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Chapter 25 - Chapter 25: The Meeting

Jill and the Ancient One watched the fierce clash between Bulkathos and Madoc, awestruck.

Not by their terrifying power, but by the battle's dance-like fervor, a blazing, heroic beauty.

Sparks flew as the great axe met twin blades, painting vibrant hues across the pale snow.

Weapon swings stirred ancient snowflakes on Harrogath's slopes.

The warriors fought at close range, their war cries punctuating each dodge and parry, thrilling with death-defying grace.

Surrounding barbarian ancestors raised weapons high, cheering the spectacle.

Their unified shouts wove a mystic rhythm across the war-scarred peak.

Howling winds joined the barbarian feast, heralding primal music!

Weapon clashes drummed the beat; barbarian cries became an eternal song.

Stone pillars before the Elders' Temple blazed, melting snow with roaring flames.

Female ancestor spirits wove through Harrogath, preparing the feast's fare.

"Ancestor Madoc, no one in this world can match your battle lust!"

Bulkathos's twin blades whipped up a fierce gust, slashing toward Madoc's face.

"Kid, until you claim the Immortal King's title, your words are just suggestions!"

Madoc's axe swept swiftly, knocking Bulkathos's blades aside.

Both used minimal barbarian strength, not to win, but to ignite Harrogath's past glory with blood and battle.

Madoc, a legendary barbarian, was avoided even by Hell's lords.

Yet his battle frenzy led to his burial under demon corpses.

His death carried regret, making him the first ancestor spirit to answer Bulkathos's summons.

Bulkathos's blades spun with Madoc's force, slashing down again.

"I am the Barbarian King! Even ancestors yield to my power and glory!"

His blades gathered strength, channeling rage from each clash, building for victory to cap the festival's opening.

"Then become the Immortal King!"

Madoc roared, ignoring Bulkathos's blades, his axe crashing toward Bulkathos's head!

"Ha!"

Bulkathos knew Madoc's legendary might—a force that could stun any foe, embodying fearless rage.

If hit, despite their restraint, it'd mark his defeat.

Roaring, he activated Ignore Pain!

His head met Madoc's axe, a gash splitting his brow, but his blades struck Madoc's neck!

"I am destined to be the Immortal King!"

His blades hit the ground; Madoc's form faded, returning to a translucent soul.

Bulkathos unhooked his flask, tossing this world's liquor to Madoc's spirit.

"So, endure it!"

He eyed the blazing braziers on Harrogath, then the path uphill.

Warriors were climbing.

Madoc caught the flask, pouring liquor into his spectral form.

He knew, even alive, he couldn't best Bulkathos now.

But he wouldn't yield yet.

"Wait until you truly claim that title!"

Madoc vanished.

Jill and the Ancient One, having watched the dance-like duel, felt oddly excluded, unfamiliar with barbarian history.

"Uncle, can we make that barbecue now?"

Jill whispered, eyeing Bulkathos in his armor.

Bulkathos removed his helm, stowing the armor, gaze fixed on the uphill path.

"My Jill, wait a bit. I want to see these fools-turned-brave in person."

Wearing only kilt and boots, he stood bare-chested in the snow.

The festival began with the Elders' Temple's blazing light.

The Ancient One eyed the towering figure, hesitant.

Should she share her knowledge of the future?

Crossbones was no good man, by any measure.

Nor were S.H.I.E.L.D.'s agents, their hands stained with innocent lives.

"Boss, are these ghosts?"

The timid agent eyed Harrogath's roaming barbarian ancestors, unsure.

Since spotting these active spirits, they'd aimed guns at the omnipresent figures.

He'd seen supernatural beings—mostly superhumans, still human.

Alive.

Now, even their guns offered no comfort.

Legends said ghosts couldn't be harmed physically.

"Shut up! Just watch!"

Rumlow snapped at his subordinate.

Yelling might give him some security.

Ghosts were new, terrifying even to him.

As their team climbed the final steps, they saw a burly barbarian scrutinizing them.

They exhaled—his misty breath confirmed he was alive.

"I'd advise you not to point those toys at me, or you won't leave."

Bulkathos warned kindly.

Pointing weapons signaled readiness to fight.

These men had no chance of surviving him.

His voice startled the agents—barbarian volume was no ordinary sound.

(End of Chapter)

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