I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Chapter 854: Harbinger Of Death

Northern stood at a vantage point, his spatial awareness collecting precise information on every single position of the damned monsters.

One was being attacked by two Masters, but they weren’t having any luck—their weapons on the verge of shattering like glass under pressure.

Another plunged its vicious claws into the chest of a Drifter, hoisting them up like a grotesque trophy.

A third monster charged toward a civilian and three Drifters who braced themselves for battle, determination etched on their faces.

Three more rushed through the rain, their evil claws poised to shred another victim.

All of them seamlessly entered his space of knowing, and the remarkable development was that he didn’t even need to open Chaos Eyes.

His mundane eyes had long been adapting to Chaos Eyes, inheriting some of its gifts. This heightened spatial awareness was one such blessing.

All the information—he simply knew it without having to look. Everything unfurled before his consciousness like a living map.

The Charred abominations possessed exceptionally resilient skin, allowing them to break weapons with terrifying ease. Several Drifters with strength-type talents had their hands grotesquely mangled because they’d attempted to punch through the monsters.

This was why Northern had delivered a calculated soft punch and used Return to unleash a tremendous amount of stored impact from the contest battle, while employing Echo to instantaneously multiply it on a single point.

That was how he’d killed the creature instantly. Their bodies were nearly impenetrable fortresses, almost unbreakable by conventional means.

Another resistance the creatures possessed was against flames.

Although Northern doubted they could withstand Sun’s Legacy—it was a different breed of flames after all.

Several Drifters had hurled their fire attacks at the creatures only to watch in horror as the monsters strolled through the inferno unfazed, seizing the throats of said Drifters and lifting them skyward.

They were formidable opponents indeed.

Of course, not for Northern. This was precisely what the Black Lance was crafted for.

Delivering the only kind of cut that could slice through them—like destiny itself made sharp.

This time, however, he wanted to deliver a cut that would sever all of the hundreds of Maelstrom roaming the entire city in a single slash.

That would take a magnanimous effort!

It wasn’t like the technique he’d developed by watching Ryan. Maybe it was similar, but not explicitly the same thing.

That was a cut, but not a single cut.

If he used that kind of technique, countless Drifters and civilians would get caught in the crossfire and perish.

He didn’t want to give a certain person another set of grievances to point fingers at him and nag him about.

Which was why he chose something stressful, but that would produce a more devastating result—something he’d contemplated during fleeting moments of his battles.

Apparently, not having the easy way out was beginning to force him to use his brain.

Northern closed his eyes for a moment and began to release void aura.

Void aura was essentially filling the air with a mist of influence—the influence of darkness and emptiness, one that corroded matter and snuffed out fragile lives like wind extinguishing a candle’s flame.

Releasing such a dangerous aura on a large scale was a terrible thing to do. But after possessing the Void Aura for so long, Northern now knew how to dilute its effects.

What he needed void aura for was to act as a medium of propagation—an intangible body powerful enough to carry a single, devastating cleave.

And as several Drifters struggled, the almost colorless and imperceptible mist flowed outward with terrifying speed.

Flowing through a Drifter’s weapon that shattered upon impact with the Charred abominations.

Flowing through a Drifter that shielded a civilian, letting the abomination slash wickedly at his exposed back.

Flowing through another set of Drifters—three of them—pathetically helpless before the claws of just a single Maelstrom.

Flowing through a mother desperately fleeing with her daughter clutched to her chest.

Flowing through the empty houses, the abandoned stalls, and the dark, winding streets of Lithia.

...until all of it was consumed.

Northern’s eyes gleamed coldly as all of Lithia’s space surrendered to the influence of his void, a kingdom claimed without resistance.

An eerie blue light glowed in his eyes as he straightened, looking utterly detached from the world—a god passing judgment.

”Black Lance... Cleave it all.”

At once.

The world was sliced.

***

Paragon Raizel trembled slightly and shifted his attention downward as he felt something spreading. The air suddenly grew dark and sinister, a malevolence seeping through the very fabric of reality. That feeling spread with alarming speed.

He frowned, contemplating what was unfolding. Then his eyes found his mentee.

The strange guy stood undisturbed, unperturbed beside the closest building to the fountain—while he and the others watched from their perch on the roof of the city hall.

Seeing Northern, the way he was poised, the Paragon didn’t need to feel the darkness emanating from him to know that his distinguished mentee was cooking up something yet again.

The sheer thought of it made Paragon Raizel’s face light up with pleasant glee—like a proud father witnessing his son’s masterpiece.

So much so that Severed Waves was visibly confused.

The man took a step forward.

”Aren’t you being too complacent and nonchalant about the things going on in this city? I know that it’s doomed for destruction and—”

The Sage trembled involuntarily. His body shook as a colossal, hollow tear ripped through the night, almost as if the world itself had wielded a blade to cleave the distant ocean—the sound slightly muffled yet unmistakable.

His body, even after trembling, still recoiled in fear. Goosebumps spread across his entire skin; his heart felt pierced by an invisible dagger.

Every other person had the same reactions, their faces twisted in horror at the terrifying sound that tore across the land.

Paragon Raizel, though, was busy grinning like a madman. He stood at the edge of the roof, staring down with unconcealed delight.

Then he called out to the rest of them.

”Don’t be cowards and come see, fools!”

Slowly, hesitantly, the three behind him moved forward, their facial expressions a mix of unsureness and wariness as they peered down below.

There... all the Charred abominations were... dead.

In an instant, all of them cleanly severed and left to drown in pools of their fetid black blood.

Several Drifters and civilians who were just at the edge of death turned around in confusion. The monsters that were about to claim their lives now lay in their own blood, half of their bodies cleanly severed like paper cut by the sharpest blade.

And a strange faded-black haired boy stood alone near the fountain, looking up with cold and dangerous blue light gleaming in his eyes—a harbinger of death whose judgment had already been delivered.