Episode-912
Chapter : 1823
As Lloyd reached out to stabilize him, Ben’s prosthetic arm lashed out with a violent, uncoordinated swing, swatting the Major General’s hand away with enough force to dent a bulkhead.
"Stay... back!" Ben snarled, his voice a distorted, static-filled wreck. "I don't... need a savior!"
Lloyd checked the readings on his HUD and felt a chill. Ben’s neural activity was spiking into the red zone, the frequency high enough to liquefy the brain of a lesser man. It was the biological equivalent of a nuclear meltdown, yet Ben’s pride was acting as a lead-lined sarcophagus, refusing to let the mind fracture.
"I’ve had... worse headaches... from cheap wine!" Ben spat, a crimson thread of blood leaking from his visor’s seal. "Get out of my head... you formless parasite!"
Lloyd looked up at the Shadow Guardian. The giant ghost was retracting its scythe, the blade glowing with an intense, sickly violet light—the harvested essence of a Sovereign’s memories.
"It didn't cut his flesh," Lloyd realized, his tactical mind overriding his concern. "It bypassed the physical armor to flay the consciousness directly. It’s trying to edit his soul out of existence."
The Guardian raised the scythe again, the screaming faces on the blade growing louder as it prepared for a second, final harvest.
"It's trying to turn him into a hollowed-out husk," Lloyd muttered, his fingers tightening around his rifle. "But the idiot is too arrogant to realize his brain is on fire."
Ben forced himself back onto his feet, his armor creaking under the strain of his own tensed muscles. He didn't look at Lloyd; he looked straight through the Guardian with a gaze that promised a slow, mechanical extinction.
"Is that your best shot?" Ben challenged, his stance wide and predatory despite the psychic storm. "Round two, you bastard. I’m still standing."
Lloyd stood between Ben and the Guardian, his silhouette a sharp contrast against the flickering violet light. He raised his sniper rifle and squeezed the trigger three times.
Bang-Bang-Bang.
The bullets, carved from spirit crystal and heavy with Void intent, shrieked through the air. They struck the Guardian's cowled face and passed through as if it were a mere suggestion of matter. The projectiles slammed into the obsidian spires far behind, erupting in useless bursts of azure energy.
"Okay," Lloyd said, his tone as flat as a dial tone. "Bullets are a no. Blades are a no. I'd try a stern lecture on property damage, but you don't look like the listening type."
The Guardian loomed over them, radiating a crushing spiritual pressure that ignored Lloyd’s sarcasm entirely. It raised the mind-scythe higher, the screaming faces on the blade edge reaching a fever pitch. Lloyd’s [All-Seeing Eye] whirred, processing the glitchy data.
[Target Analysis: Abyssal Construct. Composition: Soul-Matter. Dimensional Phase: Desynchronized.]
"It’s not just phasing," Lloyd realized, his eyes narrowing behind his visor. "It’s lag-switching the universe. It’s only 'real' when it’s cutting you. That is fundamentally unsportsmanlike."
Behind him, Ben let out a sound that was less a scream and more a blood-choked chuckle. He was still standing, his prosthetic hand leaving deep gouges in the obsidian as he forced his body to remain upright against the soul-flaying pressure.
"Is that... the best you've got... you pathetic ghost?" Ben spat, his voice a gravelly snarl. He wasn't looking at Lloyd; he was glaring at the phantom of his father, treating the memory like an insect to be crushed. "You died because you weren't enough. I am more than enough. I’ll digest this scythe... and use it to sharpen my teeth!"
The scythe began its final descent, moving with the agonizing slowness of a guillotine. It was aimed at Ben’s crown. A second harvest would likely leave the Lord of Ironwood a hollow suit of armor, his mind finally erased from the timeline.
Lloyd knew the physical rules were broken here. He couldn't tank this for Ben; the scythe would just pass through Lloyd to hit the intended soul. He needed a conceptual counter. He needed to use the Austin bloodline to redefine the boundary of Ben's mind.
"Wait. Seals. Definitions. Boundaries," Lloyd whispered.
He grabbed Ben’s shoulder, his grip tightening. "Ben, listen to me. I'm putting your mind in a vault. It’s going to be pitch black and silent. Try not to let your ego blow the walls out from the inside."
Ben turned his bloodshot gaze toward Lloyd, the glass of his visor cracked. "A vault? You think... I need a hiding hole, General? I don't need... a box! I'll break that scythe... with my bare hands!"
Chapter : 1824
Lloyd ignored the arrogant protest. He had a mission to complete. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, centering the chaotic rivers of energy in his core—the steel, the lightning, and the cold, dark void of his mother’s lineage.
He snapped them open.
The blue rings within his pitch-black sclera flared with a blinding, monochromatic intensity that pushed back the violet shadows of the plateau.
"System. Overclock [Blue Ring Eyes]. Protocol: Absolute Definition."
He didn't look at the Guardian. He focused every ounce of his sovereign will on the space surrounding Ben’s consciousness, weaving a barrier that defined where Ben ended and the Abyss began.
"Mental Fortress," Lloyd commanded.
Seeing Ben on the verge of spiritual collapse, Lloyd activates his [Blue Ring Eyes] at their highest metaphysical potential.
The world slowed down. The violet scythe, descending like the judgment of a cruel god, seemed to hang in the air. Lloyd could see the individual strands of mana that made up the blade—screaming faces, twisted memories, pure concentrated regret. It was a nasty piece of work.
Lloyd focused entirely on Ben. He visualized his cousin's soul not as a person, but as a castle. A fortress under siege. The walls were crumbling, the gates were battered down, and the enemy was pouring in.
"Not on my watch," Lloyd growled.
He projected his power. He didn't shoot a beam. He didn't throw a fireball. He pushed his will out of his eyes, shaping the raw Void energy into a specific geometric form.
Rings.
Dozens of glowing blue rings erupted from Lloyd’s gaze. They didn't fly towards the enemy. They flew towards Ben. They encircled him, spinning rapidly, interlocking to form a sphere. A dome.
"Construct: Mental Fortress," Lloyd intoned. "Seal of the Iron Mind."
The rings snapped together. They fused, creating a translucent, shimmering blue dome over the kneeling Ben. It wasn't a physical barrier; a rock could pass right through it. It was a psychic Faraday cage. A barrier designed to block conceptual interference.
The scythe hit the dome.
SCREEEEEEE.
The sound was hideous. It sounded like a violin being played with a rusty saw. The ethereal blade clashed against the Void barrier. Sparks of violet and blue energy flew everywhere.
The Guardian pushed. It leaned its weightless bulk into the strike, trying to cleave through the defense.
"Hold," Lloyd gritted out.
He felt the strain immediately. It wasn't physical weight. It was mental pressure. It felt like someone was trying to drill a hole in his temple. The Guardian wasn't just hitting the shield; it was hitting Lloyd’s mind, because Lloyd’s mind was the shield.
"Is that all you got?" Lloyd taunted, his voice strained but defiant. "I've had headaches worse than you! I've been married three times! You think a little psychic pressure scares me?"
The dome held. The scythe skidded off the smooth surface of the Void energy, deflected harmlessly into the ground where it passed through the rock without leaving a mark.
Inside the dome, Ben gasped. The pressure on his mind vanished instantly. The visions of his dead father, the guilt, the shame—it all cut out like a radio being unplugged. He looked up, his eyes wide and clear, staring at the blue energy swirling around him.
"Lloyd?" Ben whispered. "What... what is this?"
"It's a time-out corner," Lloyd said, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose. "Stay in there. Don't come out until I say so. It's safe."
The Guardian recoiled. It looked at its scythe, then at the blue dome. It seemed confused. It had never encountered a meal that came with a wrapper it couldn't open.
It turned its hood towards Lloyd.
"INTERFERENCE," the Guardian’s voice echoed, sounding like it was coming from inside Lloyd's own head. "YOU DENY THE HARVEST."
"I'm on a diet," Lloyd quipped. "And my friend there is strictly gluten-free. So, no harvest today."
The Guardian hissed. It raised the scythe again. This time, it didn't aim for Ben. It aimed for Lloyd.
"New Target," Lloyd noted. "Great. I love being popular."
He maintained the shield around Ben with a sliver of his concentration, but he knew he couldn't keep it up forever. His eyes were burning. He felt a wetness on his cheeks. He reached up and touched his face. His fingers came away red.
"Bleeding from the eyes," Lloyd muttered. "That's a new look. Very dramatic. Faria would love it."
The Guardian swung.
Lloyd didn't try to block it with a Mental Fortress. He didn't have the bandwidth to maintain two shields. He had to dodge.
He used [Void Steps].