The situation, for lack of a better word, was hopeless. There were barely thirty guards, maybe a few more–and with a sector having fallen, reinforcements were surely on their way. Not just any reinforcements either, perhaps Mastermages and Guardians may be on their way or maybe even worse… another Archmage.
Thankfully, it wasn't Themenos. At least, not yet. He wasn't in the picture for now.
Crowds gathered around the execution platform–some cheering, others throwing rocks. Many simply stood in silence, swallowed by a despair so heavy it felt physical. Arrests continued in waves, but it didn't feel random. The guards weren't targeting individuals, They were purging a group. A group from a certain sector.
The situation had spiraled out of control. What began as a simple mission to retrieve Yannick had grown far more complicated. Lucid stood still, lost in thought. It felt like he had time, Barely. The Archmage had only just begun his speech, but once it ended… it would be over. The executions would begin.
And yet, something didn't sit right with Lucid.
Why was Yannick being executed in the first place?
He wasn't from sector 12 or 11. He wouldn't have done something reckless, not without cause. In Lucid's eyes, Yannick was always surprisingly rational. Resilient. Athletic. Adaptable. It didn't make sense for him to end up like this, being bound and displayed like a warning.
He recalled the last moment they spoke, the way Yannick had rushed off, not giving Lucid a chance to stop him.
'For my students?'
Could it be… that Yannick took responsibility for his students? Could he have covered for them–taken the blame for something they did? Maybe… he prevented something far worse from happening to them. Because if it weren't him up there… it might've been them.
Lucid's thoughts swirled.
"Lucid, I suggest we act soon," Shion said, sharp but steady.
"Wait… I need time."
Shion shot back without hesitation.
"Whatever you're thinking of doing beats sitting here doing nothing."
"Lucid felt his heart sink, a crushing weight forming in the pit of his stomach. That sensation again, too familiar, too persistent. The one that had haunted him since Earth.
That overwhelming rush of anxiety. The pull between instinct and paralysis. 'Act. Don't act. Why now? Wait. Stall. Think.' Conflicting voices clawed inside his mind. Urgency twisted into hesitation whilst logic drowned in dread.
"Lucid!"
Shion's voice cracked through his spiraling thoughts, dragging him back to the present. Her tone wasn't angry–but it was firm. It reminded him that time was slipping.
He clenched his fists.
'Gosh… why am I struggling? It's simple…'
Then he looked up, Eyes steady.
"I have an idea."
Lucid said at last.
—
The Archmage's speech had finally come to an end. It had been nothing more than pompous, snobbish preaching, a tirade about how unfortunate souls like them should kiss the boots and lick the ground of the Royal Sectors, Be grateful to even exist. And as always, the blame of the fall of sector 12 was laid squarely on the individuals lined up on the execution platform.
Time had run out and the show was over. But the trio – Lucid, Shion, and Alice – were no longer in the same place. They had split up, each assigned to different positions and different tasks.
After all, facing an Archmage head-on was suicide. Not for Lucid, though. At least, not when it came to stalling. If nothing else, that was his specialty: buying time and running with it.
Then, from the crowd, a figure stepped forward–drawing the attention of several scattered bystanders. Lucid emerged, calm and focused, his eyes fixed on the platform above—no something past it.
He was waiting. Watching as if he was waiting for a sign.
And then it came - the sound of glass shattering behind the execution platform that drowned in the commotion leaving it unheard by anyone. From a building window, he spotted a flash of green hair ducking beneath the frame. The silhouettes inside moved with purpose, almost like clockwork.
A grin tugged at Lucid's lips.
'Atta girl…'
Without another thought, he took a breath. Then another. He stepped forward, raising his hand as if materializing something in the air — the Seven Black Hearts poker card. His fingers curled around the handle of a heavy pistol that blinked into existence with it. Raising it to the sky, Lucid fired three shots.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The loud shots echoed across the plaza. Panic erupted as the crowd screamed and scattered, ducking or fleeing like startled ants.
And then what followed was stillness. The dust of chaos began to settle, parting just enough to reveal a single unmoving figure in the middle of it all.
Lucid.
He exhaled and bellowed at the top of his lungs:
"HEY! YOU DISGRACE OF A HUMAN PILE OF SHIT. WHY DON'T YOU COME DOWN?!"
That seemed to have done it. The Archmage turned sharply, his face twisting into something ugly, rage and disbelief dancing across his features.
The remaining guards rushed to encircle Lucid. Some of them had bolted along with the civilians at the sound of gunfire, but those who were brave enough to stay, now surrounded him with weapons drawn.
'Well… that was easier than expected,' he thought.
'And incredibly stupid.'
Lucid materialized another card – the Black Spade.
He waved the gun aside, letting it dissolve into a trail of faint, glowing blue dust. Channeling the energy of the black spade card, he focused it into his body — sharpening his reflexes, enhancing his mind while heightening his reaction time and Dexterity. He wasn't meant to fight at the moment. No, that wasn't his role.
And yet.
The Archmage stepped forward, summoning a staff in a single fluid motion. Blue dust curled around him like a storm as jagged rocks began to materialize behind him. One after another, sharp stone projectiles hovering ominously in the air.
He fixed his gaze on Lucid, his voice calm yet laced with murderous intent.
"Apologize. And maybe… just maybe… I'll leave you crippled."
Lucid's eyes narrowed.
"No can do."
From afar, Yannick finally spotted the figure standing alone in the open field. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips recognising it was his sparring buddy, but it didn't last. Concern quickly replaced it.
Lucid summoned another card with a swift flick — the Seven Black Hearts.
In one fluid motion, he pulled out what resembled a light blue smoke bomb and hurled it onto the platform. As the smoke burst outward in a thick cloud, he dashed backward with explosive momentum, knocking the four surrounding guards off balance.
The platform vanished beneath a haze of swirling smoke. But from within, spikes suddenly burst forth — jagged, violent projections aimed straight at him.
Lucid reacted instantly.
Dodging each spike with razor-sharp reflexes, he reached into the Black Hearts card again, pulling free his grappling gun. He aimed it at a building not far off and fired. The mechanism caught in an instant, and Lucid launched himself through the air, leaping from rooftop to rooftop.
Everything was going well as the projectiles couldn't catch up to him until a massive spike crashed through one of the buildings behind him. The shockwave threw him off balance mid-air. He gritted his teeth, twisting his body, and landed in a roll that dampened the impact. All thanks to the boost from the Black Spade card, still enhancing his physical momentum.
'Tch, this won't be easy…'
Lucid pushed himself up from the roll, but before he could fully steady his footing, a silhouette appeared behind him—so sudden, it felt like it had slipped through time itself.
A heavy fist slammed into the side of his face.
The blow sent him flying, his body crashing through the air before slamming into a building a short distance away. The impact shattered the wall, debris scattering as he tumbled through the rubble in a cloud of dust and broken stone.
Staggering up from his stance, the silhouette stepped into the light.
It was the Archmage—the very same one who had stood on the platform moments ago.
Lucid blinked through the dust, mind reeling. How…? How did he get here so fast?
The Archmage strode forward with calm, measured steps, twirling his staff once before letting it vanish in a flicker of blue dust.
"Surprised?" he said coolly. "Before I became an Archmage, I was a physical wielder."
His lips curled into a smile—more condescending than amused.
"I haven't had the pleasure of indulging in murder for quite some time. I intend to savor this moment... release a little steam."
Then, with a mocking tilt of his head, he added, "I do hope you don't forfeit. That would be… rather unfortunate."
He chuckled, his laughter dripping with the haughty arrogance of a man too rich for consequences.
As the dust cleared from the wreckage where Lucid had landed, something bright pierced the smoke—
a glowing sphere, small and sudden.
A flashbang.
As it detonated, from the side of the cloud, a figure emerged.
The Archmage flinched, eyes narrowing. Though momentarily dazed, he managed to catch a glimpse of the silhouette through the haze and instinctively launched a spell toward it.
But it wasn't Lucid.
It was only his coat, flung through the smoke as a decoy.
The real Lucid burst out from the opposite side, fully focused, not wasting even a heartbeat. Every fiber of his body poured into this single movement–this single shot.
One hand stretched forward to steady himself mid-air, the other holding what could only be described as a monstrous firearm.
A double–barreled shotgun.
Its sleek metal frame shimmered faintly, and with it, the Black Spade card activated—its power surging to full capacity, enhancing the potency of the shells to their very limit.
Lucid jumped sideways, twisting with sheer momentum, then fired.
The air split with a deafening blast as a scream echoed seconds later, confirming the hit.
He'd landed it.
The Archmage staggered not realizingwhat had just happened, clutching his chest as blood poured between his fingers. He looked down in fear and disbelief.
"YOU IMBECILE! HOW DARE YOU HARM A NOB—"
His voice broke into a wet cough.
He collapsed as he gasped, wheezing, his lungs struggling for air. The shot had punctured his chest, maybe even collapsed a lung. The range had been too short—Lucid couldn't begin to imagine the pain that followed. The Archmage was on one knee, trembling and in pain…
As Lucid turned to move thinking the job was done, he heard a cold, teasing voice behind him:
"Kidding…"
He froze.
The archmage, still collapsed on the open ground, brought something to his lips and swallowed a potion. A sickly glow enveloped his body as he began healing himself with magic.
"What the–" Lucid muttered, eyes wide.
The damage from the shotgun had been near-fatal, but now… it was being reversed. The broken bones, the blood-soaked chest, It all began to mend. Flesh stitched back together in a second, and the archmage's breathing steadied.
Lucid's hand moved swiftly, summoning fresh bullets as the empty shells faded into dust. The double-barrel reloaded with a satisfying click. But just as he raised the weapon–
A pierce.
A jagged rock grazed his left ear. His head snapped to the side, blood trailing down. His reflexes were slower now. He had poured half of the Black Spade card's remaining power into that last shot—boosting his momentum, the potency of the shells, and his aim.
He couldn't maintain both physical maneuverability and deal fatal damage anymore. He had to choose: flee or finish this.
And it got worse.
He looked down at the Seven Red Hearts card floating faintly near his hand—it had begun to turn gray. Losing color. That meant his ammunition was running low… No his very essence. He couldn't pull another trick or summon a new weapon. He had to play his cards carefully now, for every decision could be his last.
The archmage now stood tall, not just recovered, but energized with a new found euphoria.
He stepped forward, smirking with a kind of academic curiosity.
"You're no mage," he said, voice low and intrigued. "And you're not a physical wielder either… Are you an equal wielder?"
He paused, eyes glinting.
"No matter. I'll have you dissected or maybe even have experiments runned through you… My researchers will enjoy figuring you out."
Lucid wasn't really listening; his mind churned with inner turmoil. That should've finished the job. How is he still standing? What kind of half-assed tricks is he pulling? Maybe I am the coward after all. No, no, no… think…
'Even so, the potency was so great that he couldn't have healed himself... unless it was a combination of the potion and magic.'
The archmage, noticing his thoughts, shouted,
"I AM AN ARCHMAGE! I AM ABOVE YOU, SUPERIOR! What do you think a commoner like you can do?!"
He drew in a slow, deep breath, really steadying himself this time. The archmage was closing the distance, moving toward him with deadly intent, now no more than fifteen meters away.
God, why am I making this so complicated...? The thought struck him suddenly, like a thought of something important being recalled.
Without hesitation, Lucid spun around and sprinted in the opposite direction.
This time, a wide grin spread across his face.
"Catch me if you can."