Beyond the Apocalypse

It did not take Vlad long to complete his scan. Once finished, he withdrew an array of materials from his space ring—some collected in this Doomsday World, others brought from Terra, and even some containing devil bloodlines.

Marshal Maximo’s eyes sharpened as he observed each item with a discerning gaze. The old man in the gray robe looked on just as attentively, and so did the other Legends gathered in the throne room. They all wanted to see if they could glean anything from Vlad’s technique. In a realm as unforgiving as this, learning a new method to counteract the chaotic energy of The Darkness was a priceless opportunity—one they were not about to pass up, even if it bordered on prying.

Vlad, for his part, paid little heed to the group’s close scrutiny. He began working on the materials, calmly preparing them for the next stage. It took him several minutes to combine, refine, and transform each component. He applied various catalysts, some gleaned from the lethal environment of the Doomsday World, others that were far more commonplace.

Eventually, all of it coalesced into a soft paste. Extending his right hand, Vlad conjured a dark, flaming sphere of plasma, using it to thoroughly blend the final mixture. He was meticulous, ensuring that every ounce of the liquid was uniformly charged with the energies he wanted.

By the time he finished, the only thing remaining was a dark red liquid. With great care, he poured this substance into his runic pen. Pausing for a moment, Vlad then placed his left hand on Marshal Maximo’s injured arm while bringing the pen’s tip in contact with the surface of the man’s skin. The entire throne room fell silent, as though everyone had forgotten to breathe.

Unfortunately, just as Vlad applied a bit of pressure to begin engraving the runes, the pen’s tip shattered. A sharp crack echoed in the quiet hall, and the broken tip bounced off Maximo’s arm before clattering to the floor. For a moment, nobody spoke, and the silence felt painfully awkward. It was painfully obvious that the Marshal’s skin, tempered by Legendary power, was too durable for the basic runic pen Vlad had attempted to use.

"Ahhh," Maximo exhaled, breaking the hush. He shifted his gaze to the old man in the gray robe. "Elder Damian."

The old man gave a curt nod and then seemed to vanish into the shadows. He returned barely ten seconds later, holding a different runic pen in his hands. It appeared far more formidable than the one Vlad had broken. Even from a distance, Vlad could tell this pen’s tip was fashioned from a material strong enough to slice through even high-grade armor as though it were soft clay. Elder Damian handed it over without a word.

Vlad’s eyes widened at the pen’s quality. It was, by all appearances, far superior to anything he had used before. Deciding against false modesty, he accepted it with an appreciative smile, then carefully transferred the dark red liquid from his damaged pen into the new one.