Atticus’s Odyssey: Reincarnated Into A Playground

Bloodlines.

They were the backbone of human abilities, passed down through generations like some kind of sacred inheritance.

Over time, these abilities became tied to specific lineages, forming distinct families with unique powers. In the human domain, bloodlines were both rare and precious, defining the strength and identity of those who possessed them. Anyone with a bloodline often had at least decent talent.

Unlike arts, which could be learned through training and practice, bloodlines were inherent. They were intricately tied to an individual's mana signature, as if woven into their very being. Without a reference sample of mana from someone who already possessed the bloodline, it was impossible to replicate.

This knowledge, however, wasn't widely known.

Even Atticus had only recently uncovered the truth about this while studying the techniques of different races. But Blackgate already knew. He had always known.

His bloodline was among the most unique and powerful on the planet. It was the foundation of his strength, the reason he had risen to such heights.

His ability was tied to the spatial aspects of mana, bearing some similarities to the Dimensari race's natural mastery of space.

Yet, there was a key difference. While the Dimensari could manipulate space, Blackgate's power was an aspect of it that even the Dimensari couldn't replicate.

Blackgate was sure of it. Even with the Dimensari's ability to adapt to spatial techniques, his bloodline should have remained untouchable. Unbreakable. Uncopyable.

And yet, as he stood there, his heart pounded violently in his chest. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes trembled erratically as he witnessed the impossible scene unfolding before him.

Atticus hadn't just matched his attack. He hadn't just tried to mimic it. No. Blackgate could see it, it was the power he had grown up with and used all his life. He knew, without a doubt, that Atticus had copied it down to its very core.

Black met black.

The clash erupted in an explosion of titanic proportions.

A shockwave tore through the underground world, obliterating everything in its path.

Alvis, Elysia, and the other branch heads of the Obsidian Order were hurled away like ragdolls, their bodies crashing into the unstable terrain.

The humans hovering in the air hadn't been as fortunate. The overwhelming force of the clash vaporized them instantly, leaving nothing behind but the echoes of their screams.

It was chaos.

Around Atticus and Blackgate, a swirling storm of black energy enveloped them, warping the space around them. The air crackled with unstable mana and spiritual energy as reality bent and twisted. The atmosphere strained, threatening to collapse under the sheer power of their clash.

Space had never been forceful by nature. It was a subtle yet lethal force, distinct yet omnipresent. Now, the clash of their power unleashed a shockwave of incomprehensible destruction.

And yet, neither moved.

They remained locked in the same spot, black meeting black. Neither relented.

But as they clashed, Blackgate's mind raced with superhuman speed. He couldn't understand. He couldn't comprehend it.

The series of events that had just unfolded were beyond belief. First, Atticus had summoned an overwhelming spirit. Then, he somehow achieved paragon-level strength.

It was inconceivable. Impossible.

The paragon rank wasn't something one could simply cross. It wasn't even a bridge, it was like traversing another planet on foot. It was supposed to be impossible, and yet it was happening right in front of him.

What rattled Blackgate the most, what made him question his sanity, was what had just occurred.

The power Atticus had wielded, his power, was not just a mimicry. It was perfect. Seamless. As if the boy had grown up with it.

"How…?" Blackgate murmured, his voice trembling, doubt flooding his mind.

But Atticus had no such doubts.

Holding his katana in his right hand, he thrust his left hand forward.

The air ripped apart. A streak of black energy surged toward Blackgate like a bolt of lightning, tearing through the unstable space, leaving devastation in its wake.

Blackgate's eyes widened, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts.

'Not now…' he thought, his expression hardening as he forced his mind to focus.

Blackgate's gaze flickered to his chest as a small black gate materialized in front of him, swallowing the attack instantly. Simultaneously, another gate appeared just beside Atticus's head.

This was Blackgate's power, the ability to create portals, Blackgates, capable of transporting anything, regardless of its origin or strength.

Blackgate's eyes narrowed. He had used this technique countless times to overcome enemies, even those far stronger than himself.

As they clashed earlier, Blackgate had noticed something intriguing. The overwhelming presence he had felt when Ozeroth descended was gone, now bonded with Atticus.

And while the boy was incredibly strong, shockingly so, it wasn't overwhelming.

As the redirected attack emerged from the gate beside Atticus, aimed directly for his head, a small, confident smile spread across Blackgate's lips.

'This ends here,' he thought, a wave of certainty surging through him.

Earlier, he had intended to capture Atticus and force him into submission. However, he now felt it was better to end things decisively.

But then, it happened.

Another gate appeared inches from Atticus's head, intercepting the redirected attack. The energy phased seamlessly through the new gate, reemerging just behind Blackgate's original portal.

It hurtled toward Blackgate's chest with terrifying speed.

Blackgate's confident smile vanished. His eyes widened in disbelief.

'He can create gates too?!'

It was too late.

The attack slammed into Blackgate's chest with devastating force. The impact was cataclysmic, sending him hurtling through the distorted space like a meteor.

The shockwave flattened the terrain, obliterating everything in its path. Craters formed, the ground splitting and shaking violently under the sheer power of the blow.

Above ground, the paragons of the human domain had already gathered, their expressions grim as they worked to mitigate the destruction caused by the clash below.

Magnus streaked through the air as pure lightning, his movements relentless as he evacuated civilians from the capital. To onlookers, his actions seemed without hesitation, but within, his mind was filled with concern.

With a brief sweep of the area upon arriving, Magnus had determined the cause of the clash: Atticus and someone else.

The realization that a paragon had infiltrated the sector undetected was alarming, but his focus was elsewhere.

Magnus knew Atticus's strength better than anyone. The boy was powerful, but against the might of a paragon? It defied understanding.

Despite his confusion, Magnus's primary concern was clear: Atticus's wellbeing.

As Magnus streaked through the sector, Oberon's telekinetic power gripped the capital. Buildings on the verge of collapse were held together, and debris was suppressed, preventing further destruction.

Meanwhile, Seraphina had reunited with Ismara. Together, they moved through the ruined city like streaks of light, rescuing as many people as possible.

Other paragons joined the effort, their combined powers containing the fallout from the clash below.

But then, it happened.

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