Free Web NovelThe heavens had become unrecognizable.
No stars remained.
No moon remained.
Even the clouds had vanished.
Only two powerhouses existed now.
One was Lucien Valebrook.
The other was the being wearing Eternia's body.
Below them, the city had transformed into a nightmare.
Entire areas had disappeared.
Roads had collapsed into abyssal trenches.
Towers leaned at impossible angles.
The barrier surrounding the battlefield continued glowing like a prison forged from divine authority itself.
Nobody could escape.
Nobody could enter.
And trapped within that prison—
Thousands had already died.
The First Dream stood silently amidst the devastation.
Four arms rested calmly at its sides.
Two belonged to Heaven.
Two belonged to Hell.
Golden runes flowed across Eternia's skin like rivers of living light.
The star-shaped mark upon her forehead pulsed slowly.
Patiently.
Watching.
Waiting.
Across from the ancient entity stood Lucien Valebrook.
His transformed body radiated immense ether.
Four arms.
Four eyes.
Four independent streams of thought.
The Soul Script: Conqueror of Dimension remained active.
Countless dimensional fractures floated around him.
Each crack revealed another reality.
Another possibility.
Another pathway.
Yet despite all his strength—
Fear had begun creeping into his heart.
Because he understood something now.
This battle wasn't normal.
This wasn't merely a clash of power.
This wasn't even a clash of soul scripts.
It was a contest between a mortal who had climbed to the summit of his era...
And something that remembered eras before history itself.
Lucien's Sacred Art: Wormhole ready to end this battle but then....
The First Dream slowly lifted one hand.
The battlefield became silent.
The angels stopped singing.
The demons stopped roaring.
Even the winds seemed to hesitate.
Then the ancient entity spoke.
"Divine Art."
The words rolled across reality.
The barrier trembled.
The earth groaned.
Lucien felt a chill travel through his spine.
Every instinct screamed danger.
Then came the second phrase.
"Sanctuary's Sacrifice."
For a moment—
Nothing happened.
Then the dead began to rise.
Not physically.
Spiritually.
Across the battlefield, countless lights emerged.
Tiny lights.
Large lights.
Bright lights.
Dim lights.
Souls.
Thousands upon thousands of souls.
Every citizen slain by the barrier.
Every soldier killed by the angelic host.
Every victim consumed by the demonic army.
Every noble.
Every merchant.
Every servant.
Every child.
Every life lost since the catastrophe began.
The souls floated upward.
Lucien's eyes widened.
"No..."
The souls gathered around the First Dream.
The sight was beautiful.
The sight was horrifying.
The sight was wrong.
The First Dream merely watched.
Expressionless.
Unmoved.
As though such things happened every day.
The souls compressed together.
Hundreds became dozens.
Dozens became clusters.
Clusters became streams.
The streams merged into a single river.
Then the river compressed further.
Ether emerged.
Pure ether.
An impossible quantity.
Enough to supply entire armies.
Enough to fuel kingdoms.
Enough to sustain wars.
The ether condensed further.
Smaller.
Denser.
Sharper.
Lucien expected flames.
He expected darkness.
He expected corruption.
Instead—
The ether became frost.
Ancient frost.
The kind that existed before winter.
The kind that existed before seasons.
The temperature across half the battlefield dropped instantly.
Buildings crystallized.
Broken roads froze.
The air itself began turning white.
Meanwhile—
On Lucien's side—
The dimensional gateway continued roaring.
The wormhole connected directly to the surface of a distant star.
Solar fire poured endlessly from its opening.
Heat flooded the battlefield.
Stone melted.
Metal liquefied.
Entire sections of earth transformed into rivers of lava.
The contrast became terrifying.
One side burned.
One side froze.
One side resembled the source of all heat.
The other resembled the death of all warmth.
Then the attacks collided.
The frozen beam erupted from the First Dream's hand.
The solar inferno surged from Lucien's gateway.
The clash illuminated the world.
Reality screamed.
The barrier shook violently and cracking.
Shockwaves expanded outward.
Mountains near the city boundary cracked.
Forests flattened.
Rivers changed course.
Even distant observers like Etherius and Nysera felt the consequences.
The collision remained deadlocked.
Neither attack advanced.
Neither attack retreated.
Lucien gritted his teeth.
His four eyes narrowed.
This was it.
This would decide everything.
He poured more ether into the wormhole.
The solar flames intensified.
The First Dream calmly increased the output of Sanctuary's Sacrifice.
The frozen beam brightened.
The clash continued.
Seconds became minutes.
Minutes stretched further.
Neither side moved.
Neither side blinked.
The battlefield had transformed into a contest of endurance.
Lucien realized it first.
A battle of reserves.
A battle of stamina.
A battle of who exhausts their meridians and Ether first.
Normally—
He would have welcomed such a battle.
His reserves were immense.
His control exceptional.
His Sacred Art had been refined for centuries.
Against any ordinary opponent—
He would have won.
Against any saint—
He would have won.
Against almost any monarch—
He would have won.
But his opponent wasn't ordinary.
The First Dream observed the clash calmly.
Inside its thoughts calculations unfolded.
A battle of endurance.
Interesting.
Yet ultimately meaningless.
Because while Lucien consumed ether—
The First Dream consumed something else.
Divinity.
Tiny fragments.
Ancient remnants.
The last pieces carried across countless cycles.
Every second.
The First Dream converted another fragment into ether.
Replacing everything spent.
Maintaining equilibrium.
Sustaining the impossible.
Lucien had no idea.
He only knew one thing.
He was losing.
Slowly.
Inevitably.
His breathing became heavier.
His meridians burned.
His muscles screamed.
The dimensional gateway flickered.
Just once.
The First Dream noticed.
Immediately.
The advantage shifted.
Lucien increased his output.
The wormhole stabilized.
Then flickered again.
His reserves had fallen below a critical threshold.
Panic appeared.
For the first time during the battle—
Panic.
The First Dream noticed that too.
Then the ancient entity smiled.
A small smile.
A terrible smile.
Lucien's heart sank.
The wormhole trembled.
The flames weakened.
His meridians screamed louder.
His Sacred Art approached collapse.
"No..."
Lucien forced more ether forward.
Blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
His four eyes had turned bloodshot red.
The dimensional gateway shrank slightly.
Then more.
Then more.
Until finally—
The impossible happened.
The wormhole collapsed.
The solar connection vanished.
The flames disappeared.
Silence followed.
Lucien staggered.
His breathing became ragged.
His Soul Script remained active.
But barely.
The First Dream moved instantly.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
The frozen beam disappeared.
The ancient entity crossed hundreds of meters in a single step.
Lucien reacted.
Dimensional barriers emerged.
The First Dream shattered them.
Lucien altered distance.
The First Dream ignored it.
Lucien retreated.
The First Dream followed.
A fist struck.
Lucien blocked.
Another strike followed.
Then another.
Then another.
The battlefield became a blur.
Every punch carried terrifying force.
Every kick distorted reality.
Every collision sent shockwaves across the city.
Lucien fought desperately.
His dimensional abilities continuously altered trajectories.
Changed distances.
Twisted momentum.
Yet the First Dream kept adapting.
Predicting.
Countering.
Overwhelming.
The difference in experience became obvious.
Lucien possessed centuries.
The First Dream possessed something far greater.
The battle gradually tilted.
Then collapsed entirely.
A chain wrapped around Lucien's arm.
Another seized his leg.
A third coiled around his torso.
Before he could escape—
The First Dream slammed him into the frozen earth.
The city shook.
Cracks expanded for kilometers.
Lucien attempted to rise.
The First Dream struck again.
And again.
And again.
Relentless pressure.
Relentless domination.
Eventually—
Lucien could no longer stand.
His ether reserves had become dangerously low.
His Soul Script flickered.
His dimensional fractures faded.
For the first time in centuries—
The Dimensional Overlord found himself helpless.
The First Dream looked down upon him.
Then raised a hand.
One of the angels descended.
Unlike the others— ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm
This one carried something.
A strange artifact.
Ancient.
Dark.
Wrong.
Four metallic claws surrounded a crystal core.
Runes covered every surface.
The object radiated a dreadful presence.
Lucien immediately felt fear.
Not because he recognized it.
Because he didn't.
And that frightened him more.
The First Dream accepted the artifact.
Its gaze settled upon Lucien.
Then it spoke.
"Voided Destiny."
The name echoed.
Lucien felt his soul shudder.
The First Dream lowered the device.
The claws slowly opened.
The runes illuminated.
Dark light emerged.
The artifact seemed almost alive.
Watching.
Hungry.
Waiting.
Lucien struggled.
The chains tightened.
His weakened body could barely move.
The First Dream stabbed the artifact in his abdomen.
The moment contact occurred—
Something changed.
Lucien's eyes widened.
A terrible sensation emerged.
Not just pain.
Not just physical pain.
Something deeper.
Something far worse.
His connection to the Axis trembled.
His soul trembled.
His very existence trembled.
The First Dream began channeling ether into the device.
The runes brightened.
The claws closed slightly.
Lucien finally understood.
And terror unlike anything he had ever experienced filled his heart.
"No..."
The First Dream remained silent.
More ether flowed.
The artifact activated further.
Lucien struggled desperately.
The chains rattled.
The earth cracked.
Dimensional energy surged wildly.
Yet nothing worked.
Nothing stopped it.
Nothing interrupted the process.
The claws continued closing.
The runes continued glowing.
The connection between Lucien and something fundamental to his existence began weakening.
Slowly.
Steadily.
Inevitably.
For the first time in centuries—
The hidden guardian of the empire screamed.
Not from defeat.
Not from injury.
But from the realization of what was about to happen.
And above the ruined capital—
Beneath shattered heavens and frozen hellscape—
The First Dream calmly watched.
As Voided Destiny awakened.
