I'M IN MARVEL

C11 : Advantage is Mine

Deacon Frost sneered at Russell, who had stormed into the vampire clan's sacred hall. His grin carried a disdain reserved for only the most deluded intruders.

"Does he think he's Blade?" Frost muttered, his thoughts dripping with contempt.

Even the legendary Daywalker wouldn't dare stand his ground here, not against an entire legion of vampires enhanced by the blood of the Blood God. If not for the blessings bestowed upon them in this sacred chamber, Blade himself would've been reduced to a bloody smear on the ground.

Deacon Frost felt invincible. "Thousands of nearly immortal vampires at my command," he thought smugly, "the advantage is mine."

Suddenly, a deafening bang echoed through the hall as Russell struck a vampire with a blow registering over 31 tons of force. In an instant, the vampire's body burst into a mist of blood.

The clan froze for a moment, their confidence shaken, but their immortality emboldened them. They surged forward, undeterred by their fallen comrade. After all, who could outmatch the combined strength of the Blood God's army?

But something about this man was different. His strength and speed surpassed that of Blade. Frost's confidence wavered for a moment before he rationalized it: "Even so, the immortality of the Blood God's children is my advantage!"

Russell's eyes darted to his HUD-like attribute panel, his lips curving into a grin. A notification flickered: Life Points +30. The rushing vampires seemed less like threats and more like free health packs.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Each punch erupted in an explosion of crimson mist. Vampires fell like dominoes, their enhanced speed and strength no match for Russell's sheer brutality. In one minute, 76 vampires had been reduced to bloody rain, painting the walls and floor a visceral red. The air reeked of iron and death.

Deacon Frost's grin vanished as realization dawned. "Why aren't they regenerating?!" His voice cracked with panic. The supposed immortality of vampires, the cornerstone of his confidence, had been nullified.

Fear flickered across Frost's face. He clenched his fists and resolved to fight, his pride as the leader of the blood clan compelling him. Far above, aboard the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier, Nick Fury observed the chaos through holographic feeds, his single eye narrowing. "That doesn't look like the work of a typical mage from Kamar-Taj," he muttered, folding his arms.

Meanwhile, Russell chuckled as his Life Points surged to +2,288. His relentless grin struck fear into Frost, who hesitated before charging forward.

Russell, unimpressed, decided to toy with the vampire leader. He deliberately reduced his punches' force, baiting Frost into thinking he had the upper hand. Above, Fury's instruments detected the discrepancy. "Match-fixing?" Fury muttered incredulously, analyzing the data.

Unaware of Fury's scrutiny, Frost grew overconfident. "My strength is less than his," Russell thought as he observed Frost's futile strikes, "but my advantage is clear."

When Frost roared, commanding his clan to intercept, Russell smirked. "Don't interfere. I'm teasing him," he said over the comms, ensuring his allies didn't ruin his plan.

The two sped across the battlefield, their clashes creating shockwaves. Whenever Frost gained on him, Russell pretended to struggle before pulling away effortlessly. The tide of vampires who tried to intervene met brutal ends, leaving only more blood-soaked carnage in Russell's wake.

Overseeing the chaos, the Ancient One's voice echoed in Russell's mind. "Keep applying pressure," she instructed with subtle glee. Russell frowned. Something about her tone felt off. Could this entire situation have been orchestrated?

Frost, meanwhile, was panicking. His strength had doubled, but Russell matched him blow for blow. Worse, Frost realized his army was dwindling—over 300 of his clan had fallen. "Even with the Blood God's energy, I'm hitting my limit," Frost thought, despair creeping into his mind.

The Blood God's voice snarled in Frost's head. "Fool! Run! You can't win this fight."

The Blood God, a cosmic-level entity with ties to eldritch energies similar to Dormammu's, recognized Russell as a rare threat. If Frost died, the Blood God's influence over this dimension could be severed, undoing years of meticulous planning. Reluctantly, Frost obeyed and fled.

Russell grinned, chasing after him. The Ancient One chimed in again: "Chase him. Beat him, but don't kill him. Yet."

The tables had turned. Frost, the predator, was now the prey. Russell's strikes hammered into Frost, each blow sapping energy from the Blood God's reserves. For every punch, the Blood God expended 250 units of energy to heal Frost's injuries, a catastrophic inefficiency. Russell relished the advantage.

Far away, the Blood God roared in frustration, sensing a major combat avatar closing in from another dimension. "Just hold out," it thought grimly. "Once my avatar arrives, the advantage is mine!"

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