Chapter 40: Lucian VS "Simon" (3)
The battlefield was a wreck, ash falling like gray snow over the cracked stone, the air thick with the sharp sting of burnt mana and hot iron. Dust swirled in the dim light, catching the faint glow of broken runes carved into the ruins. The ground was torn up, littered with chunks of shattered armor and bent weapons, like the aftermath of a fight nobody was supposed to walk away from. The Simulation Exam had gone way past a test—it was a war now, raw and ugly, the kind that left you checking your pulse to make sure you were still alive.
The fake Simon's body twitched on the broken stone floor, black ichor pooling around him like spilled ink. For a moment, it looked like he might stay down—but then he let out a guttural scream, forcing himself up, his body crackling with black lightning that spit and hissed. Mana surged around him in wild, unstable bursts, making the air hum with a pressure that pressed on your chest. "You… you fucking brat!" he roared, his face half-melted, one eye glowing blood-red with hate, the other barely holding shape. "How dare you—how dare you humiliate me! A Seventh-Class Dark Mage, brought to his knees by a scumbag kid like you!?"
Lucian didn't flinch. His deep black eyes stared back, flat and cold, like he was looking at something already dead. His ashen-white hair swayed lightly in the mana-charged wind, his saber resting loose in his hand. He sighed soft, almost bored, like he was waiting for a bus, not facing a monster. "I call that combo," he said, voice dry as dust, "The Overhead Combo."
The fake Simon blinked, his warped face twisting with confusion. "Huh?! Do you really think I care about your combo, you bastard?!" he spat, his voice cracking with rage, black goo dripping from his mouth and he begin another tirade—ranting about his superiority, his power, his heritage among the Dark Mages of the Forbidden Lands—but Lucian's mind had already wandered off, lost in his own train of thought..
Lucian didn't answer him, his mind already somewhere else, drifting to a memory that didn't belong in this world. 'The Overhead Combo,' he thought, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. 'One of the meanest, nastiest little strings of hits you'll ever see.' The memory came sharp and clear—gritty alleyways on Earth, the rumble of engines, knuckles cracking under streetlights. 'I learned it back on Earth, from Bully: Anniversary Edition on my phone. Johnny Vincent—the leader of the Greaser Clique. One of my favorite characters, right alongside Edgar Munsen of the Dropouts, Jimmy Hopkins, and Russell, the leader of the Bullies.'
The thought was vivid, like he could still feel the phone in his hand, the glow of the screen. 'Originally, I was supposed to master Johnny's current Overhead Combo, but I chose to copy his beta version instead. For years, I trained it, refined it—adapted it into my own art. And now… I've perfected it. The Beta Overhead Combo, reborn under the name Hybrid Impact.' He paused, his stance lowering slightly, his body loose but ready. 'Hmm. Should I use the Six-Hit Combo + Finisher of Derby Harrington next time? The Prep Clique's leader had style—but his art focused too much on boxing, on straight-line impact. I haven't yet perfected it for saber form. Maybe next time…'
While Lucian's mind wandered like he was tweaking a game build, the fake Simon kept ranting, his voice growing louder, more unhinged, blood and black mana leaking from his lips. "You're ignoring me, you damned brat?! You think you can mock—"
Lucian's expression snapped back to cold focus, his thoughts cutting off the shapeshifter's words like a blade. 'Enough. Let's end this,' he thought, his mind sharp and clear. He reached out through the link in his soul, calling to the ancient voice tied to the bracelet on his wrist. 'Wraith King,' he said silently, his tone calm but hard, like a command carved in stone, 'fully amplify my art. This will be my last move to end him.'
A brief silence, then the Wraith King's voice answered, solemn and loyal, echoing in his head. "{As you wish, my lord. My power is yours. May your blade strike as the will of dusk and dawn combined.}"
Lucian's body started to glow faint—an eerie mix of pale moonlight and demonic red, the light weaving together like fire and shadow. His saber hummed low, the air around it twisting, the world itself trembling as if it felt the power building at the blade's edge. The bracelet pulsed, its dark-blue energy syncing with his mana, amplifying it to something beyond normal.
The shapeshifter staggered back, panic flashing in his blood-red eyes, his melting face twisting. "W–what the hell are you doing—what kind of mana is that?!" he stammered, his voice breaking, like he could feel the weight of what was coming.
Lucian didn't answer. He lifted his saber with one hand, the tip pointing up, his other hand steadying the blade's edge, his movements slow and deliberate. He took a deep breath, pulling the mana into his core, letting it settle like water before a storm.
Then he spoke, soft as a dying star, "Yap yap yap yippity yap yap…I don't have time to listen on your yap and your ranting and besides i couldn't careless about your positon in the Dark Mage Organization."
He looked at the shapeshifter, a ghost of a grin flickering on his lips, sharp and dangerous. "This shall be your end, Mr. Shapeshifter."
The air warped, gravity itself bending under the sheer weight of his mana, the ground cracking wider around him.
"Hybrid Blade Demonic Art—Tenth Form"
"Skyfall"
The world froze for half a heartbeat.
Then—
BOOOOOOOM!
A blinding white light exploded out, swallowing everything in its path. The shockwave ripped through the ruins, tearing up stone and earth, sending debris flying like leaves in a hurricane. The sky split open, a perfect arc of light cutting through the clouds, stretching miles across the horizon, bright enough to burn your eyes.
Even Celestia and Christopher, fighting far off, had to shield their faces from the glare. The explosion wasn't just destructive—it was beautiful, like a divine blade carving judgment into the world. Christopher shouted over the roar, his voice half-lost in the noise, "WHAT THE HELL—IS THIS LIGHT?!"
Celestia's voice shook, awe and fear mixing as she stared at the fading glow. "That… that's not normal mana. It's something else… something beyond divinity and demonic energy—it's both at once," she said, her words quiet but heavy, like she was seeing something bigger than she could grasp.
The Wraith King's voice whispered in Lucian's mind, reverent and low. "{Magnificent… My lord's art transcends balance itself.}"
When the light finally faded, silence blanketed the field, heavy and thick, like the world was holding its breath. The air was still, the ash settling slow, the ruins scarred deeper than before. The ground around Lucian was glassed over, a massive, jagged scar stretching out, like the earth had been sliced clean.
Lucian stood still in the center, his saber lowered, its blade gleaming faint in the dim light. His ashen-white hair fluttered soft in the fading wind, his face calm, untouched by the chaos. But for a fleeting moment, his deep black eyes flickered with something else—sorrow, quiet and heavy, like a weight he carried alone.