash, the water-infused strike connecting with Yorga's torso. A wave of liquid force erupted from the blade, wrapping around Yorga like a coiled serpent before exploding outward in a burst of crushing pressure. 

The Beastmaster staggered, coughing blood as the force of the attack cracked his armor and sent him reeling.

[You have dealt 12,690 water damage to Yorga the Beastmaster.] 

Odin wasted no time. He stepped forward, seamlessly chaining into Wavebreaker, and with a sweeping slash, he unleashed once again a crescent-shaped wave of water energy, moving akin to a crashing tidal wave as it tore into the hobgoblin hunter.

 [Wavebreaker Activated!]

[You have dealt 18,750 water damage to Yorga the Beastmaster.]

[Yorga has been afflicted with the Drenched Debuff. Water resistance reduced by 30% for 8 seconds.]

Frost began to creep up from the edges of the wound inflicted by Tidal Strike, spreading rapidly as the cold energy of Wavebreaker took hold. 

The Drenched debuff amplified the damage, the icy water seeping into his veins and slowing his movements. Yorga's body convulsed as the elemental forces ravaged him, the frost biting deep into his flesh and turning his once-green skin a ghastly pale blue.

Blood gushed from the wounds, the force of the attack too overwhelming for the Beastmaster's body to endure. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees, his whip arm hanging limp at his side. He managed one final, defiant glare at Odin, his yellow eyes blazing with hatred and despair.

"Filthy... hu—" Yorga's words were cut short as the residual energy of the Wavebreaker surged again, the tidal magic manifesting in a final shockwave that pulsed outward. 

The force snapped Yorga's neck with an audible crunch, and his head lolled to the side as his body slumped lifelessly to the ground.

[You have slain 'Yorga the Beastmaster' gaining the following rewards: 600,000 EXP, Hunter's Leather Greaves (Rare), Claw of the Wild Hunt (Epic), Yorga's Beastcaller Amulet (Epic), Weapon Enhancement Stone ×2, Armor Enhancement Stone ×2, 38 Gold Coins]

[You have leveled up!]

[You have leveled up! Congratulations on reaching level 115.]

The explosion did not stop there. The crescent wave, now fragmented, continued its path, creating smaller ripples that exploded outward in a 3-meter radius around the point of impact. These ripples washed over Thalgrim, who was running around like a headless chicken trying to catch up with Odin's movements.

[Splash Damage!]

[Thalgrim has taken 5,300 water damage.]

[Thalgrim's water resistance was reduced by 30% for 8 seconds.]

Odin exhaled, his breath visible in the chilled air. He wasted no time. The air around him thrummed with latent power as his hand shot upward, releasing a surge of pure arcane energy. The vibrant red glow of 'Arcane Explosion' expanded outward in a dazzling flash, enveloping the battlefield in an overwhelming blast of magical force.

[Arcane Explosion Activated!]

[You have dealt 12,870 damage to Thalgrim the Skullsplitter.]

[Arcane Aftershock Triggered!]

[You have dealt 3,210 damage to Thalgrim the Skullsplitter.]

The spell detonated with a thunderous roar, its shockwaves rippling outward in chaotic bursts of energy. 

Thalgrim staggered, his hulking Berserker form briefly immobilized as the secondary explosions from Arcane Aftershock tore through his defenses. Cracks formed along the Skullsplitter's jagged axe as the residual magic destabilized his equipment. 

Odin's crimson eyes gleamed coldly as he advanced, his movements swift and calculated, the Guardian's Blade enveloped with the blue aura of Aqua's Veil.

Thalgrim roared, his fury barely masking the pain wracking his body. "You think cheap tricks like this will stop me? Face me like a—"

Odin cut him off, his voice steady and unyielding. "Like what? Like a mindless brute swinging a sword in futility? No, vermin. You're unworthy of anything more than this."

With his high movement speed, Odin closed the distance in an instant, a blur of power and precision. The Guardian's Blade pulsed with energy as Odin activated the 'Blade of Echoes', unleashing a crescent wave of arcane force in a wide frontal arc.

[You have dealt 14,531 damage to Thalgrim the Skullsplitter.]

[Thalgrim is stunned for 2 seconds.]

The shockwave slammed into Thalgrim with devastating force, sending the Berserker reeling backward. 

His massive frame hit the ground hard. His furious growl stifled as Odin's relentless onslaught continued. 

With a series of rapid basic attacks, each imbued by Aqua's Veil, Odin struck with surgical precision. The double hits landed cleanly, targeting weak points in Thalgrim's armor, water-infused energy biting deep into his flesh.

Thalgrim snarled, regaining his footing as the stun wore off. 

He raised his greatsword to counterattack, but Odin was already a step ahead. As the timer for the stun neared its end, Odin's blade shimmered with an intense blue light. He drove the weapon into the ground, activating 'Tidal Crash'.

The ground beneath Thalgrim erupted, a massive torrent of water energy surging upward in a violent cascade. The wave blasted outward, knocking the Skullsplitter off balance and sending him sprawling backward.

[Tidal Crash Activated!]

[Critical Hit!]

[You have dealt 37,095 damage to Thalgrim the Skullsplitter.]

[Thalgrim has been afflicted with Freezing Mist. Defense reduced by 20%, fire resistance reduced by 50%.]

[Thalgrim has been knocked back 1.5 meters.]

The freezing mist enveloped Thalgrim, his movements slowing as the icy energy sapped his strength. His defenses crumbled under the relentless assault, his once-mighty form faltering as blood spilled freely from his wounds.

Odin stood over the broken body of the Berserker, his crimson eyes narrowing. 

The Skullsplitter let out a final, guttural growl, watching Odin's face with hatred before collapsing lifelessly onto the ground.

[You have slain 'Thalgrim the Skullsplitter' gaining the following rewards: 650,000 EXP, Bonecrusher's Sword (Epic), Vanguard's Pauldrons (Epic), Skullsplitter's Breastplate (Epic), Ragebound Gauntlets (Rare), Weapon Enhancement Stone ×3, Armor Enhancement Stone ×3, 27 Gold Coins]

[You have leveled up!]

[You have leveled up! Congratulations on reaching level 117.]

The only monsters remaining were Makran the Warcaller, Gorath the Shieldbearer and Ragnar Ironclaw, whose deep growl rumbled across the Chieftain's Hall as his body finally rose from his crude iron throne.

His war axe, a monstrous weapon etched with jagged runes and dripping with dark energy, gleamed in the cold, frosted light of the battlefield. With a single heave, he swung it in a broad, sweeping arc, releasing a brutal Cleave aimed directly at Odin.

The attack tore through the air, its sheer force sending debris flying as it collided with everything in its path. Odin, caught mid-movement raised the Guardian's Blade in an attempt to block. Despite his efforts, the force of Ragnar's strike pushed him back several feet, his boots carving trenches into the ground.

[You have taken 9,200 physical damage.]

A faint trickle of blood ran down Odin's arm from the recoil of the hit, but his expression remained cold and unshaken. 

"Is that all you've got, whelp?" he sneered, his yellow eyes gleaming with a predatory light. 

"You'll crumble just like the other pathetic knights who thought they could challenge me. Their bloodstains this hall, and their screams still echo in my ears. And soon, yours will join them."

He raised the axe effortlessly, pointing its jagged edge toward Odin. "You're nothing but another name to carve into the bones of my throne."

Odin couldn't help but laugh at how confident and, at the same time, delusional this Hobgbolin could be. 

"You waited for a chance to see me weakened? Haha, what a narrow-minded vermin. You just squabble your opportunity to kill me for what? Prying for my weaknesses? The goblin blood in your veins is strong cause I can't explain why you would be so cowardly."

Ragnar's expression twisted into a mask of fury as Odin's taunt struck a nerve. His yellow eyes narrowed, and the dark energy radiating from his war axe flared violently.

"Coward?" Ragnar snarled, his voice low and venomous, like the growl of a cornered predator. "You dare call me a coward, little worm? I've bathed in the blood of your kind! Knights, Adventurers, Heroes, they all fell before me, begging for mercy. You think you're different? You'll break like all the rest!"

He straightened, his towering form emanating raw, primal power. Lifting his massive war axe high, he unleashed a guttural roar that shook the very walls of the Chieftain's Hall.

The sound was more than just a yell—it was a thunderous War Cry infused with the Hobgoblin chieftain's dark magic. A wave of oppressive energy rippled outward, washing over the battlefield like a suffocating tide.

[War Cry Activated!]

[Your attack power has been reduced by 20% for 10 seconds.]

"Makran! Give me Kurkthok's Blessings!" Ragnar barked, his voice echoing with authority.

Makran, the Warcaller, immediately complied. He raised his bone staff, the symbols carved into it glowing with dark red light.

[Makran has activated Battle Shout. All allies gain +15% attack power and +10% defense for 30 seconds.]

Odin remained unfazed, his composure unbroken even as the tide of power shifted against him. In fact, he was discussing with the soul lingering inside his Mana Core, with this old soul having a hard time grasping his purpose.

[Are you sure you're not toying with me, Odin? It's not as if I've been inside you for that long.]

'I trust you don't wish me any harm, and I'm looking forward to seeing you at work since I got so much to learn in the art of magic. Watching the strongest mage ever to live display his craft, what more would I ask from this situation?'

[Huhuhu, it's good to hear that you're not limiting yourself to the puny tricks you have figured out by casting my spells.]

[Let me turn this vermin into ash and offer you the first lesson since you accepted my soul.]

'Assimilation'

[Will awaken either Braham's soul fragment and become one.

At this time, control of the flesh will be transferred to Braham.]

[Your class is now Great Magician.]

[The list of available skills has changed.]

[You have lost control of your body for 5 minutes.]

Then, an ominous change began to take root.

The air around Odin grew heavy, suffused with an unnatural, suffocating energy. His mana, a vibrant crimson, flared outward in waves, darkening to a sinister blood-red hue. The aura of power seemed alive, pulsating and twisting with barely contained fury.

Odin's medium-length black hair turned a brilliant snowy white, each strand radiating with an ethereal glow. His crimson eyes sharpened into something far more predatory, their depths swirling with arcane menace, more akin to those of a Vampire Lord than a human.

His presence became overwhelming, an oppressive force that made even Ragnar hesitate for a moment. 

Odin's lean, muscled frame didn't change, but the authority and dignity he once carried around him enhanced to great proportions that now emanated from him. His features, already striking, were improved to otherworldly perfection, making him seem like a divine being descending into the mortal plane.

Braham stretched Odin's newly enhanced frame, moving each limb as though testing the limits of a finely crafted vessel. His lips curled into a smirk as he examined the physical and magical attributes of his host.

Then, his lips moved, and the timber of Odin's tone shifted into a more charming one belonging to a being that was closer to perfection.

"Hmph, not bad. A lean, sturdy body, balanced musculature, and an innate aptitude for swordplay."

"It's almost amusing how you've managed to create such a robust framework with that crude, mortal heritage." He flexed Odin's fingers experimentally, checking out the mythical power of the Titanborne that he had only heard from Ancient Tomes of the Silver Age.

Crimson Energy is a mix between Red Energy and Odin's mana. Sparking at the tips. His voice dripped with arrogance yet carried an undertone of satisfaction.

"But..." Braham's sharp, predatory eyes glinted as he glanced at Ragnar. "It's lacking. Intelligence—the true mark of a great magician—is woefully underdeveloped."

"To call this body mine is an affront to my legacy." He raised Odin's hand, watching the arcs of blood-red mana swirl as though alive.

"Still, it will suffice," he concluded with a note of condescension. "For now. I will make good use of this body while my Soul allows me."

'Apologies if my "crude mortal heritage" doesn't live up to your perfection, oh great, Braham,' he quipped, his tone light but respectful. 

'But I never intended to build up for magic to begin with. It is just a coincidence that I stumbled upon your Labyrinth. In fact, you would've still be stuck in that Treasure Chest.'

Braham's lips twisted into a smirk. "Hmph. A fool's errand, straddling the line between blade and magic. But..." He paused, his tone softening slightly as though begrudgingly acknowledging something.

 "I see the potential. You've forged a unique path, one that, I must admit, intrigues me. Very well. Let me show you what true magic looks like, Odin.."

'By all means, Braham. Show me.'

Ragnar Ironclaw's laughter faltered as he watched Odin's transformation. His towering frame straightened, his war axe lowering slightly as an uncharacteristic flicker of uncertainty crossed his face.

"What in the gods' name is this?" Ragnar growled, his yellow eyes narrowing as he took a step back. His voice was laced with both anger and disbelief. "You... you're not the same man who stood before me moments ago. What are you, demon?!"

He slammed the butt of his war axe against the ground, attempting to steady himself as he glared at the ethereal being that now inhabited Odin's body. "No matter what trickery you conjure, you'll die like the rest. I'll rend you in halves, even if I have to rip your soul from that borrowed flesh!"

As Braham stood motionless, his crimson eyes alight with disdain and amusement, Ragnar Ironclaw roared and hefted his massive war axe high. With a primal snarl, the towering hobgoblin unleashed another Cleave, his axe carving a deadly arc through the air with devastating force.

The attack hurtled toward Braham, but he didn't flinch. With a calmness that bordered on arrogance, Braham raised Odin's hand, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Ah, a predictable brute," he remarked, his voice dripping with mockery. "Allow me to show you the futility of such crude techniques."

"Mana Shield"

[User has consumed 500 MP]

As the axe's arc reached him, Braham activated his defensive spell 'Mana Shield', and an intricate array of shimmering runes spiraled into existence before him. The air shimmered with a palpable surge of mana, forming an iridescent barrier that glowed with a mix of crimson and sapphire hues.

The 'Cleave' attack struck the shield with the force of a thunderclap, and sparks erupted as the war axe clashed against the magical barrier, and a deafening clang echoed through the room. Despite Ragnar's raw strength, the shield absorbed the force with an almost contemptuous ease, dispersing the energy harmlessly into the surrounding mana field.

Braham's smirk widened, his voice carrying over the sound of Ragnar's struggle. "Your strength is impressive for an insect."

With a casual flick of his wrist, Braham dismissed the Mana Shield, causing the runes to disintegrate into motes of light that vanished. 

Ragnar staggered forward, his axe plunging into the empty space where the shield had been. Before he could recover, Braham raised 'his' hand again, arcs of crimson energy coiling like serpents around his fingers.

There was another sudden shift around Odin's body as Braham took off the inconvenient Heavy Armor that was Odin's favorite, mainly Armor of Despair, along with other pieces that didn't fit his taste or didn't boost his Intelligence and Spellpower. 

He geared himself using the System's Interface just like how he saw Odin do and equipped himself with mainly Hybrid and Magician's Gear, with the drops gained from killing Zarlok the Flamescourge, such as Flamescourge Robes (Epic), Infernal Focus (Epic), Cinderwrap Belt (Rare) and Ashforged Boots (Rare).

"I would tell you to prepare yourself," Braham continued, his voice calm but laced with disdain, "but there's no point. You lack the capacity to comprehend the heights of true magic."

Then, he cast his spell.

"Fireball"

[User has consumed 5500 MP]

A dense orb of fire began to form above his palm. Unlike the rudimentary fireball that most Mage players or even NPCs of Satisfy World used, such as the Hobgoblin Wizard, this spell exuded a terrifying majesty. 

The air around the orb warped from the sheer intensity of heat, and arcs of hellish flame licked outward, scorching the stone beneath his feet.

Complex magical symbols hovered in the air, rearranging themselves faster than the eye could follow. The fiery orb grew larger, darker, and more malevolent until it seemed to encapsulate the fury of a dying star.

When Braham spoke, his voice resonated with a chilling finality. "This, Ragnar Ironclaw, is a Fireball. A true Fireball. Burn in despair, knowing that your strength means nothing before me."

With a flick of his wrist, the spell was unleashed. 

The fireball shot forward, its speed and power defying comprehension. The sheer force of its passage left a molten trail in its wake, the cavern walls glowing red from the residual heat.

The moment it struck Ragnar, the explosion was catastrophic. The blast radius engulfed the area, sending shockwaves rippling outward. Flames roared with unrelenting ferocity, and the very ground seemed to tremble beneath their wrath.

[Critical Hit!]

[You have dealt 147,095 damage to Ragnar Ironclaw.]

Ragnar's roar of pain was deafening as the fireball engulfed him, consuming his massive frame in an inferno. His HP bar plummeted, nearly obliterated in an instant as 60% of his health vanished. 

His once-proud stance faltered, and he dropped to one knee, his armor glowing red-hot and cracking under the strain.

"You... wretch..." Ragnar growled, his voice hoarse and strained. He struggled to rise, glaring at Braham with a mixture of hatred and grudging respect. "You... think this is over? You'll have to do better than that to kill me."

Braham's crimson eyes narrowed as he surveyed the aftermath of his devastating attack. The inferno still raged in the distance, casting long shadows on the jagged walls of the cavern. 

Ragnar Ironclaw, though clearly battered and seared by the flames, knelt defiantly amidst the smoldering debris. His hulking frame was a picture of resilience, even as wisps of smoke rose from his scorched armor.

Braham clicked his tongue in irritation, his expression one of disapproval. 

"Tch. How pathetic," he muttered, though the venom in his voice was not aimed at Ragnar but at Odin's stats. 

"This vessel's intelligence is woefully inadequate. It was such a paltry output for a spell of my caliber. If I had my true body..." He trailed off, his thoughts momentarily consumed by the memory of his former power.

'Stop bitching about it, old man. At least I got enough Mana for you to cast your broken spells.'

"You call this enough mana, boy? I'm almost drained from a single Fireball. This is why it's pathetic."

'Go fuck yourself. How would I know that Fireball costs half of my mana? I've been using mainly Magic Missiles and Arcane Explosions, and I've rarely run out of mana.'

"Hmm, you also bring a good point. I think this is why I didn't share with you my Fireball."

Still, there was no time for lamentation. With an impatient gesture, he began weaving mana into another spell. "No matter," he murmured to himself. "The next strike will end this charade."

'Kill one of the Mini-Bosses, and you'll recharge all your mana.'

"I know. I've watched you on the side. Fireball."

Braham's hand began to glow with a blinding, fiery brilliance as another Fireball took shape, larger and more menacing than the last. 

Crimson arcs of energy swirled around his form, and the very air seemed to vibrate with the force of his spell casting. Ragnar, still kneeling, glared at him with bloodshot eyes, defiance etched into every line of his face.

However, before the spell could be unleashed, the thunderous sound of heavy footfalls echoed through the chamber. 

Gorath the Shieldbearer, an imposing figure clad in thick plate armor, charged toward Braham. His massive tower shield, emblazoned with the sigil of his clan, gleamed in the dim light as he barreled forward like an unstoppable force of nature.

"...Mana Shield."

The collision was inevitable. Gorath's shield slammed into Braham's Mana Shield with a resounding clang. 

The impact sent shockwaves rippling outward, cracks forming in the stone floor beneath them. The Mana Shield held firm, its runes glowing brighter to absorb the force, but Gorath wasn't finished. With a guttural roar, he activated his Taunting Cry, an ability designed to draw the attention of enemies and disrupt their focus.

Braham's glowing Fireball flickered, the intricate runes surrounding it unraveling as his concentration faltered. 

His gaze shifted to Gorath, irritation flashing across his face. "You dare interrupt me, insect?" 

Braham's eyes narrowed as he regarded Gorath with cold disdain. "Very well," he said, his tone icy and unyielding. "If you wish to be the first to die, I shall oblige."

With a swift motion, Braham extended his hand, and the air around him crackled with arcane energy. Four Magic Missiles materialized, managing to shock Odin, who could cast just two of them in a second, mainly because of 'Braham's Gloves' that he now made good use of as previous owner.

The missiles struck Gorath's heavily armored form in rapid succession, each impact sending him staggering back as arcs of energy surged through his body.

[You have dealt 15,000 damage to Gorath the Shieldbearer.]

[You have dealt 15,000 damage to Gorath the Shieldbearer.]

[You have dealt 15,000 damage to Gorath the Shieldbearer.]

[Critical Hit!]

[You have dealt 15,000 damage to Gorath the Shieldbearer.]

The Tanker grunted in pain but remained standing, his shield raised in a defiant gesture. 

Yet Braham was far from finished. With a sharp incantation, he unleashed Arcane Explosion, the ground around him erupting in a blinding burst of pure magical force. The shockwave radiated outward, striking not only Gorath but also Ragnar and Makran, the Hobgoblin Shaman who had been lurking at the edge of the battlefield.

"Arcane Explosion"

[You have dealt 30,000 damage to all targets.]

All three were thrown back by the force of the blast, their health bars dipping significantly. 

Ragnar growled in frustration, his grip tightening on his axe, while Makran hastily conjured a protective barrier, though it barely held against the onslaught. Gorath, however, bore the brunt of the damage, his armor visibly dented and cracked from the combined assault.

Braham's crimson gaze settled on Gorath, who still clung to life despite the barrage of attacks. "Stubborn fool," he muttered, raising his hand once more. 

This time, the mana swirling around him took on a different hue, a pale, icy blue that radiated an intense chill.

"Let us see how your resolve fares against this," Braham said, his tone devoid of emotion. 

"Ice Lance."

With a sharp gesture, he conjured an Ice Lance, a sleek, deadly spear of frozen mana that glimmered like a shard of pure diamond.

The lance shot forward with blinding speed, striking Gorath square in the chest. The impact was immediate and brutal, frost spreading rapidly across his armor as the cold sapped the strength from his limbs. Gorath staggered, his shield dropping slightly as he struggled to maintain his footing.

[You have dealt 24,000 frozen damage to Gorath the Shieldbearer.]

But Braham wasn't done. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a second 'Ice Lance', the spear forming instantaneously before hurtling toward its target. 

[Critical Hit!]

[You have dealt 48,000 frozen damage to Gorath the Shieldbearer.]

The lance pierced through Gorath's chest plate, shattering it with a resonating crack. The Hobgoblin Tanker let out a final, guttural cry before collapsing to the ground. His body was encased in a sheen of frost.

[Ding!]

[You have slain 'Gorath the Shieldbearer' gaining the following rewards: 725,000 EXP, Stoneheart Shield (Epic), Plate of the Resolute Defender (Rare), Vanguard's Leggings (Epic), Vanguard's Boots(Epic), Weapon Enhancement Stone ×3, Armor Enhancement Stone ×3, 48 Gold Coins]

[You have leveled up!]

[You have leveled up! Congratulations on reaching level 119.]

Braham smirked, lowering his hand as the icy glow faded. "This sensation of reinvigoration. I now understand the meaning of your words, boy."

"One down," he murmured, his voice carrying a chilling finality. "Two more to go."

 "Let's end that pitiful goblin shaman."

Braham's eyes, cold and unyielding, turned toward Makran, the Hobgoblin Shaman, who now stood frozen in terror. 

The once-arrogant shaman, barely giving any heals to his allies, selfishly thinking only about himself and his survival, clutched his gnarled staff, its crude runes glowing faintly with defensive wards. Sweat beaded down Makran's brow as Braham advanced with unhurried steps, the remnants of icy mist swirling around him from the previous assault.

"You... stay back!" Makran snarled, desperation lacing his voice as he began chanting a protective spell. 

His hands trembled, struggling to weave the mana threads needed to shield himself. But his words faltered as Braham raised his hand, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"Mana Drain," Braham intoned softly, his voice carrying a weight that drowned out the shaman's panicked chanting.

In an instant, tendrils of glowing blue energy shot forth from Braham's palm, latching onto Makran like ethereal chains, soon, violently siphoning mana from the Hobgoblin. 

Makran shrieked, his body convulsing as the energy was ripped from his core. His staff's glow dimmed, its runes fizzling out one by one as the power within was consumed.

[Mana Drain has absorbed 2,150 mana from Makran the Hobgoblin Shaman.]

[Mana Drain has absorbed 2,150 mana from Makran the Hobgoblin Shaman.]

[Mana Drain has absorbed 2,150 mana from Makran the Hobgoblin Shaman.]

Braham's eyes glinted with satisfaction as he felt the invigorating rush of stolen energy course through him. "What hope do you have, little shaman, when even your lifeblood is mine to command?" he said, his voice laced with disdain. 

Makran staggered, his knees threatening to buckle as his mana reserves plummeted to dangerous levels.

Raising both hands, Braham gathered his mana once more, the air around him vibrating with power. 

Unlike the frigid aura of Ice Lance, this magic carried a potent, chaotic energy that pulsed in rhythm with Braham's heart. Purple and crimson arcs of light coalesced into four distinct orbs above his palms, each crackling with unstable arcane energy.

"This should suffice to end your miserable existence," Braham remarked in his arrogant tone as he extended his hands toward Makran.

"Arcane Barrage."

[User has consumed 2050 MP]

The orbs launched forward one after another in rapid succession, streaking through the air like comets. 

Each bolt homed in on the shaman with unerring accuracy, slamming into his weakened form.

The first bolt exploded on impact, tearing into Makran's patchwork armor and drawing a howl of agony. The second struck his chest, sending him sprawling backward, his staff tumbling from his grasp. 

The third found its mark on his shoulder, spinning him around and leaving him barely able to stand. As the fourth bolt struck, Makran let out a choking gasp. His body was wracked with pain.

[Critical Hit! Successive Strike Bonus Activated.]

[You have dealt 84,717 damage to Makran the Hobgoblin Shaman.]

The spell's enhanced attribute activated, and a final surge of arcane energy erupted at the spell's culmination. 

A cascade of light descended from above, engulfing the area in a blinding power. The force sent shockwaves rippling outward, silencing Makran's pitiful cries and preventing him from casting any further spells.

[Empowered Cascade has silenced all targets within range for 2 seconds.]

When the light faded, Makran was left standing on unsteady legs, his health gauge flickering at a mere 5%. 

The shaman's eyes were wide with disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as though searching for words that would not come. His body trembled as he looked up at Braham, who remained unmoved, his expression cold and analytical.

Braham sighed, his voice tinged with mild annoyance. "Still alive, are we? How tedious." 

He raised a single finger, and a sphere of shimmering mana began forming at its tip. This time, the spell was more minor, precise enough to end his life.

Makran's legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest. "P-please… mercy… I will be a good goblin from now on." he croaked, but Braham's expression remained impassive.

"Bah. Mercy?" Braham's tone was devoid of emotion. "I do not offer such luxuries."

Extending his right hand as flames began to coil around his fingertips. The heat emanating from his palm grew intense, distorting the air around him as the magic reached its peak.

Without a word, Braham released the spell. A fiery streak of energy erupted from his hand—a searing projectile composed of pure fire magic.

"Ember Bolt."

The bolt roared toward Makran, its light casting flickering shadows across the battlefield. Upon impact, the bolt detonated with a sharp, thunderous burst. Flames engulfed the shaman, his tattered robes igniting instantly.

[Critical Hit!]

[You have dealt 45,000 fire damage to Makran the Warcaller.]

[Makran the Warcaller is burning. Additional fire damage applied: 5,500 per second for 5 seconds.]

The Hobgoblin shaman shrieked in agony as the flames consumed him, his body thrashing violently. 

The fire's relentless heat seared his flesh and reduced him to ash within moments, leaving nothing but scorched earth where he had stood.

Braham tilted his head, his smirk widening as he observed the aftermath, where flickering embers were reflected in his crimson gaze.

[You have slain 'Makran the Warcaller' gaining the following rewards: 525,000 EXP, Pendant of the Wailing Spirits (Epic), Totem of Windspeaker (Epic), Talisman of the Moonlit Tide (Rare), Weapon Enhancement Stone ×2, Armor Enhancement Stone ×2, 39 Gold Coins]

[You have leveled up! Congratulations on reaching level 120.]

Braham stood amidst the smoldering cavern, the faint embers of his destructive magic still lingering in the air. 

His crimson eyes narrowed slightly as the familiar sensation of leveling up washed over him, sending a surge of vitality coursing through his veins. It was a feeling he had come to savor, this fleeting moment of renewal where his body, mind, and magic were restored to their peak. 

He straightened his posture, his previously depleted mana reserves now replenished, a shimmering aura of power enveloping him.

The mage let out a low chuckle, his voice tinged with both satisfaction and arrogance. "Ah… how delightful," he said, flexing his fingers as arcs of residual magic danced along his fingertips. 

"Nothing compares to this... the cycle of death and rebirth in battle, the thrill of mastery reclaimed in an instant." 

He tilted his head back as though reveling in the invisible tide of energy surging through him.

As the glow around him began to fade, Braham opened his eyes, the crimson orbs gleaming with renewed intensity. His smirk widened, the arrogance unmistakable. "Let us see if the next wretch fares any better," 

"Although I do not hold out much hope."