Chapter 33: breaking protocol

  The phantom crowd’s cheers rose into a deafening roar, a storm of distorted applause and shouts that rattled the very foundation of the arena. The sound was both overwhelming and hollow, echoing off unseen walls in an endless loop. Every cheer felt as if it came from all corners of the universe, yet no one could truly hear them.

  Marcus, standing at the center of the arena, could feel the energy pressing in from every direction. It was as though the very atmosphere was alive, suffused with the anticipation of what was to come. His palms were sweaty, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

  He took a steadying breath, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his heart. There was no turning back now. Every step that had led him here had been a test, a trial—one that had shaped him into something more than human. His body ached from the strain of battle, his mind worn thin from the constant fights, but in this moment, he felt clear. Focused.

  He turned to his side, where Ethereal Boruk stood, his form crackling with raw Psycha energy, a bluish fire running beneath his translucent skin. The orc’s usually robust, solid shape had become something more ethereal, but no less imposing. His broad shoulders rippled with spectral muscles, and his eyes—full of pride and mischief—gazed steadily at Marcus.

  "One last round, huh?" Boruk’s voice was low, but the familiar, gruff warmth of it cut through the tension, reminding Marcus that he wasn’t alone in this fight.

  Marcus looked back at the Seraphim Protocol—his final adversary. The creature towered before them, its metallic body shifting and flickering, its eyes glowing with an artificial intelligence that was far beyond human comprehension. It was like a perfect predator, built to analyze, adapt, and destroy.

  "Yeah. One last round," Marcus replied, his voice barely above a whisper. But the resolve behind it burned like fire.

  The arena seemed to hum, vibrating as if it knew what was about to happen. The air was thick with raw energy, charged with something primal, something eternal.

  A sudden flash of light illuminated the center of the battlefield, and the system’s voice rang out, cold and precise, filling every inch of space.

  Final Round: Begin!

  The arena shifted.

  As soon as the system’s announcement echoed through the air, the Seraphim Protocol moved—a flicker of motion so fast that it seemed to warp time itself.

  The creature’s form twisted, its glowing blue eyes narrowing as it analyzed the situation. It wasn’t just calculating strategy; it was trying to understand the very essence of what Marcus and Boruk represented. They weren’t just threats—they were anomalies. Unknown variables it couldn’t quite compute.

  The Seraphim Protocol hesitated.

  It had adapted to every fighter it had faced—Marcus’ unorthodox fighting style, Boruk’s brutal strength, Thalron’s elemental control, and even Vealeth’s deep Psycha mastery. But this? The Ethereal Boruk’s presence? The force of necromantic energy that Marcus could wield with ease? The protocol couldn’t fathom it.

  "You can't understand us," Marcus muttered, more to himself than to the Protocol. He could feel it—a shift in the very fabric of reality around them.

  And then, as if to remind them of the stakes, the arena itself reacted.

  The ground shifted, as though the world was coming apart at the seams. The sky cracked open, pouring colors and lights that defied all laws of physics. Gravity bent, time stretched, and the air pulsed with an unnatural hum that reverberated through the entire battlefield.

  Marcus stood firm, eyes locked on the enemy.

  The Seraphim Protocol had begun its next step of adaptation—one that went beyond tactics. It had begun to reshape the arena, transforming it into an ever-shifting kaleidoscope of impossible worlds.

  One moment, the battlefield was an ocean of shifting, metallic waves, endless and crashing with surreal beauty. Then, it was a bleeding desert, endless and barren, where the sky was split in two by a massive, crackling lightning storm.

  In the next instant, Marcus was standing on the crumbling surface of a dying moon, with shattered pieces of rock floating in every direction, a black, swirling void just beyond his feet. The stars were gone. The moon's surface cracked and unfamiliar constellations flickered like broken lights.

  Each new world was an ever-changing, terrifying reflection of the universe. The boundaries of time and space became irrelevant.

  For a moment, Marcus was unsure if this was the real world, or if it was some kind of twisted illusion designed to break him. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to let it.

  "We fight on our terms," Boruk said, his spectral form flickering. He stepped forward, his energy crackling, amplifying the air around him.

  In an instant, the Seraphim Protocol attacked.

  It mimicked its previous movements, but now, each strike was faster, sharper, and more unpredictable. The protocol’s arms were swarmed with black fire, while the ground shuddered as it slammed its fists down. It was an overwhelming onslaught, like an ocean of violence crashing down on them, and Marcus felt the weight of the situation pressing down.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  But Boruk was at his side, shifting like a shadow, his movements just as fluid and dangerous as Marcus’. The ethereal orc covered his weak points, blocking the Protocol’s swift strikes, giving Marcus the opening he needed.

  Together, they were a single force.

  For all the shifting worlds around them, the fight remained unchanged. Marcus and Boruk had their own world, built on their strength, their bond, and their will to survive. And this time, nothing—not even the Seraphim Protocol—could shake that foundation.

  The battlefield spun as the Seraphim Protocol pressed its relentless attack, each movement more brutal, more precise than the last. The air was thick with raw energy, as the Protocol shifted from form to form, its metallic body flowing like liquid, seeking any advantage it could exploit. But Marcus and Ethereal Boruk were in perfect sync, their battle-hardened instincts guiding them as they weaved through the onslaught.

  Each strike from the Protocol felt like an impact from the heavens themselves—immense force, sharp precision, and an almost predatory intelligence driving every blow. Yet, Boruk countered with his usual wild power, his ethereal form making him untouchable as he deflected attacks with the ease of a seasoned warrior. Every swing of his spectral axe created sparks of Psycha energy, each clash ringing out like a war drum, pushing the Protocol back just enough to give Marcus breathing room.

  But Marcus could feel the strain in his body. The familiar burn of exhaustion was creeping in, pulling at his muscles, pushing against his will. His movements were becoming a little slower, a little more erratic. The Protocol was adapting—analyzing, countering, responding faster with each passing moment.

  He couldn’t keep up. Not for much longer.

  "Boruk! We need to end this now!" Marcus shouted, his voice strained but filled with urgency. The Spectral Orc glanced at him, his expression hardening. There was no hesitation—no question in his eyes. They had been through too much to fall now.

  With a guttural battle cry, Boruk charged forward, his spectral form flickering and phasing as he leapt into the air. He swung his ethereal axe, slicing through the Protocol’s defenses with a roar that echoed in the shifting chaos of the arena.

  And that’s when it happened.

  Marcus felt the pull of the energy coursing through his veins, his mind fighting to stay focused as the battlefield twisted and distorted around him. The Protocol’s next strike came—faster than he could react, its claws aimed directly for his chest. But Marcus didn’t move. His body didn’t have the strength to dodge. Yet, in that moment, something deep inside him snapped. A surge of energy flared to life within him, pushing him beyond his limits.

  The world around him slowed, the chaotic swirl of shifting landscapes freezing for a fraction of a second. His mind, for the first time, was perfectly clear—uncluttered, without doubt or hesitation. It was like every muscle, every thought, every piece of his being locked into place, and suddenly, he could feel it—he understood the flow of energy, the dance of life and death.

  His "Floating Butterfly, Stinging Bee." ability activated itself... Breaking the systems usage rule set for it...

  He could move faster, think clearer, strike harder—all at once. The very fabric of his physical limits seemed to be torn apart and remade...

  Every strike from the Protocol seemed to slow, its movements almost sluggish in comparison to Marcus’ newfound speed. He darted around the Protocol’s massive form, dodging its strikes with the elegance of a dancer, each movement more fluid than the last. Boruk’s ethereal form flickered beside him, aiding him in perfect synchrony. Together, they moved like one mind, one soul, two bodies working as one.

  Marcus’ strikes were now a blur of blinding speed, each punch landing with devastating force. His floating butterfly allowed him to dance around his opponent, leaving afterimages in his wake, while his stinging bee left sharp impacts wherever his blows landed—each hit echoing with the force of a storm.

  The Seraphim Protocol’s systems began to falter under the onslaught, its metallic form cracking in places where Marcus’ blows landed. Its movements slowed further, its once-perfect calculations disrupted by Marcus' unpredictable style and relentless barrage of attacks.

  The final push was coming.

  Marcus could feel the energy thrumming in his veins, but there was a final, dangerous gambit he had to make—one last move to push the Protocol past its breaking point...

  Marcus would teach the "seraphim protocol" a lesson, the most basic of all boxing lessons...

  Marcus settled into a "peek-a-boo" stance and performed a simple boxing drill, but he did so with the power, grace, and speed of a master.

  One!, Marcus called out, he struck the protocol with a lightning fast jab with his lead

  Two!, He said as he threw a metal bending "cross" with his rear hand...ripping metal from its frame

  Three!,...he threw a hook with his lead hand, tearing a chunk out of the protocol's chest plate

  Four!,...a rear hook, removed the remaining portions of the chest plate

  Five!...a lead upper cut, snapped the protocol's head back, further exposing its core..

  Reaching low...he announced, Six! and exploded skyward with a rear Uppercut...cracking the protocol's core.

  The world seemed to hold its breath as Marcus’ fist made contact. There was an explosion of light, and for a moment, everything went silent. The world around them—those impossible, shifting landscapes—began to stabilize, the kaleidoscope of realms collapsing back into nothingness.

  But the Seraphim Protocol wasn’t finished yet.

  As the Protocol’s body began to break apart, its central core flickered—a red light pulsed from its cracks, a system malfunction, and a low hum filled the arena. The sky above darkened, and the air turned stale, like the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next act.

  "No! This isn’t over!" The corrupted system’s voice rang out, chillingly impersonal. A mechanical crackle filled the space, followed by an overwhelming surge of energy as the Protocol’s core exploded with power.

  The arena, once so unstable, shifted again, the reality around them beginning to break apart in an instant. The floor cracked underfoot, and walls of dark energy began to rise, as though the arena itself were trying to swallow them whole.

  But Marcus didn’t back down. Boruk’s voice roared in his mind. "Fight!"

  The system’s interference was trying to rewrite the rules, pulling at the fabric of reality itself. Marcus could feel the grip of the system on his body, pushing him to his limits once more. But he resisted. He focused his will, refused to be controlled. With Boruk beside him, they stood firm against the chaotic tide.

  Marcus could see the Protocol’s final strike coming—its last, desperate attempt to survive.

  In that instant, he understood what he had to do.

  The seraphim protocol’s core was fragile—its power, a thread ready to snap.

  Together, Boruk and Marcus synchronized, their energies converging into a single, devastating force. Boruk’s spectral axe shimmered with Psycha energy, and Marcus’ blows were fast and precise, each strike aimed at the core of the Seraphim Protocol.

  With a final, combined strike, they shattered the Protocol’s core, breaking the system’s influence over the arena.

  The light of the arena shattered like glass, and for a moment, the world fell silent.

  They had won.