The scarab gem flared in Daniel's grip, unleashing a beam of light that tore through the blood shadow like a spear from heaven.
The crimson entity writhed mid-air, its form riddled with holes as if it had been turned into a sieve. It flailed, twitching violently, its once overwhelming presence reduced to a hollow echo.
Daniel didn't relent, but neither did he recklessly pour out all the divine energy of the Scarab Gem. The power stored within that jewel wasn't infinite. It would slowly recharge with time, but wasting it here could mean disaster later.
With a sharp flick of his wrist, Mjolnir hummed in his left hand, while his right hand, holding the wand, traced a thin arc toward the broken blood shadow.
Then it happened — a streak of blue frost shot from the wand's tip.
The freezing force spread like veins of ice, racing through the blood mist, freezing every droplet of the blood pool as though time itself had halted.
This was no improvisation. Daniel had planned for this moment from the start.
From the instant he entered this cursed basement, he had been quietly seeding the blood pool with his frost magic. Now, with a single command, that dormant power exploded — the entire chamber glazed over with rime.
The blood shadow's movements slowed, its form stiffening as frost crawled over its surface.
Daniel's lips curled slightly.
"I've danced to your tune long enough. My turn."
Though he had regained the legendary domain of thunder with the Thunder Hammer, Daniel had once been a legendary ice mage — a title that time and hardship could not erase.
And now, he wove the two forces together.
He began drawing sigils in the air with the wand, the circles of magic sparking to life instantly. His hands moved in a blur, combining the frost glyphs with storm runes, creating a hybrid magic circle that pulsed with volatile energy.
A deep hum resonated through the building. The circles connected — not just to this basement, but to a secondary array Daniel had inscribed on the third floor above. The two formations linked, forming a conduit for something much greater.
Thunder growled in the distance.
A single bolt of lightning ripped across the night sky, drawn like a predator to Daniel's call. It crashed through the factory's shattered windows, striking Mjolnir in his hand with a deafening BOOM!
The storm had arrived.
Daniel turned the hammer downward, channeling the lightning into the blood shadow. The impact shattered the frozen mist like glass, tearing into the entity's core.
But Daniel wasn't finished.
He spun, his wand glowing like a white-hot brand, and redirected the storm's fury toward the ancient cauldron itself. The lightning speared into the mouth of the tripod with surgical precision, striking its core.
If the mouth was the strongest point, then breaking it was the key to unlocking its deepest secrets.
The room shook as the blood shadow screamed, its fragmented body scattering across the blood pool — only to reform. It coiled and flowed back toward the cauldron, vanishing inside it like smoke drawn into a furnace.
Rain hammered the building, each drop infused with Daniel's will. The storm magic linked to his arrays had turned the weather itself into a weapon, locking the battlefield in his favor.
If this dragged on for hours, he knew the New York Sanctum would sense it. The storm, the shifting elemental field — they would be impossible to ignore.
But that was part of his plan.
Daniel's eyes narrowed.
The cauldron pulsed with renewed energy, blood mist swirling violently. If he wanted answers — the kind that might lead him to a god's ascension — he would have to go inside.
Mjolnir spun once, then Daniel dove straight into the cauldron.
The world changed.
One breath ago, he was inside a ruined basement.
The next, he was standing in an endless realm of crimson mist. The air was so thick with magic particles that they looked like embers floating in blood-red light.
Daniel gripped his hammer tighter.
"This isn't an illusion," he muttered.
Illusions couldn't manipulate magic at its raw, fundamental level, but this world was real, a pocket dimension sustained by the cauldron itself.
He took flight, streaking upward through the haze, testing the boundaries of this scarlet prison. If it was a construct, he could shatter it. If not, he'd tear through until he found the heart of the evil will controlling this place.
The presence of the cauldron's consciousness was everywhere. It slithered through the air, coiling around his thoughts like a serpent. Daniel knew one thing — this could not survive outside the cauldron for long. That was its limitation.
But inside, it was a god.
Daniel pushed forward, flying faster. Yet something was wrong — his sense of direction began to twist. Left became right. Up became down. At times he felt like he was flying in circles, the edges of the world always just beyond his reach.
"A pocket world," he murmured. "But an unstable one."
Before he could analyze further, the mist around him quaked.
Dozens of blood shadows began to form, each with gleaming, murderous eyes, their movements jittery and violent.
They didn't attack but Daniel could feel their hunger. The only thing holding them back was the constant lightning crackling around him.
He smirked grimly, raising Mjolnir.
"You're waiting for me to slip, huh?"
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