Color had not returned.
The battlefield remained bleached as if the world had been sketched in ash and then varnished by an Emperor's will.
Only one unexpected thing moved.
Lucien.
His throat tightened.
'Aura of Unyielding,' he thought.
Any suppression beneath primordial class entities would slide off him the way rain slid off glass.
The knowledge did not comfort him.
It made him swallow.
Because his instincts were screaming so hard that it felt like his bones were trying to get out of his skin.
He knew it with a clarity that did not allow bargaining.
He had zero percent chance of winning.
Perfect Loop had already confirmed it.
He could defeat those stronger than him. He could outplay Kings. He could even humiliate a battlefield.
But Emperors and Eternals were not a problem to solve.
They were a ceiling.
Every method he had led to the same ending.
He died.
Every time.
