Ex rank talent Awakening: 100\% Dodge rate

The soldiers of the Grey Empire were being overrun by Greg's forces. What once seemed like an unbreakable tide of imperial might now crumbled rapidly. Their numbers were diminishing at an alarming rate, their formations torn apart. Deprived of leadership—Commander Joshua dead, War Commander Harold gone, and the emperor himself occupied in a brutal duel—there was no one left to rally the troops. Without guidance, even the most disciplined soldiers were reduced to aimless fighters. The mighty Grey Empire had become a headless lamb, served on a platter before a pack of hungry wolves.

The imperial soldiers could no longer hold their ground. Their morale shattered, their will eroded, and they found themselves completely dominated by Greg's relentless followers—zealots driven by faith, fury, and the desire to see their god victorious.

Meanwhile, Emperor Augustus remained locked in his clash with Greg, their battle showing no clear victor yet. The air around them was thick with tension and heat, steel clashing against steel in a blur of motion and power.

Greg fought with his signature sword and dagger, his attacks relentless and adaptive. Despite Augustus having already deciphered the trick behind Greg's dagger technique, he found it impossible to keep Greg at bay. The emperor's every attempt to create distance failed; Greg's relentless footwork and timing allowed him to slip past the guard again and again, bypassing defenses and scoring glancing hits.

"Grey Empire Royal Technique: Starlight!" Augustus shouted, his voice resonating with power.

His sword erupted with a blinding radiance. A flash of pure light burst forth as he slashed, the beam of brilliance slicing through the air at blinding speed. Greg reacted instantly, conjuring a shield formed from dragon's tongue to block the oncoming attack.

Augustus struck the moment Greg raised his shield, capitalizing on the momentary opening. His blade lunged forward with surgical precision, its tip coated in a black hue—a cursed strike meant to bypass ordinary defenses.

Greg, unable to dodge in time, twisted his body and parried with his sword, the collision sending a harsh vibration up his arm. He immediately leapt backward, placing distance between them. His gaze swept the battlefield.

"It seems my forces are taking care of yours rather quickly," Greg said, noting the lopsided slaughter. His eyes narrowed as he returned his gaze to the emperor. "Guess it's time I do the same, Augustus. Hope you can keep up."

Without further warning, Greg surged forward. He no longer held back. The restraints on his stats, strength, and speed were lifted. This time, he was serious.

Emperor Augustus barely raised his sword in time to deflect the stab aimed for his heart. He couldn't track Greg's movements anymore; he was forced to rely on pure instinct just to defend himself. It wasn't enough. Greg's strikes began slipping through—minor wounds, but constant and draining.

Blood soaked Augustus's armor. His breathing became heavier. He could feel his strength beginning to falter.

Gripping his sword tightly, Augustus made a grim decision.

"Royal Technique—Final Form: Apocalypse," he muttered.

Even speaking the technique's name seemed to drain him.

The world changed instantly.

Darkness descended like a living shroud. The sky blackened, and the sun vanished behind an unnatural eclipse. Not a single ray of light pierced the void. The palace was submerged in pitch black, and none could see what was happening.

Then, a few seconds later, the darkness cracked.

From the ruptured sky above came a terrifying sight—an enormous red sun, shattered into countless flaming fragments, descending toward the ground like celestial blades.

"You madman!" Greg yelled, his eyes wide. "You'll kill everyone! Even your own soldiers!"

"They were losing anyway," Augustus replied coldly, calm and unflinching. "I merely hastened their deaths."

Greg clenched his teeth. The meteorites were vast, and there was no escape from their wrath. To die crushed by falling stars… what a pathetic ending that would be. Worse still, his believers—those who had entrusted him with their lives—would perish too.

With a grim scowl, Greg disengaged from the fight and dashed toward his followers, placing them inside an independent space to shield them from destruction. He sprinted back and forth, his stamina dwindling as he scrambled to save everyone he could.

Exhausted and breathless, Greg finally stood alone amid the imperial army. Then, the meteors landed.

A deafening roar echoed across the land.

The world trembled. Explosions tore the ground as flaming rocks crashed, incinerating everything. The palace, the battlefield, the soldiers—all were obliterated in an instant.

Emperor Augustus stood amidst the chaos, unmoving. He watched the destruction without emotion, his face blank. Ashes filled the air, thick and choking. The intense heat warped the earth, leaving behind scorched ruins.

To Augustus, it was worth it. The cost—hundreds of thousands of soldiers—was a small price to pay to eliminate a godlike threat. The empire could be rebuilt.

But Greg? Greg had to die.

Dust billowed upward, obscuring vision. Augustus, weary and covered in soot, began to turn away. The battle, in his mind, was over.

But he stopped mid-step.

A familiar presence touched his senses.

"You're not seriously leaving now, are you? We're not done with our little spar," a voice called out casually.

Augustus's eyes widened. That voice…

"You… how are you not dead?" he asked, turning slowly.

Greg walked out from the smoke, smiling like a demon wrapped in divine skin.

"Honest answer? I dodged the attack," Greg said with a shrug. "Don't ask me how—I've stopped keeping track of my own miracles."

Augustus stared at him in disbelief.

"Alright, truthfully?" Greg continued. "If I didn't have my concept, I'd be toast. You really are amazing, Emperor Augustus. But your luck? It's run out."

Arrows shimmered into existence behind Greg, floating ominously.

"Now... let me return the favor."

With a mere thought, the arrows launched.

Augustus moved to dodge—but couldn't. His legs gave out as three arrows buried themselves deep into his muscles, locking his movement and staggering his balance. Greg unleashed another wave. The emperor parried what he could, but more arrows found their mark.

Greg was toying with him.

"Will Manifestation!" Augustus roared in desperation. He had reached his limit. One more arrow and he would collapse.

"Will Manifestation!" Greg echoed, his voice firm and unwavering.

The air cracked as their Wills clashed—raw, powerful, and elemental. Neither side gave way, their inner worlds locked in an explosive stalemate.

Greg growled. He was tired of being drawn into others' inner realms. This time, he would end it his way.

"Abyssal Flames!" he commanded.

A river of pitch-black fire burst forth from Greg's body, screaming across the battlefield and racing toward the emperor. The flames howled like the voices of the damned, their heat melting even the shadows.

Augustus felt the death closing in. There was no escaping the oncoming inferno. His limbs were too slow. His vision blurred. He could only shut his eyes.