Leon Ragnell's battle power climbed to 50,000.
Then it stalled.
The Vishanti stopped lending.
His affinity with them was basically zero.
Most sorcerers approach the Vishanti with reverence, bending over backwards to deepen rapport and earn favor.
Leon had no such concept.
Every time he meditated to "borrow," his mindset was to seize.
Respect? What's that?
He was taking.
Once, twice, three times—fine.
But in a short span he drew on them hundreds of times.
So frequent, with no affinity?
Even the Vishanti caught on.
To them, Leon was still an ant. But that didn't mean they'd keep lending for nothing.
Lend power, get no goodwill? Who wants to keep doing that?
Worse, this particular batch seemed… irretrievable.
The more he "borrowed," the more he kept. Finally, the Vishanti simply cut him off.
"Stingy little punks," Leon muttered, feeling their rejection harden. This time he couldn't pry loose a single mote.
So, shearing that god's wool? Failed—for now.
He didn't pout.
If not the Vishanti, there were other gods.
Eternity, for example. Plenty of beings to borrow from.
And if it's earned on merit, why return it?
That said, Leon's eyes were really on dimensional demons next—preferably weaker ones.
Like Strange Supreme in What If…?—he swallowed a menagerie of monsters and ended up trading blows with an Ultron wielding six Infinity Stones.
With Buu's cells, Leon could do the same.
Just devour.
His will was iron, his spirit immense. He wasn't afraid of personality bleed-through after absorption.
Partly because of that overwhelming spirit.
Partly because, over these days, he'd studied defense.
The Book of the Vishanti was mostly protection. Leon took the chance to build layered mental ramparts in his inner world; intrusive influences would splinter before touching his core.
With that done…
He decided to talk to the Ancient One—properly.
Sensing his approach, the meditating master opened her eyes.
The Book of Cagliostro?
It held many secrets of dark magic—time rituals, Dark Dimension methods—snatches from the Darkhold, even notes from the 31st-century sorcerer Siseneg.
Using a rite from that book, the Ancient One had drawn the Dark Dimension to prolong her life by centuries.
She frowned. "What do you want with this book?"
"Simple. I want greater power," Leon said, frank as ever.
"Leon, you must not lose yourself to power," she said.
"That's a paradox."
Leon's gaze was steady. "What's wrong with seeking power? It's abusing power that leads you astray."
"Why do you want to become so strong?" she pressed.
"You need a reason to be strong?" Leon looked genuinely baffled. "If Earth faces annihilation one day and you aren't strong enough—if you watch it burn—won't you regret not having the power to stop it?"
The Ancient One paused. "But the Book of Cagliostro channels dark arts—it communes with no benevolent gods. That power will creep into your heart."
"My will is unshakable. My core is strong. Nothing will move me," Leon said with a small smile. "And, Master Ancient One—don't tell me you never used it. Don't tell me you never drew on Dormammu."
Silence.
Leon had seen it long ago.
"And you're still fine—aren't you?" he added with a shrug.
"I must guard Earth. And Dormammu's power is not yours—it is devouring you, piece by piece," she said. "Darkness will claim you, sooner or later, and its aftermath will be worse."
She hesitated, then continued, "If I had a worthy successor, I would accept death. Leon, I think highly of you. Don't walk the dark path."
"That may not be necessary," Leon replied, smiling. "If—and I mean if—I could help you digest Dormammu's power completely… turn it fully into your own—what then?"
"That is impossible," she said, brow knitting.
"Why impossible? I can do it." Leon's smile widened. "Master Ancient One—you don't want the world to discover you've been borrowing the Dark Dimension's power… do you?"
(End of Chapter)
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