The leader of the group clenched his fists. "We'll just attack them all. The real one will show himself soon enough."
With a collective nod, they unleashed a barrage of energy, sending beams of destructive force toward each of the illusions.
But before their attacks could land, the clones suddenly moved, leaping toward the men with inhuman speed. Chaos erupted. Trees were uprooted, the ground torn apart as fists collided with flesh.
Every strike from the illusions felt real, sending shockwaves through the grandmasters, who were caught completely off guard.
None of them noticed the real boy.
Sitting casually on a high branch, he watched the chaos unfold below, lazily chewing on an apple, his eyes half-closed in boredom. His legs swung idly over the edge of the branch as he let the clones do the dirty work.
Zarial Umbrin, Apex of the Lucendi.
"Boring," he murmured.
A soft rustling above him signaled the arrival of an old man, hovering just above the branch. He was the head of the Umbrin family.
"You've improved," the elder commented, watching the battle below with a faint smile.
Zarial didn't respond right away, still chewing his apple. His eyes remained on the struggle beneath them, where the grandmasters were futilely fighting illusions.
After a moment, he tossed the apple core to the ground, his lazy amusement fading.
"This is a waste of time," he said flatly. "The other Apexes won't fall for simple tricks like this."
The elder raised an eyebrow. "You're capable of fooling and fighting grandmaster ranks at your age. I doubt many of the other Apexes could match that."
Zarial finally turned to look at the elder, his eyes narrowing. "Then you know nothing."
The elder's expression tightened, but he held his tongue.
The Lucendi were a race built on deception. Masters of illusion, they thrived on manipulating perception—blurring the line between reality and imagination.
Their domain itself was a labyrinth of falsehoods, where even the ground beneath your feet could betray you. To survive as a Lucendi meant mastering illusion, controlling not just what others saw but what they believed to be true.
---
Two armies stood at the border of the Requiem domain, their battle lines drawn beneath a sky veiled by the eerie glow of spectral mist.
Each soldier's armor bore distinct sigils, representing their respective houses.
The tension between the two forces was palpable, like a tightly wound thread on the verge of snapping.
The Requiem, a race that wielded dominion over souls, had long been feared across the world for their unsettling abilities.
Their pale, translucent skin seemed to glow under the spectral light, and their eyes were as black as voids. The air around them was always heavy, thick with the silent wails of lost spirits.
At the head of the attacking army stood a general, draped in dark robes that fluttered in the spectral breeze. His hands rested on the polished blade at his waist, his black eyes scanning the opposing forces.
Beside him, a young lieutenant shifted nervously. He glanced at the army before them, the sigil of the Noctis family emblazoned on their banners. "Are you sure about this, sir?" he asked, his voice betraying his anxiety.
The general turned toward him, a confident smirk appearing on his face. "Don't worry. Only the youths are allowed in this border skirmish. The Noctis family thinks they can do whatever they want just because they gave birth to one monster. Not today—over my dead body."
The mention of the word "monster" sent a ripple through the warriors behind him. Some trembled, haunted by the stories they'd heard about the Noctis family's monster.
The lieutenant's face paled, his throat tightening. "But… what if he shows?"
The general waved off the concern with a scoff, though his voice was just a little too casual. "Nah, he won't show. The Veriataga Nexus is in a few days. He'll be too focused on preparing for that. The higher ups wouldn't let him waste time on something like this."
The lieutenant exhaled a shaky breath, and several soldiers within earshot loosened their grips on their weapons, relieved. But their reprieve was short-lived.
A ripple of energy surged through the sky, and suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. An unnatural chill swept over the battlefield, sending shivers through the soldiers.
All heads turned as a lone figure descended from the sky, his silhouette framed by the pale light of the domain. His mere presence seemed to drain the life out of the space, leaving everything in a haunting stillness.
The figure landed gently, his dark cloak barely brushing the ground. His skin was deathly pale, as if it had never touched sunlight, and his eyes were darker than night itself. He stood tall and lithe, with a twin-bladed spear strapped to his back.
The general's blood drained from his face, recognition hitting him like a hammer. "No… it can't be."
Erevan Noctis. The Apex of the Requiem race.
The lieutenant whispered in terror, "It's him…"
Erevan didn't say a word. He simply raised one hand, his black eyes glowing with a soft, eerie light.
As soon as his arm lifted, the attacking army froze, their movements halting as though invisible strings had been cut. A deathly silence spread across the battlefield, and then… it happened.
The soldiers' eyes went glassy, their bodies rigid. Without warning, they began to turn on each other, their blades slicing through the air in perfect synchronization.
In mere moments, heads began to roll, blood spilled freely, and one by one, the entire attacking army fell in a self-imposed massacre.
The Requiem youths stood by helplessly, watching as their enemies slaughtered each other without resistance.
The general's scream broke the eerie silence, his voice filled with panic as he tried to command his soldiers back into formation. "Stop! Stop this madness!"
But it was too late. His voice was swallowed by the unnatural quiet as Erevan watched the carnage unfold, dispassionately, as if it were nothing more than an afterthought.
His face remained emotionless, and without so much as a glance back, he lifted off the ground and disappeared into the spectral sky.
The general collapsed to his knees, trembling as he took in the sight of his decimated army—wiped out in moments, and Erevan hadn't even lifted a weapon.
The Requiem were feared for good reason. Their power wasn't in brute strength but in their dominion over souls.
They could extract, manipulate, and command the souls of the living and the dead, bending them to their will.
In battle, they could sever the connection between body and soul with just a thought, reducing even the mightiest of armies to nothing more than empty shells.