The White trembled.
Lucien felt it before he saw it—the void itself shivering as if recoiling from what was about to emerge. The mist thickened, swirling into a vortex of bone-chilling pressure. His aura flared instinctively, the crown of invisible fire rising from his fragile frame.
From the storm of white, it descended.
A colossus.
Its body was stitched together from the corpses of the monsters Lucien had slain, each limb a patchwork of horrors. Its four arms dragged against the ground, its jaw split into three directions, and its hollow eyes glowed with an intelligence that the others lacked. The air bent around it, warping as though reality itself was afraid to be near.
Lucien's aura shivered. This was no endless spawn. This was something different.
The colossus raised one hand, and the entire void groaned like glass under strain. Lucien staggered back. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, fear pressing against his mind.
"This thing… it's not meant to be beaten."
And yet, he smiled. His lips curled, sharp and defiant.
Then it's exactly what I've been waiting for.
The beast struck. A single palm slammed down, tearing the white ground like parchment. Lucien's body blurred as he barely evaded, aura exploding from his legs in a burst of force. His fragile frame whipped through the void, each step cracking the nothingness beneath him.
His strikes landed—one, two, three—each powered by aura, each carrying the weight of desperation refined into precision. The colossus staggered but did not fall. Its wounds closed almost instantly, the stolen flesh knitting itself anew.
Lucien's knuckles bled. His arms screamed with pain. But his eyes gleamed with something far more dangerous than despair—resolve sharpened to a blade.
If aura alone isn't enough… then I'll push beyond aura.
He gathered everything. Breath, heartbeat, willpower—the essence of his very existence. His aura didn't just flare this time; it condensed, collapsing inward like a star devouring itself. The pressure became unbearable, and for the first time, the colossus hesitated.
Lucien roared, thrusting his palm forward.
The compressed aura detonated.
A beam of invisible force ripped through the void, carving the colossus in half. The sound was deafening—not of noise, but of silence breaking, as though even the White itself had been torn open. The beast shrieked before disintegrating into fragments of light.
Lucien collapsed to his knees, chest heaving. His body shook, blood dripping from his lips. But through the agony, he laughed.
Not because he had survived. But because he had discovered something no one else ever could.
Aura was not just a weapon. It was infinite, as long as his will was.
And in this timeless prison, Lucien Dreamveil's will was the only thing that would never end.
The White fell silent again. But Lucien knew. Somewhere in the endless mist, more terrors were watching. Waiting.
And he was ready for them all.