ATTICUS’S ODYSSEY: REINCARNATED INTO A PLAYGROUND

It felt as though the world was collapsing.

A colonel of the Zorvan had a power level more or less equivalent to the level of the leaders of the Alliance. And then there was the force of nature that was currently matching him at every level.

Atticus.

The dimension world of the Military Alliance was made with the combined efforts of multiple paragons, leaders of their respective races. Its defense and structure was the best of the best, that if not for the life weapons of the Obsidian Order, none in Eldoralth would have been able to breach it.

However, this meant one thing. It had its limits. It was meant to withstand external assault, not internal cataclysm.

Zenon’s eyes sharpened. “It’s collapsing.”

The battle between Atticus and the Zorvan colonel was world ending. Each exchange between them unleashed concussive shockwaves that reverberated like the toll of a war drum echoing through a glass palace.

Boom after boom erupted, shaking the dimensional world like a fragile cage.

Then came the fractures.

Hairline cracks spiderwebbed across the skies that had turned crystalline. The protective runes that had held the dimensional world together began to flicker.

Gravity warped. Time stuttered in irregular pulses. The recruits and sergeants across the dimensional world could feel it.

The world was collapsing.

And at the center of it all… Atticus and Xal’zereth collided relentlessly, their attacks intensifying each nanosecond.

Xal’zereth’s array of abyssal-black eyes flickered, scanning data faster than any conscious mind could comprehend. Thousands of simulations ran in parallel, predictive algorithms forming and collapsing in microseconds.

‘Error.’

‘Error.’

It appeared as though he were truly a supercomputer, one whose processing systems could not comprehend the ongoing events.

‘This rate of escalation… illogical.’

‘No previous data account for this level of power.’

‘His power should not scale in this manner. His reaction time… his adaptive progression… his output potential, it’s increasing exponentially.’

As a Zorvan, it was rare. However, Xal’zereth was filled with utter confusion. The battle shouldn’t have lasted this long. Atticus’s advancement in his elements had already been documented and added to the information he had about him.

Xal’zereth had adapted to it.

The energy that turned paragons into dust had been designed to erase life, to unravel living essence at its root. But pure mana… pure, undiluted mana was different. The element couldn’t erase its source.

And lastly, his mana control didn’t work on Atticus. This had taken him a second, but he had been able to figure it out.

It had been simple. For a person to utilize the elements, they had to form a connection with the mana in the air. However, this didn’t mean the elements didn’t exist. No.

The elements were still very much present and able to function on their own. And right now, with his power-up, Atticus embodied that in its entirety.

He wasn’t controlling the elements. No. He was the elements.

And with that understanding, he had formed plans upon plans, scenarios upon scenarios, each a flawlessly calculated path that should have reduced Atticus to a corpse eons ago.

But…

‘I’m losing in a physical fight?’

It was illogical.

They, the Zorvans, were beings of precision and control. Their minds functioned beyond organic limits, forming battle schemes hundreds of steps ahead, calculations folding into counter-calculations, every move flowing into the next with mechanical perfection.

Every blow was predetermined.

Every step was designed.

Each movement choreographed to lure his opponent into the inevitable, the final blow. A trap layered within traps, so intricately woven that no living creature could escape it.

And yet, Atticus did.

At the very moment the final trap should have sprung, Atticus shattered it, breaking through the perfect sequence like a storm tearing through silk.

His katana cleaved through Xal’zereth’s body, and blood sprayed into the air, Zorvan blood.

‘The Aurethalians? No.’

Zorvans were well-versed in the races of Eldoralth. There was nothing they didn’t know, no combat style unfamiliar, no bloodline unaccounted for.

He knew their race could see one second into the future.

But the Zorvans were beings of the present, observers, designed to observe everything, to control the battlefield with unmatched awareness.

Their intelligence had accounted for every variable, angles, power output, mana density, even emotional fluctuations. Every single thing.

What good was seeing a second ahead when there were no openings to exploit?

Their movements were perfect.

And indeed, to the layman, there were no gaps, no flaws.

Yet Atticus kept finding them.

“Impossible…”

The katana flashed again, and another line of blood bloomed from Xal’zereth’s frame, splattering into the air like ink across parchment.

Then, his trembling eyes finally met Atticus’s gaze.

And then he saw it, something deep.

His intense, purple eyes.

‘Spiritual energy?’

A silence thundered through his mind. The Zorvans didn’t know much about spiritual energy. However, Xal’zereth was somehow very certain, it was responsible.

While Xal’zereth was engulfed in confusion, Atticus saw a world of purple.

It was surreal.

A realm where reality unraveled and reformed in a different language, a world of woven threads, glistening with violet hues, stretching infinitely across space.

The people, the structures, the ground itself, all had become threads, intricately interwoven, spiraling into one another in a harmony.

That was the simplest way to describe it.

But to Atticus, it wasn’t just threads.

It was as if he were peering into the soul of existence itself.

Every thread was a connection, a truth, a hidden essence. A life. A feeling. A presence. And in this world… he moved with purpose.

His elements weren’t the only thing that had broken through.

That was simply what others could witness, the fire, the water, the earth, the air that tore through the dimensional world.

However, beneath it all, something else had evolved.

Something profound.

Something he hadn’t even dared to believe he could achieve, at least not yet. Not in this war. Not in this battle.

His spiritual element had broken through!

And now… he had stepped into the second fold.

The spirit elements were categorized into three stages, called folds: Awareness. Integration. Manifestation.

Atticus had achieved Awareness on the same day he had learnt this information, achieving basic clarity where he overcame his internal conflicts.

But the next fold was different: Integration. Here was the mastery of his Awareness. He had to demonstrate unwavering clarity and alignment with his established purpose.

And Atticus had done exactly that.

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