MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 984: Backlash

Lucian Darkheart hovered in the emptiness of the Acarnis Galaxy, reveling in his hard-won victory. With eyes shut tight, he soaked in the immense splendor of his success, relishing the quiet that came after the devastating astral showdown. Three years... those endless, grueling years of anticipation had led to this one defining instant, and now it was all worth it... every grueling session, each daring gamble, every fierce battle, every restless evening dedicated to honing his strength and honing his intellect.

Though he kept it unspoken, Lucian couldn't deny a deep admiration for Aaaninja; despite all the supreme powers he'd carefully replicated across a full century, Aaaninja had held his own purely through raw genius and skill. Relying solely on his time manipulation gift, he'd matched Lucian blow for blow, even against a barrage of reality-bending techniques that ought to have crushed him outright, defying the odds with clever tactics and an almost scary intuition.

Truly, Aaaninja Chronisynth Eternos was no one to underestimate. His combat smarts and adaptability were off the charts, flipping to soul-based powers and hidden methods the instant his time control got neutralized, adjusting effortlessly like every obstacle was just another piece in a puzzle he'd long figured out.

Such a prodigy.

A subtle smile crossed Lucian's face, as he had zero issue acknowledging Aaaninja as a prodigy on par with himself; in fact, he viewed Aaaninja as his greatest adversary, the single force that drove him past laziness and into true excellence. Aura Nova would need to claim that spot once she reached her flawless form, once her promise turned into solid, irrefutable might instead of just untapped strength.

Yet another idea struck Lucian: he and Aaaninja had been dead even for most of the fight, their abilities smashing together like stars in collision, and what tipped the scales was the Personification power they'd both unleashed in that final, explosive clash.

Neither Aaaninja Chronisynth Eternos nor Lucian Darkheart had realized they held such perilously supreme abilities. When ??? granted the power to him, it came with a strange caveat, something they'd only learn about right when they needed it, like the info was locked away until the critical hour demanded it.

In other words, Aaaninja stayed unaware of the power until the exact second he deployed it, and Lucian faced the same surprise, both revealing a trump card they hadn't planned for or grasped completely until it burst forth.

No one could've foreseen their trump cards turning out this... shattered, phenomenal, and overwhelmingly dominant. Even those terms fell short of capturing the vast scale of what they'd released, as if words were too basic to grasp such otherworldly might.

An idea hit Lucian: his win came only because he alone understood the fourth wall. But did that bother him? Not in the slightest. It was his own tool, much like Aaaninja drew from the River Of Time and Kingsley from the Universe; edges meant nothing unless you seized them, and he'd just claimed what belonged to him.

Lucian's foot touched down on the moon's surface beside Aaaninja's lifeless form. The fine dust stirred lightly under his gentle landing. He gazed at it quietly, then let out a sigh while shaking his head, puzzled over why Aaaninja hadn't revived by now; after all, he hadn't fully slain Aaaninja, so this wasn't absolute True Death.

Just as Lucian prepared to call out Aaaninja's name, convinced the River Of Time was surely observing and attuned from outside the flow of cause and effect, a sudden strike landed on him. It didn't creep in like a soft ripple; instead, it slammed into him with absurd, impossible might and intensity, like a sea folding in on itself at one spot.

Lucian crumpled to his knees at once, the blow robbing him of air. In the instant that followed, he spewed out a massive volume of blood, as if on the verge of coughing up his very heart. Lucian sensed his insides twisting and tearing apart sequentially while he hurled out gallons of blood onto the ghostly moon ground.

Agony exploded through his whole frame, a savage, piercing torment; he, bearer of a Pain Nullification power that should shield him from all hurt and distress, now endured it at levels unknown from both his existences.

'A backlash?' Lucian wondered inwardly, but he had no time to ponder further before another heave hit, and this round wasn't just blood; he brought up bile, dark and acrid. Under normal circumstances, his extraordinary healing gifts should've kicked in right away, mending tissues and steadying vitals in mere moments, but nothing happened. It seemed the backlash had ruthlessly quashed any chance of recovery, every survival instinct harshly muted.

Right then, his skin lost a bit of hue, then faded more; it was draining away steadily, stripping color and life with each tick. His chiseled abs and toned build, forged in combat and bolstered by endless upgrades, began to shrivel as if mass and essence were fleeing him. Then his hair followed; the once-vibrant black locks sprouted white threads, and soon, without pity, they went entirely silver.

Lucian required no explanation for the crisis; his life force was ebbing, and he tracked the drain in the moment, watching it leak out like grains from a clenched fist. He moved to respond instantly, knowing full well that a survivor like him—who'd roamed galaxies from age twenty and now spanned over a hundred years—surely carried at least one trick to dodge any backlash imaginable.

Yet just as he tried to trigger his ability, Lucian encountered it once more, a binding force; that same crushing weight stifling his regeneration now locked down every power he owned right then. And it went further. His mana rank plummeted for good in real time, a permanent slide backward.

Lucian, formerly at the Ascendant Mana Rank, watched his Mana Rank tumble to Exarch Mana Rank in mere heartbeats. It fell once more to Hyperion Mana Rank shortly after, the energy in his mana core vanishing into vapor, as if stolen by some unseen, unforgiving presence.

Both life essence and mana rank fled from him at once, his core strength crumbling unchecked.

All his skills stood blocked too, barred by an unbreakable barrier, yet Lucian refused to yield. His mind raced to the system inventory, frantically scanning the vast trove of items he'd gathered from endless dangerous journeys through realms and dimensions, treasures from lost eras and legendary sites, but nothing in there offered aid for this mess.

Lucian understood the truth. Death approached, and no, this wasn't the sort where he'd bounce back later. Even his Reality Anchor power failed here, with every ability totally jammed, held down past any use.

'I'm dying, huh?' Lucian reflected through bloodied lips as red fluid dripped along his mouth, chin, garb, and form, marking him with the hue of finality. Yet fear evaded Lucian. Just death. He'd met it before in his prior life; nothing set this end apart from the first, save the heights he'd scaled in the interim.

'Fingers crossed the author kicked off a sequel; perhaps I'll pop up there reborn,' he pondered silently, a hint of wry amusement rising amid the unyielding torment battering him from all sides.

In that instant, perfect sharpness filled his mind, not from teetering on death's brink, not from some profound insight born of doom, but purely because he embraced the end without resistance, and in that surrender lay a clear, almost peaceful insight.