Magic is a truly mysterious force. At least, in Gene's understanding, it was nothing short of miraculous.
Magic doesn't appear out of thin air, and it certainly doesn't work just by chanting a few fancy words.
The reason sorcerers can cast spells is because they borrow magical energy—mana—from higher planes of existence or powerful dinsional entities.
But all borrowing cos with a price, doesn't it?
Sure, the mana they draw lets them bend the rules of reality and toy with the laws of physics. But sooner or later, they must pay it back—and the cost is steep.
Of course, there exists another type of magic. One that offers imnse power… and seemingly no price at all.
Gene knew this well. His forr master, the Ancient One, had secretly siphoned energy from Dormammu's dinsion to prolong her life—stealing instead of borrowing.
This kind of spellcasting didn't co with an invoice because the power wasn't lent—it was taken.
Ripped from higher dinsions through sheer force of will. But such theft is risky.
Only those with unbreakable willpower could endure it.
Otherwise, the stolen magic would corrupt the user—twisting them into inhuman entities or reducing them to puppets of those higher-dinsional beings.
Gene himself had used this thod—like when he summoned the Sacred Sword of Vishanti during his fight with Ronan.
He didn't borrow the energy—he plundered it.
And yes, that sort of magic… is labeled as black magic.
Ever since Gene walked away from Kamar-Taj, disillusioned by the Ancient One's philosophy, he had dedicated himself to mastering this darker, more dangerous magic.
Because one day, he intended to challenge the so-called "gods" people revered.
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"You've misunderstood one thing, phisto." Gene floated calmly above the desolate landscape of Hell, his eyes cold.
"It wasn't that they banished . I left them."
"I was once the disciple of the Sorcerer Supre…" He paused. A golden disc of light ford in his palm, glowing with ominous energy.
"And today, I'll deliver a lesson in her na."
For a second, phisto looked stunned.
And then he burst into wild, echoing laughter.
"You? Teach ?"
The sound of his cackling shook the red sands of Hell itself. Even the landscape seed to shudder.
"Your teacher couldn't even dream of saying such words to ," phisto mocked, eyes narrowing.
With a flick of his wrist, torrents of blazing hellfire surged from the void.
The flas carried the screams of damned souls—twisting, crying, clawing—as they lashed out toward Gene.
Even Doom, standing far away, could feel the icy dread washing over him. The heat and light were so intense, he had to shield his eyes.
"Trip of Akem," phisto muttered coldly.
A boom shook the realm.
From within the swirling inferno, Gene exploded forth—his hand raised, summoning a bolt of thunder unlike any other.
A crimson streak of lightning, crackling with a strange divine aura, tore through the sky and hurtled straight toward phisto.
This was Bossart's Thunder, a cataclysmic offensive spell. Gene had modified it—eliminating its sluggish casting ti and weaponizing it into a devastating blast.
phisto scoffed, raising his hand to intercept it. "You think this will harm ?"
He caught the thunderbolt—and instantly regretted it.
His expression twisted in shock. This wasn't a normal Bossart Thunder.
His palm blackened, scorched by an unfamiliar energy. It slithered from his hand into his body, wreaking havoc as it surged through his hellish form.
"HOW DARE YOU!" phisto roared. The pain—it had been centuries since he last felt pain.
"I'll make you suffer for this, mortal. You won't just stay in Hell—you'll burn here for all eternity!" he bellowed, as the wounds on his hand rapidly regenerated.
After all, Hell was his domain. This place was him.
But the humiliation? That cut deeper than any magic could.
The Great Lord of Hell—injured by a human?
Ludicrous.
__
"Fierce Wind!" phisto spat, and the grains of sand around them whipped into a massive storm.
Each grain now carried the force of a blade—sharper than steel, howling through the air as they converged on Gene.
Gene raised his shield again. But this ti, the shimring aura around him wasn't the pure white glow of angelic protection.
It was jet black—with a sinister, blood-red edge.
phisto's eyes widened. And then, pure fury overtook his face.
"You… You dare use MY energy… against ?"
He could feel it—soone was stealing his power.
Right here. Right now.
Soone was draining the essence of Hell itself—and turning it back on its master.
A mortal… had stolen from a god.
Humiliation burned through phisto like acid. He howled, summoning more power with savage gestures.
The sands of Hell lifted into the sky, forming jagged, monstrous weapons.
Above, red lightning roared across the sky as thunder cracked through the realm.
All of Hell ca alive to destroy Gene.
And still, Gene stood there—defiant, glowing with stolen divine power.
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T/N:
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