The Price of Arrogance (2)

With a movement that defied my ability to react, Lucas's palm sliced through my spear as if it were a dry twig, splitting it in two with terrifying ease. I retreated, my heart pounding in my throat like a war drum. Only half of my weapon remained in my hands, and horror enveloped me as I realized what I faced: a stellar technique.

I identified the danger immediately. The stellar energy of an Illuminated was like nuclear radiation in its purest form: an invisible torrent of devastating power, capable of piercing matter, triggering chain reactions, or disintegrating cellular structures with the precision of a cosmic scalpel.

Uncontrolled, it was a corrupting force that caused grotesque mutations, incurable diseases, or the total annihilation of any living being exposed to it. Attempting to manipulate it without a stellar core—the internal reactor that contained and regulated it—was like exposing oneself to a nuclear reactor without shielding: the result was chaos that consumed tissues, altered DNA, and destabilized life itself.

Illuminated and Ascendants, like nuclear engineers, channeled this energy through precise techniques, similar to containment systems that stabilize radiation to generate power or heal diseases. The stellar core of an Illuminated was the heart of this control, transforming a destructive power into a tool of creation or controlled annihilation.

Without it, stellar energy was a radioactive leak: a disaster that contaminated and destroyed everything it touched. Lucas, clearly an Ascendant who had mastered a stellar technique that turned his hand into a lethal crystal blade, had manifested that power with a precision that spoke of years of training.

—You know a lot for the worm without lineage that you are —he said indifferently, raising his palm like an executioner ready to strike—. Last chance. Take me to the safe zone or die.

I didn't respond. Words were a luxury I couldn't afford when death breathed down my neck. In a flash of instinct, I summoned the black armor from my inventory, feeling the familiar metal cling to my body like a second skin. The reassuring weight of the steel calmed me momentarily, reminding me that I still had cards to play in this deadly game. Without hesitation, I launched a leg sweep toward Lucas, aiming to unbalance his stance and create an opening.

—You asked for it —I growled.

The young man's face darkened like an approaching storm. His crystal palm sliced through the air toward my leg with the speed of lightning, but this time the blow clashed against my armor with a dry metallic sound that echoed in the clearing like a war bell. A white mark was etched into the black metal, a testament to the destructive power of his technique, but the armor withstood the impact. The force of the clash, however, forced me to stagger back several steps, and I saw the young man also retreat a step, surprised by the unexpected resistance and the strength of my kick.

—It didn't break under my Crystal Skin! —he exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with a greed that felt repulsively familiar—. That armor must be grade E! For a scum like you to have something like that is a gift from the heavens. Hand it over, and I'll spare your life.

My armor, reinforced with magical resistance that had cost a fortune in stellar crystals, had absorbed the attack better than I expected and was the only thing keeping me alive in this uneven confrontation. With a roar of fury that erupted from the depths of my guts, I spun and launched another kick. Lucas reacted with the speed of a snake, catching my leg with a dexterity that spoke of hand-to-hand combat experience. With a brutal movement, he twisted it with enough force to make me think he would snap the bone.

I fell to the ground like a sack of broken bones, and before I could even try to get up, a knee crashed into my back with a crunch that tore a scream of pain from my throat that I had never heard escape it. It felt as if my spine were about to split in two, as if each vertebra were a domino falling in sequence.

—Scum! —roared the young man, his hands grabbing my head and slamming my nape against a rock again and again, each impact sending waves of pain reverberating through my skull—. Hand over the armor! It's not for someone like you!

The world began to blur at the edges, red and black spots dancing in my field of vision as my brain fought to maintain consciousness. But in that moment of supreme humiliation, when death seemed inevitable and my shattered ego lay in fragments around me, something awakened in the depths of my being.

—Bastard!

The blood was not just dripping from my wounds; it burned in my veins like molten lava, fueled not only by physical pain but by a humiliation that cut deeper than any blade. In a burst of desperation that transcended the survival instinct, I activated my private attribute and summoned my white shell, feeling a supernatural surge that elevated all my senses and physical strength to the limit of what was humanly possible.

With a sudden movement, I lifted my head and slammed my mask into Lucas's face. The impact was like an explosion of concentrated violence. Blood splattered in all directions, staining the mask with a bright red, while Lucas staggered back, stunned by the sudden reversal of power.

Freed from his grip like a wild animal finally breaking its chains, I lunged at him with a fury that transcended reason. I ignored the cuts from his crystal hands, which tore through my armor and flesh like paper, opening wounds that bled profusely but which my rage transformed into mere fuel for my vengeance. I unleashed a rain of blows on Lucas's head, each punch laden with years of frustration, survival, and an anger that had been fermenting in the depths of my soul.