The rift was no longer a wound in the sky—it was a battlefield carved for gods.
Lucien's aura flared, pale and stormlike, each movement sharpened by centuries of combat in The White. His blade hummed with a sovereign's precision, cutting void-born copies into ribbons that dissolved into mist. Yet for every beast he struck down, two more crawled from the fissures.
His reflection thrived in the chaos. Wild laughter echoed through the glass world as the mirrored Lucien fought without restraint. His strikes burned, savage arcs that fractured the plane further with every swing. Unlike Lucien's discipline, the reflection wielded destruction itself—raw, unchecked, exhilarating.
"Do you understand now?" the reflection sneered, blade pressed against Lucien's with crushing force. "You trained for eternity, but you trained to contain yourself. I did not. I devoured every hatred, every madness, every ounce of hunger The White fed us. That is why I am stronger."
Lucien's pale gaze narrowed, unflinching. He turned the lock aside, blade spiraling into a clean counterstroke that forced his mirror to retreat two steps. "Stronger? No. Louder." His voice cut cold through the chaos. "And noise is easy to silence."
The reflection roared, charging again—this time releasing a technique that made the world itself howl. His blade ignited in a storm of black fire, striking downward with the force of collapsing stars. The void-born around them were shredded to ash, the plane buckling under the sheer violence.
Lucien raised his blade. His aura condensed—not wild, not chaotic, but absolute. A spear of pale energy erupted, countering the inferno head-on. The collision split the rift open even wider, shards of reality raining like shattered glass into the mortal skies.
Both Exceptions staggered back, chests heaving, their eyes locked with unbroken defiance.
For the first time, the reflection's grin faltered. "…You shouldn't be able to match that. Not after all you threw away."
Lucien tilted his head, a faint, merciless smirk tugging at his lips. "You mistake me. I didn't throw it away. I forged it into something sharper."
His reflection's eyes widened—but then narrowed with something darker. A whisper escaped him, one that made the void itself still.
"Tell me, Lucien… did you ever wonder why The White chose you? Why you survived when no other soul has?"
Lucien's grip tightened. His heart, long forged into iron, shuddered for the first time.
The reflection's grin returned, feral and triumphant. "Because you weren't its victim. You were its seed."
The rift convulsed violently, as if affirming the words. Outside, entire continents felt the tremor, their skies splitting further.
And in the heart of it all, Lucien Dreamveil stood frozen—blade raised, fury rising, as the truth of his existence began to unravel.