The Rift screamed.
A soundless wail shook both sky and stone as the tear in reality widened, its jagged edges dripping with strands of white nothingness. The citizens of the capital fell to their knees, clutching their heads, praying to gods who no longer listened.
And then—he entered.
The Second Warlord of Avaron did not climb nor fall; he stepped into the Rift, as though reality itself bent to let him pass. The moment his armored boots touched the void, the endless white groaned. Cracks spidered across the groundless expanse, as if even this dimension could not bear his weight.
Lucien froze mid-strike, his blade locked against his reflection's. Silver eyes flickered to the figure approaching through the void-storm.
Every instinct screamed. This was not a challenger. This was not prey.
This was a predator of predators.
He stood towering in obsidian plate, each plate of armor etched with glowing runes of conquest. His eyes—two molten suns—cut through the storm, fixing on Lucien as if the reflection did not exist. His presence alone made the void ripple like water under a black star.
The Reflection laughed, stepping back, fading into the mist.
Reflection: "Ah… now the real test begins. Let's see if you're strong enough to survive the world itself."
The Warlord's voice rolled like thunder trapped in a coffin.
Second Warlord: "So… you are the bloom. The Exception."
Lucien raised his blade, every muscle coiled, every breath steady. Yet the storm of his aura faltered, gnawed at by the sheer gravity of the man before him.
Lucien: "And you've come to kill me."
Second Warlord: "If you are nothing more than a cursed child, then yes. But…"
He unsheathed his weapon. A greatsword, longer than Lucien was tall, blackened steel that bled sparks of crimson flame. The air trembled as the void bent around its edge.
Second Warlord: "…if you are the monster I've waited my life to meet… then I will carve my name into eternity by breaking you."
The Warlord moved first.
Not fast—instant. One blink, and the void itself screamed as his greatsword descended. Lucien's void-forged blade shot up to intercept, the impact tearing a canyon of silence through the White.
The force flung Lucien across the battlefield, his body skidding against nothingness. His arms quaked, bones shrieking under the pressure. The blade of absence in his hand crackled, nearly shattering.
But he did not fall.
Lucien's storm flared, tendrils of void coiling like serpents around him. He slashed outward, his blade erasing the Warlord's crimson sparks with every swing.
The Warlord smiled.
Second Warlord: "Good. You're no lamb. You bite."
He advanced, each step collapsing the space beneath his feet.
Lucien's mind raced. This was no monster from The White. This was a man—but stronger than anything he had ever faced. Worse than the beasts that multiplied endlessly. Worse than the shadow he fought.
He was a conqueror. A destroyer. A proof of what the world itself had bred to challenge the Void.
His reflection's voice echoed faintly from the mist:
Reflection: "Careful, Lucien. If you die here, your story ends… and mine begins."
Lucien's silver eyes hardened. His aura surged violently, the void-forged blade reshaping, elongating, becoming not just a sword—but a weapon of absence that tore through the Warlord's crimson flames.
The battlefield quaked as the two titans clashed again, strikes so heavy they bent the rules of existence. The void shuddered, the city below groaned, and every power across the continent felt the collision.
The Warlord's grin widened behind his black helm as his greatsword locked with Lucien's blade. Their auras writhed, sparks of red and white tearing holes through reality itself.
And then, with molten fire dripping from his mouthpiece, he whispered—just loud enough for Lucien to hear:
Second Warlord: "You are not the Sole Exception. You are just the first."
The void cracked open wider, swallowing their clash into darkness.