Atticus’s Odyssey: Reincarnated Into A Playground

Chapter 1500  Will Armament

“L-lord Merek! What are you doing!?”

Merek waved his hand once more as the redflame viscounts demanded. More beams descended, reducing them to ash.

“Run!”

“He’s killing us!”

The Redflames scattered in terror, sprinting in every direction. But Merek’s attention had turned elsewhere. The wills of the dead spiraled toward him, gathering in a dense whirl just as Atticus reached him in a blazing flash, blade cleaving down from the heavens.

“Will Armament.”

The gathered wills condensed instantly into a shield, meeting Atticus’ descending strike. A violent eruption of force and heat exploded outward, crashing across the battlefield and hurling the remaining gods off their feet.

Atticus felt the rush of wind slam against his back and spun, skidding across the sky until he steadied himself.

‘I was pushed back?’

His arm quivered from the force of the clash. Whisker’s plan had been ingenious, fuse with Noctis, use Singularity, get close enough to copy Merek’s art. He stood at the peak of the Viscount rank now, strengthened even further by Noctis’ power. Being pushed back by a false willer was unthinkable.

His eyes narrowed at the thick haze consuming the sky. Scarlet light pulsed within it, pouring across the horizon like the beginning of an apocalypse.

He released a burst of will that blew the haze apart, fixing his burning gaze on Merek.

The Viscount now wore a small smile, his eyes glinting as the wills of the slain viscounts twisted around him in a raging vortex powerful enough to tear the air apart. Merek’s fist tightened, and the storm of wills writhed around him like chained beasts.

Under Atticus’ gaze, the writhing mass crumbled inward, compressing into plates of radiant armor that locked onto Merek’s skin in violent bursts of light.

The armor glowed from within, as though countless stolen wills were screaming beneath the shell.

Atticus’ eyes sharpened.

‘He’s not absorbing the wills.’

Merek wasn’t assimilating the wills, he was bending them, shaping them, forcing them to empower his body directly, something no god should have been capable of. When you killed a god, you absorbed their wills. That was the rule.

Who would have imagined someone could do this?

“The real battle begins now,”

Merek said, eyes burning crimson.

“Rift Flash.”

His armor flared, then he vanished, reappearing before Atticus in a whirl of fire, fist spiraling toward him with violent will. But Atticus’ katana was already flashing forward. Their attacks met in a detonation of energy that blasted Atticus backward in a streak.

‘He made the attack explode on contact.’

Atticus twisted mid air, regained his balance, and flickered aside, narrowly avoiding a beam of fire that screamed past him. His eyes gleamed as Merek appeared again, unleashing rapid bursts of punches that ripped through the air. Crimson trails streaked across the sky as Atticus’ blade moved in a blinding dance, intercepting strike after strike. Each collision triggered an explosion that forced Atticus back and rattled his will.

‘He’s channeling the wills into every attack.’

His eyes sharpened. Merek hadn’t stopped at empowering himself, he was actively utilizing them in his attacks.

‘But he’s burning through them.’

The more Merek fought, the faster the stolen wills dwindled. His movements were slowing, and so was the force behind his punches.

But Atticus furrowed his brows as Merek’s arm blurred past his guard. He flickered to the side, narrowly avoiding the brutal strike, but Merek stayed on him without pause.

‘He grew stronger.’

His eyes darted toward the distance, where multiple beams erupted out from the scarlet sun above, spearing into Redflame viscounts and reducing them to ash.

‘He’s actively gaining new wills.’

With dozens of viscounts still alive, Merek had a limitless supply of fuel. As long as they remained, Merek would only grow more dangerous.

Merek’s grin had only grown as the battle raged on. Atticus understood why. The constant explosions were pushing him back, wearing down his will, while Merek’s own grew with every death and will he gained.

Regardless, Atticus’ eyes only burned hotter.

‘Then I’ll make it even. Logoth.’ The battlefield fell away as the world dropped into silence. In that emptiness, his mind and body united. He poured his will into his katana as he clashed with Merek once more. The resulting explosion dwarfed the others, sending Atticus rocketing back through the air.

“Get back here!” Merek streaked after him, but Atticus’ will flared.

“Rift Flash.”

He vanished, reappearing far away, directly in front of a fleeing Redflame viscount.

“W–what? Wait—!”

His katana came down, cleaving through the Redflame from head to toe in a single burst of blood.

He vanished again, appearing before another viscount, gore trailing from his blade, as he drove his katana through the man’s widened eyes, piercing his skull. He flickered away before the body even fell, reappearing before another, severing his head. Then another. And another.

A booming voice thundered across the entire land.

“They’re mine! I won’t let you take them!” Atticus turned just as Merek’s will flared and beams tore out from the crimson sun, surging toward him.

He swept his katana aside as another viscount’s head flew, flicking the blood away. He hovered in silence as the beams closed in, golden flickers igniting in his eyes. His fist came up, will raging. “Will Armament.”

The wills racing toward Merek violently reversed course, surging toward Atticus instead. They spiraled around him with such ferocity that the air tore into gales. The beams struck in a cacophony of explosions, swallowing the horizon.

The battlefield dropped silent. Across the field, resistance members and surviving Redflames stared at the dust choked scene with tense expressions.

Anorah gripped her sword tightly, expression hard. The princess narrowed her eyes. Magnus watched with clear worry. And Whisker… let out a light laugh.

“This guy… really is a walking reality show.”

The haze slowly peeled away. Atticus hovered over a crater of colossal proportions, not a single hair disturbed. The wills of the slain viscounts had solidified into a brilliant armor hugging his frame, radiating such pressure that the air vibrated with it.