Crimson Wastes – Outskirts of Sector 13
"They're flanking us from all sides! What are we going to do!?"
A man screamed as he hurled an ice spear with trembling hands, his aura flickering wildly. The spear skewered one of the monsters—a hulking, insectoid thing with molten cracks running down its carapace—but five more surged forward to take its place.
"Just hold them off and stand your ground!"
A woman floated above, her hair whipping violently in the wind as gales curled around her arms. Her eyes glowed pale green as runes etched themselves into the sky. "We have to buy time… for Lucian to get here. Wherever the hell he is!"
"I don't think he's coming," said another man, his voice low. He didn't shout. He didn't panic. He just… knew. His hand gripped a sword, but it barely glowed anymore—its energy nearly drained. "We're doomed."
And he stared into the distance as the monster horde moved like a black tide, endless and hungering, warping the air with sheer pressure.
Then it happened.
A crack.
Not thunder. Not magic. Something older. Something deeper.
The sky split.
A jagged rift of black lightning came crashing down from above like a divine executioner. The monsters directly below it didn't even scream—they were turned to ash in a single breath. From the center of the smoke and cinders, a figure walked out slowly.
A man.
Tall. Lean. Drenched in black blood.
Hair jet-black, falling over emotionless eyes. Eyes that didn't flicker with rage or fear—just exhaustion. Coldness. His coat, torn and scorched, barely clung to him. His fingers were charred, twitching from overuse. He coughed violently into his hand, spat out black blood, and stared at it. Then he looked up at the man who had given up moments ago.
Lucian Black.
"…Tch." He sighed, the weight of ten years of endless battle behind that sound.
And then he vanished in a crack of lightning.
He reappeared inside the monster horde, standing still for half a second. His shadow expanded—and then exploded outward.
Black flames erupted in every direction.
But these weren't normal flames. They twisted like serpents, hissed with whispers, and moved like conscious beasts. They crawled up the monsters' limbs, inside their eyes and mouths, and devoured them from within.
Monsters screeched. Claws thrashed. The ground turned to glass from the heat.
"W-What the hell?" the woman in the sky whispered. "He's burning them alive… without even moving."
"Those are SSS-rank monsters," the ice spear user stammered. "He's not even breaking a sweat…"
"Of course he's not," said the man with the sword, his voice distant. "That's Lucian Black… The strongest hunter alive. The only awakener of an XXX-Rank ability—Infinite Replication."
But that wasn't all.
Lucian raised his hand, and with a flick of his wrist, his body began to fracture. Not in pain—in power.
Twelve versions of him split from his form like shattered reflections made real. Each one took a different stance. Each one used a different ability.
One Lucian raised a hand, eyes glowing silver, and gravity itself collapsed on a cluster of monsters, compressing them into meat cubes.
Another Lucian's skin turned to obsidian steel, arms turning into twin war-axes as he cleaved through three towering beasts with a single, spinning leap.
A third version dissolved into mist, reappearing inside the mouth of a dragon-sized wyvern. A second later, the wyvern's body exploded from within, torn apart by internal time dissonance.
A fourth clapped his hands—and the sound created a ripple so sharp it cut the monsters in half.
Each of the twelve Lucians fought with abilities he had taken over the years.
Copied. Perfected.
Stored within his soul like a library of death.
He didn't fight the horde.
He orchestrated its extinction.
Wind howled around the battlefield. Not natural wind—mana-charged distortion caused by too many high-tier abilities clashing at once.
"SHIT! They're still coming!" the woman shouted as more beasts emerged from the eastern ridge, dozens of them, massive and armored. One of them roared and opened a third jaw from its stomach, spitting out parasitic worms that latched onto corpses and raised them again.
Lucian blinked toward it, and one of his clones followed. That one knelt down and spread his palm to the earth.
A moment later, everything beneath the enemy's feet crumbled.
Not cracked—withered.
A Domain of Decay activated beneath them, eating mana, time, and mass itself.
Lucian appeared above the largest one and spoke for the first time.
"You shouldn't exist."
He pointed a finger like a gun.
A black orb floated above his finger—compressed anti-reality—and then it shot forward, piercing through the beast. Everything it touched vanished from existence. No explosion. No scream.
Just erasure.
The monster's remains didn't even fall—they were just gone.
"Do you… see this?" the woman whispered, her lips dry. "He's not even using his main ability yet."
The man with the sword nodded. "He's just clearing the trash."
A shriek echoed above.
A shadow fell from the clouds—a Sky Devourer. A beast the size of a warship. It had twelve wings and eyes that burned with cursed lightning.
Lucian looked up. His coat rustled. His eyes narrowed.
The beast dived toward him.
And Lucian… smiled.
For the first time in years.
His body surged with light—no, not light—an amalgamation of every power he'd ever taken. The sky darkened around him. Everything within a hundred meters went silent. The air grew thick.
"Copy Code: [Abyss Pulse – World Breaker Protocol]"
The moment he muttered it, the ground under him shattered.
Energy burst from his body like a supernova—prismatic black energy, laced with crimson veins of corruption and silver arcs of divinity.
He launched upward, crashing into the Sky Devourer head-on.
The explosion wasn't flashy. It was clean.
A silent ripple that folded the air—and the beast imploded, sucked into a dimensional tear he carved with his bare hands.
He landed gently, boots crunching softly against the ruined earth.
All the monsters?
Gone.
The sky?
Clear again.
Lucian stood in silence, breathing steadily.
The twelve clones returned to his body in flickers of black light.
He turned to the three survivors.
The woman floated down, her wind magic fading. "Lucian…"
The man with the sword stepped forward. "You okay?"
Lucian didn't answer immediately.
He just looked at the third man—the one who said they were doomed.
"Where is your master, dog?"