Magus Supremacy

"Arghh! Where am I?" Grey muttered in shock as his earlier shut eyes slowly fluttered open.

His disoriented senses were slowly coming to as he looked around him in confusion, wondering where he was.

"This... this isn't the cave. Where am I?" Grey asked himself as he scanned his surroundings, examining everything with wary eyes.

His boots were now pressing against a polished obsidian floor that shimmered like black glass, cold beneath his feet and eerily smooth.

The air was thick with age and power. He had been transported into a massive, cathedral-like hall—an ancient structure that stretched endlessly above him, its ceilings arched and held aloft by towering pillars of dark stone carved with forgotten runes and grotesque winged figures frozen mid-flight.

Torch sconces lined the walls, burning with pale-blue flames, casting eerie shadows that danced across mural-covered surfaces.

The murals themselves depicted scenes of ancient wars—gargoyles soaring through stormy skies, cities crumbling into dust, and monstrous beasts long extinct. Time had not eroded the detail; every line, every expression, and every smear of blood seemed terrifyingly fresh, like a warning frozen in time.

The air tasted of stone dust and something metallic—like dried blood mixed with ancient magic. It clung to his tongue and burned down his throat with every breath he took.

At the far end of the hall loomed an enormous set of double doors, each one twice the height of a grown man. Made of solid iron and engraved with spiraling sigils, they pulsed faintly with a heartbeat-like thrum, as though something was alive on the other side, waiting, listening.

"Huh? Is this a palace or something? What's going on here? What is this place for? And how did I suddenly get here from the cave? Who was that person that wrote all those things on the cave wall? Come on! I need a good damn answer!" Grey roared as his voice echoed across the empty hall, bouncing off the stone like a frustrated cry to the heavens.

He turned abruptly when his eyes landed on some statues lining either side of the hall—tall, humanoid figures cloaked in robes, their eyes covered, hands open as if in offering or judgment.

"Huh? I wonder what those statues are." He muttered, cautiously stepping forward to get a better look. As he did, his gaze drifted across the room and landed on a huge board attached to the side wall.

It looked like a quest board of some kind, though unlike anything he'd seen before. It pulsed with an otherworldly blue light, as if it were calling out to him, beckoning him forward.

Gulping loudly, Grey took several calm but cautious steps toward the glowing board. With every step, his heartbeat grew louder in his ears until, after a few seconds, he stood directly in front of it.

"Huh? A writing? Don't tell me it's another journal or letter," he grumbled beneath his breath, glancing down briefly at his broken and mangled arm before turning back to the glowing text on the board.

"Welcome to my domain! If you managed to teleport here, it means you are from my world and use the power of my world. Why do I say that? The citizens of Vayun use Ki, and that teleportation circle can't be activated with it—only with the power of my world."

After reading that first sentence, Grey paused, eyes blinking rapidly as he stared at his one good arm for a second, deep in thought.

"Wait... someone from my world? I have Ki, but the circle activated regardless. There's this second unknown power source in me that reacted when I was in the circle, which caused my hand to pulse bright white."

He stepped back slightly, eyes wide. "Does this mean I have another power? But what is it? Who was this person? Which world did I come from? Who am I? What am I? What's my world?!"

Grey kept bombarding himself with questions, gripping his hair tightly, frustration twisting his features. Anger and dread flared inside him like twin flames.

Anger at the fact that he was unable to remember who the hell he was, which frustrated him to no end. Sure, he could try to live his life normally, forgetting about his past self and all the mysteries it held.

But every day, the thought of not remembering who he truly was gnawed at him like a parasite. What if he had family or friends back in his world? People who needed him? Loved ones who didn't know where he was or if he was even alive?

And then there was the dread—because if he truly had another unknown power inside him, what if it was something dangerous? What if he unintentionally used it and hurt someone he cared about? What if it consumed him?

Without remembering who he was, there was no way he could learn to control this mysterious force.

With a long sigh that felt like it carried the weight of the world, Grey had no choice but to keep reading.

"I'm really sorry for teleporting you here without any prior notice. The circle was set to react to whoever had mana in them. Now I don't know whether you are a good person or a bad one.

Those guys also have mana in them, so if you are one of them, I just want to say—screw you all. And I will make sure to groom someone who will take over my fight."

Reading that sentence, Grey paused for a second and then chuckled.

"Damn! This person sure hates these people, huh? But what are they so afraid of? Who exactly are their foes?" he muttered to himself before continuing to read.

"Now, I'm sure those bastards must have angrily stopped reading by now. Anyway, if you are of good intentions, then this next part is for you. I plan on grooming someone to continue my fight. All my years of being on the Vayun continent haven't really been in vain.

I made close friends with powerful clans, trusted clan members, and even created a powerful academy in the Aetherian faction."

Grey paused again, his mouth slowly falling open.

"So… so… so this person was the creator of the Aetherian academy? For someone as powerful as him to get taken out like that... it means his enemies must be terrifying. But who the hell are they? I remember he said something about betrayals back in that cave too."

He stared at the glowing board, shook his head slowly, then kept reading.

"I don't want to drag an innocent person into my fight, but I don't know if you are innocent or not. That's why I've programmed them to eliminate anybody who comes here.

If you manage to best them and head into that room down there, you will be awarded your ticket out of here. But if you manage to stay back and try your luck against him, you might gain something better. I have also programmed other rewards to be released after you defeat him.

So which one will it be?

Oh, I've also made a setting that as soon as you finish reading this message, they awaken.

Good luck, dear innocent contestant."

"Wait! What?! What is he talking about?! Eliminate any person here? Defeat him? Tickets? Gifts? Rewards? What's he saying? What the hell is all this?" Grey bombarded himself with rapid-fire questions, his breathing uneven as he tried to make sense of what he had just read.

But soon enough, understanding hit him like a slap to the face.

A low rumble echoed through the cathedral-like hall.

Grey spun around, heart thudding wildly, and instantly his blood ran cold.

What he had assumed were harmless statues lining the sides of the hall—were not statues at all.

One of them moved.

A heavy scrape tore through the silence as a towering figure uncurled from its crouch atop a pillar. Then another shifted. And then three more. Then nine more.

Making a total of twelve.

These were not statues, no. They were something far worse.

Gargoyles.

Not the ordinary kind Grey had read about in dusty monster encyclopedias. These ones stood tall and imposing on two legs, like ancient warriors carved by gods and cursed by time. Their eyes glowed with a sinister red light, and their wings unfolded behind them with slow, deliberate menace.

The first leapt down from the wall, landing with a bone-shaking thud that sent a shudder across the obsidian floor. Its granite flesh was cracked and streaked with moss, like a grave left untended for centuries. In its clawed hands, it gripped a massive two-handed club etched with glowing runes that hissed with magical energy as it raised the weapon overhead.

The second slid into view, its body the color of sun-scorched sandstone. It moved like a dancer—lean, agile, and fast—spinning a pair of curved stone blades in a deadly rhythm. Its wings were sleek, folding and unfolding like those of a bird of prey ready to strike.

Behind them, a hulking brute lumbered forward. Its skin was deep black, the color of volcanic rock, with molten red veins pulsing heat across its body. Jagged, horned armor jutted from its shoulders and elbows, and it wielded a massive halberd that dragged across the floor, sending a trail of sparks behind it.

All twelve gargoyles clutched thick, jagged stone weapons—swords, maces, spears, and blades—each one humming faintly with magical power. They stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the path ahead, their glowing red eyes fixed solely on Grey.

Grey took an unconscious step back. His grip on his sword tightened, even as his mangled arm throbbed in agony with every heartbeat.

"Damn it... I'm dead," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rising sound of rumbling stone.

His eyes flicked down to his ruined arm, then up at the monstrous figures slowly advancing toward him.