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

And deep inside the subterranean command center of Sanctuary, Valerie was absolutely miserable.

”This is completely insane,” Galleon grunted, wiping a thick smear of grease from his soot-stained beard. The dwarven engineer was standing on top of a massive, heavily scorched metal turbine, forcefully ratcheting a giant bolt into place with a wrench the size of a small child. ”We are trying to build a cosmic radio out of spare parts and duct tape! The physics don’t align, Boss!”

Valerie didn’t look up from the glowing, holographic schematics floating over the cracked obsidian war table.

She looked terrible, but her posture was absolute steel. Her chopped, uneven brown hair hung loosely around her face, framing the jagged, newly healed scar running down her cheek. She had discarded the torn, bloody combat leathers for a simple, practical set of mechanic’s overalls.

”Make them align, Galleon,” Valerie ordered, her voice entirely stripped of its former corporate softness. It was sharp, authoritative, and completely unyielding. ”Bypass the localized mana limiters. Reroute the secondary cooling vents directly into the primary runic array. I don’t care if it overheats. I just need it to pulse.”

She was looking at the blueprints for the Astral Spire.

It was a massive, highly illegal, entirely undocumented piece of magical hardware. They were currently building it right in the middle of the Citadel’s grand hall. They had dragged the shattered, twisted remains of the Sky-Fortress into the base, completely cannibalizing the multi-million-credit airship to build a towering, jagged spire of titanium and exposed mana conduits.

”It’s not just about the heat, Valerie,” Wraith said from the shadows of the doorway.

The Level 25 Assassin stepped into the light. He wasn’t wearing his mask. His face was pale, his eyes sunken with exhaustion. He looked at the massive, dangerous machine, then looked at the woman commanding its construction.

”The golden barrier is absolute,” Wraith explained, his raspy voice tight with genuine concern. ”The Boss wrote the code himself. It isolates Server 894 from the entire multiverse. Nothing gets in. Nothing gets out. If you try to punch a signal through that firewall, the feedback loop is going to be catastrophic.”

”I know,” Valerie said, her blue eyes never leaving the holoscreen.

”It could literally un-render the entire Citadel,” Corbin squeaked from a nearby terminal. The rogue code-smith, who had been securely locked inside Sanctuary when the barrier went up, was typing frantically on a keyboard. ”We are tapping directly into the planet’s primary leyline to power this thing! If the Spire detonates, it won’t just be an explosion. It will be a localized server wipe!”

Valerie finally looked up. She stared at the terrified mechanic, then at the exhausted assassin, and finally at the grumbling dwarf.

”He is out there,” Valerie stated, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm, absolute whisper. ”He gave up his humanity. He ripped his own code apart. He locked himself in a cosmic graveyard with billions of monsters, just so we could have a blue sky.”

She slammed her fist onto the obsidian table.

”I am not leaving him out there in the dark! I don’t care if I have to burn this entire planet’s mana grid to the ground. We are building the Spire. And we are going to send him a lifeline.”

Wraith let out a heavy sigh. He recognized that look in her eyes. It was the exact same, unhinged, stubborn defiance that Sebastian wore right before he did something mathematically impossible.

”You’re going to kill yourself, Boss,” Wraith warned softly. ”The Spire requires a living conduit to translate the digital signal into an astral projection. If you step into that machine, the raw mana is going to fry your nervous system.”

”I’ve survived worse,” Valerie lied smoothly.

She turned away from the table and walked directly toward the base of the massive, ugly machine. At the very center of the titanium spire was a small, circular platform surrounded by heavy, glowing runic dampeners.

It was the conduit chamber.

”Corbin, prep the launch sequence,” Valerie ordered, stepping up onto the platform. ”Galleon, prime the leyline tap.”

”You’re the boss,” Galleon grunted, hopping down from the turbine and jogging over to a heavy, rusted lever.

Valerie closed her eyes. She reached deep into her own Ethereal Plane interface. She didn’t have admin privileges. She didn’t have a 10,000x multiplier. She was just an Arcane Valkyrie. But she had a massive, completely maxed-out mana pool, and she was willing to spend every single drop of it.

”Engage,” Valerie commanded.

Galleon pulled the lever.

BZZZZT!

The sound was deafening. The entire subterranean Citadel violently shuddered as the massive machine forcefully ripped raw, unadulterated magical energy directly from the Earth’s core.

The thick cables snaking up the Spire glowed with a blinding, terrifyingly bright blue light. The energy cascaded downward, pooling directly into the runic array surrounding Valerie’s feet.

”Guh!” Valerie gasped, her entire body going rigid.

The pain was immediate and absolute. It felt like standing in the center of a lightning storm and willingly catching every single bolt. The raw mana forcefully bypassed her physical armor, directly flooding her digital soul.

”Mana pressure at critical!” Corbin screamed over the roaring hum of the machine, his fingers flying across his console. ”The barrier is resisting the signal! It’s pushing back!”

”Push harder!” Valerie shrieked, her voice tearing.

She raised her hands, forcefully channeling the agonizing, burning energy upward, desperately trying to shape the raw data into a coherent, astral signal.

Blood began to steadily drip from her nose, splashing onto the pristine white runes at her feet. Her eyes snapped open, the pupils entirely swallowed by a blinding, glowing blue light. The tiny blood vessels in her sclera burst, tears of red mixing with the magical glow.

”Valerie, stop!” Wraith yelled, taking a step toward the platform. ”Your health bar is tanking! The feedback is tearing your physical body apart!”

”Do not touch the machine, Wraith!” Valerie commanded, her voice distorted by the sheer volume of magic pouring through her vocal cords.

She didn’t care about the pain. She didn’t care about the warnings flashing across her UI. She pictured the pitch-black void of the Juncture. She pictured the lonely, terrifying shadow of the man who had traded his life for hers.

She poured her absolute, unyielding stubbornness into the signal, weaponizing her own trauma and devotion into a pure, concentrated beam of astral light.

”I am coming, Sebastian,” Valerie whispered, blood spilling freely from her lips. ”Just hold on.”

With a deafening, reality-warping crack, the Astral Spire finally pierced the golden firewall, shooting a blinding beam of hope directly into the dark.

—-

The absolute, deafening silence of the Juncture returned, pressing down on Sebastian like a physical ocean of dark matter.

He hovered in the pitch-black void, completely alone. Millions of miles behind him, the beautiful, uncorrupted golden sphere of Earth sat perfectly safe behind the impenetrable firewall he had built. Down below, the shattered, floating remnants of the dead Leviathan drifted aimlessly into the cosmic smog.

Sebastian had just successfully crushed a billion data-eating Void Locusts into a tiny, hyper-dense marble the size of a bowling ball. He had casually tossed the horrific, dripping sphere of compressed rusted metal and acidic bug blood into his bottomless inventory.

He had won. He had held the line. The vanguard of the Void was entirely deleted.

”Well,” Sebastian wheezed, his voice heavily distorted and overlapping with harsh, metallic static. ”That was a hell of a workout. I think I pulled a digital hamstring.”

He tried to cross his arms, but his body didn’t obey.

BZZZZT!

A sudden, catastrophic jolt of raw energy ripped through his core. Sebastian violently lurched forward, his back arching as a mind-breaking wave of existential pain hit him.

”GAAAAH! Fuck!” he roared.

The sound was horrifying. It wasn’t a human scream. It was the screeching, tearing noise of a massive hard drive forcefully failing.

The adrenaline of the fight was fading, and the brutal, unforgiving reality of what he had just done was violently catching up to him. He had bypassed the server’s safety limiters. He had completely unsuppressed his 99 percent Error Accumulation to conjure the [Law of Spatial Collapse]. He had forced a fragile, localized humanoid meat-suit to process the raw, apocalyptic physics of a dying solar system.

You couldn’t just do that and walk away. The universe demanded payment, and the bill was due.

CRACK!

Sebastian looked down at his hands. They were violently glitching. His fingers didn’t look like pale skin or black leather anymore. They were rapidly shifting between jagged green wireframes, translucent polygons, and absolute, empty nothingness.

”Hold together,” Sebastian gritted his teeth, desperately trying to clench his fists. ”Come on, you stupid piece of code. Hold together!”

He couldn’t feel his fingers. The terrifying, creeping numbness of Void Toxicity was back, but it was a thousand times worse than before.

This wasn’t a slow corruption. This was a catastrophic rendering feedback loop. His avatar was actively tearing itself apart, unable to sustain the sheer, ungodly volume of corrupted data he had packed into his six-foot-two frame.