Atticus’s Odyssey: Reincarnated Into A Playground - Chapter 1522

Chapter 1522: Again
“Begin.”

“Sundering storm.”

The air before Atticus split open, an intense gale detonating outward as he erased the distance in a blur.

Heat rippled from his will, shimmering the air around him before erupting into a blazing storm that slammed into the sentinel like a collapsing sun.

The sentinel’s eyes widened, but Atticus’ katana was already drawn.

The storm collapsed onto the blade, its scorching gale whipping so violently around it that the air twisted with distortion. Then he thrust, the force carving a vacuum in its wake as it tore toward the sentinel.

The others moved in perfect unison behind him. Their wills flared violently as they appeared before their opponents, each attack ripping forward with unrestrained momentum.

Atticus caught the shock in all their eyes. It was only natural.

Not even a full second had passed since the battle began, and they had already committed their full strength.

His mind flicked briefly to his conversation with Whisker the day before. Whisker had suggested a plan to counter the Willguard, one that would render their technological advantage meaningless.

But it all depended on a single condition: the challenge had to be a direct battle.

Everything had aligned. The theme had been exactly what they needed.

Now it was simply time to enact the plan and end this challenge before it even began.

The strategy was simple, brutally so. The instant the battle started, strike with everything and finish it before the Willguard could respond.

Now Atticus had unleashed the fourth art, compressed into a single, absolute attack designed to pierce anything in existence.

He abandoned every habit, every calculated pause, every measured observation, every conservative reserve of strength.

He placed everything into this one strike.

It was all or nothing.

‘It’ll work.’

Atticus condensed the storm even further, its pressure releasing a piercing hiss that seared the air. The sentinel and his champions raised their arms, their wills churning instinctively just as the attacks landed.

For an instant, the world fell dead silent.

Then a small orb of light formed at the point of impact, swelling with each moment until it erupted into a chain of explosions that swallowed thousands of kilometers.

‘It hit him.’

Atticus’ eyes cut through the thick smoke blanketing the earth. His strike had connected, he felt it.

The sentinel had thrown up a shield, but the attack had been too condensed, too absolute. A rushed defense couldn’t possibly withstand it.

He’d felt his blade break through. He’d felt it hit flesh.

‘He’s still alive.’

By all logic, the attack should have killed him. The sentinel should have been erased. Yet the challenge still persisted, meaning the man had somehow survived it.

‘Where is he?’

Atticus spread his senses, reaching through the lingering distortion to grasp at any trace of will. If the strike had wounded the sentinel, fragments of his will should still cling to the injury.

His head snapped to the side.

‘There.’

A single thought, and a wave of force blasted outward, sweeping the haze aside in one motion.

Magnus and the others landed quietly around him, but Atticus didn’t spare them a glance. His eyes were locked on the far horizon, on the impossible sight unfolding there.

Their combined attack had remade the landscape entirely.

A canyon, long, deep, and violently carved, scarred the world like a wound left by a god. But none of that mattered as much as the figures hovering above it.

The sentinel and his champions floated over the crevice, glaring at them with pure, unfiltered hatred.

‘How did they survive?’

Atticus’ grip tightened on his katana, his gaze turning frigid.

The plan had been simple, ingenious even. Willguard or not, a surprise attack of that magnitude should have ended them instantly.

And yet they still drew breath.

“Look,” Whisker suddenly whispered, “their arms.”

Atticus followed his gaze, and his eyes widened at the sight.

‘I see.’

He understood instantly. Though the sentinel and his champions stood mostly unharmed, their left arms were gone, severed cleanly. An endless blackness lingered at the stumps, swallowing the edges like a void.

‘The tattoos.’

Anorah had long warned him of the Willguard tattoos, their cost and danger. And Atticus had witnessed their power long before he ever reached the middle planes.

‘Life weapons.’

Of course. The sentinel had used the same ability to flee Asterra with the marked before they could finish him. And clearly, he hadn’t been the only one granted such a weapon.

‘They’re dangerous.’

Far more than he’d initially accounted for. How many tattoos did they still have? What were the limits of their wishes? What else were they hiding behind those masks?

The sentinel’s killing intent surged across the battlefield like a tidal wave.

“You despicable cur’ You dare attack us in a cowardly way,” he hissed.

Atticus’ earlier strike had left him in disarray. His once immaculate hair was scattered, strands sticking out wildly; his clothes scorched and smeared with soot; cracks spiderwebbed across his mask.

His eyes, however, burned hotter than ever.

“I will make sure your death is slow and painful.”

He turned to one of his champions. “Do it. Now.”

Both men raised their arms. Their wills churned, and a golden sphere materialized, glowing hotter and brighter with each pulse, before they hurled it down into the deep trench.

“Kuu!” Noctis hissed, fur bristling, fangs bared.

“Exactly.” Whisker nodded with a deep frown. “That is definitely not good.”

Atticus barely heard them. A wave of unease rippled through his chest. He had no idea what they had thrown into the crevice, and the unknown only made the feeling worse.

A golden light erupted from the hole the next moment, flooding the entire battlefield in blinding radiance.

Atticus’ expression darkened as massive roots burst upward, twisting and weaving until they formed an enormous tree whose towering height tore straight into the heavens.

‘No.’

The sentinel’s eyes gleamed with malevolence as he lifted his arms.

“Will negation field.”

A pulse rippled out from the tree, swallowing the group in a single sweep. Atticus staggered as a crushing weakness washed over him. He tried reaching for his will, but nothing responded.

“Atticus!”

Whisker’s sudden cry snapped him around.

“Our wills…” Whisker’s gaze was hard.

Atticus looked from Ozeroth to Whisker to Noctis to Magnus. All wore the same grim, heavy expression. His grip tightened around his katana.

“They canceled our wills.”

Every attempt to summon them failed, completely.

This was Asterra all over again.