Suddenly a red light came for Glavor's chest, it was blinding, and for a moment, the world was red, when the brightness dissipated the demon was in front of the portal, Magical light burned across his arm then concentrated in the claw, not the usual ember-flares or molten veins — this was different. Orange light burned across his claws, spiraling outward into letters. Not human letters, not any tongue mortals were meant to read. They bent the air, broke the angles of the street. The glyphs spun around his arm in widening rings, each one humming with a rhythm that tasted like ash and iron.
He began to chant.
The voices that came were not his own. They were older. They were heavier. They layered one on top of the other until the street felt like it was drowning beneath them.
Valor's eyes went wide. His voice, usually mocking, cut sharp with alarm. "That's not a curse. That's a summon."
In a snap of black wings, he teleported, flames coiling around his fists, aiming straight for Glavor's throat—
But the demon was faster.
The final sigil spun into place, locking with the others like teeth in a gear.
From the portal behind him, a beam erupted. Not light. Not fire. Something between. A blood-red ray that carried the smell of burned marrow and the heat of a collapsing star. It ripped outward with the shriek of a world cracking.
It went straight for Valor.
At this, the half devil spun in the air, dodging, Glavor, the ever trickster, swung and tore off a piece of Valor's dominant shoulder,
"NO" said the amazon, "SHIT night wing do you have any ranged attacks?" she said, praying to her father for a bit of time, "nope, he was the one who provided coverage" responded the false batman, "then this will have to make do" she bit her lip concentration as Greek letters twirled around her arm
"seems the demon slayer lost his charm" the demon snickered and teleported up in the air. orange and blue runes appeared around him as he started chanting .
Valor was left kneeling on the ground, groaning in pain, trying to heal his harm, his wings surrounding him protectively, an emergency panel opened:
[⚙️ System Output — Stat Sheet: Valor Sin (⚠️ Critical Condition)]
📡 System Online. Diagnostics failing.Error 404: swagger not found.
👤 Normal Form: Base (Human) — [DEGRADED STATE]
[Host hit by poisoned Ancient green dragon blade!!!!] -4 to intelligence, -2 to constitution
(REGENARATION SUPPRESSED, wounds not closing)
(LESS THAN 30 SECONDS BEFORE LOSS OF CONSCIOUSNESS)
(SEVERE MANA DRAIN DETECTED)
ABILITIES unsealed!
( devil race race ability)Undead Lord Lvl 1
(SEVERE MANA DRAIN WORSENING TO DRACONIC POISON)
Strength: 14 [+2] --->18( Emergency Vampiric amplification)(down from 22)
Dexterity: 16 [+3]-----20 Emergency Vampiric amplification) (hands trembling, reaction times blunted)
Constitution: 4 [-3] (regen suppressed, wounds not closing)
Intelligence: 12 [+1] (foggy, but still sharp enough)
Wisdom: 12 [+1] (intuition dulled)
Charisma: 14 [+2] (the pain makes it hard to smirk convincingly)
Translation: You're basically a cracked Ferrari running on fumes and duct tape.
🌀 Movement
Base Speed: Mach 0.3 (230 ft/s) (limping, bursts sputter out)
Burst Dash: Mach 0.6 (460 ft/s) (every attempt risks tearing muscles)
Flight: Unstable. More falling with style than actual flight.
🛡️ Features (Downgraded)
Regeneration: ⚠️ Severely impaired. Cuts close in DAYS, deep wounds WEEKS; limbs won't regrow.
Premonition: Static interference. Feels like guessing coin flips.
Infernal Heritage: Mana degeneration clogging circuits. Parental hotline unreachable.
🔥 Legendary Actions (Reduced)
Hellfire Slash: Yes, but costs way too much mana—might backfire.
Premonition Dodge: Jammed. Error message: "Dodge harder."
Jetstream Burst: (NOW)Disabled. Too much strain on the body.
💀 Current Status
Bleeding Out: HP at <25%.( tore shoulder + mana degeneration,)
Mana Degeneration: System leeching power, magic output down by 70% and severe mental and physical drain
Devil Form: Locked. Attempting activation = instant resummon in hell
[Host hit by poisoned Ancient green dragon blade!!!!] -4 to intelligence, -2 to constitution
Weaknesses (Now More Like Fatal Flaws):
Radiant Damage: Instant shutdown(prey they don't have an angel in their back pocket).
Overexertion: Could shatter body if he forces another big move.
Mana Drain: Using magic now is like pouring blood into a sieve.(less then 30 seconds before loss of consciousness)
Pride: Still active, somehow. Might kill him faster than the demons.
[EMERGENCY ACTIVATED, UNSEALED VAMPIRIC STATUS]
HOST NEEDS DRINK BLOOD TO REGENERATE MANA AND HEALTH
ABILITIES REGAINED!
( devil race race ability)Undead Lord Lvl 1: The user is in a state between life and death, their condition cannot worsen for +10 sec(+base constitution[20]), if the user during this time drinks blood, they will regain mana and lessen all physical and mana condition
str: 14-->18
dex: 16--> 20
Mana drain Slowed down, host has gained 10 seconds of consciousness(From 20 to 30 seconds)]
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
The world blurred into two sounds: the commander's chanting and the wet throb of his own heart.
Valor's vision flickered. Glavor was chanting again above them, runes peeling into the sky, a summoning circle widening like a noose. Diana was trying to anchor him with shield and spear, Nightwing flashing radiant arcs, but the abyssal bastard kept blinking out, slashing in from behind, laughing all the while.
And Valor? He was dying.
His wings curled around him, more coffin than armor. The system's diagnostics still screamed across his head like a mockery, and the pain—sharp, metallic, endless—bit into his shoulder with every beat. His body felt hollowed out, strength leaking through every pore.
Then came the change.
Fangs tore past his lips. His skin bleached pale as veins spidered across it. His short black hair washed gray, every strand dimming like ash in wind. The hunger rose, bottomless, gnawing: blood.
He staggered upright, legs trembling but faster, sharper. Every pulse around him—Diana, Nightwing, even the humans pressed behind barricades—sang to him like drums of war. He could smell every heartbeat. His mouth watered.
"Blood…" His voice rasped, broken into two tones, human and devil layered. "I need blood. Now."
The words weren't just spoken. They rippled out, telepathic, carved in desperation.
And someone heard.
—Behind you.
A whisper. Soft, feminine, cracked with exhaustion. Zatanna.
He turned, blinking through haze, and found her leaning against a shattered barricade. Her face was chalk white, lips bleeding from overextension, magic still sparking faintly around her hands though she had no strength left to weave a circle. She was swaying, barely conscious, but still reciting simple spells, a yellow glow shielded the barricade from the demons, but her eyes—blue, glassy, wide—locked onto his.