The moment stretched—
Thin. Taut. Like a thread pulled between two incompatible truths.
Then it snapped.
The wyvern moved first. A violent contraction of muscle rippled through its massive frame as its wings slammed downward, generating a pressure wave that tore through the replicated woodland. Trees bent at unnatural angles, their forms distorting under the strain of something they were never designed to withstand.
Its wings snapped upward once—and the air detonated beneath it, launching its body forward with terrifying acceleration. The ground beneath its talons fractured as it propelled itself, closing the distance between them in an instant.
A crimson blur carving through the air.
Null's eyes sharpened.
And for the first time since entering this space, he moved with intent.
"Alright then…" His voice lowered—not loud, not dramatic, but almost casual, like someone about to flip a switch rather than enter a life-or-death struggle. His fingers flexed once. "Let's match the stage."
A faint breath left him. His lustrous long white hair fluttered behind his back, and his dark-red eyes gleamed as he spoke with a quiet certainty that bent meaning around the words themselves.
And with it, something deeper shifted.
{Fictional Falsity: Perfect Imitation — A-Rank Agility}
The activation wasn't explosive. It wasn't radiant. It didn't distort the world outwardly. Instead, the definition of Null changed. His body didn't accelerate—the concept of "his speed" was simply replaced, shifting into a state where speed was no longer something to reach but something already met.
The concept of "keeping up" disappeared. Because equivalence had already been established.
A still frame—and then he was gone.
The wyvern's claw tore through the space where Null had been and found nothing. Not an afterimage. Not displacement. Just absence.
Null reappeared several meters to the side, already in motion, boots skimming across the forest floor with unnatural lightness.
"Oh?" A faint grin tugged at his lips. "That's fast. Huh." A tilt of his head. "So this is what A-rank speed feels like from personal experience."
He leaned forward slightly—then vanished again.
The wyvern didn't pause. Didn't question. Didn't adapt. It turned violently, tail whipping through the air. It twisted mid-air, reacting on instinct alone, its tail sweeping in a horizontal arc through the trees behind it. CRACK—splintering them into fragments that dissolved into shimmering particles before touching the ground.
Null slipped past the arc of destruction—not outrunning it, not dodging it, but existing outside its conclusion. He weaved through the woodland—between trunks, over roots, under collapsing branches. Each movement precise, measured, effortless in appearance but impossibly exact in execution. He stepped lightly across the ground, hands still in his pockets, weaving through the collapsing forest like someone walking through a slow, poorly choreographed scene.
"You're fast," he admitted, glancing up at the creature as it roared again, frustration building in its movements. "But not fast enough to surprise me."
"Moreover, I'm glad the terrain of this dimensional pocket is extremely advantageous for me—just like you—so much so that I don't have to worry about leaving traces of suspicious environmental destruction near the vicinity of the assassination crime scene."
The wyvern roared again, its wings beating harder, faster.
[Wing Pressure Pulse]
Air compressed—then detonated. The shockwave ripped through the clearing, uprooting replicated trees, shredding the ground in expanding rings of destruction.
Null didn't stop. Didn't brace. He stepped into it and slipped through the fracture point where force had yet to fully manifest—his highly-focused mind and otherworldly instincts guiding him through. Untouched. The entire pressure field lost relevance to him.
"Predictable AoE," he muttered, almost disappointed. "Good coverage, though. I'll give you that."
"But you know," he called out casually, voice carrying despite the chaos, "this is starting to feel a little unfair. The stat gap between us is more than speed, after all."
He pivoted sharply, foot planting against the side of a tree trunk—then launched himself upward.
The wyvern met him mid-air. Claws flashing.
[Rend Talons]
A tearing strike aimed to split him apart.
Null tilted his body—just slightly. The claws grazed past him, close enough for the displaced air to ripple against his coat—but not enough to connect. He rotated mid-air, weight shifting as if gravity had briefly forgotten its role—then landed lightly on a higher branch.
"Whoa. That one's actually dangerous." A small smile formed—encouraging, mocking. "Points for effort."
"Nonetheless, do you know what your problem is?" he said, almost conversationally, as he slipped between two claw strikes that collided behind him with explosive force. "You're trying way too hard to be dangerous." A step to the side—a tail swipe missed him by a hair. "When all I have to do is—" He vanished from its line of attack and reappeared behind it. "—not be there."
The wyvern turned instantly, its glowing red eyes burning brighter.
[Predator Lock] engaged.
Its entire being narrowed—focused—on him alone.
It lunged again. Faster. More aggressive. Less controlled. Exactly as Fantasy Omniscience had predicted.
Now that he was strong enough to keep up with the enemy, Fantasy Omniscience was helping him by predicting movement trajectories and attack patterns, allowing him to anticipate its next moves with uncanny precognition. Null couldn't help but think about how this so-called ultimate ability had finally become useful to some extent.
The wyvern lunged, and Null dropped from the branch just before impact. The tree behind him shattered instantly as the wyvern tore through it. He hit the ground running—then accelerated. Not building speed. Being speed.
The forest blurred. The ground ceased to feel like ground. Distance became suggestion.
He zigzagged through the clearing—a step, a pivot, a sidestep so slight it barely registered—each movement threading through lethal intent with surgical precision.
The wyvern lunged again. And again. And again. Each attack faster than the last. Each strike more destructive. The forest—what remained of it—collapsed further into ruin. Trees shattered. Ground fractured. Air screamed under pressure.
[Crimson Dive] activated.
The wyvern ascended sharply—then dove downward like a meteor. This time faster. Sharper. Deadlier. Its entire body became a descending weapon, compressing air into a piercing force that split the ground before it even made contact.
Null's eyes tracked it. Calm. Focused.
And then he moved. Not backward. Forward. Straight into the dive.
At the last possible instant, he slipped past its descending form, his body tilting just enough to let the wyvern tear past him, missing by less than an inch.
BOOOOM—
The impact cratered the earth. Shockwaves rippled outward again.
Null landed lightly on a broken fragment of ground, looking down at the beast now embedded in its own impact zone.
He continued walking. Casual. Untouched.
"Honestly," he sighed, "if this is your idea of a 'test'…" He glanced over his shoulder. "…you might want to raise the difficulty settings."
The wyvern roared in fury. Its body trembled—mana surging violently beneath its scales. It launched again. Again. Again. Each attack faster than the last. More desperate. More relentless. Claws. Tail. Wings. Shockwaves. Every vector of attack converging—and failing.
Null moved through it all like a ghost slipping between frames of reality. Effortless. Untouched. Unbothered.
Inside, his thoughts remained just as sharp.
'Yeah… this speed holds. Perfect Imitation really doesn't cut corners. Matching A-rank physical output without degradation…' A faint pause as he sidestepped another claw strike. 'Honestly, this is kind of broken.' He suppressed a small chuckle. 'Not that I'm complaining. I'm just being narcissistic about my own mysterious powers.'
Another Wing Pressure Pulse detonated. He passed through it again. Seamless. Clean.
"But seriously," he added aloud, tone dipping slightly, "I was expecting something a bit more—"
He stopped. Mid-motion. Just for a fraction of a second.
The wyvern seized the opening instantly. It lunged—claws descending directly toward him.
And in that same instant, Null moved. Not away. Not aside. Forward. He stepped into the attack, slipping past the exact point where force converged—emerging beneath the wyvern's frame as its claws tore through empty space behind him.
"—challenging."
He finished quietly, then vanished again. Reappeared at a distance. Calm. Composed. Untouched.
"But then again, this is me we're talking about. Bearing the status of being 'unchallengeable' is my destiny."
[Master, you are currently being overly narcissistic.]
'You think so?'
The wyvern skidded across the ground, turning violently, its breath ragged now, its movements growing more erratic.
Null watched it, head tilted slightly. Analyzing. Waiting. A faint smile lingered on his lips.
"You're strong." A pause. "Really strong." His tone carried no fear—just acknowledgment. "But you're fighting like a script that doesn't know it's being read."
The wyvern roared again—louder this time. Angrier. Its body trembled as its berserk core intensified.
---
'Okay… speed check, matched.' Another step—he ducked under a claw. 'Reaction timing… clean.' He pivoted—tail missed. 'Stamina… irrelevant for now.' He leapt lightly onto a collapsing tree, using it as a momentary perch before it disintegrated beneath him. 'But offense… yeah, that's the real question.'
He glanced down at the wyvern below. Still relentless. Still overwhelming. Still very, very dangerous.
"Alright," he said aloud, almost like he'd reached a conclusion. "You've made your point."
The wyvern roared again—charging straight at him, its entire body coiling for another devastating strike.
Null's eyes sharpened. The playful edge remained—but something deeper flickered beneath it now.
"Guess it's my turn to stop playing defense."
He lifted one hand—slowly. Deliberately. Not rushed. Not pressured. Just deciding.
The air around him shifted. Not violently. Not dramatically. But subtly—like reality itself was beginning to pay closer attention.
"Kekeke… Let's see," he chuckled ominously, "how far I can push my Perfect Imitation—" A faint smile curved his lips. "—without breaking the script completely."
---
The shift came quietly—but it meant everything.
The moment Null decided to stop playing defense, the world responded. Not with force. Not with spectacle. But with acknowledgment.
His raised hand lingered in the air for a fraction longer—and then something rewrote itself again.
{Fictional Falsity: Perfect Imitation — A-Rank Attack Power}
It didn't surge through his muscles. It didn't flood his veins. It didn't "increase" anything in the conventional sense. Instead, the definition of his output changed. Strength was no longer something he exerted. It became something already fulfilled.
His body didn't tense. Didn't brace. Didn't prepare. It simply aligned with a version of itself where every strike already carried A-Rank equivalence.
Null stepped forward, closing the distance instead of widening it, and as he moved, something else moved with him. Not an aura. Not energy. Not even mana in the conventional sense. A replacement.
His arms adjusted slightly, and from the emptiness, darkness condensed—not summoned, not created, but materialized into form.
Two blades. Dual swords forged from a density that refused light. Their edges didn't gleam. They erased the idea of reflection.
Null didn't admire them. Didn't test their weight. There was no need. They were already his equivalent, their nature defined by his False Darkness.
He lowered his stance—and ran straight at the wyvern.
No hesitation. No feint. Just direct engagement.
The beast roared, blood-red mana flaring violently as it charged to meet him, claws widening, jaws opening, ready to tear him apart mid-approach. Mass. Speed. Destruction. All converging into a single, overwhelming presence.
Null's eyes remained steady as he ran straight into it. No hesitation. No deviation. At the moment their distances collapsed, his lips moved. Soft. Certain.
Then, just as their distance collapsed—
{Fictional Falsity: Perfect Imitation — Star Burst Stream}
And the world fractured into motion.
Null vanished into a streak of overlapping trajectories. His dual darkness swords became a cascade of impossible angles—each strike landing before the previous one had fully existed.
One. Two. Four. Eight. Sixteen.
Not imagined. Not accelerated. Executed.
The first slash landed across the wyvern's neck. The second split across its chest. Then it became a storm.
Blades flashed faster than sound could track. Twin arcs of darkness carved through scale and muscle in a relentless sequence of perfectly chained strikes. Each hit connected with flawless timing, each movement flowing into the next with mechanical precision.
Upward slash—cross-cut—dual thrust—rotational cleave—aerial descent.
The sequence unfolded exactly as it should. Each strike carried perfect A-Rank output, each impact sending sharp bursts of force across armored scales—a synchronized sequence of destruction executed with flawless mechanical fidelity.
The forest flickered under the strain of it. Reality itself struggling to keep up with the density of motion being imposed upon it.
The final strike landed. Clean. Decisive.
And then it ended.
Null landed lightly behind the wyvern, blades dissolving back into nothingness as if they had never been necessary to persist beyond the action.
Silence followed. Brief and dangerous.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then the delayed impact detonated. Sixteen slashes registered simultaneously—a chain of shockwaves rippling across the wyvern's massive frame. Its body jerked violently, wings twitching, a roar building in its throat.
Null straightened slowly. A faint breath left him.
"That should—"
He paused. His eyes flickered. Something felt off.
"Huh?"
Null blinked. Once. Twice. His brows furrowed.
"Wait." His gaze dropped briefly. His mind replayed the sequence instantly. Processing. Replaying. Counting.
"Sixteen?"
Silence.
"Only sixteen?"
His expression didn't collapse. Didn't panic. But something inside him flatlined.
He turned his head just a fraction, expression shifting from calm to something far less dignified.
"That's it?"
He stared ahead, genuine disbelief slipping through.
"No, no, no—"
"When I used this before—" His voice dropped, irritation creeping in.
And then it hit him. Harder than any physical blow.
"Ah."
His shoulders dropped. "I messed up."
A rare moment of pure, unfiltered clumsiness.
"Back then," he muttered under his breath, "when I trapped the assassins… I chained a hundred hits."
And that was true.
"I wasn't just copying the move." His eyes narrowed. "Omniscient Link was boosting my cognition and comprehension. I wasn't imitating the technique—it allowed me to go beyond the original structure and extend the sequence far past its designed limit."
But this was different. This was a Perfect Imitation. Which meant it was limited to the original structure. No more. No less.
Sixteen.
He stared ahead, genuinely dumbfounded.
Now he couldn't help but get annoyed at himself. Deeply. Profoundly.
"I really just pulled out a signature move… and nerfed it." A faint twitch. "In front of a boss."
For a brief, surreal moment, Null looked personally offended by his own decision-making.
And then—as if caught in a dream—he sensed a faint laugh echoing in his mind. Not loud. Not clear. But very subtle, lingering just enough to be noticed.
His eyes narrowed. "Fantasy Omniscience-san, did you just—"
He halted mid-sentence, realizing such an implication was far too unbelievable.
He exhaled softly. "No, that's not possible." He shook his head once, dismissing the thought.
Meanwhile, the wyvern roared. Loud. Violent. Enraged.
Null's attention snapped forward again. And what he saw made even him pause.
The slashes had landed. But the result was underwhelming.
The damage—or rather, the lack of it.
Sixteen perfect strikes. A-rank attack power. Direct hits. Clean execution. And yet—only shallow gashes marked the wyvern's scales. Thin lines. Surface-level damage. Barely breaking through the outer layer.
No deep wounds. Nothing decisive.
And worse—they were already closing. Rapid. Regenerating at a visible rate.
Null stared. "You're joking."
A slow exhale left him. "Ah. Right." He couldn't help but curse under his breath as he self-retrospected his fictional knowledge.
"Dragonkin…"
The word came out like a realization he should have had ten minutes ago.
"Impenetrable defense. High vitality. Natural resistance. Regenerative scaling."
Another glance. The wounds were already closing.
"Yeah." A quiet sigh. "That's on me. And I went in thinking matching power output alone would cut it."
Just then, the air changed. Violently. Explosively.
A surge of blood-red mana ignited from the wyvern's body—exploding outward like a shockwave of raw aggression. Its muscles expanded. Its wings expanded. Its presence spiked.
The ground beneath it cracked. The air trembled. Its roar deepened, warped—as the attacks Null inflicted pushed its berserk core amplification further.
[Blood Frenzy: Activated]
Its stats didn't just increase. They escalated. Agility sharpened. Stamina surged. And its strength and defense inched infinitely close to the next rank. Intelligence remained unchanged due to its degraded state.
The berserk wyvern's already monstrous form became something worse. Something faster. Something far more lethal.
Null stared at it for half a second. Then he exclaimed, adrenaline coursing through him:
"Yep. I officially fucked up."
The words barely left his mouth when the blood-shot berserk wyvern moved.
[Draconic Roar]
The sound hit him instantly—not just heard, but felt. His senses distorted for a split second, vision shaking, balance skewing.
And in that moment, the wyvern lunged.
Faster than before. Sharper. More violent. It didn't charge—it arrived. Distance collapsed instantly. He hadn't put enough distance between them after his initial attack.
He couldn't react.
Its claw rose—now coated in dense, blood-red mana—descending toward him. No space. No time. No room to maneuver.
Null's eyes widened. "Shit—!" A rare crack in composure. His timing had missed. "I got too conceited—"
The claw plunged toward him like looming death. Faster. Closer. Threatening to tear him apart.
"Holy! I'm done for—"
Fear flashed across his face. Sharp. Unfiltered. Convincing.
Then, in the next second, it vanished. Replaced by something else.
His dark-red eyes gleamed, unfathomably. A smirk curved across his lips—slow yet dangerous—in stark contrast to his deadly predicament.
"Just kidding."
And then he uttered, softly, calmly:
{Fictional Falsity: Perfect Imitation — Limitless Technique: Infinity}
Time didn't slow.
Space did.
★
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