Three more Lucians — stepping from the shadows like wraiths pulled from a nightmare.
Three presences crept from the darkness like wraiths born of ash and blood. They weren’t like the others. These weren’t the hollow clones Dirga had fought through. These were something real. The weight of their presence pressed against his skin like wet iron, suffocating.
A single voice broke the silence — smooth, venom-laced.
"Impressive, Mr. CEO," one of them drawled, stepping forward. "Your records told the story of a nobody. A ghost child. Lottery luck. No lineage, no training. A man chosen by chance... or maybe by mistake."
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with malice.
"And yet here you stand, painted in the blood of my kin. It makes me wonder—who did you make a pact with? Not one of the numbered, surely. Something... rarer? An Ace? A King?"
Lucian’s lips curled into something that barely resembled a human smile. It stretched too far. Split. Shivered.
The flesh around his face seemed to twitch, a ripple of something unstable.
"But this ends here, Mr. CEO," he whispered, voice cracked with laughter and grief. "My anger isn’t mortal."
The laughter came next.
Hysterical. Broken. Sad.
"Do you even know who he was? My brother?" His voice broke — a shriek dragged from the edge of sanity. "Do you even remember the man you killed?!"
Dirga blinked once. No answer.
Lucian’s hands trembled, then stilled.
And then — he laughed.
Not the kind that comes from humor.
The kind that spills from something broken.
"Asura," he whispered.
The three Lucians stepped forward.
Flesh twisted. Bones snapped like dry wood under pressure. Veins surged. Muscles swelled.
The sound — wet, crackling, wrong — filled the space like a butcher’s nightmare.
What emerged from the fusion was no longer human.
Red flesh glowed like cooling magma, muscles taut with impossible tension. His frame stretched past two meters tall, shoulders as wide as coffins. Clothes tore off in ribbons, revealing a monstrous physique Black tattoos writhed like serpents across his skin, converging into an intricate black tribal markings that pulsed like veins filled with ink etched deep into his temples.
From his spine, six arms erupted — bone snapping, sinew tearing, each one flexing with lethal strength.
One howling with rage. One weeping with madness. One smiling — far too calm.
Lucian was no longer Lucian.
He was Asura incarnate.
A devil’s wrath made flesh.
And then came the weapon.
With snap, as if summoned from hell itself, a curved saber appeared in his hand — obsidian steel coiled with a snake hilt, fangs bared and hissing smoke. The weapon pulsed like a beating heart, hungry.
Dirga’s every nerve screamed.
This wasn’t just power.
This was a man who had surrendered everything to his pact — soul, sanity, and body.
And now, he wanted Dirga to join him in damnation.
Lucian’s voice thundered from all three mouths, layering rage, madness, and grief into a single inhuman sound.
"You die today, Mr. CEO."
The room seemed to breathe darkness.
The ground trembled beneath monstrous weight.
And Dirga... stepped forward.
Only the sound of his breath — slow, steady, ready.
His body screamed from the earlier battle. Every muscle ached, his right arm already torn near useless, his chest bruised and burning. But pain didn’t matter.
Pain was proof that he was still alive.
Dirga dropped into his boxer’s stance — fists tight, guard up, feet light. Shoulders squared like a warrior walking into his final round.
He needed to break his limits.
Across from him, Lucian moved.
The sound of his foot hitting the floor echoed like thunder.
Another step. A deeper tremor.
Each step left a crater.
The air warped around his mass, like the world itself was rejecting his form.
And then, with a guttural snarl, Lucian launched forward — a blur of red flesh and godless fury.
His obsidian saber howled through the air — a whipcrack of pure death.
Dirga dropped low, ducking just in time.
The wind of the swing tore past him like a screaming banshee. Behind him, the floor split open — a spiderweb of cracks bursting from the saber’s path.
He barely dodged the blade before a knee exploded into his ribs, lifting him like a kicked doll.
The force lifted him off the ground, a ragdoll tossed skyward. Ribs shattered. Blood sprayed from his lips midair.
But the nightmare didn’t stop.
One of the six monstrous arms reached out, snatching Dirga by the ankle midair — and slammed him downward like a ragdoll.
The floor cratered beneath Dirga’s body. Dust exploded outward in a ring.
His vision flickered. Blood filled his mouth.
’Fucking hell...’ Dirga’s thoughts spun.
’Sasa definitely knew about this. That smug bastard...’
Lucian loomed overhead, shadows twisting around his massive frame.
His clawed hand still gripped Dirga’s leg like a vice made of bone and steel.
Dirga gritted his teeth. Blood dripped from his nose.
He reached out with his mind, grabbing for a broken weapon nearby — a jagged blade, half-buried in rubble. He yanked it through the air toward Lucian’s wrist.
But before it could move, Lucian roared.
The sound shattered glass.
And he hurled Dirga across the room like garbage.
Dirga twisted in the air, limbs flailing, vision spinning. He almost lost his grip on consciousness.
Forced his mind to lock in.
He twisted his will into a leash — wrapped it around himself.
The floor was rushing up to meet him.
He tightened the grip of telekinesis around his body, warping gravity as best he could.
The wind died around him.
His descent turned from a death spiral into a controlled landing
He hit the ground with a grunt — pain searing through his shoulder — but he was alive.
He stumbled, legs shaky, and forced himself upright
His voice was raw. "Level one fight, my ass..."
A grim smile cracked across his lips.
"This is a fucking raid boss."