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

For the first time in years, the world wasn’t ending.

But it was what lay beyond the blue sky that made Valerie’s breath catch painfully in her throat.

Wrapping around the entire atmosphere, completely encompassing the globe, was a faint, shimmering web of pure, impenetrable golden energy. It was a massive, planetary firewall.

And standing directly outside of that golden barrier, floating in the absolute dark of the multiverse, was a shadow.

It was a colossal, terrifying silhouette composed entirely of shifting black static. It was easily the size of a moon, dwarfing the planet it guarded. It wept glowing red ash into the void, its piercing white eyes staring out into the dark.

”Sebastian,” Valerie whispered, her hands pressing flat against the reinforced glass of the balcony window.

Tears freely spilled down her cheeks, tracing the line of the faint scar on her face. She didn’t need a system prompt to tell her who the cosmic monster was. She knew that cold, utterly unyielding posture. She knew the absolute, stubborn defiance radiating from the horrific entity.

He had gone to the absolute center of the universe. He had ripped the admin privileges out of the hands of the gods, and he had used them to lock Earth away in a pristine, untouchable safe zone.

He had saved her. He had saved all of them.

But the door only locked from the outside.

”You stupid, stubborn bastard,” Valerie sobbed, her forehead resting against the cool glass. ”You didn’t optimize your own extraction route.”

She stood there for a long time, watching the bleeding shadow guard the world.

Slowly, the tears stopped. The trembling in her hands ceased. The pristine corporate heiress who had relied on bodyguards was gone. The terrified survivor was dead.

Valerie stepped back from the glass. Her blue eyes hardened into absolute, unbreakable steel.

Wraith and Galleon stepped onto the balcony behind her, expecting her to collapse in grief.

She didn’t.

”Wraith. Galleon,” Valerie commanded, her voice ringing with the sharp, ruthless authority of a CEO taking over a hostile boardroom. ”Initiate martial law across the entire globe. Send out the Scrap Golems. I want every surviving Warlord, every guild leader, and every scavenger brought to Sanctuary.”

”Valerie?” Galleon asked, blinking in surprise. ”What are we doing?”

Valerie looked back up at the golden sky, staring at the terrifying shadow of the man she loved.

”He built this cage to keep the monsters out,” Valerie stated coldly, gripping her staff. ”I am going to figure out how to break it open.”

———

Being a compressed, walking glitch in the fabric of reality felt exactly like wearing a tailored suit that was about ten sizes too small.

Sebastian floated in the absolute, pitch-black nothingness of the Juncture, staring down at his hands. He was no longer a moon-sized anomaly of raw, unadulterated error code. He had forcefully shoved ten million units of Source Code and the catastrophic weight of a dead universe into a baseline, six-foot-two humanoid frame. It was a logistical nightmare.

His new ”flesh” was entirely composed of deep, bruised-purple static and black error strings. Jagged, weeping red runes were carved into his forearms and chest—the literal, physical scars of the [Error] he was actively fighting to contain. He didn’t have a face beneath the cracked porcelain mask, just a swirling void that constantly bled thick, oily digital blood into the vacuum of space.

”I feel like a zip file that’s about to violently corrupt a hard drive,” Sebastian grumbled. His voice didn’t travel through the air. There was no air. The sound simply vibrated into the foundational logic of the Juncture, echoing with a heavy, metallic distortion.

He cracked his neck. The sound was a deafening SNAP that sent a localized ripple of displaced gravity outward.

He was entirely alone. Millions of miles behind him, the golden, impenetrable sphere of Earth hovered safely in the dark. The firewall was holding. Valerie was safe. The Vanguard Syndicate was deleted, and the Grand Archons were nothing but a bad memory. He had won the game.

And his grand prize was an eternity of floating in a cosmic dumpster.

”Well,” Sebastian sighed, crossing his arms and watching the digital ash bleed off his runes. ”At least the rent is cheap.”

Before he could properly settle into his new, terrifyingly lonely existence as the multiverse’s permanent guard dog, the Juncture decided to remind him exactly why this place was called a dead zone.

The dark purple smog about two miles to his left violently churned.

Sebastian didn’t turn his head immediately. His newly optimized, Demigod-tier spatial awareness picked up the massive displacement of data before his eyes even registered the movement. It wasn’t a scavenger skiff. It wasn’t an arrogant Saint looking to collect a bounty.

It was a Juncture Leviathan.

The creature burst out of the cosmic fog like a horrifying, deep-space submarine. It was the size of a modern human city. Its body was a bloated, festering nightmare of half-rendered alien biology and rusted, jagged server racks. It didn’t have eyes, just a colossal, gaping maw lined with thousands of spinning, hydraulic teeth designed to chew through the armored hulls of dead dreadnoughts.

”You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Sebastian deadpanned, staring up at the approaching monstrosity. ”I just got the place cleaned up.”

The Leviathan wasn’t a player. It didn’t have a level tag hovering over its head. It was a stray, bottom-feeding horror of the void, a beast born from the corrupted garbage data that the Ethereal Plane threw away. And right now, it sensed the massive, hyper-dense energy signature of Sebastian’s compressed form. To the Leviathan, the Sovereign of Laws looked like an all-you-can-eat buffet of premium Source Code.

RRRROOOAAARRR!

The beast roared, a sound that was less biological and more like the screeching of tearing metal and dial-up static. It opened its massive jaws, revealing a terrifying, swirling vortex of absolute deletion energy in the back of its throat.

It lunged, crossing the two-mile gap in a matter of seconds.

Sebastian didn’t reach for his inventory. He didn’t pull out the concrete-encrusted Earth Sword or a rusty dagger. He was a digital god now. He had absolute Root Access. He didn’t need to rely on the game’s pre-packaged loot.

He wanted to test his new body. He wanted to see exactly what he could do without the Ethereal Plane’s physics engine holding his hand.

”Let’s see how the new engine runs,” Sebastian whispered, his pristine white void-eyes narrowing beneath the cracked mask.

He raised his right hand, pointing his open palm toward the charging, city-sized nightmare. He bypassed his mana pool entirely. He reached into his green, corrupted Administrator UI and grabbed the [Reality Rendering] module that had evolved from his 10,000x Nexus Glitch.

He didn’t cast a spell. He just imagined a weapon.

”Render: Iron Spear,” Sebastian commanded.

In the normal Ethereal Plane, the server would simply process the request, deduct the mana, and pop a neat, perfectly balanced iron spear into his hand.

But out here in the Juncture, there was no server to buffer the math. There was no physics engine to gently hold the code and make sure it played nice with reality. Sebastian was forcing raw, unadulterated existence into a void that actively rejected it.

And he didn’t just ask for a spear. His glitched code automatically applied the 10,000x multiplier.

He wasn’t rendering a standard weapon. He was rendering an iron spike with the multiplied, concentrated kinetic density of a dying star.

VWOOOM!

The space directly above his right palm violently tore open. A jagged, blindingly bright wireframe of a spear began to manifest.

But the sheer, impossible mass of the object needed an anchor. It needed a physical toll to ground it in reality. And without the server’s safety protocols, the rendering feedback looked for the closest source of biological data to absorb the recoil.

That source was Sebastian’s arm.

”GAAAAH! FUCK!” Sebastian roared.

The pain was absolute, immediate, and catastrophic. The moment the hyper-dense iron spear popped into existence, the sheer gravitational recoil violently shredded his right arm.

CRACK! SQUELCH!

His compressed, biological steel muscles literally exploded outward. The pitch-black static and pale, runic skin of his forearm violently tore apart like wet tissue paper. A massive geyser of bright red error code and thick, oily black blood sprayed into the vacuum, painting the void in a horrific splatter of self-inflicted gore.

His digital bone shattered, the jagged fragments jutting out of his bicep as the physical cost of playing god without a safety net hit him like a freight train.

But the spear was there.

Hovering just inches above his ruined, bleeding stump of an arm was a massive, ten-foot-long javelin of pure, unadulterated black iron. It didn’t glow with magical enchantments. It didn’t radiate holy light. It was just a profoundly heavy, impossibly dense piece of physical matter that warped the space around it.

Sebastian panted heavily, his chest heaving as he stared at his shredded arm, the red error strings sparking wildly as his passive regeneration desperately tried to stitch the severed limb back together.