For a moment, the world froze. Silence blanketed the battlefield like a suffocating fog.
Then it happened.
An immense force crashed into the heads of the twins and their spirits simultaneously, snapping their skulls violently to the side.
And then, with a brutal, explosive burst, the heads of both the spirits and their human partners detonated.
Blood, fragments, and glowing energy erupted, spraying across the battlefield. The once-proud and powerful spirits dissolved into nothingness, their presence erased from existence.
The battlefield fell into stunned silence once again.
The twins and their spirits were gone, wiped out in an instant, their combined power rendered utterly meaningless.
In the midst of the carnage, Atticus's figure reappeared. His swirling purple and blue eyes flickered with a relentless, predatory calm.
He hovered in the air with an unnerving stillness, as if the destruction he had unleashed was merely a passing thought.
As the headless bodies of the twins plummeted to the ground, Atticus turned his gaze to Veylor.
Veylor had regained his balance after the brutal uppercut earlier, and had only just returned to the battlefield. Yet, as he took in the sight before him, he froze.
The motes of light, what remained of his spirit, floated away like ash in the wind. The headless bodies of the twins, fell lifelessly from the sky.
Veylor's expression was blank, lost. Everything he had struggled to achieve in his life had crumbled to dust in seconds.
The men he had brought here today were the pillars of the Crimson Vow, its backbone and its strength. Without them, the Crimson Vow was nothing.
At first, he and many of his subordinates had been baffled by his decision to bring so much manpower just to kill a single 17-year-old boy. Apex or not, it felt absurd, even to him.
But something deep within him had warned him to be cautious. That the boy wasn't to be underestimated.
Veylor was the type of man who always listened to his instincts; they had never failed him before. Because of this, he had chosen to be careful, to prepare thoroughly.
And as it turned out, he had been right to be cautious, right to bring everything he had.
But his instincts had failed him in one crucial way.
They hadn't warned him that he shouldn't just be cautious of this boy. They should have screamed at him to run, to flee as far away from this monster as possible.
The memory of his subordinates mocking his over-preparedness appeared in his mind.
And he smiled.
"Pfft…"
Suddenly, an intense laughter erupted from Veylor, echoing across the underground world.
It was too much for a 17-year-old? Only one of them was enough? They should have sent their master ranks?
Despite the dreadful situation, Veylor laughed harder than ever before, the comments of his subordinates playing over and over in his head.
'I fucked up,' the thought repeated, and his laughter only grew louder.
He had made a colossal mistake.
He shouldn't have messed with this monster. He should've minded his own business, should've continued doing what he had always done.
In fact, he should have retired.
If he had done that, at least he wouldn't be here, facing this nightmare.
But no. He had been overconfident.
He hadn't done enough research.
He had been arrogant.
He had bitten off more than he could chew.
And now, he was paying the ultimate price.
Veylor felt an intense weakness ravage his body. His spirit was dead, and with it, the immense boost to his strength was gone. His power plummeted to staggering levels, leaving him vulnerable, yet his laughter only grew louder.
His bloodshot gaze and manic expression made him look like a madman.
All his life's work, all his struggles, they were gone. Vanished. And all because of one stupid decision.
It was insane. It was maddening.
He felt anger. He felt sadness.
And most of all, Veylor felt fear.
As Atticus's gaze locked onto him, their eyes met, and Veylor's laughter abruptly ceased. A suffocating silence descended over the battlefield.
Veylor shuddered. He could feel it, that cold, icy gaze piercing through him.
Atticus, a 17-year-old boy, had just unleashed a massacre, killing close to forty people, and yet, his expression remained calm, unmoved. It was as if he had merely stepped on ants, no trace of remorse in his eyes.
At that moment, Veylor felt one more thing.
Pity.
Not for himself. No.
Veylor pitied every single person who would be foolish enough to become an enemy of this monster. Because for them, only death awaited.
This time, Atticus didn't vanish from Veylor's view.
The distance between them was significant. In one instant, Veylor was hovering far away from Atticus, and in the next, Atticus stood before him.
A fountain of blood gushed from Veylor's chest.
His eyes darted downward to his heart, only to see Atticus's arm piercing through it.
An intense wave of pain wracked his body. He trembled, blood pooling at the edges of his mouth. As he met Atticus's gaze, a dry chuckle escaped his lips.
"I wish you all good luck," Veylor muttered weakly.
For the first time since the battle began, Atticus's expression shifted and his gaze narrowed as his thoughts churned.
Those words…
They weren't directed at him.
He couldn't explain it, but a sudden unease settled over him, a bad feeling. And Atticus had never been one to ignore his instincts.
An intense, searing fire erupted from Atticus's arm, engulfing Veylor's body in a raging inferno.
Within moments, Veylor became nothing more than ash.
But Atticus's expression darkened.
His gaze landed on the spot where Veylor's left pocket had been.
There, amidst the ashes, was a spherical object.
"An artifact…"
His focus sharpened.
Atticus's fire element was at such a level that even a grandmaster-rank artifact couldn't survive being engulfed in it.
But this artifact was undamaged.
It could only be one thing, a paragon-rank artifact.
Atticus's body moved on instinct, his katana flashing into his hand like lightning.
He channeled every ounce of his power into his body and blade, swinging down at the artifact with a speed and force that shattered the air around him.
But before the attack could connect, the artifact ignited.
A blinding flash of light burst forth, unleashing a wave of force so immense that Atticus was hurled through the air, hurtling back several meters.
Flipping midair, he landed gracefully, regaining his balance with precision.
His gaze snapped upward to the sky, where multiple figures had appeared.
Atticus scanned each one, his instincts on high alert. But his focus soon settled on one man.
A man who radiated an aura so intense, so overwhelming, that there was no mistaking his identity.
A paragon.