In Eldoralth, it was rare, if not impossible, that a paragon had been killed.
Paragons were world-class resources. People whose worth was immeasurable. They were living weapons, worshiped like kings.
A paragon's rampage was enough to cause irreparable devastation, flattening cities and destroying the lives of millions. Because of this, battles between paragons were almost unheard of.
Both parties were aware of the consequences. They knew what would happen if they were allowed to rampage. And because they rarely fought, they rarely ever died in battle, at least not by the hands of the planet's inhabitants.
However, all of these facts had just been shattered into bits and pieces.
A paragon had died.
And it hadn't been just any paragon, it had been a paragon of a superior race. One of the truly strong.
The loss to Eldoralth as a whole was immeasurable.
As the last remnants of Yorowin's existence were shredded from reality, all the grand elders of the vampyros race saw red.
They flashed forward, streaks of crimson converging on Atticus from all conceivable angles. Their bodies radiated a bloodlust so thick it felt as though the battlefield had been submerged in a sea of blood.
Their weapons glowed with a newfound intensity. Their armor radiated an intense crimson as they thrust, sending multiple crimson weapons slicing through the air toward Atticus.
No words were needed. Their intent was clear: they wanted to shred him into pieces.
Magnus and the paragons of humanity raced toward Atticus, desperate to intercept, but it was clear they weren't going to make it.
Despite this, Atticus's face was calm. His expression was so unmoved it didn't appear as though he was mere moments away from being torn apart.
His senses were heightened to such an extent that, even before they moved, he had already felt their intent.
His perception worked at full throttle, the world unfolding like a flawless blueprint in his mind.
Every movement. Every strike. Their future actions. He saw it all.
The crimson weapons closed in.
Atticus's mouth parted.
"Sundering Storm."
When Atticus had first gained enlightenment and used the fourth art of the katana inside the katana's realm, he had done so with only mana.
When he used it a second time against Elderish in the other plane, it was also with only mana.
Both times, his power had been restricted. Yet, even so, the fourth art had been so overwhelming that he had defeated both opponents and caused devastating destruction in the process.
But now, the situation was different.
Atticus wasn't facing any such restrictions.
His mana. His spiritual energy. They were free. Unrestrained. Immense.
He had thought about it, envisioned it. What would the fourth art look like if he synchronized his mana and spiritual energy together?
And in all the scenarios that played out in his mind, only excitement surged through his body.
It would be titanic.
Suddenly, the air shifted.
Azure and purple energy surged from his core and head, converging in his chest. Mana and spiritual energy swirled together, spinning with unimaginable momentum.
They synchronized. The pressure rose, a thunderous hum vibrating through the battlefield.
Then—
BOOM!
The energy exploded outward.
A storm of azure and purple erupted from Atticus, surging outward like an eruption. The force was cataclysmic, the storm slamming into the elders with immense weight.
The vampyros elders' eyes widened in utter shock. Their instincts screamed as time seemed to slow. They wasted no time.
They raised their weapons and braced themselves, crimson energy erupting around their forms as they shielded themselves. But it wasn't enough.
The storm hit them like a collapsing star.
The sheer weight of it sent them hurtling in different directions, their bodies crashing into the ground and tearing massive trenches as they skidded.
The human paragons froze.
What the hell was that power?
For a moment, it was as though all movement ceased.
The storm expanded.
It surged across the battlefield, encompassing kilometers.
From above, it looked as though a natural disaster had torn through the area, a vortex of azure and purple consuming everything in its path.
The vampyros elders were stunned.
They had been caught off guard by everything, struggling to comprehend the implications.
This power… He had been holding back all this time!?
And yet, yet, he killed a fucking vampyros grand elder!?
Their shock was planetary in magnitude. Just how powerful could this child possibly be?
Despite being flung across the battlefield, their crimson eyes narrowed in unison.
The storm still raged around them, blocking their sight, but they were predators. They didn't rely on sight alone.
Intent. Smell. Instincts.
Their senses sharpened to a razor's edge.
Atticus was only one person. They were seven. There was no other choice. He would come for one of them, and when he did, they would end it. No matter what.
A 17-year-old paragon? He had surpassed every apex of even the superior races!
He was too dangerous to leave alive.
It was as though they shared the same thought. Their crimson eyes glowed within the storm, akin to predators. They waited for their prey.
Whoosh.
'He's here!'
One of the elders' eyes glinted with excitement as the air parted in front of him. Atticus appeared in a flash.
They would end this.
But then, utter shock.
All seven elders' eyes widened.
Their gazes trembled as they realized the truth.
Atticus wasn't alone.
He was supposed to be one person. But now… there were seven of him.
Seven identical figures screamed toward them, katanas raised, their azure and purple eyes blazing.
The elders' thoughts resounded in unison:
'Auralithians!'
But Atticus had no hesitation.
All seven forms moved in perfect unison. Their katanas rose and fell in a single, seamless motion, birthing arcs of azure and purple energy that screamed through the air toward the elders.
The elders' expressions changed violently. Their weapons shot up to block.
CLANG!
The impact was deafening. A colossal shockwave ripped through the storm, shaking the battlefield to its core.
But then, they felt it, another shock.
Their powers. They were… weak. Moderate at best.
Confusion and dread surged through the elders' hearts. Their crimson eyes darted through the storm, searching for answers.
For the first time in centuries, they felt it, a strange sensation gripping them.
Here, in this swirling azure and purple storm, they were no longer the predators.
They were prey.
Their eyes froze as they finally saw it.
Two glowing orbs, one azure and the other purple, pierced through the haze above them.
Atticus.
Their gazes trembled. It had been a diversion!
But there was no time to react.
Atticus moved.
His body blurred into a streak of blue and purple, shattering the air as he passed.
The elders' armors, once their pride, split like paper under the force of his strike.
In the next instant, they felt it.
Their heads separated from their necks.
Time seemed to freeze as their severed heads floated in the air, their crimson eyes trembling with disbelief.
They all focused on one thing: Atticus.