Chương 100: Chapter 95: Power Unlimited - 3

WARHOL began his assault with a tried but true favorite — [Eldritch Firestorm]. Dark red flames whipped around his body as a tornado grew to encompass an area the size of a moon, then planet, then several planets; the fires lashed at the tentacles as he waded into the Horror Pool: the smaller tentacles burned to ash and spread to the cosmic winds; the larger ones, however, remained firm in their coiled stances protecting the Vortex, even as they released their hordes of Swarm Goblins.

"That's fine," he mumbled to himself.

"For my tornado is only the beginning!" He thought and so it was, his tornado grew unnaturally with his [Extend] sub-routine, gaining the measure of an entire solar system. Powerful, but he would need a lot more juice to slay so many Super-Large Tentacles. Next, he channeled stupendous sums of mana into his incantation, and all while casting his next spell, [Neon Blaze]. To his firestorm a brilliant neon rainbow of colors was added.

Each color represented a different strain of Neon-fusion magic: he incanted [Cosmic Blaze] next, which, like [Neon Blaze] was fusion-magic except for Cosmic style magic, of course.

The two magics and their many sub-fusions combined with his [Eldritch Firestorm] to create a mega-tornado further enhanced by his now beefed up [Extend] sub-routine; a final pulse of magic from his core and the tornado was brought to its greatest form yet, an attack which encompassed a space so large, he considered it equal to that of several solar systems, or even a nebula, perhaps!

However large his incantation was, and its size was irrelevant compared to its hitting power, he didn't care; what he cared about was seeing his System inform him of multiple super-large tentacles meeting their demise. [XP] flowed into him and strengthened his condition, earning him many level ups as more tentacles of various shapes and sizes fell before his might and filled his artifact splinters.

He maintained his righteous incantations for hours, until every one of the hundreds-of-thousands of tentacles had been destroyed along with their innumerable Goblin Swarm minions. His System pinged him, informing him of his three artifacts having reached their maximum intake of monstrous energy. Oddly, he did not need the System to inform him that time; before the System pinged him, he felt an impression inside his mind, a tug letting him know his newer artifacts had, had their full of the monstrous energy.

To stop the massive magical tornado, Warhol cut the flow of mana to the incantations by closing shut his hand and making a fist, smothering the main mana flow from his body to the spell. Then, all was silent, the roaring magical cosmos a thing of the past. Around him was nothing but devastation. The broken, burnt, and piecemeal remains of the Horror's 'pool' lay in a floating, haphazard fashion like a severed, bloody limb in a pond. His objective had succeeded, though.

The path to the Vortex was open and ready for Warhol's final descent. But not now... Now, it was time to return to The Grotto. He had artifacts and Triple-SSS mutations to finalize on his ascent to godhood. An instance later, he was back in The Grotto. His head still slouched against the ceiling, and he realized he would need a better base of operations than this petty place.

"Goodbye, Grotto. You served me well..." He blinked himself outside of The Grotto and looked at his charming home.

"Hardly fit for a god." The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. He mused. Where would be fit for a god? For a moment, he considered returning to the magma lands, Fang Volcano, the place he had fought Valkathor. He told himself that would be an ideal arena to make his.

Plenty of space, in-built security measures — not many people desired to go to a place called the 'magma lands,' and a volcano was a ntural energy source for any industrial measures he might want to implement. That place would be nice... but it was also frozen in a frigid wasteland of his own creation.

"Am I not the Omni-Wizard on High?" he asked himself.

"Would be easy enough for me to melt some ice and snow, yes?" Another blink later and he was back in the magma, now ice, lands. Another blink later and Warhol was in the sky, observing the many thousands of miles of winter wonderland like a godlike bird. He conjured a large but not very dense sphere of [Eldritch Fire] he puffed up with [Eldritch Wind]. In his most gentle way, he sent the fiery magic to the farthest reaches of the frozen-over land.

Warhol closed his eyes as he focused on keeping the magic sphere at just the right intensity. How long passed he didn't bother tracking. He just allowed his warming magics to do their job of heating the land through, prepping it for his own purposes. Once the land was fully returned to its fiery, bubbling nature, which was to say, a mess of a place without any redeeming qualities whatsoever, his System alerted him to a 'powerful,' relatively speaking, energy signature. He turned off his System's notifications.

All of them. He had no use for such noises when, like when he had been in space, his natural 'monstrous' biology, alerted him to all the important stuff by nature. He knew what the powerful energy signature was before his System had a chance to yell at him — Valkathor.

"Seems my spell didn't actually kill him..." In hindsight, that was obvious. Back then, his System had not given him the notification about Valkathor's death, therefore, that frozen statue he had left him in wasn't the icicle coffin he assumed. More a holding pen for when he inevitably thawed. He should've remembered to return and finish off the wannabe dragon god.

In his defense, though, his [Epic Blizzard] incantation would've held the creature until the planet itself was re-absorbed back into the void, in trillions of years, or so. Plus, with the Cosmic Horror being more of a threat back then, and his son's training, the Oldest Complex... said again, Valkathor's slaying wasn't high on his priority's list. Valkathor's 'might' shot by like a bullet. Which was to say, did not intimidate Warhol in the slightest.

On Valkathor's second pass, he held out his hand and grabbed the silly beast by its tail and flung it to the ground; the dragon 'god' slammed into the ground leaving only a mushroom-shaped debris cloud in its wake. He swiped his arm to the side, and a strong gale blew away the cloud. Warhol spotted Valkathor's twitching form in the middle of a newly made and massive crater. Pathetic. A blink and he was before the overgrown lizard. His hands buzzed with electro-magic fused with fire-magic.

He was about to deliver the final blow when he thought of an idea.

"Valkathor. We meet again. Shall I finish you off this time or will you hear my proposal?" The creature's eyes narrowed to a slit. He had its attention.

"Do you know who I am?" A growl in dragon-tongue told him Valkathor did not know. That would make the reveal all the sweeter.

"Why, old friend, I am Warhol — the Omni-Mage." A shocked look came over the dragon.

"Much has happened in the almost year-ish you've been frozen. Or has it been a year? Less? I confess, I don't know. My point is, in the months you've been iced away in your time-out statue, the world has changed a lot. Heck, I have changed a lot!" Valkathor roared weakly at him, wanting him, no doubt, to get to the point. Their impatience was shut down with a single glare. Warhol continued: "Long story short: the world is uniting against the Cosmic Horror descending toward our world.

You know, the one that we share on the here and now. Their defense, unfortunately, won't be enough. To that end..." and he explained to the dragon all that happened.

"Now, I am in need of a new hideout. I figure your old volcano would do well. Has quite the reputation, of course, so that helps. So, what do you say? Become my minion, my second-in-command, help me deal with those minor things in life, and I will reward you handsomely. Reject me, and, well... you can choose death or exile. Up to you!" By now, Valkathor's body stopped twitching. Their breathing labored. It was close to death.

Still, energy for one last profound growl escaped from its maw with words enough to settle their conversation: "I pledge myself to you, my liege..."