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

”I know,” Sebastian replied, his tone dropping the casual annoyance. His highly optimized digital brain was already running a million calculations a second.

He looked back at the distant, glowing golden sphere of his home planet. The Sovereign’s Aegis was strong. It was built from the foundational code of ten million harvested souls and fueled by the absolute, unyielding stubbornness of his [Error] code. But it was designed to keep out players. It was designed to keep out Void Locusts and Saints.

He didn’t know if it could withstand a direct, hard-coded deletion command from the operating system itself.

”System,” Sebastian whispered, quickly opening his green Administrator UI. ”Analyze target. Find me a weak point in that cube’s geometry.”

The [Code Compiler] aggressively launched itself at the massive white shape hovering above them. The green, jagged lines of Sebastian’s malware attempted to bite into the pristine, unblemished surface of the Architect’s construct.

BZZZT!

Sebastian winced, taking a step back as a sharp shock of feedback rippled through his arm.

[ACTION DENIED. TARGET ENTITY LACKS EDITABLE PARAMETERS.] [TARGET IS COMPOSED OF PURE KERNEL LOGIC.]

”It doesn’t have an armor rating,” Sebastian muttered, his silver eyes narrowing into cold slits. ”It doesn’t have a health bar. It doesn’t even have physics. It’s just a raw, uncompiled absolute.”

You couldn’t punch an absolute. You couldn’t apply the [Law of Rotting Gravity] to something that didn’t mathematically possess mass.

”What do we do?” Valerie asked, her translucent hands gripping her staff tightly. ”You can’t fight the game engine, Seattle.”

”I’ve been fighting the game engine since the day I logged in, Princess,” Sebastian said flatly. ”I just need to figure out how to write a bigger virus.”

Before he could open his [Law Synthesis] module to try and force a new, completely unhinged rule into existence, the hyper-cube above them reacted.

[INITIATING FORMAT PROTOCOLS.] [DEPLOYING: THE CLEANERS.]

The bottom face of the massive white cube suddenly dissolved. It didn’t open like a door; the solid light simply ceased to exist, revealing a hollow, blindingly bright interior.

From that glowing abyss, figures began to descend.

They weren’t the massive, clunky Vanguard heavy-borgs. They weren’t the heavily armored Saints, and they certainly weren’t the mindless, rusted Void Locusts.

They were Seraphs.

Dozens of them drifted down from the cube, entirely unaffected by the lack of gravity. They were humanoid in shape, but perfectly, terrifyingly flawless. They were composed entirely of the same blinding, hard-light white code as the Architects. They had no faces. No armor. No visible weapons.

Sprouting from their backs were six wings of pure, condensed deletion code. The wings didn’t flap; they just slowly, rhythmically pulsed, shedding tiny flakes of white light that instantly un-rendered the dark smog of the Juncture wherever they touched.

They were the Cleaners. The ultimate anti-virus software of the Core OS.

”Okay, those are new,” Sebastian noted, rolling his shoulders and dropping into a loose, perfectly balanced combat stance. ”And they look incredibly annoying.”

”Sebastian, look at their data!” Valerie yelled, her astral form pointing a shaking finger at the descending Seraphs.

Sebastian pulled up his [True Sight].

[Entity Identified: System Cleaner] [Level: NULL] [HP: NULL] [Status: Executing Purge]

”Null,” Sebastian whispered. ”They don’t have stats.”

They weren’t players. They weren’t monsters. They were just physical manifestations of the ’Delete’ key.

The lead Cleaner drifted down, landing softly on the rusted decking about twenty feet away from Sebastian. It didn’t assume a fighting stance. It didn’t raise its hands. It simply stood there, a towering, faceless angel of sterile perfection.

[TARGET LOCK ACQUIRED.] the clinical, system-wide voice echoed again. [PURGE MALWARE.]

The Cleaner didn’t run. It simply ceased to exist in its current location and instantly appeared directly in front of Sebastian, completely bypassing the concept of speed or acceleration.

Sebastian didn’t hesitate. He reacted with the hyper-optimized reflexes of a Demigod. He threw a devastating, perfectly calculated right hook, his fist wrapped in a dense layer of [Concept of Decay]. It was a punch that had literally turned a Level 80 Leviathan into dust.

He aimed perfectly for the center of the Cleaner’s faceless head.

His fist connected.

Or rather, it didn’t.

There was no sound of impact. There was no kinetic shockwave. There was no satisfying crunch of breaking code.

The moment Sebastian’s black-gloved knuckles touched the pristine white light of the Cleaner’s face, his hand simply vanished.

”What—” Sebastian gasped, his eyes widening in absolute shock.

He stumbled forward, his momentum carrying him through the space where his fist should have met resistance. He caught his balance, looking down at his right arm.

From the wrist down, it was completely gone. There was no blood. There was no jagged, torn flesh. There weren’t even any green, glitching error codes desperately trying to repair the damage. The end of his forearm was perfectly smooth, ending in a flat plane of static.

It hadn’t been cut off. It hadn’t been damaged.

It had been uninstalled.

”Sebastian!” Valerie screamed, her voice tearing with pure panic.

The Cleaner slowly turned its faceless head toward him. It didn’t press the attack. It didn’t gloat. It simply raised one of its hands, the fingers glowing with that same, terrifying white light of absolute erasure.

[MALWARE INTEGRITY COMPROMISED. CONTINUING DELETION.]

Sebastian stared at the smooth, static-filled stump of his arm. The cold, unyielding reality of the Core OS finally set in. He couldn’t punch his way out of this one. He couldn’t manipulate the physics of an enemy that entirely ignored the concept of physics.

He was a virus fighting the ultimate antivirus. And he had just lost his primary weapon.

”Right,” Sebastian muttered, his voice devoid of any humor, entirely focused on the cold calculus of survival. He took a slow step backward, placing himself firmly between the faceless angels and the blue light of Valerie’s tether.

”Time to run.”

—-

The deep, infinite void of the Juncture was supposed to be a place of quiet, forgotten things. It was the cosmic recycle bin of the multiverse, a dumping ground where the System tossed its broken toys and deleted servers. But right now, it felt like the waiting room for an execution.