Chapter 952 A Being Long Thought Dead

952 A Being Long Thought Dead

The brambles wrapping around Killian's soul were writhing erratically as Alex started pulling at them, one by one, and tearing them asunder.

The defence mechanism even reactivated, as the spell felt it was being torn apart.

With more and more vines lashing at him, Alex frowned.

"This spell... It's far more intricate than it appears. Who could have crafted such a thing?" Alex mused, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and concern.

But he couldn't take the time to ponder. The snare was already dangerously close to crushing Killian's soul.

Alex was only here to ensure his rune circle could function, though. He had reacted to the attacks, but he didn't need to be in here at all.

With a motion of pulling, Alex drew the circle into Killian's mind space, where it snapped onto the walls, before pulsing with mana.

The brambles shook and writhed as they started burning away increasingly fast. Alex could see the soul was bleeding energy through the gaps, and he extended his hand toward it.

He managed to hold on to the bleeding soul essence, buying himself some time, as the snare was slowly being burned away.

But as the soul snare burned away, the energy contained in the vines amassed over Killian's soul.

Alex looked at the smoke, and a frown appeared on his face.

"This isn't something a normal human can do. Show yourself, whoever you are," he said, locking his eyes on the smoke.

There was a moment of silence before the smoke shaped itself into a head, a face with sharp features morphing into it.

"Who are you, and why are you trying to break my hold on my descendant?" a baritone voice boomed.

Alex smirked at the face, which had no colour to it, aside from the black of the smoke.

But some traits were unmistakable.

Not now, as the world teemed with an energy that could make his life goal a possibility.

"Who I am doesn't matter. On the other hand, who you are is a much more interesting subject. I wonder how many would pay to know that the great Merlin still lives. And how many would rejoice at the thought of taking you down themselves, given you sully the legend of your name, Merin Ambrosius, or rather, Myrddin Emrys?"

The old man jolted to his feet, a great staff appearing in his hand, as it glowed with power.

"I know not who or what you are, and how you know all you know. But I cannot let you leave here alive," the old man scowled, as thorns of pitch black shot out of his staff.

But they hit nothing, as Alex reappeared next to the old man, forcing him into his chair with a shove.

The old man was almost immediately reminded of a reality that he hadn't experienced since his last fight against the dark witch.

If someone could enter your mind, it meant they were, at the very least, as powerful as you...

"Sit down, Merlin. I didn't come here to fight you. Only to talk," Alex said, smirking at the old man.

Contrary to how the legends depicted him, with long flowing robes and a beard that almost reached his feet, the Merlin before him looked a lot sleeker.

His short trimmed beard, and business-cut suit, seldom made him look like a sorcerer. He resembled more like someone in Jack's entourage than a sorcerer of old Britain.

His pearl-white hair and beard almost flickered with the fireplace flames to his left, as he glared at Alex.

Alex looked into his eyes and knew he wasn't facing an imitation or a doppelgänger.

This was the real Merlin.

Merlin's family crest was glowing in golden light in his left pupil, as the other eye, steel grey, was almost too plain in comparison.

Alex sat on a pile of books across the small coffee table in front of Merlin's chair, on which the crystal ball rested.

"Now, tell me. Why are you still alive? And why are you tormenting your descendants like this, you remnant of a time that should be lost?"