Real Dream: Infinity

Lucid stood in the center, wearing a red jacket and dark pants. His eyes, cold as steel, scrutinized his opponents. In front of him, Vector and Trace exchanged a brief glance before separating, forming a triangle around Lucid.

Vector, taller and more imposing, radiated an aura of physical authority. His tense muscles moved with calculated precision as he unsheathed Tenebris, a short sword black as the void, its blade glowing faintly with a purple hue. Trace, in contrast, was slimmer, but his rigid posture and modular rifle, Ruptura, hinted at methodical preparation, deadly in its execution.

The casino doors behind them shut instantly, and the silence was sepulchral before the violence erupted. Flanked by Vector and Trace, Lucid knew there was no margin for error. Every movement, every breath carried lethal tension, the mutual recognition of their skills turning the atmosphere into a minefield ready to detonate.

They're wasting time. I need to end this quickly. Lucid's thoughts, though chaotic, raced as he simulated his next moves in his head.

Lucid was the first to act, letting Lumen—his silver dagger with a black hilt—spin fluidly between his fingers, with the ease of someone who had used it to take lives more times than he could remember. He launched it with an almost careless spin, a silver flash cutting in a wide arc behind Vector, who stood to his right, heading toward Trace's back, positioned farther back and to the left.

Trace reacted with surgical precision. He stepped forward, twisting his body to evade Lumen's trajectory. The dagger passed mere centimeters from his back, clanging against a metallic column and sending sparks flying before beginning its return, drawn to the metallic glove on Lucid's right hand, which connected his energy to Lumen.

Meanwhile, Vector had already closed the distance. His short sword, Tenebris, swung upward in an arc toward Lucid's torso. Lucid barely dodged it, ducking at the last moment. From his low position, Lucid spun on his left foot, throwing a punch with his glowing metallic glove at Vector's side.

Bang!

The impact was like a hammer striking a wall, the dry sound echoing in the air and sending gusts of wind rippling outward. But Vector, with his imposing frame, barely budged. Taking advantage of his height and strength, he steadied his stance and countered, spinning with a horizontal slash that forced Lucid to leap back to avoid it.

Lucid landed with feline agility, but he had no time to rest. Trace had taken advantage of the opening, raising his modular rifle, Ruptura. The shot cracked through the air like lightning, aimed squarely at Lucid's chest.

The projectile missed by mere millimeters as Lucid twisted midair, rolling to maintain his momentum. Without pause, he extended his right arm and caught Lumen as it snapped back into his hand with a metallic click.

The moment of recovery was brief. Vector was already on him, swinging Tenebris downward with all his strength. Lucid raised Lumen to block, but the force of the blow pushed him several meters back. His feet tore into the carpeted floor as he struggled to stabilize himself.

"Relentless, as always," Lucid thought, his eyes calculating the distances and movements of his opponents. Vector, with his brute strength and wide, powerful attacks, was an unstoppable force in close combat. Trace, on the other hand, was precision incarnate, using Ruptura to control the flow of the battle from a distance. The two complemented each other perfectly, and they both knew his weaknesses as well as he knew theirs.

With an explosive burst of energy, Lucid launched himself toward Vector, his body wrapped in a silver aura. He feinted a low slash with Lumen, forcing Vector to lower his guard, but at the last moment, Lucid shifted direction, spinning to deliver a high, spinning kick toward Vector's head.

Vector raised his left arm just in time, blocking the kick with a forearm as solid as steel. But the impact made him take a step back—just enough for Lucid to slip under his guard and unleash a flurry of rapid strikes aimed at his abdomen.

Before Lucid could land a blow, a flash in the corner of his vision warned him of a shot from Trace. Lucid twisted his body to the side, narrowly avoiding the projectile that would have pierced his left side. However, the distraction cost him: Vector regained the initiative, thrusting Tenebris forward in a direct attack, the blade glowing with a purple shimmer.

The short sword cut through the air, and Lucid barely managed to block with Lumen. The clash resonated as the purple and silver auras of their weapons exploded on contact. But the force of Vector's attack overwhelmed him, hurling Lucid backward into a row of slot machines, which shattered into sparking fragments upon impact.

Trace saw his chance. He fired an explosive round strategically—not directly at Lucid but at the ground in front of him. The impact unleashed a blinding white flash, lifting a cloud of dust and debris that temporarily obscured the battlefield.

Taking advantage of his enhanced mask, Vector swung Tenebris in a wide arc, releasing a powerful wave of purple energy. The wave surged through the dust cloud, cutting through the space where Lucid was expected to dodge.

Blinded, Lucid regained his footing and, relying on instinct alone, leaped to the side. But he wasn't fast enough to avoid the attack completely.

Tenebris carved deep into his right side, slicing through his clothing and the flesh beneath. Blood sprayed onto the floor, a dark contrast against the blue carpet that adorned the space.

"Not bad," Lucid muttered under his breath.

In that brief moment, Trace noticed that Lucid no longer had Lumen in his hand. But it was too late—the dagger appeared from an impossible angle beneath him, piercing his armor and driving through his left arm all the way to his shoulder.

Trace staggered back, blood dripping from the wound. Though the pain was sharp, he refused to falter. His arm hung limp, bleeding profusely, but he steadied himself, slowly resuming a combat stance.

Lucid brought a hand to his side, feeling the wound that exposed torn muscles through his black shirt. The blood poured in a hot torrent, but he showed no signs of faltering. Instead, he raised his gaze, his eyes gleaming with a mix of defiance and something darker.

Holding Lumen once more in his hand, a crooked smile spread across his face.

Then his body began to change.

Before his enemies' eyes, the tissue around the wound started to regenerate, the flesh knitting itself back together at an unsettling speed. Lucid shook off the excess blood, his smile never wavering.

Vector and Trace exchanged a brief but loaded glance—the kind of silent communication only two warriors with a long history together could share. The scene before them needed no words: Lucid, with fresh blood still staining his side and his wound healing before their eyes, represented a challenge that transcended the physical.

Lucid's regeneration wasn't just a display of his mastery over In; it was a brutal reminder of what made him a uniquely deadly adversary.

For anyone less experienced, the regeneration of such a deep wound in seconds would have seemed like an insurmountable advantage. But Vector and Trace knew that every technique of this kind came with a price. Healing severe damage so quickly required an enormous transfer of In, draining the vital energy that fueled both abilities and survival. This kind of instant regeneration, in theory, should leave the user considerably weakened and vulnerable.

But Lucid was different—and it was that difference that made him so dangerous.

While most Emergents and Luminars constantly struggled to balance the consumption and accumulation of In—like Trace, who burned through massive amounts when firing Ruptura—Lucid operated with a mastery bordering on inhuman. It wasn't just that he could regenerate; it was how he did it: with surgical precision.

Vector and Trace understood that this wasn't the result of desperate healing, but a meticulously calculated process. Lucid wasted not a single drop of energy repairing unnecessary tissue. His movements were a constant flow of efficiency—a closed circuit where every action fueled the next.

The weapon he carried, Lumen, was a reflection of this efficiency. In the hands of anyone less skilled, a dagger was a secondary weapon—something reserved for defense or quick attacks. But in Lucid's hands, Lumen was a lethal and multifunctional instrument. Its design not only allowed it to pierce targets with surgical accuracy but also to return to its wielder thanks to a perfectly calibrated In link. This gave Lucid an overwhelming strategic advantage: he could throw it with overwhelming force, focus his energy solely on controlling its return, and let the connection with his glove handle retrieving it after each attack. Meanwhile, he retained full freedom of movement, ready to execute more complex strategies while minimizing his energy expenditure.

Trace felt a chill run down his spine—a primal fear that didn't come just from the present, but from everything he knew about Lucid.

The fleeting victory they had achieved—managing to find an opening and allowing Vector to deal a deep wound—was not something that could have been accomplished against Lucid in his days as a Reaper.

This guy...

The thought echoed in Trace's mind. If Lucid had been equipped with his Reaper mask and suit—tools designed to optimize combat to perfection—such an opening would never have existed. His suit would have absorbed part of the impact, dispersing the kinetic energy of the blow to minimize damage. His mask, capable of enhancing perception and analyzing movements, would have neutralized any attempt at ambush or distraction. Every strike would have been calculated, every pattern identified and countered before it even materialized. Against a fully equipped Lucid, they wouldn't have even had the chance to get close enough to attempt a strategy.

And if he'd been able to see through the flash...

Trace's mind replayed the pivotal moment of the battle: the flashbang. They had relied on that visual trick—something that, for most fighters, was enough to create a fraction of a second of disorientation. But Trace knew Lucid wasn't "most fighters." If he still had the sensory amplification perfected through Reaper training and equipment, he likely would have perceived the flash as a minor inconvenience. He wouldn't just have ignored it; he would have used it against them.

"Maybe he'd have blown my head off instead," Trace thought grimly, cold sweat dripping down his neck.

Lucid's ability to exploit every mistake, every millisecond of opportunity, was what had made him so fearsome in the past. Even now, stripped of his most advanced tools, he remained a deadly threat.

Vector, on the other hand, recalled the information they had reviewed before entering the casino—reports of how Lucid, a man who once seemed so unassuming, could anticipate movements before they were even conceived, adjusting his strategy in real time with almost inhuman precision. And now, in his current state, that same ability remained intact. However, it was no longer focused on technology; it was fully attuned to his own body, his mastery of In now absolute.

What unsettled Vector the most wasn't just Lucid's skill, but the contrast. Something about him had changed since his days as a Reaper. His style, while still methodical, was now tinged with something else: a restrained fury, a pragmatic brutality that made him even more unpredictable. Vector recognized this for what it was—a darkness that emerged when Emergents gave in to their emotions, when their motives blurred, dragging them into an abyss from which there was no return.

An indescribable sensation filled the room as an oppressive aura reached them from a distance, halting all movements, as if a dark shroud had descended over them.

"What is this...?" Lucid muttered, his voice trembling for the first time, as he took a step back.

Trace and Vector noticed the shift in his expression. The terror in Lucid's eyes was unusual, almost unnatural, as though he had sensed a presence that should not exist.

Without waiting another second, Lucid spun on his heel and slashed through an entire Luxyn wall with Lumen as though it were paper. He sprinted through the path he had carved, his movements frantic, driven by an overwhelming instinct to flee.

"Stop!" Vector shouted, but Lucid didn't respond.

Finally, Lucid reached the edge of a platform. Without hesitation, he broke through the safety railing and hurled himself from Solaris, diving into the void that stretched hundreds of meters below, separating the floating city from the mist-shrouded region of Noctus.

His figure disappeared into the white haze, leaving behind only the fading echo of his fall.