The pocket dimension stretched endlessly, an ocean of unclaimed skies and boundless plains where no law of nature dared to bind them. It was Archon's creation — a world carved without limits — and here, the twelve scattered with their families, each pulled to a space that resonated with their own voids.
For Lucien, however, it was different. His mother stood before him, serene yet sharp-eyed, her presence enough to silence the crushing weight of everything he carried. His father lingered at her side — older now, powerless compared to what he once was, yet the shadow of strength in his eyes told Lucien the stories had been true.
"This place," his mother said softly, "isn't just to make you stronger. It's where you'll break the ceiling you've been chained to since birth."
And so began the refinement.
Lucien's body was shredded apart in simulated battles conjured from the White itself — teeth of monsters tearing through him, blades of void shredding bone, flames of nothingness incinerating him from the inside. Yet every time, he revived. Every time, he remembered. Every time, his Martial God system cataloged the agony and rewrote it into mastery.
That was how he forged Phantom Step — a way of vanishing from one moment to the next, moving not between places, but between possibilities.
That was how Reality Phase Combat was born — slipping between existence and unreality to strike where no defense could follow.
That was how he claimed Endurance of the White — a curse to suffer, but also the greatest shield. For though his body was destroyed a thousand times, each return made him harder, sharper, almost untouchable.
Gravity bent to him when he focused; storms of pressure crushed entire plains. His fists cracked open the dimension itself when he laced them with Dimensional Strike Amplification. Pain no longer weakened him — it fueled him, his injuries converting into raw empowerment, each scar written into new strength.
The Revenants trained the same way, each one unlocking the truth of their voids. The Mirrored Six grew beside them, their connections deepening past combat — bound not just by destiny, but by something closer to love.
But Lucien… he became something else entirely. He wasn't just adapting to the void. He was rewriting it. Every technique bled arrogance; every motion screamed of someone who had endured annihilation and came back stronger for it.
Six months passed in that endless place. When the twelve emerged, their movements alone bent the air. They didn't look like survivors. They looked like inevitabilities.
And Lucien, standing at their front, cape flowing despite the still air, said what everyone already felt.
"Let's remind them why I'm the only one they couldn't erase."
The Revenants smirked. The Mirrored Six smiled faintly, their hands already at their sides, prepared. The arrogance wasn't an act anymore — it was their nature.
The Outer Gods weren't just about to face fighters. They were about to face the very mistakes of creation, perfected.