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At that pivotal moment, where the first threads of dawn pierce the womb of darkness, and the pure rays of light flow to breathe life into dormant souls, the scene on the western border of the continent "Lorais" was the complete antithesis of life. The light there was nothing but a spotlight illuminating a raging hell.
The battle raged as a symphony of destruction; the ground was no longer soil but a mixture of mud, blood, and ash. The dominant sound was the roar of mana engines from heavy war tanks, which did not fire ordinary shells but were akin to mobile volcanoes, spewing a continuous stream of molten magical plasma, tearing through the morning silence and melting everything in their path, leaving behind glowing blue energy trails that burned the flesh.
In the upper skies, dominance was absolute. Squadrons of fighters mimicking the design of (F-22 Raptor) aircraft powered by mana crystals were painting deathly canvases, maneuvering at impossible speeds to shoot down "Abyssal Bats" as if they were burning flies. Above them, giant shadows soared; strategic bombers with a (B-2 Spirit) design but of terrifying size and aura, their bellies loaded with runic bombs capable of erasing entire cities, waiting. The moment.
On the ground, the "Angels of Torment" legion advanced. Soldiers of diverse races, united by advanced electronic armor, engraved with protective talismans that glowed whenever struck by enemy blows. They were deadly combat legions; the infantry advanced at a steady pace, merging their magic and technology for the assault, while the archers used magical rifles made from natural elements, which gave them a majestic and terrifying appearance at once.
At the forefront of this holy advance stood the three commanders. The eldest and most imposing among them stood out, a great horn centered on his forehead signifying his strength, his body clad in armor made of "Vibranium" reinforced with the latest nanotechnology, which pulsed with a life of its own, and the ancient sarcastic inscriptions on its surface glowed crimson, granting him physical strength that defied logic.
The enemy, however, was not a regular army but a nightmare made real. "Abyssal Beasts" of the dark gray category. Humanoid deformities, distorted as if they had emerged from the heart of a molten nuclear reactor. Their dark gray skins were peeling from excessive radiation, and their limbs were unnaturally long, reminiscent of the (SCP-096) anomaly, but they possessed four upper limbs that tore through flesh and steel. These creatures did not need to look into your eyes to attack; they sensed life and sought to extinguish it with absolute madness.
The objective was clear and fateful: the Abyssal Rift. A tear in the fabric of reality pumping corruption energy; if not quelled now, it would expand to swallow the entire continent, transforming into a "Class Black Rift" where there is no return and no salvation.
While the balance was slightly tilting in favor of the Alliance army thanks to the concentrated magical bombardment, something unforeseen occurred: the earth shook violently, and the color of the sky above the rift changed from dark gray to purple.
The screeching of the gray beasts ceased for a moment, as if making way for their masters. From the heart of the widening rift, three entities emerged, causing the soldiers to freeze in terror.
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The first, "The Silent Predator": A slender giant ten meters tall, its body covered in sharp blade-like scales. It possesses six arms ending in bony scythes and moves at a speed disproportionate to its size, cutting through tanks as if they were cardboard.
The second, "The Living Fortress": A massive mass of volcanic rock and petrified flesh, slow-moving but nearly impervious to tank shells. Each step causes a miniature earthquake, and from its mouth, it unleashes a torrent of corrupted volcanic lava.
The third, "The Weaver of Nightmares": A giant floating slightly above the ground, its body semi-transparent and surrounded by halos of black magic. It did not attack physically but began muttering incantations in an incomprehensible language, causing some soldiers to collapse to the ground, screaming while clutching their heads as terrifying hallucinations directly assaulted their minds.
(The monsters are Black Five-Star Class.)
The horned commander shouted, his magically amplified voice echoing across the battlefield: "Do not retreat! Focus fire on the Weaver of Nightmares first! Mages, activate mental barriers! We must hold out until our new weapon arrives!"
After saying this, he personally charged toward the "Silent Predator," his horn glowing with immense magical energy, using his shield to parry a scythe strike capable of slicing a tank in half, in a terrifying clash between the power of magical Vibranium and the brutality of the Abyss.
The clash between the horned commander and the "Silent Predator" resembled an uneven death dance. Despite the resilience of the Vibranium armor and the magic enveloping it, the commander was retreating step by step. The ten-meter-tall beast's speed was supernatural; while the commander parried a strike from the right, three bony scythes lunged from the left and above, tearing through layers of magical protection and cracking the solid ground beneath his feet.
Meanwhile, the situation behind him was catastrophic. "Magna-Tek" tanks had turned into pools of molten metal under the weight of the "Living Fortress," while soldiers began firing on each other in madness, their eyes bleeding under the influence of the "Weaver of Nightmares." A war mage screamed before his head exploded from psychic pressure: "The barriers are collapsing! We can't withstand—"
Suddenly, the sound vanished.
Not because the battle had stopped, but because another sound, deeper and greater, had swallowed the noise of war.
Boom... Boom... Boom...
It was not a random earthquake like the footsteps of the "Living Fortress,"but a steady, heavy rhythm so intense that gravity itself seemed to waver with each pulse. The "Silent Predator" ceased its attack, its six arms freezing mid-air as it instinctively turned in terror toward the rear of the Alliance army.
The thick smoke clouds parted to reveal the impossible.
The "New Weapon" had arrived.
It was not merely a machine, but a mountain of moving steel. The "Titan of Conquest," towering at a staggering 68.5 meters, blocked the faint sunlight with its colossal shadow. Its armored body, forged from unearthly alloys, reflected the battlefield's glow with a cold sheen, and its movements, despite its massive size, were eerily fluid, devoid of the usual mechanical screech, as if it were a living being clad in steel.
In its right hand, it gripped the "Gravity Hammer," a weapon the size of a residential building, its head glowing with pent-up kinetic energy. At the center of its broad chest, the central core pulsed with a brilliant sky-blue light, dispelling the purple shadows of nightmares.
The "Silent Predator" snarled, unaware of the true danger, and decided to leap at supersonic speed toward the Titan's head, its scythes ready to pierce the giant's neck.
But the Titan did not blink.
With unbelievable speed for a being of its size, the Titan's left arm moved, snatching the ten-meter-tall beast from the air as if plucking a bothersome insect.
The sound of bones and scythes shattering was heard with terrifying clarity as the Titan's steel fist crushed the "Silent Predator." The five-starred beast that had terrorized legions was squeezed until it turned into black mist between the Titan's fingers, then its remnants were casually tossed aside.
The Titan's attention immediately turned to the "Living Fortress."
The Titan raised its massive hammer high, and the core in its chest flared, converting energy into the hammer's head.
The Titan brought down the hammer.
"Smash!"
It did not just strike the beast—it struck the ground before it. The resulting shockwave shattered the volcanic rock forming the "Living Fortress's" body, launching the colossal monster into the air like a ragdoll. Before it could fall, the Titan completed its motion with a devastating lateral swing, reducing the stone beast to meteoric fragments that scattered back toward the Abyssal Rift.
Only the "Weaver of Nightmares" remained.
The translucent beast attempted to breach the Titan's mind, sending waves of terror and hallucinations. But it met emptiness—a cold, battle-hardened artificial mind, untouched by fear and blind to nightmares.
The Titan opened the plating on its chest, fully exposing the central core.
A wail began to rise, the sound of energy charging until the air shimmered.
The horned commander, struggling to his feet, shouted: "All units! Take cover!"
The "Blue Pulse" beam was unleashed.
A column of pure, concentrated light erupted from the Titan's chest, vaporizing the air in its path. The "Weaver of Nightmares" could not even scream. The beam pierced through the black magic halos, erasing the beast from reality entirely, continuing onward to strike directly into the heart of the "Abyssal Rift."
A silent explosion echoed, then the purple flames receded, and the tear in reality began slowly closing under the influence of the Titan's pure energy.
The Titan stood tall amid the now-silent battlefield, steam rising from its hot armor, the hammer resting on its shoulder. The horned commander looked at this towering savior, then whispered in awe mixed with triumph:
"The age of titans has begun."
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Suddenly, amid the euphoria of victory, the boundaries of the epic scene began to shrink. The Titan no longer filled the horizon but was confined within a giant rectangular frame. The majestic spectacle had transformed into nothing more than high-definition pixels on a massive "hologram" screen mounted on the facade of a skyscraper in the heart of the capital. The spattering blood, the soldiers' cries, and the mana explosions were being broadcast in 8K clarity to thousands of pedestrians below in the crowded streets.
What was most ridiculous wasn't the bloody scene but the audience's reaction. No one screamed in terror, nor did a single tear fall in sympathy for the soldiers. Instead, enthusiastic cheers rose as if they were watching a football match, while soaring green stock indicators flashed wildly on the news ticker beneath the screen.
"Wow! Look at that Titan's suspension system!" shouted a teenager, devouring a burger, completely indifferent to the monster tearing through the battlefield behind him.
"Moonshadow Arsenal's stock has hit the ceiling! I told you to invest in it!" exclaimed a businessman in a luxurious suit, jumping for joy.
Amid this cold, materialistic clamor, "Arthur" stood in a corner of the street, watching the screen with a faint, barely perceptible smile on his face.
(So... this is the "product" you bet your entire fortune on?)
The deep, raspy voice echoed inside Arthur's mind—the voice of the beast of his bloodline lurking deep within his soul.
Arthur replied inwardly, calmly: "Yes, it's the greatest advertising masterpiece. This giant isn't just a weapon—it's the key to the vaults. The money the government and corporations will pour in to build an army will make this Titan look like a child's toy in the future."
(What confidence...) the voice mocked in his head. (You speak as if you hold the keys to destiny. Don't forget, partner, you don't belong to this world. And according to your own admission, your constant interference has scrambled the original timeline. What proof do you have that this iron giant won't turn into scrap metal when faced with the true "Abyssal Masters"?)
Arthur shrugged carelessly, his golden eyes still fixed on the screen: "Hmm... fair question. Honestly? I don't have an answer."
(What?!)
"But that's what makes it fun, isn't it?" Arthur suddenly cut himself off, a familiar shiver running down his spine—not the intent to kill, but something far more annoying.
He lowered his gaze from the screen to survey his surroundings and muttered in annoyance: "We need to leave immediately. Things are starting to get... sticky."
Arthur's problem wasn't just his strength—it was his other " curse." He possessed a face that defied logic. His features were carved with such precision it seemed as though the god of art had spent a century refining the line of his jaw. His hair fell in carefully disheveled strands, and his eyes—those molten-golden eyes—were enough to make anyone who met their gaze forget their own name.
He wasn't just a "handsome young man." His beauty was domineering, regal—a beauty that rivaled the "Awakened of the Second Rank."
At that moment, the bustling street gradually fell silent. People who had been cheering for the Titan moments earlier began turning, one by one, toward Arthur.
The teenager's burger slipped from his hand.
The businessman froze, mouth agape.
A collective gasp rose from a group of passing girls, one of whom began to sway as if struck by a poisoned Cupid's arrow.
(Oh no... the circus has begun,) the beast chuckled mockingly inside his head.
An elderly woman crossing the street whispered aloud, embarrassingly loud: "Good heavens... did an angel descend from the sky, or is my Alzheimer's medication causing beautiful hallucinations?"
Arthur tried to cover his face with his coat collar, but the damage was already done.
"It's him!" shrieked a girl from the far end of the street, her voice breaking the sound barrier. "The young man with golden eyes! Take pictures! No, capture him alive!"
The crowd suddenly transformed from ordinary passersby into a wave of lovesick zombies. Thousands of smartphones flashed simultaneously like light bombs.
"Damn it," Arthur muttered, stepping back. "I face Abyssal monsters with a smile, but this... this is too much."
(Run, 'Don Juan'!) the beast cackled. (A fan army is scarier than a silent assassin!)
"Shut up, I'm not like that... How do you even know about that person?"
But he couldn't get a response—the crowd had grown too dense.
Arthur turned and bolted with a speed unbecoming of his royal dignity, more like a seasoned thief fleeing the police.
Due to the city's laws, mana usage was prohibited except in cases of self-defense; otherwise, the user would face a hefty fine.
"Wait, sir! Please, tell me which beauty clinic did this to you!" shouted a young man as he ran.
"Wait! I just want an autograph... on my forehead!" yelled a girl wearing a cat-print shirt.
"I want to gaze into your eyes to write a poem!" another cried, sprinting in high heels with Olympic speed.
Arthur leaped over a flying taxi, slid skillfully across its hood, then turned into a narrow alley.
"Why don't they look at the damn screen?!" Arthur said in frustration as he jumped over trash bins with agility. "There's a 68-meter-tall Titan destroying monsters! Look at it!"
(The Titan is made of iron, but you're made of 'seduction,') the beast replied with biting sarcasm. (Accept your fate—your face is a weapon deadlier than nuclear bombs.)
"How do you even know about nuclear bombs?" Arthur snapped as he dodged three crazed fans trying to grab him for a noblewoman.
Arthur reached a dead end, the crowd closing in. He had no choice. He activated the [Shadow Manipulation] skill.
His body vanished completely into the shadows just moments before the crowd stormed the alley.
The crowd stood frustrated before the empty wall.
"Where did he go?"
"He vanished!"
"Was it an illusion?"
On the roof of a nearby building, Arthur reappeared, slightly annoyed, adjusting his perfectly unruffled hair. He looked down at the chaos he'd caused and sighed deeply.
"Tsk, this is really annoying..." he said with utter seriousness, "If only I had the money to buy a shadow ring, I wouldn't have to flee like a criminal."
(You say that every time,) the beast replied, bored. (And every time you see the price, you start cursing.)
"Shut up... Ugh, I really hate this face."
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