Thwarted by the soldiers' relentless assault, the shrouded mage retreated deeper into the shambling horde, seeking cover. But he wasn't finished yet. With a frustrated growl, he began chanting a complex ritual. Magic flowed through pre-engraved pathways etched onto the ground, fueling his dark magic and accelerating the flow of blood from the pulsating mound in the center of the room.
The consumption of mana seemed to invigorate him for another attempt.
Ragnar, sensing a shift in the dark energy, tore his gaze away from the carnage. With a determined stride, he marched forward. Reactivating two of his runestones, he transformed them into a mighty axe. From his coat, he drew the buckler – the very one gifted to him by Daniel back when Daniel was just entering the Curtained World.
Card: Spellguard Buckler
Picture: The silvery-red metal buckler boasts a strikingly intricate design that catches the eye. Two distinct glows emanate from the surface of the shield, one a deep blue and the other a fiery red. The anti-magic insignia emblazoned on the center of the buckler adds an extra layer of protection, rendering it capable of neutralizing low-level spells.
Rarity: Rare
Type: Artifact - Equipment
Mana Cost: 1Fire, 1Water, 1 Non-Element
Description:
Equip Creature Get +0/+1
Opponent spells that target its or the equipped creature need to pay 2 more mana or their spell will get canceled.
"That was... Disgusting, Vance. I don't know how you can become a mage without proper training, but your body is repulsive," Ragnar commented disdainfully at the mage's altered form before rushing toward him.
Alexander Vance showed a trace of anger but quickly retreated out of Ragnar's reach, maintaining his composure. He then headed straight for the giant mound in the middle of the room, floating above it as he let out a bone-chilling laugh.
"Heh heh heh, Ragnar Stenmark... I never expected you to be one of us mages. How does it feel, the life of a mage? Exhilarating, isn't it?" Alexander Vance asked with a laugh, concealing his anger and plotting his next move.
Ragnar ignored the question, recognizing it for a stalling tactic. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled his axe. It found its mark, embedding itself deep in Vance's shoulder blade. A frustrated click escaped Ragnar's tongue. He'd aimed for the head, but Vance had been too quick, tilting away just in time to avoid his own impending death.
"You... foolish fool!" Vance roared, the amusement in his voice replaced by a manic glee. "Ragnar, answer me! What is your greatest fear?" He ripped the axe from his wound and tossed it aside before diving headfirst into the pulsating mound. A geyser of blood erupted as the flesh knitted shut behind him.
Ragnar recalled his axe, his gaze fixed on the writhing mound. Meanwhile, the remaining undead shuffled towards him, he easily dispatched them. He tossed his axe in a deadly arc, the weapon spinning like a whirlwind before returning to his hand, each kill fueling the growing unease within him.
The mound's rhythmic pulse quickened, a crimson aura emanating from it. Blood-red mana ripped from the undead, draining them of unlife as it fed the monstrosity within the mound. The horde withered away, their lifeless husks collapsing as their animating essence was siphoned.
The staccato rhythm of gunfire finally ceased as the last undead crumpled to the ground. Soldiers swapped empty magazines and doused their overheating gun barrels with cooling liquid. Penthesilea, her gaze fixed warily on the pulsating mound, approached Ragnar.
The mound's throbbing intensified, a frantic counterpoint to the diminishing sounds of battle. The crimson fluid feeding it visibly thinned, its consistency thickening as the entity within began to coalesce.
"Destroy the flesh mound! Now!" Ragnar roared the command, his voice laced with urgency.
Ragnar didn't know the precise nature of the pulsating mound, but a cold dread gnawed at him.