Creation Of All Things

Chapter 244: Nullbreed Attacks



The sky cracked in half—light and smoke and swirling debris raining over the skyline. From the rooftops to the concrete veins below, the city trembled as if it remembered what fear tasted like.

And in the center of it all stood Nullbreed.

He didn't speak. He didn't gesture. He just walked, boots scraping broken ground, the sigil on his palm glowing like a second heart. Behind him, they followed—dozens, maybe hundreds. Villains who had ruled sectors. Ghosts who had once burned cities for sport. All of them now falling in line behind something worse than rage.

Purpose.

Nullbreed had given them that.

Across the battlefield—a crater that stretched six blocks wide—the heroes waited.

They'd come from all corners. No banners. No symbols. Just names carried by whispers and warning beacons.

Velocity. Titan Quake. Wraithlock. Seraphine. Prism Core. Blade Ghost.

And more.

They stood side by side. No ranks. No formations.

Just grit.

Across from them, villains howled. Energy crackled. Fire split sky.

And then—

Nullbreed raised his hand.

The world screamed.

The ground detonated. Not from explosives. From concept. Solidity gave way to entropy and atoms forgot how to stay close. A building melted into data before it could even fall.

That was the signal.

The war began.

Prism Core moved first—splitting her body into seven color-spectrums, each wielding a separate form of light. One lashed forward and cut through a villain's flame barrier with a blade of ultraviolet. Another blinded the sniper atop the scorched parking tower.

Beside her, Velocity vanished into blue streaks, appearing and disappearing between enemy lines. For every bullet fired, ten fists landed. For every fist thrown, three ribs cracked. His movements bent physics—but not for show. They were survival. Rhythm. Precision honed from losing too many friends on missions just like this.

Wraithlock collided with a gravity manipulator named Crashtide in midair—flesh against force, magic against weight. Crashtide slammed the ground, sending up a wave of compressed gravity that folded cars in half. Wraithlock countered by phasing—letting the wave pass through her—and materialized behind him.

"You always overplay the entrance."

"And you always talk too much," she said, snapping his own weapon into reverse polarity. It detonated in his face.

Titan Quake met Hammerflesh near the collapsed courthouse.

Both were giants.

Both unyielding.

Titan's arms pulsed with tectonic power—each punch like a miniature earthquake. Hammerflesh was slower, his body made of liquid metal layered with impact runes, but when he hit back, he cracked the air like thunder under pressure.

"You think this is justice?" Hammerflesh growled, blocking a strike with his shoulder and swinging low.

"No," Titan said. "This is payback."

He drove his fist into the ground.

The street split.

Hammerflesh fell into a pit that hadn't been there a moment ago, only to be met midair by a waiting uppercut.

Two streets over, Blade Ghost and Slipcoil fought like dancers.

Slipcoil was all slithering motion, her arms like whips of bio-metal that curved unnaturally, snapping bones from a distance. Blade Ghost was silence—a shimmer of blades wrapped in a cloak of shifting invisibility.

She was faster.

But Slipcoil didn't need to see her.

She felt vibrations. Wind currents. The moment Blade Ghost's blade came for her ribs, Slipcoil dropped low, redirected the swing, and slammed an elbow into the assassin's gut.

But Blade Ghost didn't flinch.

She grinned under the mask.

And let go of her sword.

It detonated in Slipcoil's hand, slicing her arm in half.

"I always leave a gift."

Seraphine and Emberlord clashed above the city—wings of divine light flaring against living flame. Emberlord had once incinerated an entire biome just to kill one runaway hero. But Seraphine was no novice.

Every time his fire touched her shield, it shimmered—and reflected.

She fired a beam through his wing and followed with a barrage of feathers laced with anti-magic.

He screamed. Not in pain. In rage.

"You can't stop the tide!"

Seraphine's eyes burned gold.

"Then I'll drown with the sky if I have to."

They crashed into the clouds—two gods falling through heaven in reverse.

On the ground, Nullbreed didn't flinch.

He moved through the chaos untouched, the sigil on his palm twisting like a living brand. Everything around him warped—heroes tripping over their own abilities, time skipping by seconds where it shouldn't, physics disagreeing with mass.

He pointed at a plasma tank. It vanished.

He whispered a word.

And a hero fell, his name erased from history.

That was his gift.

Unmaking.

Three low-tier heroes charged him anyway—rookies with more heart than experience.

Nullbreed turned to them.

They froze.

Not from fear.

From the realization that he had looked at them and reality had hesitated.

"I'll let you run," he said softly.

One did.

Two didn't.

He waved once.

And they were gone.

Not dead.

Just… removed.

From the world.

From memory.

From consequence.

Elsewhere in the war zone, two heroes cut through the chaos like blades of instinct and precision—Vesper and Kato.

Vesper wore light armor inscribed with gravity seals, each step coiling space beneath her boots. She didn't walk—she glided, slingshotting between enemies using controlled gravity bursts, her daggers carving perfect lines into armored limbs.

Beside her, Kato moved differently. Slower. But deliberate. His gift wasn't speed—it was reaction. Perfect prediction. His mind read kinetic patterns like music, letting him dodge plasma blasts before they were fired.

A hulking villain—Coremaul—charged them both, a warhammer fused to his mechanical spine, hydraulic systems hissing. His roar shook the block.

Vesper flipped into the air, flicked a disk beneath him, and snapped gravity upward. Coremaul's feet lost the ground.

Kato was already mid-motion. He twisted under the floating body and jabbed a compact burst emitter into his side. It detonated with a concussive boom.

Coremaul hit the pavement. Cratered. Didn't get up.

Vesper landed beside him. "Third one today."

Kato nodded, sweat beading on his brow. "Keep going. They're not stopping."

Farther west, a trio of vigilantes held the shattered metro line—Mira, Rhys, and Olin.

Mira, with void-sight. Her eyes saw through time by fractions, letting her predict every motion a heartbeat before it happened. Rhys, her partner, was a feral kinetic—every hit he took became momentum stored in his body. And Olin, a rune-singer, laced his voice with binding glyphs, making his chants weave through enemy defenses.

They faced off against Grudgepack—a villain squad of four, all ex-Vault turned mercenaries.

"Take their eyes first," Mira said calmly.

Rhys nodded and charged.

The leader of Grudgepack, Cravix, fired bolts of distortion from a modified gauntlet. They missed—intentionally. The blast refracted and struck from behind.

But Rhys didn't flinch.

It hit his back—and the energy rebounded, transferred straight to his fists. He slammed the ground.

A kinetic shockwave burst from his body, toppling half the squad.

Olin's voice came next.

A deep hum, followed by four cascading tones that echoed through the debris.

The enemy's limbs locked.

Mira flicked a knife across their throats—not to kill, but to blind their vision with neurostatic powder.

"No more eyes," she said.

In the sky above, the elite hero team Skyveil clashed with a villain air formation called the Marauders.

Jetstreams lit up the stratosphere. Sonic blades hissed through cloudbanks.

One Marauder screamed toward the ground, dual-wing blades slicing the wind, heading straight for civilians hiding in the metro ruins.

But Skyveil's anchor—Noxis—intercepted, wings of solid light trailing behind her. Her spear hit the Marauder's wing edge-on, cleaving the airframe in two.

"Drop confirmed," her voice rang through the comms.

From below, another hero, Brigg, launched a tether line and pulled down the wreckage before it crushed anyone.

"Three more incoming!" he shouted.

Skyveil repositioned, falling into arrowhead formation—leaving trails of protective wind over the ground teams below.

On the ground, close to the city's heart, a tank-like villain called Fossicore moved through the ruins like an earthquake with legs. Armor forged from stone-meld, immune to direct force, and pulsing with an internal magma core.

Three heroes cornered him: Reina, Kasper, and Bolt.

Reina controlled crystal resonance—she could shift mineral density and control it through harmonic vibration. Kasper was a neural field manipulator, short-circuiting enemy focus. Bolt? Speed incarnate. The fastest thing still willing to call himself human.

Fossicore roared, molten spikes launching from his back.

Reina lifted a hand, creating a dome of amethyst that reflected the heat.

Kasper locked eyes with the brute and pulsed a mental burst. Fossicore staggered, brain confused by false inputs—his own arms felt like enemies.

Bolt zipped in, hands glowing with static, and began delivering strikes fast enough to carve grooves in the villain's armor.

Reina's crystals erupted from the cracks.

Fossicore collapsed, groaning. Lava oozed from his mouth.

Above the chaos, old ruins of a cathedral served as the high ground. That's where Camryn stood—sniper, engineer, tactician. She didn't move much.

She didn't have to.

Every shot she took dropped a villain. Not dead. Tranquilized, tagged, detained. She worked with clean lines and clear kills.

Behind her, her construct—a titanium gorilla called Gage—roared down the cliffside, taking on three powered brutes with zero fear.

"They'll flank," said Camryn.

"I got them," said Gage, smashing one into a wall.

The battle went on.

Street to street. Rooftop to rooftop.

And in the heart of it—

Nullbreed.

He didn't fight.

Not in the way they did.

He walked, and reality bled around him.

One hero, a cloaking specialist named Vale, tried to sneak close. His gift? Invisibility across senses. Not just sight. Sound, smell, weight—erased.

He got within ten feet of Nullbreed.

Then—

Nullbreed turned.

"I can see your choices," he said.

Vale stopped.

His knees bent. Blood dripped from his ears.

Then—he vanished.

Not died.

Erased.

Nullbreed kept walking.

Heroes pulled back. But for every step they lost, a new team formed.

Across the battlefield, the last organized squad charged in. They were known only as The Cadre. Mid-tier heroes, not the strongest—but they fought together like soldiers.

Their leader, a woman named Brynn, wielded magnetism and momentum. She pulled iron from the ground, reshaped it into chains, and hurled them like bullets.

Beside her—Kaze, a windblade user who walked on air, and Misha, an explosive alchemist who threw volatile chemical sigils like they were cards.

They charged Nullbreed.

Together.

Brynn bound his arms.

Misha exploded sigils across his back.

Kaze struck his chest with a pressure wave strong enough to flatten a jet.

Smoke filled the plaza.

Camryn locked her sight on the crater.

No reading.

No heat signature.

Then—

A hand reached through the smoke and pulled Brynn into the air.

Nullbreed's palm glowed. Her chains liquefied.

Kaze vanished next. Not erased. Just… relocated. Into the sky.

Misha screamed. His bombs turned to sand in his hands.

Nullbreed spoke.

"You're brave."

Then snapped his fingers.

Time staggered.

A wave of black pulse rolled outward.

And in that instant—fifty fighters dropped.

Not dead.

But removed.

As if they had never stepped into this fight.

The others stared.

Afraid now.

Some started falling back.

Some gritted their teeth and charged again.

But in the center of it all—

Nullbreed stood.

Alone.

Still smiling.

And somewhere far above the battlefield…

a pulse echoed across the stars.

Someone was watching.

But not interfering.

Not yet.


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