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Chapter 66 - Brother. Guardian. God.

The battlefield screamed.

Lucio exploded from the shadows, a crimson blur weaving through death and bone. His new form was no longer just stealth—it was fury honed into silence. Silent Night, once a cloak of stillness, now moved like a divine executioner.

His silhouette flickered like a broken frame—here one moment, gone the next, blades already stained with the essence of the dead.

The ground fractured beneath his footfalls as he launched toward Zeraphon, cleaving through waves of undead in a seamless, ruthless ballet. His soul-fueled aura whipped around him in violent arcs—bright red sparks in a world of decay.

His eyes glowed with ghostlight. His breath steamed like a forge. His dog tags sang with every kill.

Zeraphon remained still.

Then—he moved.

With a flick of his wrist, a swarm of wailing spirits tore from the cracked floor like a geyser. Hands, teeth, and claws twisted upward to tear Lucio apart from every angle.

Lucio blitzed through them—no hesitation, no wasted motion.

A bullet. A blade. A body dropped. Another. Then another.

"Close the gap," Lucio muttered to himself. "Don't give him room."

He ducked low, sliding through a half-rotted knight, and kicked off a collapsing ribcage to propel himself toward Zeraphon.

But the Death God was already rising into the air, cloaked in a rising vortex of darkness. His range expanded in all directions, commanding the battlefield like a conductor of the damned.

"You're fast," Zeraphon said coolly. "But not fast enough."

Lucio leapt after him—but mid-air, a jagged pulse of spirit energy caught him in the chest, sending him spiraling down.

He flipped, landed in a crouch—reformed instantly into mist—then reappeared at Zeraphon's blind spot and slashed—

Only for the Death God to turn and grip Lucio's throat mid-strike.

With a pulse of divine pressure, Zeraphon shattered Silent Night.

Lucio's aura burst like glass, and before he could recover, Zeraphon hurled him across the battlefield like a spear.

He hit a wall.

Cracked stone.

Then silence.

Until a hand caught him—steady, firm, familiar.

Lucio groaned, coughing up dust. His vision flickered, red light fading from his irises.

A hand pulled him to his feet.

Jalen.

Silent. Steady. Eyes hollowed by something far heavier than war.

"You're losing your grip," Jalen said, voice low.

Lucio steadied himself, still panting. "It's like… I'm burning from the inside. Like my body's not mine."

Jalen nodded. "That's because it isn't."

Lucio blinked. "What?"

"It's not a transformation," Jalen said. "It's a rewiring. You're not human anymore, Lucio. You're something else. Stop thinking like a man. Start thinking like a god."

Lucio's hands trembled. He looked down. The dog tags around his neck shimmered again, faintly pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.

"I don't know how to control it," he muttered.

"You don't need to," Jalen said. "You just need to trust it. That power… It's not supposed to feel natural. It's supposed to feel like a burden. But if you bear it long enough, it becomes your weapon."

Lucio nodded once, his eyes glowing crimson again. 

He turned to rejoin the fight, but paused. "You okay?"

Jalen didn't respond at first.

"I'm not the one who needs to be," he finally said, eyes staring past the broken wall.

Lucio gave a sharp nod of thanks—and ran back into the storm.

Jalen watched Lucio vanish into the chaos, then closed his eyes for a moment.

The ache in his chest wasn't physical.

It was a memory.

"Dumbass! You're going to get us kicked out!" Rhea's voice hissed through the brothel's hallway as Jalen staggered sideways, one arm around a man's throat.

The man's friend lay crumpled on the floor, groaning.

"He grabbed your arm," Jalen slurred, breath reeking of Veyport Ale. "Tried to touch you again after you said no. I warned him."

Rhea planted her hands on her hips, glaring. She looked younger then—sharper, brighter. Not worn down by battle. Not yet.

"You can't just beat every man in the city to death," she snapped.

"I didn't kill him," Jalen mumbled, dragging the man to the door and tossing him outside like trash. "Yet."

He turned back, unsteady, and pointed at her with a crooked grin.

"I'm your guardian. That's my job."

"You're not my brother," she muttered.

Jalen paused. Then his expression softened—drunken haze momentarily fading.

"No. But I might as well be."

Rhea stared at him, expression unreadable.

Then she nodded.

" You know, Stix and I lived alone for five years before you pulled us off the street. I'm tough stuff! That being said, if I'm your little sister, then stop treating me like glass."

Jalen laughed, staggering again. "Deal."

Back in the present, laughter echoed behind him.

High-pitched. Slithering. Impossible to trace.

Jalen opened his eyes.

The Smiling Man crawled into view—dozens of him, each no larger than a child, laughing and sprinting along the walls, across the ceiling, through the stone.

Then—they collided.

Bones cracked, joints bent the wrong way, spines snapped and realigned.

And in a grotesque ripple of flesh and grin,he stood whole.

Looming. Towering. His mouth was already too wide.

He didn't speak.

He launched forward.

Jalen's aura flared—gold and violet igniting the air as he slid into stance, catching the first blow with his forearm. The force cracked the stone beneath his feet.

The Smiling Man attacked again—a flurry of twitching limbs and clawed jabs that moved like static skipping through time. Jalen ducked, spun, and countered.

But every hit phased through.

His fists passed through the creature like smoke.

But the Smiling Man's claws?

They landed.

And Jalen let them.

Slash.

Punch.

Slash.

Rip.

Then—

CRACK.

Jalen flew backward, smashing through a jagged wall and tumbling into the dust.

The Smiling Man appeared behind him, crouching low, head tilted.

"You let me hit you," he whispered, his voice like nails dragged through silk. "You want to feel it. The guilt. The grief."

He stood tall, smile stretching.

"Was it the way she screamed?"The voice dipped lower."Was it her eyes, wide and hopeful, even while bleeding?"A twitch."Or maybe—maybe it was the fact that you believed that glyph you gave her would be enough to keep her safe until you arrived. Alas, you were too late—"

"SHUT UP!"

Jalen screamed, rising, eyes wet, shaking.

"Why did it have to be Rhea?!" His voice cracked, broken by grief. "Of all the people to die… you took the one soul that still believed in everyone!Do you even understand how much I fucking hate you?!"

His aura exploded.

Bloodlust poured from him in waves—dark and burning, sacred and wild. The ground quaked beneath it. The walls curled inward. Even the shadows recoiled.

The Smiling Man froze.

And for the first time since his creation—

His smile wavered.

Jalen wiped his eyes and stared directly at the Smiling Man. "I am going to beat that smile off your fucking face."

"Ultimate Skill: Joker's Playground"

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