Chapter 1738: Become It
Atticus was a beacon of light in the world. It seemed as though he alone stood within it.
The pillar of light snapped back into him, converging on his katana. The hilt turned scalding hot. A slow wave of energy traced along his arm, sizzling through his body and etching itself into him until even one side of his face was engulfed. The sleeve it touched turned to ash.
The pain subsided, leaving behind a purple tattoo emblazoned across the length of his arm and the right side of his face.
The markings pulsed. His entire being seemed to pulse with them. With that feeling, every single pressure he felt from Solvath vanished. No matter how much he searched, it was no longer in his mind. However, its power had never felt so profound.
Intense pain still roared through him, mixed with overwhelming power and inexplicable changes occurring to his being, yet Atticus’ eyes didn’t even so much as tremble as he stared at the Spirit King ahead.
He saw nothing else.
Atticus exhaled, the action generating dust that swept for thousands of kilometers. He felt no rage. No desire for vengeance. His body was akin to a still lake, his mind numb. His goal had already been decided. There was no point in needless emotions.
He would kill the Spirit King. Simple as that.
He swept his katana aside, his newfound power seeming instinctive to him. His tattoo pulsed. Then, the blanket of purple light that covered the world surged into the markings.
The Spirit King’s eyes thinned. Had he just absorbed Solvath’s power, the very power he’d used to blanket the entire battlefield? Thousands of kilometers? How?
The booming laughter of Ozeroth didn’t register in his head as he furrowed his brows at Atticus.
He was gone.
"!!"
The Spirit King’s staff snapped into his grip as he blazed purple. It fell. Staff and katana met.
The resulting collision hurled Ozeroth, the Pride Queen, and Ozerra away. A flash of blinding light followed by a deafening wave tore across the world. Even millions of kilometers away, the ground trembled.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
The Spirit King’s staff seemed to dance in his arms. He spun, whirled, and thrust, unleashing violent blows that seemed capable of shattering souls.
But Atticus seemed one with his katana. He vanished and appeared, only to vanish again, a million attacks already sent out.
Purple and purple flashed across the skies. Each collision echoed like a violent explosion. Terrain crumbled. Mountains flattened. Rivers vanished. They moved like blips, colliding, colliding, colliding.
Within the chaos, the Spirit King’s eyes constricted. This... what is happening? How was this possible? He had been about to swallow Atticus whole. He had been close. So close. Now he was clashing against him, the majority bearer of Solvath’s fragments, without giving an inch?
How?
His gaze fell upon the increasingly radiant tattoo spreading across Atticus’ body, and his eyes narrowed.
"...You’re absorbing it..."
He could feel it now. The more they clashed, the less Solvath’s power remained within him. Atticus was siphoning a portion of it with every collision. Making it his own while simultaneously negating the force behind it.
Solvath remained silent, offering no warning. The Spirit King’s expression darkened. He could not trust the Primordial. He could not trust anyone.
His gaze returned to Atticus. Those eyes... they were emotionless. Hollow. As though he was fighting a machine rather than a human.
He scoffed.
"Whatever tricks you’re playing. It’s futile. I will win."
The Spirit King’s eyes blazed.
"Devourer Armor."
"World Step."
He vanished, appearing behind Atticus as ancient armor flowed across his body. His staff descended.
"World Step."
The words had barely left his mouth when Atticus vanished. The Spirit King’s eyes thinned. He twisted sideways, a blade screaming past his head. For a moment, his gaze met Atticus’, the world seemingly disappearing within those eyes.
Then they moved.
Flashes of light streaked across the world. Deafening booms echoed endlessly. Entire landscapes fractured. Forests were reduced to ruin. Thick purple clouds choked the heavens, crackling with thunder and light.
It seemed as though the world itself was ending.
Ozeroth, the Pride Queen, and Ozerra found the barely conscious Whisker amidst the devastation.
His body had unraveled to an extreme degree, little more than sinew and fragments of bone remaining. His Will of Freedom had allowed him to withstand Solvath’s influence. Any longer, however, and he would not have made it.
Yet scarcely any of their attention rested on him. Even Whisker’s gaze remained fixed on the battle.
An oppressive weight had settled over the world. Each clash of blades sent tremors through their bones. This fight... it was the clash of absolutes. The stakes could not be higher. The winner would decide everything.
Feeling the intense numbness that was Atticus’ emotions, Ozeroth couldn’t help but narrow his eyes.
"Bond..."
...
Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!
The more they clashed, the deeper the Spirit King’s frown became. He cycled endlessly through the Will Arts he’d acquired, yet every technique was copied the moment it was revealed. Worse still, with every collision, Atticus absorbed more Solvath power.
’Is this why?’
Why his son had trusted the child so much?
He’d known Atticus for decades now. Since he’d begun searching for lower worlds to absorb. He knew of the boy’s unusual potential. Even more so after he awakened Solvath’s fragment.
Still, he had never considered him a threat.
He sought the destruction of the entire universe. On such a scale, one child should have been insignificant. Yet it was that same child who had come back to bite him.
The Spirit King grit his teeth. He could not fail. He had sacrificed too much. His people. His life. The love of his family. He had to succeed.
He had to.
Otherwise... everything would have been for nothing.
’Never.’
His eyes blazed purple before flushing abyss-black. A single word made the world tremble.
"Manifest: Devourer."
A translucent figure peeled itself from the Spirit King’s body and shot toward Atticus. It passed through every attack, even Solvath’s power itself, arriving before Atticus in an instant.
Devourer.
It was the singular ability that had brought him this far. To the Spirit King, it was the culmination of his will, his aspect, his manifestation, his entire path.
He had awakened Spirit Will and gained the ability to interact with souls. The very thing that made up every living being. That ability had eventually evolved into impose, granting him the power to devour souls. From that point onward, every ability he awakened existed to further that purpose.
His aspect. The ability to inherit every experience of what he devoured. His manifestation. The ability to project himself toward a target and swallow their soul whole.
Devourer was not merely an ability. It was him. Once released, nothing could touch it except a will stronger than his own. But he still possessed the majority of Solvath’s fragments. His will was being amplified to an absurd degree. Even more so against Atticus’ soul.
The stronger would always devour the weaker. He could not lose.
He would not lose.
The manifestation reached Atticus and made contact with him.
Atticus didn’t seem to notice. His expression remained indifferent. His eyes unfocused, as though he were somewhere else entirely. In truth, he was.
He had finally figured out the changes that had occurred to him.
The Life Weapon had absorbed Solvath’s fragment, leaving his mind entirely free. Yet he still retained full access to its power through the tattoos now emblazoned across his arm.
The more he clashed, the more fragments he absorbed. The more fragments he absorbed, the higher his existence seemed to rise. The more in sync with the world he became.
The world appeared different to Atticus’ eyes. Not merely in a physical sense, with countless glowing purple threads woven through all life, but in the way he perceived reality itself.
Everything felt clearer. Lighter. He felt as though he existed within a weightless limbo. His will even more so.
Somehow, he was drawn back to the moment he had fully awakened his will. His doctrine.
The world is tinder... he would choose what burned and what survived.
It was inexplicably simple. Insanely so. And his manifestation had only gone on to cement that law. Shield to those he did not wish to burn. Blade to the rest. But manifestation was merely the fourth rank of will mastery. He had always wondered how he would push his will into the fifth rank.
Absolute Will.
Now, his body had aligned with the world, with his will, to such an extent that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. The answer came to him naturally.
He had to become it.
His will. His flames. His burning. All he had to do was become it.
And become it Atticus did.
"Absolute Will: Judgment Flame."
