The divine winds howled across the radiant battlefield as the four radiant figures descended from a golden rift in the sky like falling stars. Valtar, Sera, Caelthuron, and Isolde—the Four Chosen of the God of Light—stood atop platforms of luminous light, their forms glowing like miniature suns. The heavens cracked from the pressure of their presence, and the aura of judgment spilled like wildfire across the conjured realm.
This was no longer Sol Aeternum.
They were within Caelthuron's Dominion—a divine space forged through celestial rites, an artificial reality where only the laws of the God of Light reigned supreme. A brilliant sanctum of judgment, endless in scope, forged from Caelthuron's essence and bound to crush all who opposed their divine will. The domain had already been opened in the prior chapter, its majestic illusions blanketing the battlefield like a heavenly theater crafted for divine reckoning.
But at the center of this conjured paradise, a figure remained seated atop a jagged obsidian stone, cloaked in a black longtail coat with crimson lining. Lucian did not rise to welcome them—he merely tilted his head, the smirk on his lips never fading. A faint breeze rustled his hair as if the universe itself waited with bated breath.
The candidates of Light descended like divine executioners, but their faces betrayed a flicker of confusion. Lucian did not appear like a herald of destruction or a corrupted godspawn. No, he was calm, unbothered—almost amused. They had no idea who he truly was.
Lucian's gaze swept over them slowly, taking in the flickering halos and the hum of divine energy. He tapped his finger lazily against the armrest of his obsidian throne.
"So," he said, his voice layered with mockery, "clinging to your Dominion like children holding onto their safety blanket. How quaint."
Caelthuron stepped forward, his golden staff humming with celestial energy. "You—whoever you are—have no place here. You dare mock sanctity inside my Dominion?"
Lucian blinked slowly. "You're asking the wrong questions. But since you've offered a stage, let me deliver a performance. Allow me to educate you—this is what real magic looks like."
The Ancient Art: Real Magic
What mortals call "magic" is but a diluted whisper of something much older and far more terrifying.
True magic—Real Magic—is not forgotten. It has simply become inaccessible.
Only the highest echelon of divine existence, those whose very names echo through the threads of creation, are capable of wielding this magic. Not because they are chosen, but because their existence alone can comprehend and sustain its power.
These include the sovereigns of primal elements and abstract domains: the Gods of Light, Darkness, Time, Space, Hell, and Death. And even among them, few dare to tread its path.
Real Magic exists within the Eleventh Class, a realm beyond the capabilities of almost all gods, where spells are not incantations, but expressions of cosmic law. It manipulates the fourth dimension, transcending linear perception, allowing users to twist truth, illusion, and time into unbreakable constructs.
In a world defined by three dimensions, the fourth is both a weapon and a realm of its own—a reality that overlays the observable world, creating illusions so real they become unbreakable truths.
This magic is not cast. It is shaped.
Lucian did not stumble upon Real Magic. He was not born to it. And he certainly was not granted it.
He carved his path into its domain through shattered timelines and broken realities. Through descent into voids where even light could not escape. He walked the ancient temples left by those who came before—the Siblings of Creation—three primal gods whose identities remain veiled by time.
Among them, the God of Light and the God of Darkness—brothers in truth—split the cosmos in dual harmony. Not enemies, but rivals in balance. And the third... remains unspoken.
The truth is simple:
Real Magic was never forgotten.
It merely refuses to serve the weak.
And in this moment, surrounded by self-righteous warriors of the Light, Lucian—the unknown, unnamed challenger—prepared to unveil a power only true gods should wield.
The Battle Begins
Sera raised her hand, conjuring a rain of aether spears. Each sparkled like crystallized light, descending at impossible speed.
Lucian lifted a single finger.
"Chrono Fracture."
Time slowed, then halted. The spears froze midair. His eyes glowed with iridescent cyan.
A ring of runes formed beneath his throne, pulsing outwards in a radiant circle.
"Let's test your faith."
With a wave, he summoned Chrono-Astral Magic, warping gravity, light, and time in localized areas. Valtar was pulled sideways, trapped in a gravity funnel that shifted directions every second. Caelthuron's staff shattered as a micro-black hole formed and dispersed just before him.
Lucian vanished.
He reappeared above Sera, whispering, "Inversion."
Her divine flames turned cold, imploding back into her own body. Screaming, she fell into a defensive posture.
Isolde rushed forward with divine chains in hand, but Lucian clapped.
"Let me show you real binding."
His fingers traced a sigil in the air. The chains of the 4th Dimension slithered in from every angle, invisible to three-dimensional beings until it was too late. Isolde screamed as her limbs were locked by unseen forces.
"[Dimensional Cage]," Lucian whispered. "You're not even seeing your prison."
Valtar roared. "You mock us, hiding behind parlor tricks!"
Lucian smirked. "No tricks. Just reality as it should be."
He clenched his fist, and a sword of golden-blue plasma formed, humming like a dying star.
Valtar and Caelthuron charged together.
The sky broke.
Sonic booms echoed across planes. Lucian danced between their attacks, every movement deliberate, every counter a ballet of brutality.
He spun and unleashed [Celestial Pulse: Ether Spiral]—a Real Magic technique that attacked the mind directly in the 4th dimension.
Their knees hit the floor.
Not from wounds.
But from terror.
From weight.
From the illusion of defeat made so real their very spirits could not deny it.
The Division of Sol Aeternum
Far beyond the false sanctuary of Caelthuron's Dominion, in the heavenly realm of Sol Aeternum, chaos ignited.
The skies cracked open like glass under divine pressure. Soldiers of Light poured in—an army of billions, clad in radiant armor and wielding holy weapons. Winged seraphs, golden war chariots, and elemental behemoths surged forth in divine procession.
And then came the shockwave.
A massive rift tore across the realm, splitting Sol Aeternum in two—a jagged divide that shimmered with dark, violet energy. From the chasm emerged three dark figures: Thomas, he Crimson Arbiter of Annihilation, Beak, The Black Fang of Oblivion, and Seraphion The Eternal Aegis of Ruin.
Lucian's elite.
War incarnate.
They stood at the precipice of the broken heaven, gazing upon the sea of divine soldiers with cold indifference.
Thomas cracked his neck, electricity arcing across his gauntlets. "Guess we're skipping diplomacy."
Beak grinned, his twin scythes already aflame with inverted light. "Let's make it thunder."
Seraphion did not speak. He raised his shield, and the heavens dimmed.
The armies of Light surged forward.
The Heavenly Battle Begins
Thomas roared, launching forward like a meteor wrapped in stormlight. He crashed into the frontlines of the radiant legion, fists crackling with dimensional thunder. Each punch sent shockwaves that rippled through entire platoons, vaporizing angels and shattering floating platforms.
Lightning whirled around him in rings. He activated [Aetheric Pulse – Quake Spiral], sending arcs of lightning crawling across the battlefield, disabling shields, frying circuits, and crashing ethereal constructs.
Beak, meanwhile, was a blur of black and flame. His body danced between spear thrusts and holy bolts, his scythes reaping souls like harvest blades through wheat. He laughed as divine fire tried to consume him, only to be devoured by his own inverted flames.
"You burn with borrowed power," Beak spat, hurling a chain of shadowlight into a high-ranking general. "Let me show you what earned rage tastes like!"
The chain pierced the general's chest, dragging him into a portal of smoke and ash. Screams echoed. Nothing returned.
At the heart of the chaos stood Seraphion.
The Eternal Aegis.
Ten thousand arrows of light converged on him.
He raised his shield—and time stopped.
[Divine Lock – Chrono Aegis] activated.
Each arrow froze mid-air. The soldiers who fired them stood paralyzed in fear.
Seraphion advanced slowly, one step at a time. With each movement, his armor glowed brighter, his shield heavier with divine judgment.
"Your faith is untested," he said. "Let me teach you the meaning of true conviction."
With a single shield bash, a holy titan collapsed.
He summoned the ancient armor of Zenithia, releasing the Aegis Protocol – Heavenfall. A dome of indestructible energy erupted around him, slicing the battlefield into hemispheres. Half the army was forced back; the other half trapped inside, condemned to learn why he was called Eternal.
Splintered Sky
Above them, the skies cracked again. Celestial dragons of Light attempted to descend—but were intercepted by Thomas midair, riding a cyclone.
"Going somewhere?" he shouted, launching [Stormlance Cannon] straight through the lead dragon's skull.
Beak ascended on wings of living shadow, hurling his scythes like boomerangs through the necks of the divine beasts.
Below, Seraphion had created a perfect bastion of order within chaos. He deflected spells, shattered swords, and channeled shield waves that turned formations to dust.
General after general fell.
The Aftermath
Valtar, Sera, Caelthuron, and Isolde knelt. Not from submission, but because they could not stand. The world around them was bent to Lucian's law—even within Caelthuron's own domain.
He walked between them, placing a single finger under Sera's chin and lifting her face.
"You fight with power inherited from a god. I fight with power earned from breaking one. Remember that."
He turned and sat once more on his throne of shadow.
Above him, the conjured divine sky of the domain twisted, no longer golden, but dark and fractured.
Lucian didn't use darkness today.
He didn't need to.