Lost in Thea's mental labyrinth, this Grand Magician—who could be compared to Zatanna's father—had his spiritual power completely exhausted. His entire mind fell into total silence. His breathing grew weaker and weaker. Finally, his legs stretched out, his neck tilted, and with a strange smile on his face, he died.
Holy hell.
The two people who'd dealt with him for half a lifetime, along with his daughter, were completely dumbfounded. You just died like that without warning? Did you consider we're still fighting? Are you messing with us? What about unity—do we even care about teamwork anymore?
If they knew this powerful companion had died just because he took one extra look at someone in the crowd, they'd be even more horrified.
Mister E, who'd been evenly matched with Papa Midnite in a hard-fought battle, was knocked off balance. He had to use two trump-card spells consecutively before barely regaining his footing.
"Old bastard! Give me your magic! Old bastard, say something! Come hit me!" The nose-ring woman went crazy, shaking her father's corpse back and forth, as if she could shake his magic power loose.
Unfortunately, when someone dies, it's like a lamp going out. The magic inside Sargon's body was like a prisoner breaking free—dispersing in all directions.
"Ah—!" The nose-ring woman could naturally see this. Like a wounded beast, she threw her head back and roared.
"Stop screaming! Help me fend off the enemy!" Tannarak was about to lose his mind. What kind of teammates are these? The strongest mage had died for no reason, and the burden had fallen onto him, an auxiliary member—and it was a bottomless burden at that. The situation had deteriorated to the extreme. Even if the nose-ring woman was a newcomer, she could at least provide some help, right?
He stared nervously at Thea. Deathstroke and Poison Ivy waited for orders while the mercenaries used bullets to thin out the smoke monsters and cultists.
The outskirts of the battlefield were lively with fighting, but the center was momentarily quiet. So what was Thea doing?
She was busy organizing a big gift package. This unlucky Grand Magician could be considered the second humanoid gift package she'd encountered. The previous one—Martian Manhunter—had also fallen to fear-based emotions, but at least back then Thea had to personally collect the knowledge. This one was different—he'd delivered himself right to her door.
His spiritual power was annihilated by hallucinations, and a massive amount of memory was intercepted by Thea. At first, she was puzzled where all this was coming from. It wasn't until the old man breathed his last that she understood.
As the soul carrying memories dissipated, the old man left behind everything he'd learned in his life for Thea. In terms of raw function, it was far inferior to what she'd gained from Martian Manhunter, but the profession matched perfectly. A massive amount of knowledge about spell applications, secret techniques, strange arts, and rituals was completely absorbed by Thea.
"You go ahead. Leave that blind guy in the suit. Everyone else can be killed." Thea continued sorting through her gains. From the old man's memories, she knew Mister E handled all external affairs. Asking him about Malcolm would be enough. The others didn't have particularly formidable methods—Poison Ivy and Deathstroke could handle them easily.
Sargon's memories were truly extensive. The old man had lived over ninety years and was the eldest of the four. During his lifetime, he'd traveled all over the world and learned a great many spells. The Reverse-Speech Magic Thea had been a little envious of? He could also use it, just not very proficiently.
Sargon's signature spell was Gem Magic. He could use special techniques to seal spells into gemstones, and when using them, he only needed to recite a specific word to release the spell. Very similar to spell scrolls in games. By stockpiling spell gems in advance and throwing them all at once during battle, very few opponents could withstand it.
The old man's attacks were sharp, Zatara's Reverse-Speech Magic had astonishing defensive power, Mister E handled reconnaissance, and the alchemist Tannarak was responsible for crafting magical items and dismantling mechanisms. At their height, the four of them could be called the strongest mage team in the world, bar none.
Unfortunately, even the deepest friendships couldn't withstand the erosion of time. Zatara's death created a rift among the once-close four. That rift kept widening until today, when Tannarak and Sargon's daughter directly led half the cultists in rebellion, ambushing and severely injuring Sargon.
In the original timeline, their plan succeeded perfectly. Sargon's daughter seized her father's magic, Mister E surrendered outright, and the Cult of the Cold Flame suffered no losses.
But Thea's sudden and bizarre intrusion completely rewrote the scene. Old man Sargon, possessed by who-knows-what, took that one look and looked himself to death. Without obtaining his magic, the nose-ring woman became useless, and the situation deteriorated beyond repair.
Carefully analyzing the sequence of events from Sargon's memories, Thea couldn't help but sigh at how perfectly timed their arrival had been. Ten minutes earlier, they hadn't fallen out yet. Ten minutes later, the nose-ring woman would've inherited the old man's magic and spell gems.
"Could this be the luck attribute of the Merlin sword?" Thea touched the sword hanging around her neck as a necklace, thinking uncertainly.
Still, with this humanoid gift package delivering itself right to her doorstep, her luck was indeed pretty good.
Thea glanced at the battlefield. Deathstroke hadn't asked Poison Ivy for help and was fighting the alchemist Tannarak alone.
The alchemist, who originally hadn't taken Deathstroke seriously, was stunned by the barrage of anti-magic bullets and was forced to pull out self-made alchemical items to hold on.
Deathstroke's grenade launcher had been magically modified by Thea. The ammunition it now fired consisted of high-speed armor-piercing rounds engraved with anti-magic arrays.
Thea didn't have time to make each bullet individually. She crafted one prototype, then used AI to repeatedly scan the array engraving, letting modern machinery carve it out bit by bit. Fully automated equipment, producing only a few rounds daily.
The machines faithfully replicated her carving technique. The resulting anti-magic bullets had slightly less spiritual essence than handmade ones, but they were convenient and efficient. All these bullets were concentrated in Deathstroke's hands. He'd also been injected with the super-gene optimization fluid Thea prepared, causing his physical attributes to soar.
Though he was a bear-like brute, his movements were now as nimble as an eagle's. He slashed left and right around Tannarak, while an invisible arm behind him controlled firearms to fire various rounds at the alchemist's magic barrier.
The alchemist was never known for abundant magic—he was auxiliary. His combat experience was worlds apart from Deathstroke's. Without his barrier, he was just flesh and blood. Deathstroke's great blade moved so fast it left afterimages. Tannarak didn't think his hundred-plus-pound body could withstand that. The alchemical items in his hands were being consumed rapidly, leaving him drenched in sweat, yet he had no way to break the deadlock.
Poison Ivy watched the battlefield with a giggle. She wasn't particularly fond of fighting—if no one paid attention, she entertained herself. Yes, entertained herself. She released charm pheromones from time to time, bewitching a few cultists into swinging machetes at their former companions. She was having an exceptionally good time.