Chapter : 1821

  It was a nightmare given physical weight. Twelve feet of bone and malice, clad in the skeletal remains of high-tier dragons. It held a double-headed axe that didn't just burn with green fire; it dripped with a liquid curse that sizzled as it hit the obsidian.

  The Guardian turned its skull-head, the green fire in its eyes flaring with ancient, territorial rage.

  "HUMANS," the Guardian boomed, the sound vibrating through the plates of their armor. "YOU HAVE SURVIVED THE WHISPERS. BUT THE FLESH IS A PRISON YOU CANNOT ESCAPE."

  It took a heavy, thundering step forward. The entire plateau shuddered.

  "KNEEL AND BE CONSUMED," the Guardian roared, raising the massive axe. "OR BECOME THE FOUNDATION FOR MY MASTER'S WALL."

  Ben didn't wait for Lloyd to give a tactical assessment. He stepped forward, his vibro-blades snapping out from his wrists with a high-frequency scream that challenged the Guardian's roar. He didn't look at the monster with fear; he looked at it like a hunter looks at a particularly stubborn piece of meat.

  "You talk too much for a pile of old bones," Ben snarled, his Sovereign pressure erupting like a volcano, matching the Guardian's weight pound for pound. "I'm done with the ghost show. I've been itching to see how much pressure it takes to turn dragon-bone back into dust."

  Lloyd clicked the safety off his sniper rifle and felt the Nova Cannon module on his hip cycle to 'Ready.'

  "He's right about one thing, Ugly," Lloyd deadpanned, the blue rings in his eyes glowing with a cold, predatory light. "We're not here to kneel. We’re here to collect the rent. And you’re three centuries overdue."

  The Guardian let out a sound of pure, unholy fury and charged.

  Ben didn't dodge. He moved into the strike, a blur of arrogant, iron-willed violence.

  Lloyd smiled beneath his mask. The Major General and the Lord of Ironwood were finally home.

  As the hallucinogens fail to stop them, the Gate reveals its true nature as a living, sentient barrier. The purple fog, which had previously been a swirling soup of bad memories and daddy issues, began to thicken. It didn't just hang in the air anymore; it coalesced. It moved with a purpose, swirling inward like dirty water down a drain, gathering at the center of the obsidian plateau. The temperature dropped so fast that frost began to form on the sleek black nanoweave of Lloyd’s stealth suit.

  "Okay," Lloyd said, his voice amplified by the helmet’s speakers. "The fog is doing something. And usually, when weather starts acting like a solid object, it means a boss fight is starting."

  Ben, who was still shaking off the visions of his dead father, tightened his grip on his vibro-blades. The blades hummed with a high-frequency pitch, vibrating the air around them. "I don't care what it is," Ben growled, his voice thick with suppressed rage. "If it bleeds, I can kill it. If it doesn't bleed, I'll hit it until it invents a way to bleed."

  "That's the spirit," Lloyd said. "But let's try not to punch a ghost, alright? Physics gets weird here."

  The swirling smoke solidified. It rose up, towering over them, expanding until it reached a height of thirty feet. It wasn't a monster of flesh and bone. It wasn't a construct of stone or metal. It was a Shadow Guardian. It looked like a grim reaper that had been dipped in ink and fed a diet of nightmares. Its body was a roiling mass of abyssal mana, shifting and changing shape, but maintaining a vaguely humanoid torso and a hood that obscured a face that probably wasn't there.

  It had no legs; it just trailed off into the darkness of the ground. But it had arms. Massive, elongated arms made of smoke that ended in claws that looked sharp enough to cut a shadow. And in its hands, it held a weapon.

  A scythe.

  But not a metal scythe. It was a massive, ethereal blade composed of violet light and screaming faces. It pulsed with a rhythmic, sickly beat, like a heart that had given up on life.

  "Well," Lloyd noted dryly. "That’s subtle. Nothing says 'welcome to the neighborhood' like a giant ghost with a harvesting tool."

  "It's blocking the path," Ben said. He stepped forward, his prosthetic legs digging into the rock. "I'm going to move it."

  "Ben, wait," Lloyd warned. "My sensors aren't picking up any mass. That thing is—"

  Chapter : 1822

  Ben didn't wait. He was fueled by the trauma of the hallucination, desperate to prove that he wasn't the weak cripple his father's ghost had accused him of being. He ignited the thrusters on his back, launching himself forward with the speed of a missile.

  "Die!" Ben roared.

  He swung his steel lance—a heavy, armor-piercing weapon he had manifested from his own Void storage. It was a weapon designed to punch through tank armor. He put all his weight, all his momentum, and all his anger into the thrust.

  The lance struck the Shadow Guardian directly in the center of its chest.

  And then it went right through.

  There was no impact. No sound of metal hitting flesh. No resistance. Ben passed through the giant entity as if he had jumped through a cloud of cigar smoke. He stumbled on the other side, his momentum carrying him forward until he nearly fell off the edge of the plateau.

  "What?" Ben gasped, turning around. "I hit it! I saw it hit!"

  The Shadow Guardian didn't even flinch. It didn't turn around. Its head simply rotated 180 degrees on its non-existent neck, the hood facing Ben. A low, rattling sound emanated from it, like dry leaves skittering on pavement. It was laughing.

  "It has no physical mass," Lloyd said, reading the scrolling data on his HUD. "Ben, get back! It's a conceptual ghost. You can't stab a concept!"

  "Watch me!" Ben yelled. He activated his vibro-blades this time. "If steel doesn't work, maybe vibration will!"

  He charged again. He slashed at the Guardian's arm. The blades hummed, designed to separate molecules. They passed through the smoke without disturbing a single wisp.

  The Shadow Guardian seemed bored. It watched Ben flail at it, its form rippling like water.

  "Ben, stop!" Lloyd shouted. "It's baiting you!"

  Ben didn't stop. He was trapped in a loop of frustration. He swung again and again, his attacks passing harmlessly through the enemy. He was fighting smoke. He was fighting a shadow. And he was getting tired.

  The Shadow Guardian raised its scythe.

  It didn't move fast. It moved with a slow, inevitable weight. It swung the massive, ethereal weapon in a wide arc.

  "Dodge!" Lloyd commanded.

  Ben tried. He raised his armored arms to block. His suit was made of the toughest alloys known to man and magic. It could stop a railgun slug. It could deflect a dragon's claw.

  The scythe hit his arms.

  It didn't clang. It didn't spark.

  It passed through his armor just like his lance had passed through the Guardian.

  The violet blade of the scythe sank into Ben’s arms, sheared through his chest, and erupted out the other side.

  Ben froze.

  For a heartbeat, the world went silent.

  Then, the psychic impact hit him with the weight of a collapsing star, attempting to shred his consciousness into a thousand weeping fragments.

  But Ben didn’t scream.

  He gritted his teeth so hard a molar audibly cracked, a guttural, animalistic snarl ripping from his throat as he waged a bloody civil war inside his own mind.

  He dropped to one knee, the obsidian rock shattering under the force of his landing.

  It wasn't a surrender; it was a technicality of physics.

  His body shook violently, every nerve ending firing in a symphony of agony as he fought the supernatural paralysis.

  "Is that... all?" Ben spat, blood spray hitting the inside of his visor.

  His voice was a distorted roar of pure, concentrated rage.

  He didn't clutch his head. He didn't cower.

  He forced his neck to move, glaring up at the Shadow Guardian with eyes that were bloodshot and brimming with a Sovereign's arrogance.

  "Is this puny tickle... all you have?!"

  Ben’s prosthetic hand clawed at the rock, leaving deep gouges in the solid stone.

  "You can't break what was forged in the fires of Ashworth, you formless worm!"

  He began to stand up slowly, the ethereal scythe still buried in his torso, treating the soul-flaying weapon like a minor inconvenience.

  "Know your place!"

  "I am the Lord of Ironwood!"

  It wasn't a cry of submission or a whimper for mercy. It was a silent, agonizing war of attrition between a mortal mind and an immortal nightmare.

  Ben didn't curl into a ball or clutch his head. He remained anchored to the spot, his prosthetic fingers digging into the obsidian floor until the solid stone turned to powder beneath his grip.

  "Ben!" Lloyd shouted, activating his [Void Steps] to teleport instantly to his cousin's side.

  Chapter : 1823

  As Lloyd reached out to stabilize him, Ben’s prosthetic arm lashed out with a violent, uncoordinated swing, swatting the Major General’s hand away with enough force to dent a bulkhead.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  "Stay... back!" Ben snarled, his voice a distorted, static-filled wreck. "I don't... need a savior!"

  Lloyd checked the readings on his HUD and felt a chill. Ben’s neural activity was spiking into the red zone, the frequency high enough to liquefy the brain of a lesser man. It was the biological equivalent of a nuclear meltdown, yet Ben’s pride was acting as a lead-lined sarcophagus, refusing to let the mind fracture.

  "I’ve had... worse headaches... from cheap wine!" Ben spat, a crimson thread of blood leaking from his visor’s seal. "Get out of my head... you formless parasite!"

  Lloyd looked up at the Shadow Guardian. The giant ghost was retracting its scythe, the blade glowing with an intense, sickly violet light—the harvested essence of a Sovereign’s memories.

  "It didn't cut his flesh," Lloyd realized, his tactical mind overriding his concern. "It bypassed the physical armor to flay the consciousness directly. It’s trying to edit his soul out of existence."

  The Guardian raised the scythe again, the screaming faces on the blade growing louder as it prepared for a second, final harvest.

  "It's trying to turn him into a hollowed-out husk," Lloyd muttered, his fingers tightening around his rifle. "But the idiot is too arrogant to realize his brain is on fire."

  Ben forced himself back onto his feet, his armor creaking under the strain of his own tensed muscles. He didn't look at Lloyd; he looked straight through the Guardian with a gaze that promised a slow, mechanical extinction.

  "Is that your best shot?" Ben challenged, his stance wide and predatory despite the psychic storm. "Round two, you bastard. I’m still standing."

  Lloyd stood between Ben and the Guardian, his silhouette a sharp contrast against the flickering violet light. He raised his sniper rifle and squeezed the trigger three times.

  Bang-Bang-Bang.

  The bullets, carved from spirit crystal and heavy with Void intent, shrieked through the air. They struck the Guardian's cowled face and passed through as if it were a mere suggestion of matter. The projectiles slammed into the obsidian spires far behind, erupting in useless bursts of azure energy.

  "Okay," Lloyd said, his tone as flat as a dial tone. "Bullets are a no. Blades are a no. I'd try a stern lecture on property damage, but you don't look like the listening type."

  The Guardian loomed over them, radiating a crushing spiritual pressure that ignored Lloyd’s sarcasm entirely. It raised the mind-scythe higher, the screaming faces on the blade edge reaching a fever pitch. Lloyd’s [All-Seeing Eye] whirred, processing the glitchy data.

  [Target Analysis: Abyssal Construct. Composition: Soul-Matter. Dimensional Phase: Desynchronized.]

  "It’s not just phasing," Lloyd realized, his eyes narrowing behind his visor. "It’s lag-switching the universe. It’s only 'real' when it’s cutting you. That is fundamentally unsportsmanlike."

  Behind him, Ben let out a sound that was less a scream and more a blood-choked chuckle. He was still standing, his prosthetic hand leaving deep gouges in the obsidian as he forced his body to remain upright against the soul-flaying pressure.

  "Is that... the best you've got... you pathetic ghost?" Ben spat, his voice a gravelly snarl. He wasn't looking at Lloyd; he was glaring at the phantom of his father, treating the memory like an insect to be crushed. "You died because you weren't enough. I am more than enough. I’ll digest this scythe... and use it to sharpen my teeth!"

  The scythe began its final descent, moving with the agonizing slowness of a guillotine. It was aimed at Ben’s crown. A second harvest would likely leave the Lord of Ironwood a hollow suit of armor, his mind finally erased from the timeline.

  Lloyd knew the physical rules were broken here. He couldn't tank this for Ben; the scythe would just pass through Lloyd to hit the intended soul. He needed a conceptual counter. He needed to use the Austin bloodline to redefine the boundary of Ben's mind.

  "Wait. Seals. Definitions. Boundaries," Lloyd whispered.

  He grabbed Ben’s shoulder, his grip tightening. "Ben, listen to me. I'm putting your mind in a vault. It’s going to be pitch black and silent. Try not to let your ego blow the walls out from the inside."

  Ben turned his bloodshot gaze toward Lloyd, the glass of his visor cracked. "A vault? You think... I need a hiding hole, General? I don't need... a box! I'll break that scythe... with my bare hands!"

  Chapter : 1824

  Lloyd ignored the arrogant protest. He had a mission to complete. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, centering the chaotic rivers of energy in his core—the steel, the lightning, and the cold, dark void of his mother’s lineage.

  He snapped them open.

  The blue rings within his pitch-black sclera flared with a blinding, monochromatic intensity that pushed back the violet shadows of the plateau.

  "System. Overclock [Blue Ring Eyes]. Protocol: Absolute Definition."

  He didn't look at the Guardian. He focused every ounce of his sovereign will on the space surrounding Ben’s consciousness, weaving a barrier that defined where Ben ended and the Abyss began.

  "Mental Fortress," Lloyd commanded.

  Seeing Ben on the verge of spiritual collapse, Lloyd activates his [Blue Ring Eyes] at their highest metaphysical potential.

  The world slowed down. The violet scythe, descending like the judgment of a cruel god, seemed to hang in the air. Lloyd could see the individual strands of mana that made up the blade—screaming faces, twisted memories, pure concentrated regret. It was a nasty piece of work.

  Lloyd focused entirely on Ben. He visualized his cousin's soul not as a person, but as a castle. A fortress under siege. The walls were crumbling, the gates were battered down, and the enemy was pouring in.

  "Not on my watch," Lloyd growled.

  He projected his power. He didn't shoot a beam. He didn't throw a fireball. He pushed his will out of his eyes, shaping the raw Void energy into a specific geometric form.

  Rings.

  Dozens of glowing blue rings erupted from Lloyd’s gaze. They didn't fly towards the enemy. They flew towards Ben. They encircled him, spinning rapidly, interlocking to form a sphere. A dome.

  "Construct: Mental Fortress," Lloyd intoned. "Seal of the Iron Mind."

  The rings snapped together. They fused, creating a translucent, shimmering blue dome over the kneeling Ben. It wasn't a physical barrier; a rock could pass right through it. It was a psychic Faraday cage. A barrier designed to block conceptual interference.

  The scythe hit the dome.

  SCREEEEEEE.

  The sound was hideous. It sounded like a violin being played with a rusty saw. The ethereal blade clashed against the Void barrier. Sparks of violet and blue energy flew everywhere.

  The Guardian pushed. It leaned its weightless bulk into the strike, trying to cleave through the defense.

  "Hold," Lloyd gritted out.

  He felt the strain immediately. It wasn't physical weight. It was mental pressure. It felt like someone was trying to drill a hole in his temple. The Guardian wasn't just hitting the shield; it was hitting Lloyd’s mind, because Lloyd’s mind was the shield.

  "Is that all you got?" Lloyd taunted, his voice strained but defiant. "I've had headaches worse than you! I've been married three times! You think a little psychic pressure scares me?"

  The dome held. The scythe skidded off the smooth surface of the Void energy, deflected harmlessly into the ground where it passed through the rock without leaving a mark.

  Inside the dome, Ben gasped. The pressure on his mind vanished instantly. The visions of his dead father, the guilt, the shame—it all cut out like a radio being unplugged. He looked up, his eyes wide and clear, staring at the blue energy swirling around him.

  "Lloyd?" Ben whispered. "What... what is this?"

  "It's a time-out corner," Lloyd said, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose. "Stay in there. Don't come out until I say so. It's safe."

  The Guardian recoiled. It looked at its scythe, then at the blue dome. It seemed confused. It had never encountered a meal that came with a wrapper it couldn't open.

  It turned its hood towards Lloyd.

  "INTERFERENCE," the Guardian’s voice echoed, sounding like it was coming from inside Lloyd's own head. "YOU DENY THE HARVEST."

  "I'm on a diet," Lloyd quipped. "And my friend there is strictly gluten-free. So, no harvest today."

  The Guardian hissed. It raised the scythe again. This time, it didn't aim for Ben. It aimed for Lloyd.

  "New Target," Lloyd noted. "Great. I love being popular."

  He maintained the shield around Ben with a sliver of his concentration, but he knew he couldn't keep it up forever. His eyes were burning. He felt a wetness on his cheeks. He reached up and touched his face. His fingers came away red.

  "Bleeding from the eyes," Lloyd muttered. "That's a new look. Very dramatic. Faria would love it."

  The Guardian swung.

  Lloyd didn't try to block it with a Mental Fortress. He didn't have the bandwidth to maintain two shields. He had to dodge.

  He used [Void Steps].