Under Darren's merciless barrage of devastating "nut-crackers," Frost was living a nightmare.
Every blow was agony incarnate. His body convulsed, his face twisted, and his eyes bulged as he tried to fight back—only to realize, to his horror, that he couldn't.
No matter how hard he struggled, Darren's grip was unbreakable. The sheer strength behind those attacks was beyond human comprehension. Even empowered by the La Magra's power, Frost was being pinned like a bug on a board.
This guy… can't be human!
The thought screamed in his mind as pain and panic tangled into chaos. Yes, the La Magra's gift had made him nearly immortal, but it didn't actually make him stronger. It just made him harder to kill.
And against a brute like Darren—someone whose physical stats looked like they'd been hand-edited by a bored game developer—that meant nothing.
But then something even more terrifying dawned on him.
Every time his wounds closed, every time his broken body reformed… he felt it. His La Magra energy was fading.
Rapidly.
The source of his immortality was bleeding away, eaten up by his own regeneration.
At this rate, he'd heal himself to death.
"I have to get out of here!"
Desperation clawed through his thoughts. If he could escape, he could rebuild—hunt, feed, grow strong again. Drink enough fresh blood, and his La Magra power would not only return, it would multiply.
And when that happened… he'd come back for Darren.
He'd rip that smug grin off his face, one bloody piece at a time.
That thought alone filled him with vicious resolve.
Crack!
Ignoring the agony still radiating from below the belt, Frost suddenly twisted his neck with a brutal snap—snapping his own spine.
The shocking move loosened Darren's hold for the briefest instant—enough for Frost to slip free.
Before the man's body had even straightened, Frost's dislocated head was lolling sideways at a sickening angle as he bolted toward the exit, moving faster than sound.
The sight was grotesque. A head half-twisted, limbs jerking unnaturally, blood trailing behind him as he sprinted like a beast possessed.
"Not so fast!"
Blade had been waiting for an opening. He leapt from the flank, his silver sword gleaming as it slashed toward Frost's chest.
But Frost didn't stop. He didn't even try to block. The blade bit deep into his flesh, carving a gash that exposed bone—yet he never slowed.
He launched himself from the ground, soaring upward toward the high platform that led to freedom.
Almost there. The exit glimmered ahead, salvation within reach. Frost's twisted face stretched into a mad grin.
"You'll never kill me! Not me!"
WHOOSH!
The shriek of something tearing through the air.
A streak of orange-red flame.
BOOM!
The rocket hit him dead-on.
The explosion turned the air into a sunburst, blasting Frost out of the sky like a ragdoll. His charred body slammed into the floor with a sound like collapsing timber.
Before the smoke cleared, Darren stepped out of the shadows, holding a strange, rune-covered scroll.
The parchment shimmered, pulsing with dark energy, a single glowing character in the center: 封—Seal.
"Release."
The symbol ignited in black fire.
In the blink of an eye, a torrent of jet-black flames burst from the scroll, surging across the room and swallowing Frost whole.
"AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"
The scream tore through the chamber.
The black fire clung to him like tar, devouring his flesh and blood with terrifying hunger. His skin cracked, charred, and peeled away, exposing molten organs and blackened bone. He thrashed wildly, rolling on the ground in desperation—but the flames didn't fade.
They wouldn't.
Because this was the flame that never dies until its target is reduced to nothing.
Even with his La Magra power working frantically to repair his body, it was hopeless. The speed of destruction outpaced regeneration.
In Darren's vision, the red HP bar above Frost's head was plummeting—dropping faster and faster, the end rapidly approaching.
"Not… not possible!" Frost gasped, voice distorted, barely human. "I… I am the La Mag—"
His words were drowned in fire.
A final scream tore from his throat before his body collapsed in on itself, disintegrating into ash. The black flame crackled once… then faded.
Gone.
Frost, the self-proclaimed La Magra, was nothing more than dust.
"Ptoo! Ptoo!"
Blade, standing a bit too close, spat frantically as ash blew into his mouth. "Ugh—dammit! I just ate Frost!"
...
Then, the familiar chime of victory rang in Darren's ears.
[Mission "End the Vampire Leader Deacon Frost's Conspiracy" Complete!]
[Rewards: 5000 XP, +100 S.H.I.E.L.D. Reputation, Skill "Parry," Equipment "Hidden Blade," Equipment "Sword of Physics," Item "One Dollar Coin," Item "Auto Fishing Rod," Item "La Magra's Power."]
[Skill: Parry — When using a blade or sword-type weapon, time your block precisely as the enemy's strike lands to stagger them.]
[Equipment: Hidden Blade — Signature weapon of the Assassin Brotherhood. Page 1: requires removal of ring finger for installation. Page 2: revised model, no self-mutilation necessary.]
[Equipment: Sword of Physics — A crowbar capable of attacking, breaking obstacles, and picking locks. Simple, efficient, unreasonably powerful.]
[Item: One Dollar Coin — A mysterious coin that compels even billionaires to stoop and pick it up.]
[Item: Auto Fishing Rod — Automatically fishes for you. The end of the empty-handed fisherman era.]
[Item: La Magra's Power — A special quest item. Activates a hidden mission upon use. High difficulty. Not recommended for players under level 30.]
"La Magra's Power?"
Darren raised an eyebrow. "So that's what he was running on, huh?"
He turned the item in his hand thoughtfully, but after reading the warning label, decided against using it—for now. He still had a few levels to go before 30.
Just then, another notification flashed before his eyes.
[Congratulations, player! You have leveled up!]
Darren grinned and opened his player panel.
[Player: Darren]
[Level: 20 (0 / 52,000 XP)]
[Attributes: Strength 60 | Agility 30 | Constitution 40 | Spirit 20]
[Unspent Attribute Points: 10]
[Skills: Reaper's Eye, Muay Thai Warning, Leap of Faith, Regeneration Breath, Parry]
[Equipment: Golden Desert Eagle, Sun Blade, Frying Pan, Gravity Boots]
Every level meant five free attribute points. Ten total now, including the ones he'd saved up.
He didn't hesitate—five to Strength, two to Agility, three to Constitution.
No fancy build, no hybrid nonsense. Just pure, honest muscle.
After all, there were no restrictions in this game. You could pour everything into Strength and turn yourself into a living tank. No exploding from recoil, no "overexertion" penalties—just raw, beautiful power.
Most of his previous points were the same—Strength for destruction, Agility for precision, Constitution for survival.
Spirit? Eh. He still hadn't figured out what that did. Probably not important.
In a world where S.H.I.E.L.D. could nuke Manhattan on a Tuesday, he'd rather not die from a bad roll of luck.
As he finished distributing his points, another notification popped up.
[S.H.I.E.L.D. Reputation has reached its limit. You may now accept the Identity Advancement Mission from NPC Nick Fury.]
Darren smirked, holstering his gun.
"Looks like it's time for a promotion."
And if Nick Fury had any idea what kind of chaos was about to walk into his office… well, maybe he'd finally understand what it truly meant to regret recruiting a player.