CHAPTER 153: THE CHEAP TIN CAN ARMOR

A jet-black longsword materialized in Kaecilius’s hand, its blade cloaked in thick black smoke as a wave of dark magic surged from it.

Kaecilius lunged forward, his right foot slamming into the ground, thrusting the blade fiercely at Gene, who stood not far away.

CLANG!

The unmistakable clash of sword against metal echoed through the mirrored space. Kaecilius’s face tensed as he stared at Gene, standing still and completely unharmed. His pupils constricted. He could hardly believe what he was seeing.

That strike had been serious—deadly even—and Gene had taken it head-on, without even flinching, blocking the blow with nothing but his armored frame. Not only had the blade failed to pierce his suit, but even the corrosive black magic infused into the attack had done nothing.

"What... what is this? How is this possible?" Kaecilius muttered in disbelief.

He had expected Gene to meet him with some kind of magic defense, or perhaps a spell of equal strength. Never had he imagined that the man would just tank the blow without moving.

Suddenly, an intense surge of power flooded through Gene’s armored systems. Azure light pulsed from his palm as he raised his arm—an energy blast erupted from his repulsor, roaring straight toward Kaecilius’s face.

Kaecilius’s eyes widened. The damn armor didn’t even have a scratch on it.

Reacting quickly, Kaecilius conjured a gray arcane shield in his hand, and the blue energy beam was immediately nullified. Still, the force of the impact pushed him back several steps.

The attack erased any remnants of arrogance in Kaecilius’s mind. He had underestimated Gene Mason.

Kaecilius spread his palm again. Waves of black energy poured from his body, the corrupted power of the Dark Dimension shaping itself once more into a solid, more defined longsword—this one more real, more lethal.

Gene raised his hand. A burst of fiery sparks exploded from his palm, forming a golden longsword, glowing with heat and power.

Despite the countless weapons available to him, Gene always came back to the longsword—it suited him best.

Now, Kaecilius was fully locked in Gene’s sights. His neural network was tracking every flicker of muscle tension, calculating every possible next move.

Kaecilius narrowed his eyes. He didn’t understand technology—but from the force behind that energy blast, he could tell how terrifying the combination of technology and magic could be.

With a snarl, Kaecilius swung his black blade down from above like a coiled dragon descending, the sword trailing a dark ribbon of energy.

Gene’s neural network instantly sounded an alert and began calculating evasive and counter-strike options.

Kaecilius, in this world, was not the same weakling from the Doctor Strange movie. There, he had seemed like a strange man with face paint and a penchant for dramatic flair. But here—this was the real Kaecilius, empowered by forbidden knowledge and the corrupting strength of Dormammu.

And in that same film, even the Ancient One had been downplayed—a bald martial artist with some fancy glowing fans, defeated early. But in this reality? The Ancient One was the true protector of the dimensional plane. Her power was far greater than what cinema had portrayed.

Kaecilius glared at Gene, an ominous glint flashing through his eyes. Without hesitation, he lashed out, swinging the corrupted blade toward Gene once more.

Gene’s V-shaped visor flickered briefly.

Within microseconds, his neural network calculated all possibilities and reacted.

With a motion Kaecilius couldn’t have predicted, Gene struck. His golden sword shot forward from an impossible angle—its blade gleaming like a viper’s fang.

Kaecilius gritted his teeth and parried with his own sword, barely blocking the golden strike.

But Gene didn’t stop. His longsword moved again with an uncanny grace, stabbing toward Kaecilius from a new angle—fast, fluid, relentless. It was like being attacked by a golden serpent.

Kaecilius panicked. He’s adapting to me... already?!

His opponent wasn’t just reacting—he was dismantling his offense in real time.

This can’t go on.

Kaecilius’s expression darkened. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade, shifting his stance. His eyes locked onto Gene’s V-shaped visor.

The eyes. Always the weakest spot.

If he could just crack that, he could weaken Gene by thirty percent—no, maybe even half.

Kaecilius roared, black blade slashing forward like a serpent lunging out of the abyss. He aimed straight for Gene’s visor, disregarding the golden blade coming toward his own chest.

Either Gene would back off, breaking his offense—or he would foolishly risk getting his face sliced open.

In that instant, Kaecilius made his move—an experienced fighter’s gamble, guided not by calculation but by gut and desperation.

But gut instincts don’t always match up against artificial intelligence optimized through billions of simulations.

Gene didn’t flinch. Instead, he slightly ducked and maintained his attack.

CLANG! Another sharp, clear sound rang out.

Kaecilius’s blade slammed into Gene’s helmet, creating a burst of sparks—but that was all. The armor held firm.

"Y-you..." Kaecilius’s face twisted in rage.

He wanted to curse Gene for his underhanded tactics. For being a mage wrapped in a full-body tin can. It was cheap. It was dirty.

But what really stung was the fact that moments ago, he himself had scoffed at that very armor—mocked it as if it were nothing.

And now, it had turned him into a joke.

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T/N:

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