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

Chapter 199: [200]: The Weight of Godhood, Adrift in the Juncture · Nov 03, 2026

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Chapter List (314)

Page number / 7

151 Chapter 151: [153]: The Tyrant’s Thesis, Unlocking the Synthesis 2026-11-03
152 Chapter 152: [154]: Server 404, The Ash Wastes 2026-11-03
153 Chapter 153: [153]: No Monologues, Tearing the Crimson Blade 2026-11-03
154 Chapter 154: [154]: Extracting Decay, The Rotten Core 2026-11-03
155 Chapter 155: [155]: The Core Harvest, Deleting the Server 2026-11-03
156 Chapter 156: [156]: The Tyrant’s Campaign, The World Eater 2026-11-03
157 Chapter 157: [157]: The Vanguard Squad, Silver Hands 2026-11-03
158 Chapter 158: [158]: The Hollow Avatar, Broadcasting Terror 2026-11-03
159 Chapter 159: [159]: The Silver Hands 2026-11-03
160 Chapter 160: [160]: Brutal Execution 2026-11-03
161 Chapter 161: [161]: The Messenger, Module Unlocked 2026-11-03
162 Chapter 162: [162]: Fusing the Math, Forging the Weapon 2026-11-03
163 Chapter 163: [163]: The Approaching Storm, A Sky of Steel 2026-11-03
164 Chapter 164: [164]: Standing Ground, The Ultimatum 2026-11-03
165 Chapter 165: [165]: Arrogance of the Elites, The Declaration 2026-11-03
166 Chapter 166: [166]: Rust and Ash, The Ultimate Counter 2026-11-03
167 Chapter 167: Raining Men, The Ash Fall 2026-11-03
168 Chapter 168: [168]: Jin’s Desperation, The Tech-Monk’s Flight 2026-11-03
169 Chapter 169: [169]: Mummified in Mid-Air, Dust to Dust 2026-11-03
170 Chapter 170: [170]: ”Holy Aegis! Wings of the Seraph!” 2026-11-03
171 Chapter 171: [171]: vs. Grigori, The Holy Splatter 2026-11-03
172 Chapter 172: [172]: The System Hub Coordinates, Digging Through the Ash 2026-11-03
173 Chapter 173: [173]: The System Hub, The Golden Rings 2026-11-03
174 Chapter 174: [174]: Corbin, Corvin 2026-11-03
175 Chapter 175: [175]: ”I’m going to steal you.” 2026-11-03
176 Chapter 176: [176]: Harmless Typo 2026-11-03
177 Chapter 177: [177]: A Heavy Toll 2026-11-03
178 Chapter 178: [178]: Weaponizing Terror, The Broadcast Hijack 2026-11-03
179 Chapter 179: [179]: A New Management, The Harbinger of Death 2026-11-03
180 Chapter 180: [180]: Crashing the Party 2026-11-03
181 Chapter 181: [181]: The Execution, Deleting the Skill Tree 2026-11-03
182 Chapter 182: [182]: The Lockdown Trap, River of Code 2026-11-03
183 Chapter 183: [183]: Betrayal of the Hounds, Fetch 2026-11-03
184 Chapter 184: [184]: The System Hounds, The Elite Guards 2026-11-03
185 Chapter 185: [185]: Module Unlocked: Root Access, The Executioner Mateo 2026-11-03
186 Chapter 186: [186]: The Invincibility Tag, System Command: Force Disconnect 2026-11-03
187 Chapter 187: [187]: The Grand Archons 2026-11-03
188 Chapter 188: [188]: The Masquerade Protocol, A Painful Anchor 2026-11-03
189 Chapter 189: [189]: Error Accumulation, The System’s Cancer 2026-11-03
190 Chapter 190: [190]: Seven Strikes of Error, Gods in the Mud 2026-11-03
191 Chapter 191: [191]: The 8th Strike, Breaking the Mainframe 2026-11-03
192 Chapter 192: [192]: The Mainframe Sea, File Search 2026-11-03
193 Chapter 193: [194]: The Coma Lock, Spite Protocol 2026-11-03
194 Chapter 194: [195]: The Price of Admin, A Burning Firewall 2026-11-03
195 Chapter 195: [196]: Unflinching Decision, Typing with Ash 2026-11-03
196 Chapter 196: [197]: Isolating Server 894, The Golden Sphere 2026-11-03
197 Chapter 197: [198]: The Digital God, The Feedback Loop 2026-11-03
198 Chapter 198: [199]: A New Administrator, Please Give Me a Bit of Light 2026-11-03
199 Chapter 199: [200]: The Weight of Godhood, Adrift in the Juncture 2026-11-03
200 Chapter 200: [201] The Awakening of Sanctuary, A New Management 2026-11-03

Sebastian woke up.

He didn’t gasp for air, because he no longer possessed a set of biological

lungs. He didn’t blink his eyes against the harsh, ambient light of the cosmos,

because he no longer had eyelids. He didn’t even have a physical heartbeat to

hammer against his ribs in a moment of post-traumatic panic.

He just suddenly, terrifyingly, was.

[System Error! System Error!] [Unauthorized Entity Rendering in Juncture Space!]

[Attempting Quarantine... Failed.] [Attempting Deletion... Failed.]

The familiar, frantic red warning prompts of the Ethereal Plane didn’t flash in

his vision. They echoed across the entire localized sector of the multiverse,

vibrating through the absolute nothingness of the Juncture.

Sebastian tried to look at his hands. Or rather, he attempted to focus his

consciousness on the spatial coordinates where his human hands were supposed to

be.

He wasn’t human anymore. The [Identity Overwrite] he had cast in his final

moments inside the System Hub had taken his 10,000x Nexus Glitch, his ten

million units of assimilated raw Source Code, his sheer, unyielding rage, and

his absolute love for a comatose princess, and smashed them all into a brand

new, undocumented digital framework.

He was colossal. He floated in the infinite, pitch-black void of the Juncture,

completely dwarfing the shattered, rusted remains of the Vanguard dreadnoughts

he had destroyed earlier. If a player had been out here to look at him, they

wouldn’t have seen a man in a black leather coat. They would have seen a moon.

He was literally the size of a small moon.

His new ”body” was composed entirely of shifting, violently churning black

static and deep, bruised-purple error codes. Jagged, neon-green wireframes acted

as his skeletal structure, constantly snapping into new geometric shapes before

breaking apart again in a mesmerizing, terrifying display of broken math. He

wore a sprawling, tattered cloak made of absolute nothingness that actively

absorbed the ambient light of the dead stars around him.

”Well, this is one hell of an upgrade,” Sebastian’s voice boomed.

The sound didn’t travel through the vacuum of space. It vibrated directly into

the foundational fabric of the multiverse. It was a horrific, overlapping chorus

of grinding metal, TV static, and the cold, unyielding hum of a Sovereign.

He missed his stomach. He really wanted to feel nauseous right now, just to

ground himself in some kind of familiar human misery. But there was no meat left

to feel sick. There was only raw, unadulterated processing power.

The Juncture around him was in a state of absolute, chaotic freefall.

With the System Hub completely shattered and the Grand Archons deleted from the

registry, the Ethereal Plane was losing its absolute grip on reality. The

multiverse was beginning to physically rot. In the far distance, past the

swirling purple smog, Sebastian could feel something ancient and terrible

shifting in the dark.

The ”Deep Void.” The realm of the original malware that the System had been

built to fight millennia ago. It was waking up, sensing that the primary

antivirus software of the cosmos had just been unplugged.

But before Sebastian could even begin to process the cosmic implications of a

multiverse without rules, he got annoyed.

Minor void-scavengers—the pathetic, bottom-feeding monsters of the Juncture—were

drawn to his massive energy signature. A swarm of jagged, centipede-like

creatures made of rusted server racks and glowing plasma engines darted out of

the purple smog. They were the size of commercial airplanes, and they thought

Sebastian was a free buffet.

They swarmed his periphery, their massive hydraulic pincers snapping wildly as

they tried to bite into his swirling black static.

”Shoo. I don’t have change,” Sebastian muttered.

He didn’t swat at them. He didn’t cast a spell. He just existed.

The sheer gravitational presence of his moon-sized, glitched body was an

absolute law of physics. The moment the void-scavengers breached his immediate

airspace, their foundational code simply violently collapsed under the weight of

his localized reality.

CRACK! BZZZZT!

The scavengers didn’t just die; they were instantly compressed into microscopic,

hyper-dense marbles of raw iron and digital blood. Shockwaves of corrupted data

rippled outward from his massive form, entirely vaporizing the rest of the

approaching swarm. Hundreds of Level 80 monsters were casually deleted just for

flying too close to his personal bubble.

”Okay, that’s pretty convenient,” Sebastian admitted, his overlapping

static-voice humming with dark amusement. ”But I really need to figure out my

loadout.”

He attempted to use his interface.

His 10,000x Multiplier had evolved again. It was no longer just a [Code

Compiler]. It had fused with his absolute Root Access to become [Reality

Rendering]. He didn’t just edit the rules anymore; he painted them.

”Let’s start small. Let’s make a sword,” Sebastian thought.

He focused his mind on the simple, familiar concept of his old Earth Sword. A

massive slab of concrete and rusted rebar. He accessed the [Reality Rendering]

module and pushed the command through.

But he forgot to turn off the multiplier.

The system didn’t just render a sword. It took the concept of a heavy, dense

weapon, multiplied its foundational mass and edge by ten thousand, and tried to

force it into a localized spatial coordinate.

VWOOOM!

The void of space violently shrieked. Directly in front of Sebastian, a

pitch-black point of absolute nothingness tore open. It wasn’t a portal. It was

a chaotic, localized black hole.

The sheer, impossible density of the rendered object instantly began sucking in

the ambient light, the purple smog, and the floating debris of the dead Vanguard

fleet. The gravitational pull was so catastrophic that Sebastian’s own outer

layers of green wireframe began to violently stretch toward the singularity.

”Whoa! Shit! Cancel! Undo!” Sebastian roared, genuine panic flaring in his

digital consciousness.

He forcefully grabbed the rendering command and aggressively deleted it.

POP.

The black hole violently snapped shut, sending a concussive shockwave of

displaced gravity that pushed Sebastian’s moon-sized avatar back several miles.

He hung in the void, the static of his body buzzing erratically.

”Right. Note to self,” Sebastian grumbled. ”Do not accidentally render a

supermassive black hole when you just want a knife. The math out here is way too

sensitive.”

He looked around the infinite, empty graveyard of the Juncture. He was entirely

alone. He was a god of a broken universe, floating in the dark, surrounded by

the rotting corpses of deleted planets. He had absolute power, zero biological

limitations, and the ability to rewrite the cosmos with a stray thought.

”Fuck, I need a coffee,” Sebastian sighed.

He missed Earth. He missed his rusted, shitty warehouse. He missed the smell of

cheap synthetic oil and the sound of Galleon complaining about engine manifolds.

He turned his massive, swirling form toward the single, pristine point of light

in the entire multiverse.

Earth. Server 894.

It hovered millions of miles away, entirely encased in the glowing, impenetrable

golden firewall he had authored. It was perfectly safe. The monsters couldn’t

get in. The Void couldn’t touch it.

But as Sebastian looked at the golden dome, the reality of his sacrifice finally

settled over him like a heavy, leaden blanket.

He was a moon-sized glitch. If he tried to step through that golden barrier, the

sheer, unadulterated mass of his corrupted existence would instantly crush the

planet into a singular, bloody atom. He had locked the door to keep the wolves

out, but he had left himself standing in the yard.

He was the permanent guard dog. And it was going to be a very long, very lonely

eternity.

——-

The absolute worst part about being a moon-sized entity of pure data was the

profound, terrifying psychological drift.

Sebastian floated in the deep Juncture, staring at the golden speck of Earth. An

hour passed. Or maybe it was a week. Time didn’t function correctly outside the

Ethereal Plane’s primary servers. It just stretched and compressed like a faulty

rubber band.

As he hung there, Sebastian felt his human ego beginning to fray at the edges.

When your brain is a biological organ, it has limits. It gets tired. It gets

bored. It focuses on small, immediate problems—like paying rent, avoiding debt

collectors, or finding a decent cup of coffee in a post-apocalyptic wasteland.

But right now, Sebastian didn’t have a biological brain. He was a sprawling,

decentralized network of processing power. He was simultaneously feeling the

death throes of distant stars, calculating the exact trajectory of every single

piece of debris in a million-mile radius, and passively observing the slow,

inevitable creep of the Deep Void.

”I am a celestial body,” Sebastian thought, the concept floating through his

massive, static-filled consciousness. ”Moons don’t pay taxes. Moons don’t get

tired. Moons don’t care about coffee.”

The thought was seductively peaceful. It would be so easy to just let go. He

could just let the tired, cynical, sarcastic human named Sebastian fade away

into the background noise. He could just become a mindless, eternal phenomenon.

A cosmic storm of Error that simply existed to guard a single golden planet

until the end of time.

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