"You're really afraid of this, right?" he mused, his voice a low, thrilling rumble.
Without another second of hesitation, driven by an insatiable curiosity and a gambler's instinct for ultimate power, he lunged. But not at her.
He raised his obsidian sword high above his head and, with all his might, drove it directly into the weakened, flickering runic barrier of the dome itself.
The effect was instantaneous and catastrophic.
The barrier, already strained to its breaking point, shattered at the point of impact. A torrent of the white flame, no longer a wisp but a raging river of annihilation, poured through the breach.
It didn't flood the arena; it was funneled directly into Aelion's sword. The blade glowed white-hot, and the energy traveled up the hilt, searing into his hands, his arms, and flooding his entire body.
Aelion's back arched. A silent scream was torn from his throat as agony beyond comprehension erupted in every cell of his digital form. His muscles bulged, threatening to tear apart under the strain.
His vision whited out, his consciousness blurring at the edges, threatening to shatter completely. This was not the pain of a game; it was the sensation of his very code being rewritten by a force of pure creation and destruction.
Another flicker of the flame, a mere splash from the torrent, broke free and touched the cowering Angel.
She didn't scream. She didn't have time. She simply obliterated, her divine form dissolving into motes of golden light that were instantly consumed by the white inferno.
Aelion barely registered it. His own body was the battlefield. His veins bulged, glowing with the white fire as the energy seared through him, tearing his flesh apart.
His Engraved Life Steal and potent recovery skills kicked into overdrive, fueled by the immense vitality he'd stolen from the elemental hordes. New flesh knitted itself together only to be immediately torn asunder again, in a horrific cycle of destruction and rebirth.
The energy, having ravaged his flesh, plunged deeper. It sought out his bones. Celestial, fractal patterns, mirroring the runes of the broken barrier, began to etch themselves onto his skeleton, glowing through his skin.
Then, the four spheres of his Engraved skills—Fire, Ice, Thunder, and Life Steal—materialized around him, forced into visibility by the overwhelming external power. They orbited him wildly, their individual energies clashing against the invading force.
The white flame leaking from his body reacted. It shot out, not to destroy the spheres, but to bind them.
Tendrils of pure white energy wrapped around each orb, a forced fusion, a celestial welding. The flame was integrating his power into its own, and his power was fighting back, adapting.
His obsidian sword, unable to contain the paradox of energies, developed a web of cracks with a sound like breaking glaciers.
And then, the entire dome collapsed.
The full, unmitigated ocean of white flame from the Sublimation Realm poured down upon him.
Ninety percent of it deluged directly into his body, a baptism of absolute fire. The remaining ten percent, a still-colossal amount, was absorbed by his cracking sword, which glowed now with a unstable, terrifying light.
The pain intensified beyond any threshold. Aelion felt something fundamental within him burn away—not his skills, not his stats, but the artificial limitations of the game itself, the very code that defined him as a 'player character'.
His body felt lighter, unshackled.
At that exact moment, a brilliant, violent violet light—the color of his deepest, most essential will—erupted from his core, pushing back against the white flame in a final, defiant stand.
The two forces clashed, merged, and then settled. The white flame, now tempered by his violet will, ceased its destruction.
It seeped into his blood, turning it incandescent. It flowed into his organs, each one becoming a furnace of pure power.
His whole being felt impossibly light, as if he could float away.
Finally, the flames receded, pulling back from his extremities and condensing in his chest, in the place where his heart would be. They compressed, and compressed, until all that remained was a single, brilliantly glowing seed of white fire, pulsing in time with a heartbeat that was now entirely his own.
The world flashed.
He was back on the throne. But he was not the same Aelion who had left it. He sat upon it not as a game champion, but as something new.
Something more. The Sovereign Mark on his hand was pulsing brightly. The throne was no longer a prize. It felt, for the first time, like a rightful seat.
Aelion sat upon the throne, the silence of the ascension path profound and heavy. The memory of the white flame was not a memory; it was a permanent, searing brand on his very soul. The seed of condensed power pulsed within his chest, a second, more potent heart. He felt the new patterns etched into his bones, the thrum of his incandescent blood. He was no longer just a player. He was a vessel for something ancient and terrifying.
It was then that the notifications appeared, their script stark and simple against the sublime aftermath of his transformation.
[You have passed the hidden trial]
The words held a weight the others had not. This had not been a test designed by game developers. This had been something else entirely.
[Reward: Mage God's Inheritance Crystal (Bound)(Not Inspectable)]
A object materialized in his inventory. He could sense it, a presence of immense, slumbering power, but it was shrouded in an impenetrable veil.
When he tried to focus on it, to pull up its stats or description, his perception slid away, met only by the unwavering Not Inspectable tag. It was a mystery, a locked box of unimaginable value handed to him with no key.
With a mental shrug of acceptance, he stored it away in the deepest corner of his digital storage. Some secrets were not for now.
Another announcement followed, its tone more standard, yet its message was anything but.
[You can enter the Sublimation Realm in 2 weeks]
Two weeks. The Time Extension Ticket had granted him six months, but this was different. This was an invitation. A head start into a realm no other player knew existed.
His purpose here was complete. With a final, lingering look at the throne—now a symbol of a beginning, not an end—Aelion selected 'Log Out'.
The world dissolved into a stream of light and data.
Consciousness returned to the familiar confines of his physical prison. The sterile, climate-controlled air of his room filled his lungs, a shocking contrast to the thin, charged atmosphere of the mountain peak or the oppressive energy of the hidden arena.
The faint, ever-present hum of his life-support pod and the wheelchair beside his bed were the only sounds. He was back. Aelion Velthane, the crippled heir, once again trapped in unresponsive flesh.
He took a moment, allowing his mind to bridge the vast chasm between the god-like power he had just wielded and the stark reality of his motionless legs.
The disconnect was jarring, a psychological whiplash that he had grown accustomed to, yet one that never lost its sting.
His finger, one of the few parts of his body that obeyed him with precision, pressed a button on the console built into his chair's armrest.
The far wall of his room shimmered and transformed into a massive, crystal-clear projection screen. A popular news channel flickered to life. The anchor, a man with impeccably coiffed hair and a practiced smile, was reporting with barely contained excitement.
"...breathtaking news from Euloria Company just dropped moments ago!" the anchor announced, his voice buzzing with fervor. "The legendary ghost player, the enigma known only as Aetherius, has done it! He has officially conquered the 100th floor of Legend of Dungeons! A feat many thought was impossible for a solo player!"
Aelion watched, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. Aetherius. His alias. It was strange to hear it spoken aloud in the real world, to see his digital triumph become a spectacle for the masses.
The news segment cut to dazzling CGI visuals of a new, fantastical world. "And in related, earth-shattering news," the anchor continued, "Euloria has announced that in just six months, their revolutionary new game, named after their own company—Euloria—will be released! They're calling it a full-dive spiritual successor to Legend of Dungeons, but built on an entirely new engine!"
The anchor leaned forward, his expression turning conspiratorial. "But here's the real shocker, folks. The company has released a stunning detail that has the entire gaming world buzzing. They will be integrating a permanent Talent feature into the game. Unlike temporary buffs or skills, these Talents are said to be unique, innate abilities that grow with the player, fundamentally shaping their journey from the very first moment they log in! This changes everything!"
Aelion's slight smile widened, transforming into a sharp, knowing smirk that never reached the news broadcast.
Everyone could enter the new world of Euloria in six months. They could all scramble for their unique Talents, dreaming of becoming the next legend.
But he wasn't going to the new game. Not with them.
He could enter the Sublimation Realm in two weeks.
_____
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