After The Collapse

The unexpected question by Lumian threw the group into a contemplative silence. It wasn't that they were unwilling to share their abilities—rather, most of them didn't fully understand what they were capable of. Silas and Warren, in particular, had only used theirs once, during their battle with the Elder in the Collapse Site.

For Silas, the request unearthed a swirl of unease. The very nature of these abilities felt like a double-edged sword. Could there be a hidden drawback, some unforeseen price to pay? He recalled Warren's experience—how the sudden relief of pain from his ability left him so drained he'd collapsed into a deep, involuntary sleep. Was that just the tip of the iceberg?

Lumian's voice broke the silence, light but with a trace of insistence. "Well, no objections so far. That's a good sign, yeah? Let's just go ahead, then." He scanned the room, his gaze landing on Silas.

"Silas, why don't you start for us? You look like you've got plenty on your mind, so go ahead." Lumian clasped his hands together with a small grin, clearly trying to ease the tension.

Silas felt his stomach twist. Of course, it had to be him first. He hesitated, his voice faltering. "Uh… Erm… Well…" He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the others. "Can we go outside? I feel like this is something best shown, not just explained."

The group exchanged glances, curiosity lighting up their faces. Lumian tilted his head with an amused expression. "Fair enough. Lead the way, then."

With a reluctant nod, Silas stood and headed for the door, the others trailing behind.

The group stood in the backyard of the lodge, an open space surrounded by overgrown grass and scattered debris. Warren, Lumian, and Ronan leaned casually against the weathered wooden wall of the lodge, watching Silas stand several feet away with an air of nervous determination. It was clear he was unsure how this demonstration would go.

"Alright, uh… this might seem strange, but could someone throw something at me?" Silas's voice wavered as he rubbed the back of his neck, feeling foolish even as he said it. "I can't just use it… in still air."

Warren raised an eyebrow. Lumian stifled a laugh, but both turned their gaze toward Ronan, who was already nodding eagerly, excited to help with the showcase of Silas' ability. Without hesitation, Ronan grabbed a small rock from the ground.

"Alright," Silas continued, oblivious to Ronan's enthusiasm as he reached for his dagger. "Just throw when I take the dagger out, okay—"

Before he could finish, Ronan had already hurled the pebble with shocking speed, his expression oblivious as it flew toward Silas with dangerous speeds.

"—!" Silas looked up just in time to see the projectile hurtling toward him. It was small, but the velocity made it far more dangerous than it seemed. He froze for a moment, his mind racing. There was no time to draw the dagger, no time to dodge.

"Damn it!" Silas shouted, raising his left hand instinctively to block the incoming rock.

And then—time stopped.

Silas's eyes squeezed shut, bracing for impact that never came. A few moments passed before he dared to open them, and what he saw left him breathless. The pebble hung in the air, mere millimeters from his outstretched hand, suspended in perfect stillness.

Silas stared, wide-eyed. He knew this sensation all too well: Temporal Apex. But something was wrong.

"How the hell…?" he muttered to himself. "I thought this was something only my dagger could do."

His confusion deepened as he examined the suspended rock. Before he could piece together what had happened, a sharp, searing pain jolted through his entire body.

"Gyaahguhh—!" Silas gasped, clutching his chest as a second wave of pain surged, this time even more intense. It felt like his very essence was being torn apart. His breathing grew ragged as realization dawned on him.

The ability stops time, disconnecting me from its flow… but that's the problem.

His body wasn't meant to exist outside the bounds of time and space. This frozen state was breaking him down, piece by piece, unraveling his connection to the normal world.

Panic flooded Silas's mind as the agony increased. He knew he didn't have long. He had to act fast or he'd die here, consumed by his own power.

"Origin!" Silas shouted through gritted teeth. The pain was unbearable, his body screaming for release. He didn't know what would happen to the rock if it reached its purest, most basic state, but anything was better than staying here.

And just like that, as it should, time resumed.

The 'rock' crumbled into mere dirt and debris, much of it scattering onto the ground while some filled Silas's lungs. He coughed slightly, spitting out the earthy particles. It wasn't a true rock after all but a compacted ball of dirt and natural elements. Over time, weathering patterns and environmental forces had compressed it into its hardened form.

Lumian's lips formed a perfect 'O' as he stared, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He wasn't aware of what had transpired during the time stop, only the aftermath. Ronan mirrored his expression, scratching his head in confusion.

"I've seen it before," Warren muttered, his hand to his chin, eyes narrowing at Silas. "But no matter how many times I see it… it still makes no sense." He turned sharply toward Ronan, scoffing. "And you. Don't just throw rocks. Are you dumb or something?"

Before Ronan could reply, Silas's voice cut through the tension, strained and hoarse. "T-That was Temporal Apex… The ability to force most things to their peak or origin…" He paused, swallowing hard as his chest tightened, each word leaving him weaker. "Pardon me, will you?"

With that, Silas dropped onto his rear, a sharp gasp escaping him as his lungs struggled to reclaim the air they had lost. Exhaustion swept over him, and he allowed himself to fall onto his back, sprawled out on the uneven ground. The lingering pain of being momentarily severed from the flow of time and space clung to his body, leaving him drained.

As he stared up at the overcast sky, Silas noticed the others approaching, their concerned expressions growing clearer with each step. Though his muscles protested, he managed to lift his hand, signaling to them that he was okay. The subtle gesture eased the tension slightly, though their concern still lingered as they gathered around him.

.

..

…

Warren leaned against the weathered wall of the lodge, arms crossed, watching Ronan stand a few feet away in the same spot Silas had just used to showcase his ability. Beside Warren, Lumian stood with his left hand resting thoughtfully against his chin, a distant look in his eyes. Nearby, Silas sat on an old wooden crate, holding a warm coffee in both hands. He sipped it quietly, his tired posture making it clear he was still recovering from his earlier demonstration.

Warren raised an eyebrow. "What's with the face? You look like you're trying to solve a puzzle. Don't tell me you've never seen his ability before."

Lumian blinked, pulled from his thoughts, and shook his head. "Not once. Like I said earlier, Ronan joined a few months after me. We've never really had a reason to use it."

Warren shot him a skeptical look. "Never had a reason, or you just didn't bother to find out?"

Lumian sighed, recognizing how that might sound. "Okay, maybe that came out wrong. What I mean is, I don't know anything about it. Not a clue. I've never seen it in action, and honestly, this is as new to me as it is to you."

Warren tilted his head slightly, the skepticism easing into a faint look of understanding. "Ah, fair enough."

Lumian offered a small smile before shifting his gaze back to Ronan, who was practically bouncing on his heels with anticipation. "Still," Lumian muttered, more to himself than anyone, "can't help but wonder what he's about to do. Feels like it's either gonna be incredible… or we'll regret standing this close."

Warren snorted softly, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he kept his eyes on Ronan. "Let's just hope for the first one. Not in the mood for more chaos today."

Silas glanced at them briefly over the rim of his coffee cup, giving a faint shake of his head at their banter, but said nothing. He leaned back slightly, savoring the moment of calm.

"You guys over there talking down on me?" Ronan called over his shoulder, his voice laced with playful confidence. Without waiting for an answer, he began pacing the perimeter of an invisible square he seemed to map out in his mind. At each of the four corners, he crouched and pressed his hand to the ground with deliberate focus, as if charging the air itself. Once he finished marking all four points, he moved to the center of the square and repeated the motion.

"Nope!" Lumian shouted back casually, though his eyes followed Ronan with growing curiosity.

"Nah," Warren added, his tone clipped but attentive, arms crossed as usual.

"No," Silas muttered weakly from his seat, still catching his breath but watching nonetheless.

"Good, good," Ronan said, straightening up and brushing off his hands with a theatrical flourish. "Now, prepare to be blown away! Out of the waters! Whatever you wanna call it!" He crossed his arms over his chest, flashing the group a wide grin. "Ready? I'm only going to show you this once."

The group exchanged quick glances, then nodded, their collective curiosity piqued. Warren's sharp gaze narrowed slightly, Lumian leaned forward with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and even Silas seemed to muster a faint spark of interest despite his fatigue.

Ronan closed his eyes, his grin fading as his expression turned serious. He took a deep breath, and then—it happened.

In an instant, Ronan disappeared from the center of the square, only to reappear at the top-left corner in a flash. A split second later, he vanished again, materializing at the bottom-right corner. Then the top-right. Then back to the center. Finally, he appeared at the bottom-left corner.

It wasn't walking or running—it was instantaneous, like teleportation. The group could only stare, unable to track his movements as he repeated the motion, flashing between points of the square faster than their eyes could follow.

"What…?" Lumian muttered under his breath, the smirk wiped clean from his face.

Warren's brow furrowed as he analyzed the display. "Teleportation? No, there's something… more to it."

Silas, still seated, tilted his head slightly, his coffee forgotten in his hand as he watched with faint awe.

Ronan came to a stop at the bottom-left corner, panting slightly but grinning triumphantly. He spread his arms wide, basking in their stunned silence. "Well? Blown away yet? I told you this was something special!"

Ronan planted his hands on his hips and let out a booming laugh, the kind you'd expect from an ancient emperor basking in victory. His grin stretched wide, his chest puffed out—he looked like he'd just claimed dominion over the universe itself.

And then, in the blink of an eye, his triumphant pose crumpled.

With a violent gag, Ronan doubled over, and bile erupted from his throat onto the grass. A sickly yellow-orange liquid, riddled with mysterious chunks, splattered everywhere. Whatever he'd eaten had clearly decided it wanted no part in his theatrics.

.

..

…

Ronan's ability wasn't traditional cloning. Instead, he could create conceptual clones—phantoms that weren't visible but acted as teleportation markers. He could jump to any clone's position, effectively bending space.

During his demonstration, Ronan had five clones active. The more clones he used, the greater the toll on his body. Three clones meant three times the strain; five clones multiplied it even further. That's why he'd been sick—his body breaking down from the sheer force of his teleportations.

The real strength, though, lay in the amplification. Each clone didn't just mark a spot; it boosted his power. Seven clones would make his punches seven times stronger, but also seven times more painful. The power came with a hefty cost: the more clones he used, the greater the strain on both his body and mind. This was the power of Ronan Reed's Endless Legion: immense strength, bound by self-imposed limits.

"My turn, correct?" Lumian asked, his voice light but carrying a hint of uncertainty. He stood a few feet away from the spot where Ronan had collapsed, the air still tinged with the aftermath of his earlier display.

Ronan, now wrapped in a blanket, sat on the grass, looking both amused and exhausted. Silas remained seated on the crate, watching with quiet curiosity, while Warren stood, his posture still and observant.

They all nodded, anticipation hanging in the air. What could Lumian possibly show them?

"Be careful. I barely have any knowledge of this thing," Lumian admitted, forcing out a nervous chuckle. The laughter didn't quite reach his eyes, and the tension in his stance betrayed his unease.

What could that mean?

The question barely had time to settle before the answer arrived. The air shifted. The wind, gentle at first, suddenly surged with unnatural speed. It wasn't random—it was deliberate, drawn toward Lumian like a moth to a flame.

The wind spiraled faster, white streaks forming faint, visible lines that coiled around him like threads of light. Grass, rocks, leaves, and debris were caught in its pull, spinning wildly in the vortex. The sheer force sent some of it flying outward, scattering across the yard.

The others instinctively shielded their faces. Warren narrowed his eyes, his analytical gaze fixed on the storm. Ronan pulled his blanket tighter, half-impressed, half-confused. Even Silas, who rarely gave praise, found himself muttering under his breath.

"It's a scene from a movie…" he admitted reluctantly, his voice almost drowned out by the howling wind.

Warren and Ronan gave slight nods, unable to tear their eyes away from the unfolding spectacle.

Then, amidst the chaos, came a soft, almost otherworldly glow—a delicate pink light blooming behind Lumian. It was faint at first, but as it intensified, the shape became clear.

A pentagram.

It hovered in the air, impossibly sharp and vivid, formed by something that defied explanation. The winds roared in harmony with its presence, as though they were its heralds. Such a thing shouldn't have existed, not without the influence of a Soul Fragment, yet here it was—a symbol of Lumian's untapped power.

And from within the pentagram, something began to emerge.

A hand.

It pushed through the symbol's center, its translucent pink form glowing softly. The hand extended only a few inches past its wrist, its surface smooth and unblemished, as if carved from light itself.

Despite its surreal nature, there was nothing threatening about it. Quite the opposite. The hand exuded an overwhelming sense of calm, a strange, inexplicable peace that radiated outward.

The others felt it immediately. Whatever this was, it couldn't harm them.

Without a doubt, this was the authority of Lumian Chen.