HP: god of potions

Chapter 88

Reactions rippled across the battlefield. Many were paralyzed by fear, trembling in place as they stared at the devil before them. Others tried to mask their terror with anger, shouting curses and calling him the demon who had finally revealed his true form. "You're no man! You're the devil!" one soldier screamed, his voice cracking. Some of the bolder warriors charged forward, their bravery born from sheer desperation, while others collapsed to their knees, unable to muster the strength to face what they saw.

Gray stood amidst the diminished armies of men, mages, monsters, and non-humans, each force eyeing him with greed and desperation. They surrounded him in a sprawling circle, their gazes fixed on the potion of Dew he had long since converted into something far more potent. Though the potion was a necessity for his plans, it carried with it a weight of regret—an admission of what he was willing to do to survive. His demonic form loomed over them, its massive frame radiating power and terror. Blackened horns spiraled upward, his fiery eyes glowed with the heat of hellfire, and his voice echoed with the sound of countless souls. "Leave," he said, his words layered with a chorus of agony and fury, "or die trying to claim what is already mine."

The forces exchanged uneasy glances, doubt creeping into their ranks. The air grew heavy with tension as they hesitated, but a golden dragon stepped forward, its scales shimmering like molten sunlight. "He is bluffing!" the dragon roared, its voice resonating across the battlefield. "He has no other weapons up his sleeve!" A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, emboldened by the dragon's confidence. Among them, a mage in a dark cloak, Vilgefortz, nodded in assent. "I think so too," he said, his tone laced with disdain. His words ignited Gray's fury, and the demonic figure turned his gaze toward the mage. "Aren't you the one who was kidnapping half-elven girls at your magic school," Gray snarled, his voice laced with venom, "experimenting on them, making them believe they were Cirilla of Cintra?"

The accusation sent a ripple of shock through the crowd. Tissaia de Vries, who stood among the mages, raised an eyebrow in surprise but kept her face otherwise stoic. Vilgefortz stumbled for words before recovering, his voice strained. "Don't listen to him! He's trying to sew doubt among us!" But Gray sighed, his massive shoulders rising and falling as though the weight of their foolishness was too much to bear. "Seriously," he said, almost to himself, "what is it with powerful women getting tricked by men?" He straightened, his fiery gaze sweeping the battlefield one last time. "Either way, I gave you a way out."

Without further warning, Gray launched his attack, moving with a speed that defied his colossal size. He raised a hand, and streams of hellfire erupted from the ground, engulfing a squad of knights who had tried to rush him. Their screams echoed as the infernal flames consumed their armor and flesh. The golden dragon lunged at him, its jaws snapping with blinding speed, but Gray sidestepped, his clawed hand grabbing the beast's neck mid-air. With a surge of strength, he slammed the dragon into the ground, creating a massive crater that sent tremors across the battlefield.

Vilgefortz retaliated, conjuring a beam of energy that crackled with raw magic, aimed directly at Gray's chest. The attack struck him, forcing him to stagger back, but the demonic form absorbed the brunt of the impact. Gray turned his glowing eyes toward Vilgefortz, his lips curling into a sinister grin. "You'll have to do better than that." With a flick of his wrist, Gray hurled a ball of demonic magic at the mage, the sphere exploding in a shockwave that sent Vilgefortz sprawling, his staff shattered.

Tissaia attempted to cast a binding spell, golden chains materializing in the air to restrain Gray. He let them wrap around him momentarily, feigning vulnerability, before shattering them with a flex of his muscles. "Nice try," he said mockingly, conjuring a massive blade of hellfire. He swung it in a wide arc, forcing the forces around him to scatter. The golden dragon recovered, breathing a torrent of fire, but Gray met it with his own hellfire, the two flames colliding in a dazzling inferno. Overpowering the dragon's breath, Gray's flames engulfed the beast, its roar fading into silence.

Despite their efforts, the remaining forces faltered as Gray carved through them with ruthless precision. A group of monsters charged him, their claws and teeth glinting in the dim light, but he conjured spikes of demonic energy from the ground, impaling them before they could reach him. An archer loosed a volley of enchanted arrows, one piercing his shoulder. Gray snarled in pain, ripping the arrow free as his wound healed almost instantly. "Impressive," he muttered, before conjuring a hail of demonic fire that rained down upon the archer's position, silencing them.

Gray responded swiftly, his magic surging like a tidal wave. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly light as he raised his hand, casting a powerful, silent incantation. The spell resonated through the air, creating a shockwave that shattered the resistance of everyone present. One by one, they fell before his might—Tissaia, Vilgefortz, and the others. Yet he spared Francesca, the White Flame, and Tissaia. Standing over Vilgefortz, he said with chilling calm, "Well, he is yours," his voice echoing with finality.

Turning to the White Flame, Gray's piercing gaze locked onto him as he spoke. "As for you, Ciri's father," he began, watching the man kneel in submission, bleeding from wounds inflicted by the battle. "You keep life as a gift to your daughter," he declared, his tone heavy with disdain. His attention shifted to Tissaia, and he added, "Kill him while you can, or don't. I won't be staying here for long anyway." His words hung in the air, cold and unyielding.

Gray's gaze then landed on Francesca. "As for you, it's pity," he stated with indifference, his expression unreadable. With that, he returned to his original form, his power radiating in waves. "Get out, all of you," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. The room emptied quickly, save for one who remained—Stregobor. The rogue mage, emboldened by desperation, hurled forbidden magic at Gray, shouting, "Die, you abomination!"

But before the spell could reach him, a sudden pulse of energy erupted from Gray. The energy nullified all magical enchantments in its wake, rendering Stregobor's attack utterly useless. The air thickened as Gray turned slowly toward the mage, his expression unreadable save for the faint trace of disdain. "Hm," Gray muttered, his voice devoid of effort, before killing Stregobor with a single, precise strike, and the universe seemed to had enough as rift started to form.

In that moment, the remaining mages realized the truth: they never stood a chance against Gray. His overwhelming power, combined with his ability to neutralize magic, left them utterly defenseless. The air was thick with fear and defeat as Gray stood amidst the aftermath, his presence a stark reminder of their folly in underestimating him. It took hours for the battlefield to clear, leaving Gray standing on bloodied ground where some corpses still remained. He spent those hours contemplating his next steps before finally sighing. That was when he took out the potion he had crafted and muttered, "The Sage Potion," as he uncorked it.