Awakening a 10,000x Skill Proficiency Multiplier in the Apocalypse

They were pathetic. They were gods brought down to the mud to bleed exactly like the mortals they had so casually slaughtered for centuries.

”Please...” the center Archon gurgled, raising a trembling, pale hand. Its voice was no longer a booming, synthesized chorus. It was just the weak, terrified whisper of a dying creature. ”Please... we can... we can fix the code. We can reset the servers.”

Sebastian didn’t smile. He didn’t feel a rush of triumphant joy. He just felt an immense, bone-deep exhaustion. He slowly raised his right arm. It was barely holding together, the green binary code violently flaking off into the air like dry snow.

He looked down at the groveling administrators, his silver-tinged eyes entirely devoid of pity.

”You don’t get to reset the game,” Sebastian whispered, his voice dropping into a cold, absolute finality. ”Strike seven. For me.”

He brought his heavily fragmented, malware-soaked fist down squarely onto the back of the Archon’s head.

—-

The sound of the seventh strike connecting was a wet, heavy, incredibly unsatisfying squelch.

Sebastian pulled his fist back, his knuckles dripping with a chaotic mixture of gray static and dark, corrupted blood. The Archon beneath him—formerly a towering pillar of absolute, majestic white light—was now just a pale, pathetic humanoid shape crumpled against the ruined marble of the dais. The entity’s physical rendering flickered wildly, its foundational code desperately trying to stitch together a skull that had just been introduced to the mathematical concept of blunt force trauma.

It didn’t work. The Archon’s form let out a screeching burst of audio feedback and dissolved into a puddle of foul-smelling, oily pixels.

Sebastian stood up straight, his chest heaving. His breathing sounded like a corrupted audio file, a ragged, skipping noise that rattled around inside the featureless black helmet of his tactical suit. The physical toll of weaponizing pure, unadulterated software error was catching up to him. His left arm was practically vibrating out of existence, shifting rapidly between solid leather and jagged green wireframes.

He looked up. The two remaining Archons had scrambled backward, their pale, hairless bodies slipping and sliding in the toxic sludge that now coated the Inner Sanctum.

They were terrified. The literal gods of the Ethereal Plane, the architects of the multiverse, were huddled together like frightened children backing away from a rabid dog.

”You know, for supreme beings, you guys are incredibly fragile once you step out from behind the admin desk,” Sebastian muttered, his voice a distorted, metallic hum. He took a slow, heavy step forward, his boots crushing the remaining pristine floorboards into gray dust.

The Archon on the left raised a trembling, translucent hand. It didn’t try to summon a fireball. It didn’t try to call for the Void Wardens. The executioners were already dead. It went straight for the ultimate panic button.

”UNACCEPTABLE!” the Archon shrieked, its voice losing the overlapping, majestic chorus and cracking into a singular, panicked whine. ”THE SANCTUM IS COMPROMISED! INITIATING EMERGENCY HARD REBOOT! ROLLBACK TO PREVIOUS CYCLE!”

Behind the two groveling administrators, the massive, unbreakable crystal casing of the Mainframe began to pulse. It was a colossal wall of shimmering, translucent diamond that protected the absolute core of the Hub’s processing engine.

The crystal flared with a blinding, aggressive blue light.

Sebastian felt it immediately. The air in the room grew impossibly heavy. The toxic sludge at his feet began to slowly crawl backward, defying gravity as the server desperately tried to rewind the timeline. The shattered pieces of the platinum doors at the entrance of the hall began to vibrate, preparing to fly back into their frames.

The System was trying to hit ’Undo’. It was trying to scrub the last ten minutes of reality and completely delete Sebastian’s existence from the cache.

”Oh, no you don’t,” Sebastian gritted his teeth. ”I didn’t suffer through three months of terrible customer service just for you to turn the router off and on again.”

He couldn’t just punch the Archons. Killing the physical avatars wouldn’t stop the automated reboot sequence tied to the Mainframe behind them. To stop the server from wiping him out, he had to break the actual hardware. He had to smash the crystal casing.

Sebastian opened his green, heavily corrupted Administrator UI. The [Error Accumulation] mechanic hovered at ninety percent. It was already tearing his biological meat-suit apart, but he needed more. He needed enough raw, catastrophic garbage data to shatter an indestructible environmental asset.

”System,” Sebastian commanded, his voice dripping with pure, unhinged defiance. ”Push Error to ninety-five percent.”

The system actively fought him. Red warning windows aggressively popped up, completely blinding his vision.

[CRITICAL WARNING: FATAL RENDERING CONFLICT!] [Error Accumulation Exceeds Biological Threshold!] [Proceeding will result in catastrophic physical fragmentation!]

”I said do it!” Sebastian roared, manually forcing the slider up with his absolute Root Access.

The pain was not physical. It was infinitely worse. It felt like his very consciousness was being forcefully dragged through a cheese grater made of raw binary code. His black tactical suit violently un-rendered, exploding into a cloud of green static that whipped around him like a localized tornado.

Beneath the suit, his physical flesh tore open. But he didn’t bleed red blood. Glowing, angry red lines of raw source code ripped through his skin, expanding his muscles to a grotesque, hyper-dense proportion. He was no longer just a man. He was a towering, glitching monstrosity of exposed red data and black shadows.

”GAAAAH!” Sebastian screamed, the sound echoing with the force of a detonating star.

The two Archons stared in absolute horror as the Anomaly weaponized its own destruction.

”THE CASING IS INDESTRUCTIBLE!” the right Archon babbled, desperately throwing its hands toward the glowing Mainframe. ”IT IS THE FOUNDATION! YOU CANNOT BREAK IT!”

”Everything breaks if you hit it hard enough,” Sebastian growled. ”That’s basic IT support.”

Sebastian didn’t run. He lunged. He engaged his [Concept of Mass], forcefully dragging the slider to maximum. He took the impossible, ungodly density of a collapsing black hole and packed it entirely into his right shoulder.