Apocalypse Reset: My Crab Can Heal the World!

Two lords - A Zombie Lord and a Demon Lord. The necrotic undead hovers over the battlefield on sinewy wings and exposed bone. The demon floats through the air as if gravity has no effect on him, hurtling toward his enemy.

As Osmond accelerates, the cracks over his skin grow alight with crackling purple energy - his magical lightning coursing through every vein in his body.

’Now’s as good a time as any to test out the full scope of my demon powers,’ Osmond thinks to himself. He wouldn’t allow himself to go all-out - he still fears passing a point of no return. But he would learn his limits. Push himself further than he ever has. It’s the only way to get stronger.

The Zombie Lord notices him before the two collide. He summons forth a wave of necrotic energy - bubbling, dark green with rippling blackness seeping through - corruption that putrifies magic itself.

The Zombie Lord is incapable of speech or thought - a being of pure hatred, sent to guide the undead to their miserable fate.

Osmond attacks first, pointing his large, orbed staff directly at the Zombie Lord and shouting at the top of his lungs, his fury unleashed.

A pulse of violet lightning erupts from Osmond’s staff, warping the air around it. The raw, chaotic magic twists and cracks, laced with demonic power. The blast streaks toward the Zombie Lord, ripping through the air like the wrath of a thunder god.

But the undead abomination doesn’t flinch.

With a sickening crack, it unfurls one of its massive, rotted wings and swats the attack aside like a fly. The blast careens into the ground, exploding in a burst of corrupted energy that wilts the very earth beneath it. The flesh-bound monstrosity snarls - no lungs, no throat, just the wheezing death-cry of a creature that should not exist.

Osmond grits his teeth. The putrid force that shields the Zombie Lord is unlike anything he’s encountered. This isn’t just raw magic - it’s corruption itself. It devours magic like a parasite, a blight that knows nothing but destruction.

’Fascinating… but inconvenient.’

He twists his wrist, flicking his staff to the side. A new incantation, one he’s never tried before. His body pulses with energy, dark veins glowing beneath his skin. The power wells from somewhere deep within him - deeper than he’s ever accessed. His demonic core itself.

The cracks across his arms and chest widen, jagged lines of infernal purple. He is pushing himself further than ever before.

Osmond propels himself forward.

Faster.

Lightning shoots off his skin, striking the ground below. His movements leave a sizzling trail in the air. The demon twists mid-flight, spinning his staff like a conductor’s baton, and releases a hailstorm of cursed bolts. Each one burns brighter than hellfire as they slice through the undead below, causing absolute devastation.

The Zombie Lord retaliates.

With a grotesque lurch, it opens its ribcage.

Osmond doesn’t have time to be disturbed - but he is. Inside, where there should be a heart, is instead a swirling vortex of liquefied decay. Flesh and bone churn together in a spiraling abyss that looks like an entrance to hell itself. A hideous ooze begins to leak outward, corrupted magic pouring from its core.

And then it spews.

A stream of festering necrotic bile erupts from its torso, cascading through the air toward Osmond. The air itself blackens and warps in its wake. A cascade of pure evil.

"Tch - I hope you’re watching, my love."

Osmond barely has time to react.

He vanishes.

One moment he’s there - the next, he’s behind the creature, his body blinking through space like a distortion in reality. A demonic afterimage lingers where he was, catching the full brunt of the necrotic torrent. The spell should have dissipated immediately, but instead, Osmond watches as his own ghostly mirage rots away before his eyes.

’That…should not have happened.’

He doesn’t stop to think about it. He strikes.

His clawed hand surges with arcane lightning, and with a roar, he drives it into the Zombie Lord’s spine.

A sickening crunch follows, but it’s not over yet.

The Zombie Lord twists its head backward at an unnatural angle, its eyeless sockets boring into him.

Osmond’s skin crawls.

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And then - it detonates.

The necrotic core inside its ribcage implodes, then explodes outward, sending an unholy shockwave that nearly blows Osmond out of the sky. He barely manages to raise his staff, summoning a barrier of raw magic that fractures on impact. His body slams backward, the air torn from his lungs.

The Zombie Lord lunges.

In a single, horrifying motion, its wings fold inward, carrying its grotesque form toward Osmond at frightening speed. The distance between them disappears in an instant. A rotted, decaying hand of bone swings toward his throat.

Osmond has no time to dodge.

Instead, he lets go.

The crackling energy inside him bursts outward.

His body erupts in a pulse of violet flame, his eyes flashing with hellborn rage. Just before the creature’s claws can rip through him, Osmond reaches deep into the core of his being and unleashes something… new.

There’s not a shred of mercy in Osmond. He holds back nothing.

The air cracks apart as a sphere of black-purple fire explodes around him. The pressure alone rips the nearest clouds apart.

The Zombie Lord collides with it head-on.

Its entire front side is incinerated.

The force of the blast hurls the beast backward, its rotten flesh peeling away like wax in an infernal wind. It screams - not in rage, but in something that almost resembles fear. If such a creature could even feel fear.

Osmond doesn’t let up.

His abyssal energy spreads wide, coating the entire battlefield in violet light. The runic cracks along his body pulse like dying stars, his power rising beyond what he has ever dared to unleash before.

And then - he descends.

A blur of movement. A comet of violet destruction.

The moment he reaches the wounded Zombie Lord, he thrusts his palm forward -

"DEMON ART: MAELSTROM."

The sky screams.

The world shatters.

A tornado of chaotic magic surges from Osmond’s hand, engulfing the undead abomination in an endless, consuming storm of raw destruction.

The Zombie Lord doesn’t even get the chance to fight back.

It is torn apart.

Its body disintegrates, ripped into nothingness by the churning vortex.

And then - silence.

The storm collapses inward.

The sky settles.

And Osmond, panting, exhausted, grinning like a madman, descends gently to the battlefield below.

He lands next to Maria, who is watching with arms crossed, an unimpressed look on her face.

"Finally," she sighs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Took you long enough."

Osmond chuckles, his body still sparking with residual energy. He stares at his own hands, still shaking.

"…I think I may have gone a bit overboard."

Maria eyes the absolute devastation in the sky above, the sky still alight with purple and green magic which slowly dissolves into the air.

"Let’s just finish up the rest of the horde, hm?"