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Chapter 5 Marvel's Corrupt Exorcist
🕑 Added 2025-05-10 01:09:00 +0000 UTCBut it was clear that Mordo’s advice wasn’t going to work. Luke, already carrying the power of demons within him, needed to learn how to control it—not be discouraged from using it.
"Alright, since you’re so persistent," Mordo finally relented with a sigh.
"We’ll start the same way as always: put on the Sling Ring and practice teleportation magic. Once you’ve mastered it, we’ll—"
Before he could even finish his sentence, Luke had already slipped on the Sling Ring, muttered the incantation, and drawn the necessary sigils.
Boom!
A fiery portal erupted into existence.
But this was no ordinary portal.
It was engulfed in roaring hellfire, its heat distorting the air around it, exuding an ominous energy so dense it made the very atmosphere heavy.
Mordo’s mouth hung open, his words caught in his throat.
His expression shifted rapidly—from shock to concern to something colder.
"Well, you were right. Teleportation magic is definitely useful and looks pretty badass," Luke said, still grinning from his success.
But Mordo wasn’t smiling.
His fingers tightened around his staff, his posture stiffening.
And he wasn’t the only one.
All around the training grounds, sorcerers had stopped what they were doing.
Some instinctively reached for their weapons, their eyes filled with suspicion.
"Uh… guys?" Luke blinked. "What’s with the weapons?"
Silence.
Then—
Mordo lunged, swinging his staff.
"Oh, come on!" Luke barely had time to throw up a barrier of demonic energy before impact.
Mordo’s strike clashed against his shield, sending sparks flying.
On instinct, Luke retaliated, swinging his fist wildly in self-defense.
His knuckles connected.
With something solid.
There was a loud thud.
Luke turned just in time to see Mordo soaring through the air like a ragdoll, crashing several meters away with a resounding thump.
"What the—?! Am I really that strong?" Luke gawked at his own fist in disbelief.
The other sorcerers didn’t move, their weapons still drawn.
The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"Alright, everyone, stay back!" Luke raised his fists in a defensive stance. "Unless you all wanna get sent flying like him!"
To his surprise, the sorcerers actually hesitated.
Then they lowered their weapons.
And as one, they bowed.
"Sorcerer Supreme," they said in unison.
Luke stiffened. "Wait, what?"
Only then did he realize what had changed.
A golden portal shimmered behind him.
A familiar figure stood at its center, her expression unreadable.
The Ancient One.
…
The misunderstanding didn’t take long to clear up.
Once the sorcerers realized Luke wasn’t some escaped hellspawn, they quickly dispersed.
Mordo, rubbing his bruised shoulder, stalked back over to him with a glower.
"If you had demonic power, you should’ve told me sooner," Mordo muttered. "I thought you were a damn demon from Hell."
Luke crossed his arms.
"Did you even give me a chance to explain? No! You just pulled out your weapons like some thug! I thought Kamar-Taj was supposed to be a place of wisdom, not a bunch of hot-headed berserkers!"
Mordo grumbled something under his breath but didn’t argue.
"Enough," the Ancient One finally spoke, her voice even.
"This was my mistake. I should have made your circumstances clear to the others." She let out a slow sigh.
"But Luke, you must be careful. Your connection to these forces is… complicated."
Luke could hear the subtle hesitation in her tone.
It was rare to see the Ancient One unsure of something.
She turned away, gazing at the empty space where the portal had been moments ago.
"I only hope I don’t regret this decision in the future," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
The next day.
Training square.
Mordo stood with his arm wrapped in a fresh bandage, leading Luke toward a strange-looking machine—something akin to a dynamometer.
"I spent last night digging into records about demonic power," Mordo said, his voice measured.
"Turns out… compared to casting spells, demonic energy is actually better suited for strengthening the body."
Luke listened quietly, his curiosity piqued.
He still wasn’t sure why Mordo would turn into a villain in the future, but right now, there was no denying the man’s dedication to teaching.
The fact that he had stayed up all night researching just for Luke’s sake?
That was something else.
"Your physical strength should already be far beyond normal humans. Exactly how much, though… we need to test it." Mordo gestured at the machine.
"We’ll start with strength, then move on to speed, endurance, and durability."
When Mordo mentioned "durability," Luke’s eyes drifted toward a weapon rack nearby.
Blades, staffs, maces… and—hold up—a 9mm Glock?
Luke froze. "Wait, why the hell does Kamar-Taj have firearms?"
Then it hit him.
Mordo’s research last night wasn’t just theoretical.
This guy was looking for payback.
Luke narrowed his eyes. "Uh-huh. Right. Let's just start the test."
Mordo cleared his throat. "This machine is reinforced with magic, so don’t hold back. No matter how hard you hit, it won’t break."
Luke exhaled, stepped forward, and clenched his fist. His muscles tensed, his stance firm.
Then—
Boom!
The machine shook violently.
Numbers flickered wildly on the display before stabilizing.
6,500 pounds.
Almost 3 tons.
Mordo’s eye twitched.
For comparison, prime Mike Tyson’s punch was around 850 pounds. Luke had just thrown a punch over seven times that strong.
"Huh," Mordo muttered.
"Alright, alright…" His gaze drifted back to the weapon rack. "Next, we test your durability."
Luke squinted. "Hold on—what about speed? Endurance? We’re just skipping those?"
Mordo remained silent, his fingers lightly tapping against the handle of a mace.
Luke sighed. "Yeah, you’re still salty about yesterday. Got it."
Before Mordo could react, Luke snatched the mace from his hand.
One by one, they put his resilience to the test. Mordo struck him repeatedly, but with each hit, the weapon’s spikes dulled more and more, eventually wearing down completely.
Luke stood there, unharmed.
Mordo exhaled. "Alright… so, regular weapons, even reinforced ones, can’t hurt you."
Then, his gaze slid toward the Glock on the rack.
Luke groaned. "Stop hinting."
Mordo didn’t answer.
With an exaggerated eye-roll, Luke picked up the Glock.
He had never held a real gun before, and the cold steel sent a strange thrill through him.
Let’s be real—what guy doesn’t get a little excited holding a 9mm?
Bang!
The shot rang out.
Nothing.
Luke opened his palm. A deformed bullet tumbled out, harmlessly clinking against the ground.
Mordo stared.
"Yeah, no. Give me the gun. I’ll return it tonight."
Luke smirked, slipping the Glock into his pocket. "Yeah… not happening."
Mordo sighed in exasperation.
"Are we finally moving on to speed and endurance now?", Luke asked,
"No need."
Mordo shook his head.
"Your current physical capabilities are on par with most hell demons."
"Aside from appearance, there’s little difference between you and them—at least in terms of raw power."
"For more details, read this book."
Mordo handed over an ancient tome, its worn cover hinting at the knowledge hidden within.
"This book details how certain hell demons utilize their abilities."
"You can use it as a reference."
Luke took the book, flipping through its aged pages. He quickly realized it wasn’t just a history lesson—it contained various techniques to manipulate demonic energy.
The most basic technique was the ability to convert demonic energy into hellfire, a fundamental skill among demons.
Beyond that, there were levels of mastery: influencing emotions, regenerating wounds, and even reshaping one’s body entirely.
"Body transformation?"
Luke’s interest piqued.
Following the instructions in the book, he concentrated his demonic energy into a single point—his right arm.
Crack!
In an instant, his sleeve ripped apart as his arm underwent a grotesque transformation.
His muscles swelled, thickening unnaturally. Jagged claws emerged from his fingers, and his skin darkened into a hardened layer of red and black scales.
His right arm now looked like something straight out of a nightmare—a monstrous limb that didn’t belong to him.
The sheer contrast between his transformed arm and the rest of his body was jarring.
Luke flexed his fingers.
The movement sent a shockwave through the air.
A nearby weapon rack—stacked with swords and staves—was instantly shredded, its metal contents sliced apart like paper.
Luke’s eyes widened.
"Wait… isn’t this just full-on demonization?"
He stared at his monstrous limb, realization dawning.
It looked exactly like Dante’s demonic form from Devil May Cry.
Fascinated, he took a deep breath, redirecting his demonic energy from his arm to his back.
The transformation reversed instantly—his arm returned to normal, but this time, something new emerged.
Rip!
A pair of blood-red wings tore through his clothes, unfolding with a sinister elegance.
With a slight movement, Luke felt his feet leave the ground.
He was flying.
Mordo, who had been watching in stunned silence, finally spoke.
"...Is this guy really not a demon?"
The disbelief in his tone was unmistakable.
Had he not trusted the Ancient One’s judgment, he might have been tempted to rip Luke’s soul out just to confirm whether he was still human.
After experimenting further, Luke landed back on solid ground.
He exhaled, a mix of excitement and frustration brewing inside him.
"Not enough," he muttered.
The demonic power he had ‘borrowed’ from N'astirh wasn’t sufficient.
There was no way for him to achieve a complete transformation like Dante.
"In the end, it’s still too little."
Power is addictive.
Now that he had tasted it, he craved more.
And he knew exactly what to do next.
…
That night, after an exhausting day of magic training, Luke returned to his room.
Without hesitation, he dug through his belongings and pulled out another ancient book—the one the Ancient One had given him.
It contained records of dimensional demons.
His plan?
Go big or go home.
"If a randomly summoned hell demon was this strong…"
"Then wouldn’t a named dimensional demon be on another level?"
With anticipation, Luke flipped open the book, scanning through the complex rituals required for summoning.
A few seconds later, his face darkened.
"...You’ve gotta be kidding me."
The summoning ritual was ridiculously complicated.
Luke groaned. "You damn demons, why do you have to be so difficult!?"
