When A Filipino got Isekai'd with a Twist ! "only I can summon those!"

When a Filipino got Isekai'd with a twist!

"Only I can summon those!" Volume 3

Chapter 1: Hero vs Hero

The sky thundered.

Gold flame met abyssal shadow in a furious explosion. Valeria and Azazel clashed again and again, their figures little more than streaks of light and darkness dancing above the ruined battlefield. Each strike echoed with the fury of kingdoms lost.

Azazel twisted mid-air, whipping his chainblade in a wide arc. Valeria ducked under it, her flaming claws scraping across his ribs. A hiss escaped his throat, but he only grinned wider.

> Azazel (mocking):

"You fight like a queen out for vengeance—

But you swing like a soldier who already knows she's doomed."

> Valeria (spitting blood):

"Then I'll die standing."

She slammed her palm against his chest, unleashing a focused torrent of golden flame point-blank. The blast hurled Azazel through a jagged column of obsidian, shattering it like brittle glass.

Dust clouded the air.

Valeria dropped to one knee, panting. Blood trickled from her lips. Her flames were flickering, dimmer now. She'd already given more than her body could take.

A whistle cut the air.

> ???:

"Still breathing, Lady Valeria?"

From the edge of the cliffs, figures descended—elven archers on wind-gliders, followed by knights in gleaming green-and-silver armor bearing the crest of the Elvín Kingdom.

King Eldrin stepped forward, silver hair bound behind him, face solemn, dressed in mythril war robes that pulsed faintly with protective runes. In his hand, a moonwood spear, older than some nations.

> Eldrin:

"Forgive the delay. The spirits opened the forest slower than I hoped."

Valeria stood, shakily. Her wings drooped, her body bruised and bleeding.

> Valeria:

"You shouldn't have come alone."

> Eldrin:

"I didn't."

More figures emerged—dwarven rune-knights, sky riders from the Western Isles, even a few dragoon templars from the Southern Shrine. A full strike alliance. Each force battered, desperate.

Because they all knew one thing:

Azazel couldn't be beaten alone.

The smoke cleared again—and Azazel stood tall, his grin as fresh as when the fight began. His chains floated lazily behind him, undamaged. His wounds already closing. If he was tired, he didn't show it.

> Azazel (bored):

"All this… for little old me?"

A ripple of dark magic surged behind him. Black gates opened, and from them came the warspawn—shadow-born beasts, twisted giants, and flame-winged horrors with screams that could crack steel.

> Eldrin (quietly, to Valeria):

"This isn't a battle. It's a delay."

> Valeria (tightening grip):

"Then let's buy time."

Together, they charged. Knights, mages, archers, dragons. The cliffside became a war zone. Azazel moved through them like a phantom, chainblade spinning, chains tearing into their ranks. He was an army unto himself.

The coalition fought with desperation. Not to win.

But just to live.

And then—

The sound of drums.

Heavy. Rhythmic. Distant, but growing louder.

From the far ridge of the black cliffs, another army approached. Demonic formations. Crimson banners. Blades dipped in divine blood.

At the front walked a woman in flowing crimson and silver. Long black hair. Pale skin. Eyes like violet glass—cold, sharp, and glowing with divine mana and abyssal corruption.

Mephistopheles.

Valeria's heart sank. Eldrin's hand trembled slightly on his spear.

Azazel, upon seeing her, laughed—blood dripping from his chin.

> Azazel:

"Ah… my little sister joins the show."

Valeria took a step back. Her legs were trembling now—not from pain, but from the creeping, awful realization that they were no longer facing one unstoppable monster…

They were facing two.

Meanwhile at the middle of the battle field

The four heroes and the four anti heroes is engaged at intense battle.

What remained of the battlefield was a cratered wasteland. Blood, ash, broken steel—everything smeared in chaos. Lightning cracked across the dark sky, casting brief flashes over the six figures now standing in the clearing.

A seventh. Then an eighth. And more.

They emerged from the fog like nightmares—Jack the Ripper, Ted the Butcher, Josef Mengele, and their leader: Frank Abigneil, "The Chameleon," already surrounded by shifting clones and warped reflections of himself.

Across from them, the four heroes stepped up—each one quiet, focused, steady. They didn't say a word.

This wasn't a battle of pride anymore.

This was survival.

---

Vismond vs. Jack the Ripper

Jack twirled two curved blades between his fingers, the edges humming with cursed energy. His smile never reached his eyes—those were dead, hollow things.

> Jack (grinning): "You've killed before, haven't you? I can smell it."

Vismond didn't answer. His coat fluttered in the wind, his eyes locked on Jack's throat—not his eyes. Not his hands. His kill zone.

Jack lunged.

But Vismond was gone—already behind him.

Steel flashed. Jack parried at the last second, only to find a hidden knife stabbing toward his kidney. He twisted, blood spraying, but not deep enough to stop him.

> Jack (excited): "Ohhh... good. You're fun."

Vismond vanished again, blending into shadows, then struck from above. Jack blocked—barely. They clashed again and again in a whirlwind of flickering steel and blood-drawing slashes.

It was like watching ghosts trying to kill each other.

---

Cane vs. Ted the Butcher

Ted towered over Cane, his massive cleaver dragging behind him like a boulder. Flies buzzed around his stitched flesh, and every breath was a wet snort of rage.

> Ted (growling): "Flesh is meat. You're just screaming meat."

Cane cracked his neck, grinning like a brawler before the bell.

> Cane: "Then let's see if you can chew divine steel, pig."

Ted roared and charged, cleaver smashing down. Cane blocked with both arms braced in gauntlets, the impact shaking the ground and sending dust flying.

Cane moved inside the arc, punching into Ted's gut with a thunderous blow that bent armor and sent bile flying.

But Ted didn't flinch. He headbutted Cane with a snarl and slammed his elbow down onto Cane's back, forcing him to the ground. Cane rolled, grabbing a nearby broken spear and driving it into Ted's shoulder.

Neither gave ground. This wasn't a duel.

It was a slugfest.

---

Josh vs. Josef Mengele

Josh held his sword at his side, silent. Calm. Focused.

Mengele was muttering to himself, scribbling blood runes mid-air with a needle-thin scalpel. A sphere of twisted organs floated beside him like a companion.

> Josef: "They called me mad… but it's you who clings to outdated ideas like honor."

He pointed the scalpel. The organs burst forward, forming tendrils, limbs, faces.

Josh exhaled once. Then blurred forward.

His sword sang through the air, cleaving through the horrors with merciless precision. Each slash was efficient. Clean. Every step forward was made through nightmares.

Josef pulled a bone wand from his sleeve and snapped it—releasing a scream that wasn't human.

Josh winced. Blood trickled from his ear. Still, he advanced. Blocking. Slashing.

Until he was face-to-face with Mengele.

> Josh (cold): "You're not a god. You're just a coward playing doctor."

He swung.

Mengele screamed.

On the ground, King Youm stood tall in his emerald armor, sword drawn and eyes locked on the descending behemoth. Chris, beside him, adjusted his spectacles and summoned a glowing circle of arcane code beneath his boots.

Three perfect clones of Frank, each with slightly different mannerisms but identical firepower, stood grinning at them from the smoking hills.

> Chris (deadpan):

"You take the Gundam, I'll handle the jackasses."

> King Youm (snorts):

"You're lucky I owe you one."

The sky shook as Zerokaizer's cannon lit up, blasting an arc of hellfire toward them. Chris blinked once—and vanished.

Youm charged straight in, divine energy coursing through him as he met Zerokaizer's blade with his own in a shockwave that cracked mountains.

Zerokaizer's thrusters roared. King Youm was holding ground, but barely. His blade clashed again and again against the demonic mobile suit's massive chainsaber. Chris danced between clone after clone, every spell tighter, faster, more precise.

But time was running out.

And Frank—still smirking in the cockpit—hadn't even started getting serious.

> Frank (over comms):

"Let's see how long the 'heroes' can hold out."

The battlefield trembled as Zerokaizer's foot slammed into the earth, cracking the terrain with seismic force. Its demonic mono-eye flashed blood red, scanning the battlefield like a predator hunting its prey.

> Frank Abigneil (inside cockpit, smirking):

"Let's see how long you two can keep dancing."

He slammed a lever.

Twin demonic beam sabers ignited, crackling with black flame. With a roar of thrusters, Zerokaizer lunged, cleaving downward like a devil swinging a guillotine.

King Youm raised his obsidian blade, the air around him pulsing with spirit energy.

> King Youm (gritting teeth):

"Cover me, Chris!!"

Chris raised both hands, runes spiraling around his arms as a radiant blue magic circle bloomed beneath him. He clapped his palms together, and a translucent magical barrier shimmered around them—just as Zerokaizer's saber crashed down.

BOOM!

The shockwave blasted trees into splinters. The ground cratered. The shield cracked—then shattered.

Youm was already moving, spirit-charged blade streaking across the air, slashing toward Zerokaizer's leg. It scraped metal—but Frank's reaction was instant. One of his Gundam-sized clones warped in front of Youm, catching the blow with a massive arm before self-detonating.

> Frank (laughing from the cockpit):

"You're not fighting just me, old man. You're fighting my entire damn madness!"

---

Meanwhile: Cane vs Ted the Butcher

Steel met brute force.

Cane ducked under a cleaver swing, his body twisting with years of gladiator reflex. He delivered a hammering punch into Ted's gut, cracking ribs—but Ted didn't flinch.

> Ted the Butcher (grinning, blood drooling):

"I like pain."

He slammed both fists together and leapt, grappling Cane mid-air, smashing him into the ground like a sack of meat. Dust exploded.

Cane snarled, spit blood, then grabbed Ted's face and headbutted him—once, twice, three times. On the fourth, he roared and threw Ted like a ragdoll into a boulder, crushing it.

> Cane (growling):

"You'll break before I do."

Ted stood, body broken, and just laughed.

> Ted:

"Nah. I've already been broken. That's why I can't lose."

---

Vismond vs Jack the Ripper

The battlefield turned silent in their corner.

Jack moved like a phantom. Vismond vanished like a shadow.

Blades clashed with whispers of death. Sparks in the dark.

> Jack the Ripper (licking blood off his dagger):

"Divine assassin, are you? Let's see how divine your entrails look, hmm?"

Vismond appeared behind him, blade inches from Jack's throat—but Jack twisted unnaturally, joints bending the wrong way, slashing with a hidden knife from under his ribcage. Vismond parried it mid-flip.

They exchanged a dozen attacks in a second.

Neither drew blood.

Then, Jack vanished.

Whispers filled the air.

> Jack (invisible):

"I slit angels in heaven once. What chance do you think you have, Vismond?"

> Vismond (eyes narrowing):

"I've slit gods in silence."

He closed his eyes… and moved.

A flash of silver. Blood sprayed.

Jack staggered out of the shadows, bleeding from the side.

> Jack (wide-eyed):

"You… heard me?"

> Vismond (cold):

"I felt your hunger."

---

Josh vs Josef Mengele

Madness versus discipline.

Josef raised his hand, and a dozen homunculi burst from the ground, mutated and snarling, all wielding copied weapons of legendary heroes. Each one had a mangled, stitched-together face of some past victim.

> Josef Mengele:

"You were a Sword King, right? Let's see how many you can kill before they devour each other—then you."

Josh breathed slowly, sword resting on his shoulder.

> Josh:

"I'm not here to fight monsters…"

He exhaled. Then disappeared.

In a single motion, he severed all twelve homunculi.

> Josh (finishing):

"...I'm here to erase them."

Josef's smile widened, even as blood dripped from his hand.

> Josef:

"Good. It's no fun if the divine ones don't bleed."

He snapped his fingers—and the ground split open, revealing his real experiment: a grotesque, colossal fusion of fallen Sword Kings.

> Josh (stepping forward):

"…You stole their corpses."

> Josef:

"Their legacy. And soon… yours."

Josh's aura flared. His sword lit up—not with mana, but with spirit. He pointed the blade at the abomination.

> Josh:

"Then allow me to bury it all in one swing."

---

The battlefield was chaos.

Hero versus horror.

Steel, magic, madness, fire—and above all, the will to survive. The four Anti-Heroes weren't just strong. They were terrifying. Twisted. Unrelenting.

And the heroes?

They weren't fighting to win.

They were fighting to stand a chance.

King Youm stood tall, black lightning cracking across his obsidian-bladed greatsword. His golden armor, dented and scorched, still gleamed with divine fury. Despite his injuries, his stance never wavered.

Beside him, Chris—the Divine Wizard—hovered slightly above the ground, his grimoire wide open and glowing with an otherworldly violet. The air around him shimmered with spatial magic and divine codes.

> Frank Abigneil (inside Zerokaizer, mocking):

"A king and a mage, huh? You look like final bosses! Shame I'm the true endgame."

The Zerokaizer's arm lifted. A cannon formed from molten parts and howling faces locked onto them.

> Chris (stern, voice echoing):

"That's not magic… it's something else. Something corrupted."

> Youm (raising his sword):

"It doesn't matter what it is. We're taking that monster down."

---

Zerokaizer fired.

A spiral beam of hellfire burst forth, annihilating the mountains behind them. But the two heroes had already moved.

Chris created a warp field mid-air, teleporting Youm in a blink. The king reappeared above the mech's head, sword crashing down in a meteor strike. Zerokaizer blocked with a massive blade of its own—but the shockwave sent dust and blood flying in all directions.

On the ground, Chris clapped his hands together. Dozens of summoning circles bloomed, forming intricate chains of equations around the field.

> Chris:

"Divine Art: Eternal Labyrinth."

Spacetime bent—Frank's clones were caught mid-motion, some warped into void loops, others trapped between frozen frames of time.

> Frank (grinning from inside the cockpit):

"Oho… nice trick. But let's see how long you can keep it up!"

The clones detonated, self-destructing in flashes of cursed flame. Chris shielded Youm with a layered barrier, but it cracked under the force. The Zerokaizer surged forward, slamming its shoulder into the King and sending him skidding through rows of shattered statues.

---

Chris countered.

He flicked his wrist—gravity reversed beneath the Zerokaizer's feet, throwing it off balance. He followed with a barrage of spectral spears, but the mech's tail—a demonic whip—snapped upward and deflected the spellstorm.

> Youm (panting but grinning):

"Getting tired, mage?"

> Chris (smirking):

"Are you kidding? I'm just getting warmed up."

---

The two stood side by side again, facing the giant war machine. Blood ran down Youm's temple, and Chris's left hand twitched from overchanneling his mana. But they stood tall—undaunted.

> Chris (to Youm):

"We need to go all in. That core… it's the weak spot."

> Youm (nodding):

"Then I'll open the way."

With a mighty roar, King Youm slammed his blade into the earth—summoning a dragon of shadow and lightning from beneath. It lunged at the Zerokaizer, wrapping its massive jaws around its legs, holding it down.

Chris lifted his hand high. Dozens—hundreds—of spell circles spiraled above, forming a massive sigil.

> Chris (chanting):

"Divine Code: Ragnarok Protocol."

The sky split open. A comet of raw celestial power plummeted toward the battlefield—

And Frank, watching from inside the cockpit, just smiled.

> Frank:

"Finally. A fight worth dying for."

The Zerokaizer exploded in a shockwave of fire and metal, chunks of corrupted steel raining down from the skies. Its demonic eyes flickered and died, the last of its twisted reactor energy sputtering into silence.

King Youm lowered his golden staff, panting. His armor was battered and scorched, one shoulder pauldron gone, and his once-flowing cape now tattered. "Is it over…?" he muttered, his voice tight.

Chris didn't answer. His eyes stayed locked on the rising smoke… and the silhouette within.

A slow clap echoed from the flames.

"Well done," came a voice, smug and poisonous. From the wreckage, Frank Abigneil emerged, entirely unharmed. His black uniform was pristine, not even a smear of dust on his coat. "That was one of my favorite toys. And you broke it." He grinned like a snake. "But that's okay. I brought… better ones."

Around them, the ground began to shake.

Dozens—no, hundreds—of grotesque humanoid figures marched forward. Each wore Frank's face. Clones, some with limbs replaced by swords or guns, others with cybernetic enhancements twitching and sparking. Chimera beasts dragged chains, some stitched from different races, others made of pure mana-warped horror.

Chris stepped forward, raising both hands. The divine circuits along his arms glowed bright, symbols of lost magic weaving up to his neck. "I'll hold the front. Burn them all."

Youm didn't hesitate. He slammed his staff into the ground, and the air behind him shimmered.

Golden magic arrays spiraled outward, forming a layered barrier that protected the town of Greybrook in the distance. Then he raised both hands and summoned divine flames from the sky.

The battlefield lit up like day as holy fire rained down on Frank's advancing army.

But Frank just laughed. "You think I wouldn't prepare for that?" He clapped once, and a new wave of abominations appeared—anti-magic shells dragging towers of spell-siphoning constructs. The fire fizzled out midair.

"Youm!" Chris called. "I'll go in. You handle the rear. We switch on my mark!"

And like lightning, Chris vanished.

He appeared above the first clone, slamming down with a massive arcane hammer. The ground quaked as he crushed the copy's head—and then the others rushed in like a flood.

Chris spun, punching the next one in the gut and twisting into a back kick, sending it flying. He ducked under a chimera's claw and drove a blade of pure spirit magic into its chest.

But there were too many.

Even Chris, the Divine Wizard, began to take hits. His clothes ripped. Blood splattered.

"You're holding up well," Frank sneered. "But this is just round two."

Suddenly, the real Frank blurred forward, no longer hiding behind his army. He pulled two jagged daggers, flickering with time magic, and slashed at Chris. Chris barely blocked with a barrier—but it cracked.

"Fast," Chris muttered.

Frank leaned in close, eyes glowing. "Faster than anyone in this timeline, Chris. You're in my world now."

Before Chris could reply, Frank snapped his fingers—and three of his clones exploded beside them, releasing a wave of void magic. It hurled Chris backward into a broken tree.

Youm caught him with a barrier just in time. "Chris—status?!"

Chris stood up, wiping blood from his lip. "He's using something beyond temporal acceleration… like he's slipping through frames of reality."

"You know what that means, don't you?" Youm muttered.

Chris gave a grim nod. "We're going to have to fight smarter. We don't win this with raw power."

Frank stepped into the middle of the battlefield again, arms spread wide, as more clones formed around him.

"Now, how about we make this entertaining? Let's see if the so-called Divine Wizard and the King of the West can handle round three."

King Youm crashed into the shattered ground, blood trailing from his mouth, his once-glowing blade flickering out like a dying ember. His armor cracked, cape torn, body twitching with what little strength he had left.

Frank stood tall amidst the wreckage—no longer in the cockpit of Zerokaizer. The monstrous mobile suit had been destroyed, but the man who birthed the chaos still remained.

The wreckage of the Zerokaizer burned behind them, metal groaning as flames licked at its shattered limbs. The once-terrifying machine lay crumpled, smoke rising like a defeated titan.

But Frank Abigneil wasn't done.

He stepped out of the flames, his long coat tattered, fists bloodied, his smile wide and wild.

"I liked that toy," he said, voice calm—but underneath it, rage boiled. "Guess I'll have to use my hands now."

King Youm, already battered from the fight, tightened his grip on his broken spear. His breaths came shallow, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. But his stance held.

"You're not walking out of this field, monster," the elven king growled.

Frank didn't answer. He just vanished.

BOOM!

A sonic shockwave exploded as Frank appeared mid-air—above King Youm—fist cocked back, a trail of heat swirling behind him.

Youm barely raised his arm in time.

CRACK!

The punch landed like a cannon blast. Bone shattered. Youm was driven into the ground, the earth beneath him splitting from the force.

Before the dust could settle, Frank dropped down and kicked Youm in the side, sending him flying like a ragdoll.

The king smashed through two boulders, then crashed into a cliffside. He coughed hard, blood splattering the rocks as he tried to stand.

But Frank was already there.

"You elves heal fast," Frank said casually, gripping Youm by the throat. "Let's see how you heal from this."

He lifted the king with one arm.

Then—SQUELCH!

His other hand plunged forward like a knife, fingers glowing red-hot—straight into King Youm's side, burning through armor and flesh with precision.

Youm screamed—a raw, animal sound—as the corrupted mana surged through his body. His legs gave out. His magic flickered.

"You're done," Frank whispered close to his ear. "Next time, don't rely on your title."

With one final toss, he hurled Youm aside like garbage.

The elven king hit the ground hard. His body spasmed once… then went still.

Frank rolled his neck, blood dripping from his hand.

"Next."

His eyes locked on Chris—now the only thing standing between him and the capital.

His clone army, the distorted versions of him, staggered and hissed at the edges of the battlefield—but now, only their original remained calm, smiling.

"Didn't expect the old king to last that long," Frank said as he cracked his knuckles. "But this is where the real fun starts."

Chris stepped forward, his coat scorched at the edges, eyes sharp and heavy with focus. His staff floated by his side, humming as his magic core surged to its limit.

"You talk too much," Chris muttered. "Let's see if your mouth still works after I break your jaw."

Frank lunged first, his demonic strength kicking off the ground with explosive force. Chris raised his palm, firing a blast of pure mana, but Frank swerved midair, weaving through it and appearing right in front of him—fist cocked back.

BAM!

Chris blocked with his forearm, but the impact sent shockwaves rippling through the air, launching both of them backward. Chris twisted midair, landing with one knee on the ground, gritting his teeth.

"Not just brute force... he's adapting," Chris said under his breath.

Frank's body shifted—scales formed over his arms, claws extending, as if he were mutating in real time. His smile widened, deranged.

"I'm an anti-hero, remember?" Frank chuckled. "Built to kill heroes like you."

Chris swung his staff, and the battlefield changed. Glyphs appeared under his feet, then all around Frank—layered, ancient elvish runes glowing with radiant blue fire.

"Try evolving out of this—[Arcane Jail: Eternus Bind]!"

The glyphs exploded in light, chains made of pure spell-force wrapping around Frank's limbs and torso, pinning him in the air.

Frank roared, his body buckling under the pressure—but instead of panicking, he laughed.

"You really don't get it, do you?"

His body pulsed—and a grotesque spike of flesh and bone shot from his back, impaling the magical chains. The constructs shattered. Frank dropped to the ground with a thud, steam rising from his skin.

"...That spell would've worked on anyone else," he growled.

Chris narrowed his eyes. "That was a warm-up."

With a flick of his fingers, dozens of glowing magic circles formed behind him—each one a high-tier spell primed to fire.

Frank lowered his stance, muscles tensing.

And then—they both moved.

Magic beams flew, warping the air with heat and force. Frank tore through them, dodging some, getting scorched by others—but never stopping. He closed the distance as Chris launched spell after spell, using teleportation, shields, and bursts of kinetic magic to hold him back.

Crash!

Frank caught Chris's arm mid-spell and slammed him into the dirt, then grabbed his collar and punched him straight in the face. Blood flew.

Chris retaliated with a desperate point-blank explosion, blasting Frank back several meters—but his cheek was already swelling.

Chris panted, knees slightly buckling. Frank wiped the blood off his mouth and grinned wider.

"You're strong," he said, voice filled with manic glee. "But I'm stronger. Because I have nothing left to lose."

Chris stood up, blood trickling from his mouth, one eye swelling shut. But his stance didn't waver. He raised both hands. Symbols spun to life in the air—layered runes humming with energy, crackling with violet fire. The ground beneath them split, the sky above roared like a brewing storm.

Frank stepped forward, not even hesitating.

Chris shouted, "You're not walking away from this!"

"Yeah, you already said that"

In a blinding flash, the spell fired.

A spear of pure force, honed by magic and fury, launched like a comet—straight into Frank's chest.

Boom.

The blast flattened the trees behind him. Dust shot high into the air. A crater opened where Frank had stood.

Silence.

Chris dropped to one knee, chest heaving. Smoke and light danced in his vision.

Then—

A figure moved in the smoke.

Step.

Step.

Chris looked up.

Frank Abigneil walked out of the crater—his coat in tatters, face burned, eyes glowing red with something wrong. Something inhuman.

"You think that was enough?" he rasped. "You think you're the only one who's desperate?"

His hand snapped forward.

Too fast.

Chris raised a barrier—but too late.

Frank's fingers slammed into his chest. Not punching—piercing—ripping through layers of protection, through muscle and ribs.

Chris gasped. Blood filled his mouth.

Frank leaned close, breath hot against his ear.

"Let's see how long your heart can beat when I crush it with my bare hand."

Chris screamed.

—

[TO BE CONTINUED.]