Re: Timeless Apocalypse-Chapter 127: Void

His uniqueness deactivated and time retook its course.

Not even an instant passed and yet—

BANG!

The mannequin exploded into shreds of white flesh and blood, the chaotic echoes of aether from Uriel’s knee strike too powerful for it to do anything.

HUM!

Uriel landed with deft agility, slicking his hair back, then licking his lips, then his gums, and then his canines, as if a predator only now finally getting the taste of blood it so desired.

He clapped his hands and in a blink, dozens of new mannequins appeared, each much more powerful than the original mannequin.

"If I win too easily then it’s no fun!"

The spell sentry proudly stood behind him, golden and sacred, a stark contrast to the profane madness he displayed and drowned in.

"Come!"

....

It turned out Uriel had overrated himself, massively.

Surrounded by the horde of mannequins, the scene was reminiscent of him facing off against the squad of Flon-Men not too long ago.

All his flaws were laid bare.

His martial prowess, seemingly sharp and fluid, was picked and peeled apart, the inaccuracy of his punches evident, the sloppiness of his footwork gut-wrenching and his battle sense in the deepest pits of hell.

His coordination was lacking and his sensitivity as well as tempo off by miles.

Atop this, due to his mage circles being nonexistent, his magic was simply underwhelming. He could still easily mind cast but it wasn’t the same.

As before, he was restricted to either neutral spells, or elemental spells attuned to his own elements and the difference was shocking.

It was only now that he realised just how massive of a boon his rings were; they gave his magic substance and edge and separated him from the masses like no other.

If with his circle he was akin to a winged tiger wielding a fleet of swords, at that moment he felt like nothing more than a cub swinging a wet wooden branch, loose and bendy.

"By the Gods!"

As Enoch had pointed out, his energy conversion abilities were terrible and even in spite of him having a massive and almost endless pool of aether to pull from, he almost always found himself depleted.

This was even more maddening considering the fact that he couldn’t even use his core and natal aether!

Somehow, passively, he was just constantly exhausting the aether in his core by simply living and fighting. It was a level of inefficiency he found hard to come to terms with, one so shameful his pride in terms of aether control took a hit.

His Mind Resonance, Body Resonance and Resonant Dominance were all terrible, for the simple fact that he’d simply never trained them, nor had taken the time to comprehend them in depth.

The former two he’d randomly learned while fighting the emperor while the latter one he’d learned while building his Pioneer path and since then hadn’t had much time to master.

He still won, though.

And he had a bunch of fun while doing so.

"Hahaha!"

He went wild, his heart hammering against his chest and tears of joy flooding his face as he tore the mannequins apart and found more and more wounds accumulating over his body.

Blunt injuries overlapped atop shallow cuts and gashes, blood spilling like harmonic additions to the booming sound of his breaking bones and stammering breaths.

Each pang of pain sent floods of soul-shattering euphoria through his mind, his thirst for chaos growing, yet at the same time, for every enemy he tore he found himself getting calmer and calmer.

It was like a cycle of hot and cold, his body shifting from one to the other with no end, a cycle of addiction and indulgence he couldn’t escape.

And he didn’t mind.

It was fun.

...

[Far away.]

Void.

It was dark, endless, and empty, a void of absolute nothing, where silence reigned eternally, and where Gods and mortals alike would find their existences unravelled.

It was quiet.

And in the very center of this endless void, amidst rolling clouds of dark nothingness, a simple throne of silver metal stood, old and unadorned.

It was simple to a tee, and so was the man sat on it; middle-aged, with mid-length wavy brown hair and warm deep azure pupils.

He was rather burly, his arms thick and hairy, and his fingers calloused from years of work and hardship, yet at the same time there was a strange sort of delicateness to him.

The man wore simple white robes, his smile soft and perpetual and his expression a reflection of pure serenity.

One of his elbows was propped up on his throne’s armrest and his chin lazily rested on his closed fist, his gaze calmly observing a floating screen in front of him.

A screen displaying Uriel’s descent into madness.

The man watched it from beginning to end; from the moment Uriel landed in the cave half dead, to his loud cries and laughter, to his evolutions, to his mini camp and now his sudden shadow boxing session.

He saw it all.

"What a strange little boy." The man spoke, his voice deep yet incredibly smooth, warm and reassuring.

His voice was akin to the embodiment of resonance and harmony itself, so much so that even the void itself seemed to bend and twist around him as he spoke.

WHOOOSH!

From the endless nothing around, dark fog rose, twisting and shifting into a mass of dark amethyst, filled with a cosmic expanse of dotted points of light, like a purple sky filled with radiant stars.

The mass shook, turning into a veiled figure, standing beside the man and staring at the screen alongside the man sitting on the throne.

"He’d be an outstanding Heavenly Demon." The veiled figure suddenly said. "The Palaces and Temples of Desires would gut a few Champions for him."

"To be so attuned to the path with a dormant spark is something I don’t think I’ve ever seen."

The veiled man turned to the man sitting on the throne, who hadn’t reacted much to his words.

"You can’t let this opportunity go."