Chapter 128 : The Tyrant Of Magic

Scene 1 : Defiance to control

The scenery opens with an eerie silence. Him stands tall, eyes locked with Azorath, the self-proclaimed Tyrant of Magic. The vast, shattered landscape around them trembles under the weight of their presence. Each breath they take echoes through the void.

Azorath (smirking): "You stand before the Tyrant of Magic. Kneel, and I may grant you a painless end."

Him (calmly): "I don't bow to tyrants."

Without another word, they lunge at each other. Their clash sends shockwaves rippling through the space. Azorath's strength, speed, and durability are undeniable—every strike from him feels like the weight of a collapsing universe. Yet, Him's superior combat skills keep him on equal footing.

Azorath chuckles mid-battle, pushing Him back with a powerful strike.

Azorath: "Amusing. But skill alone won't save you. Witness true dominance!"

Scene 2 : Azorath's Advantage

Azorath raises his hand, summoning an ability named Magic Bolt Barrage. Thousands of crackling projectiles, infused with ancient arcane energy, rain down upon Him. He dodges some with impressive agility, but several pierce his defenses, drawing blood.

Not giving Him a moment to recover, Azorath follows up with Arcane Arsenal, conjuring a relentless storm of elemental spells—fire, ice, lightning, and pure force. Him grits his teeth, enduring the onslaught before retaliating.

Him (coldly): "Unholy Tide."

Dark, cursed, unholy water infused with malevolent energy surges forward, bypassing Azorath's magical defenses and striking directly at his soul. Both warriors stagger, their attacks having landed with devastating effect.

Azorath steadies himself, laughter bubbling from his throat.

Azorath: "Impressive. But let's see how you handle an army."

With a wave of his hand, Azorath activates Necromantic Tyranny, summoning 1,000,000 undead soldiers, each clad in cursed armor and wielding weapons crackling with dark magic.

Him narrows his eyes and responds with Shadow Summoning, calling forth 1,000,000 shadow soldiers, each as silent as death and equally deadly. The two armies clash, shaking the very fabric of the multiverse.

After an intense 3-5 minute battle, Azorath's undead forces claim victory, though only 120 remain standing. Him wastes no time, effortlessly dispatching the remaining soldiers.

Suddenly, Azorath appears in front of Him, palm glowing with chaotic energy.

Azorath: "Chaos Cascade."

Unpredictable beams of magic—each imbued with unique, volatile properties—burst forth, striking Him from all angles. He staggers but refuses to fall.

Frustrated by Him's resilience, Azorath uses Arcane Dominion, siphoning all magic across the multiverse into a single, blinding beam. The blast connects, leaving Him bloodied, battered, and on the brink of collapse.

Him struggles to rise, summoning his last reserves of strength.

Him (gritting his teeth): "Tidal Forces!"

But Azorath counters immediately with Spell of Suppression, compressing the mighty tide into nothing more than a harmless droplet. Azorath raises his hand again, casting the Imprisonment Hex, trapping Him within an indestructible magical prison.

Him screams in frustration, anger and annoyance. With a roar of defiance, he summons his Blade of Erasure, a sword capable of erasing narratives themselves. One decisive slash, and the prison shatters, erased from existence.

Azorath's eyes widen, impressed despite himself.

Azorath (grinning): "Well, well… It seems you're not entirely worthless."

Scene 3 : Intense Halt

Both warriors stand, battered but unyielding. They lock eyes once more, tension thick in the air.

To be continued…

[Narrator's Voice, resonating through the shattered battlefield]

"And so, the stage is set—two titans, bound not by fate, but by will. Azorath, the self-proclaimed Tyrant of Magic, who bent the arcane laws of countless realms to his command. Him, the Apex of War, whose strength lies not just in power, but in defiance—an unyielding refusal to kneel, no matter the odds.

The clash of their armies had torn the fabric of reality asunder. One million souls risen from cursed graves, one million shadows summoned from the depths of oblivion. And yet, it was never truly about the soldiers. This war was personal.

Azorath had wielded dominance itself, drawing magic from across the multiverse into a singular, destructive force. It should have been enough. It was always enough. But against Him, enough is nothing. The Blade of Erasure—the bane of all creation, the reaper of narratives—cut through what was once deemed absolute.

And now they stand, bloodied but unbroken. Two kings without thrones, circling like wolves beneath a dying sun. There will be no compromise. No mercy. Only the inevitable conclusion that looms ever closer, where strength, cunning, and resolve will decide who writes the final line of this chapter.

The story continues, but the end? The end has maybe just begun."