Atticus's Odyssey: Reincarnated Into A Playground novel Chapter 925

Chapter 925 Intrigued

Yorowin's heart trembled.

His crimson eyes widened in alarm, his entire body stiffening.

'This…'

It was a simple movement.

A basic uppercut.

Atticus threw it into what seemed to be empty air, a strike so rudimentary, it should have been insignificant. But Yorowin knew better. He knew exactly what was coming.

And it made his mind churn in dread.

Memories of the Auralithians' battle techniques flooded his thoughts, techniques that had made their race unparalleled in battle.

Their first ability: Echoes.

The power to create phantoms of themselves, crafted from fragments of their original strength. These phantoms multiplied their presence on the battlefield, allowing them to act in countless places at once.

Their second ability: Future Sight.

The ability to peer into what was yet to come. For some, it was a fraction of a second. For others, more.

But it didn't matter. In the heat of battle, even a single second of foresight could turn gods into mortals, paragons into prey.

Atticus had used it. _{ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm}

Yorowin was certain. The boy had moved with certainty, not reaction, but preemption. He had shifted before the Echo appeared behind him. He had acted not in response, but in inevitability.

What seemed like a simple uppercut was anything but.

Because, as though destiny itself had demanded it, Yorowin's chin landed exactly where the strike was aimed.

And it hit.

The force was cataclysmic.

The ground beneath them erupted, as if struck by a meteor. Fissures spiderwebbed outward, tearing through the forest for hundreds of kilometers. Dust and debris shot into the air in a volcanic plume.

Yorowin's head snapped upward, his neck arching violently as pain unlike anything he had ever experienced surged through him. His entire body lifted off the ground as though it weighed nothing.

The blood armor that had withstood centuries of battle buckled under the impact. Cracks formed along its surface, fissures of crimson energy rupturing like over-pressurized veins.

The world around him blurred. His body launched skyward, a streak of crimson tearing through the air. The sheer force of his trajectory created a deafening sonic boom, scattering clouds in his wake.

Yorowin's mind reeled as he struggled to regain his composure.

His skull felt like it was a cannonball ricocheting inside his own head. His thoughts refused to form, clarity slipping further and further out of reach.

He couldn't think. His head refused to work. But his ears still did.

And so did his heart.

He heard it.

A voice.

Cold. Sharp. Unmoving.

A voice that could freeze worlds.

"Godspeed Grace."

Yorowin's heart stopped.

He saw nothing. Not a flicker, not a shadow.

But he felt it.

His instincts screamed at him, a primal alarm louder than anything he had ever known. Death loomed closer than it had in his centuries of existence.

A flash.

A movement.

And then, he felt it.

The cold, precise bite of a blade slicing through his neck.

His eyes snapped back into focus. His vision blurred as searing pain lanced through him, his body trembling uncontrollably. His heart thundered furiously in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like the pounding of war drums, drowning out all else.

Yorowin couldn't speak. He couldn't even think.

But as his brain began to catch up, panic seized him like a vice, consuming every thought.

It screamed a single command:

"'Blood Eruption!'

Every molecule of blood within the crimson mist surrounding the battlefield trembled violently, vibrating with a ferocity that could rip reality apart. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, as though the world itself braced for what was to come.