Chapter 21: Spark of Rebellion
The night was a symphony of chaos. Darkness blanketed the Obelisk City-State, punctuated by the relentless wail of sirens blaring across the urban sprawl in jarring, intermittent intervals. Suspended in midair, Oz surveyed the bedlam he had orchestrated with calculated indifference. Below him, the city streets were teeming with pandemonium, overrun by the monstrous spawn of the multiple [Dungeon Outbreaks] he had unleashed.
Goblins with feral grins darted through alleys, their crude weapons glinting in the faint city lights. Berserker orcs, their hulking forms dripping with bloodlust, tore through vehicles and walls alike, while lumbering undead shuffled ominously, spreading decay with every sluggish step. Though low-level by the standards of the trained Gifted, these creatures were an existential threat to the mundanes who now fled or fell in their path.
Oz’s keen eyes tracked the panicked masses. He analyzed them with the detached precision of a statistician, framing the conflict in terms of raw numbers. Teenagers’ stats ranged from ten to forty, with fifty representing the pinnacle of adolescent athleticism. For adults, the spectrum widened—forty to one hundred twenty, with the most elite professional athletes pushing between one hundred to two hundred eighty. These numbers painted a picture of human potential, yet Oz knew better than to put his faith in them.
“Stats,” he muttered to himself, “are just modifiers.”
In order to wield greater power, being able to tap the power of the soul and skills was of extreme importance.
It was the harsh reality of this world. Stats alone did not determine strength. While some humans were numerically superior to the dungeon mobs—stronger, faster, or more enduring—it was skills that tipped the scales. Skills were the true measure of power. A simple goblin armed with even a single skill could dismantle a professional martial artist. Speed, strength, and technique became irrelevant in the face of a goblin’s cunning. Victory for the mundane was only possible if the fight were fair—and goblins, by their very nature, were never fair.
Oz crossed his arms, watching as a group of mundanes attempted to hold back a pack of goblins with crude barricades. It was a futile gesture, one that made the faintest smirk creep across his face.
"Let them learn the lesson firsthand," he murmured, “That it is all futile if you lack power.”
The flicker of firelight reflected in his eyes as an orc smashed through a storefront, sending debris and screams into the air. The city’s emergency forces scrambled, their Gifted operatives trying to stem the tide. Yet, for every monster they felled, more surged forth, overwhelming the streets with sheer, relentless numbers.
Oz activated [Blink], his form dissolving into streaks of energy as he darted through the devastated neighborhood. In one instant, he was atop a crumbling rooftop; the next, he appeared in a street teeming with fleeing civilians. His movements were deliberate, each teleport marking another spot where he left something ‘special’ behind—a single touch, a whispered word, or a faint shimmer in the air.
Every gesture carried purpose, every location chosen with precision. Those he encountered, whether mundanes cowering in fear or Gifted struggling to maintain order, bore the mark of his design.
The heroes, as expected, were quick to adapt. Oz admired their resilience, their refusal to break even as the city buckled under the weight of his actions. Yet, they were stretched thin, frayed to their very limits. Oz had done a number on their workforce, after all.
What was Oz planning?
This wasn’t mere terrorism. Terrorism was a crude tool—short-sighted, purposeless. Oz’s ambitions transcended destruction. His plan was a systemic upheaval, an unraveling of the control meticulously cultivated by the [Government].
The plan had unfolded in three phases.
* Phase one: He had ignited widespread fear and panic with mass [Dungeon Calls]. The sudden disappearances of all sorts of personnel and number of people across the city had plunged the populace into chaos.
* Phase two: He escalated the crisis with [Dungeon Outbreaks], unleashing monsters into the streets to inflict tangible harm, proving that the danger was more than psychological.
* Phase three: The current stage. The final piece of the puzzle.
It wasn’t overly complex. In fact, its simplicity belied its audacity: Oz planned to awaken the [System] in every single person within the city.
For years, the [Government] had monopolized the [System], carefully restricting its use to a select few. Gifted individuals were chosen, vetted, and tightly controlled. This exclusivity maintained order, ensured compliance, and crushed dissent before it could take root. The power to awaken the [System] indiscriminately was forbidden for a reason—it was a destabilizing force, one that could turn mundanes into revolutionaries overnight.
And that was precisely why Oz embraced it.
He was no arbiter. No judge. No savior. Unlike the [Government], Oz had no interest in hand-picking who received the [System]. To him, it was a free-for-all. He had chosen this city as a random starting point and set to work, spreading his chaotic gift without regard for the consequences. Some would rise. Others would fall. But among them, he hoped, a natural rebel would be born—a leader strong enough to stand by his side and carry his cause forward.
His methods were crude, reckless even, but Oz no longer cared. Fighting alone had drained him. The fire in his heart burned hotter than ever, fueled by the madness he could no longer contain. If destabilizing the [Government] meant reducing cities to rubble, then so be it.
This was just the beginning. After this city, he’d move to another. And another. If the [Government] pursued him too closely, he’d escape to another world entirely. It was an endless cycle, a seemingly pointless endeavor against an impossibly vast enemy. The [Government] owned the Greater Universe, after all. They had tamed worlds, crushed rebellions, and turned survivors into obedient pawns.
But Oz didn’t care.
Even if his efforts seemed futile, he refused to surrender. He would keep fighting, keep burning everything down until someone—anyone—rose to finish what he had started. The madness in his heart couldn’t be contained. This was his rebellion, and he would see it through to the bitter end.
The night had been long and relentless, but Oz worked tirelessly, pouring his energy and intent into the intricate array spanning the city. His hands traced glowing sigils, his mind a maelstrom of calculations and chaos as he carved the energy matrix into the very fabric of Obelisk City-state. The dim glow of the array pulsated faintly beneath the city streets, unseen and undisturbed, waiting for the signal to awaken.
As the first rays of dawn pierced the horizon, Oz stood atop the rooftop of a grand mansion, the cold wind rustling his disheveled hair. He raised his hand, and with a surge of power, he activated the array.
In an instant, a profound ripple spread across the city. The air buzzed with energy, the faint hum vibrating in the bones of every mundane. One by one, the struggling people of the Obelisk City-state froze in their tracks, their mundane lives interrupted by a shimmering system interface appearing before their eyes.
Eyes widened. Gasps filled the air. Panic mixed with awe as the screens displayed their status, stats, and potential skills. The awakening had begun.
Oz spread his arms wide, tilting his head back to bask in the rising sun’s warmth. A grin stretched across his face as he threw his head back, laughing like a man unhinged.
“Hah hah hah~! This is it! This is the beginning of the end!”
From his perch, he surveyed the chaos unfolding below. The city’s streets became a cacophony of confusion and fear as people struggled to comprehend the change. This was what he lived for. No regrets. No second thoughts.
It was cruel, yes. But Oz had no illusions about his actions. He could have awakened the [System] before unleashing the [Dungeon Outbreak], giving the people a fighting chance. But he had never been one for mercy. Survival of the fittest—that was his creed. Fear and desperation would sharpen them, forcing the strongest to emerge from the flames.
He closed his eyes, relishing the chaos he had wrought, when a voice interrupted his revelry.
“I finally found you.”
Oz turned slowly, his grin fading as he locked eyes with the figure standing on the mansion’s rooftop. A knight clad in gleaming silver armor stood tall, the rising sun glinting off his plate.
It took only a moment for Oz to recall the identity of the man before him. The Steel Knight. Sylver.
A quick mental refresh of his research confirmed it. Sylver, one of the city’s greatest defender. A paragon of order and justice. The hero sent to stop him.
Oz’s grin returned, crooked and defiant. He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sylver, the Steel Knight… Of course, you’d show up. But you’re already too late. The game is set, the pieces are moving, and your side has come up short—again.”
He stepped closer to the edge of the rooftop, gesturing to the city below with an exaggerated sweep of his hand. “Do you see it, Sylver? The chaos, the awakening? Today is the beginning of a new era. My era. And there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop it.”
Sylver’s voice trembled with barely restrained fury as he stepped forward, the sunlight glinting off his polished armor. “Where is my son?!” His demand echoed in the crisp morning air, a mixture of desperation and wrath.
Oz turned to face him fully, his grin widening at the obvious emotional crack in the otherwise stalwart hero. His amber eyes glimmered with a cruel amusement as he leaned against the edge of the rooftop, arms crossed casually.
“Your son, huh?” Oz tilted his head mockingly. “Let me guess… got caught in the [Dungeon Call]?”
The venom in his tone was deliberate, each word calculated to stoke the fire burning in Sylver’s chest. Oz knew exactly what his artificial [Dungeon Calls] were capable of. They weren’t just a tool for mass chaos or to eliminate key figures. No, they were also a test—a means to unearth hidden potential among the Gifted. Even he didn’t keep track of every person caught in his web.
It was all part of the larger experiment.
Sylver’s grip on his blade tightened, the steel groaning under the pressure. “I will ask one more time. Where is my son?! Undo this madness. The… artificial [Dungeon Call] you’ve manufactured… Undo it… or else…”
The threat hung in the air, cold and sharp as the blade Sylver drew from its sheath. It was a curved longsword, its surface shimmering faintly with an unnatural brilliance. The weapon was no ordinary steel; it radiated power, forged through Sylver’s unique skills and class system. It was an extension of his resolve amd a symbol of his unwavering duty.
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Oz’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second as he eyed the weapon. Then, with a dismissive shrug, he let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, the drama. The righteous fury. It’s almost touching.” He took a step closer, unbothered by the threat.
“Let me spell it out for you, Sylver,” he said, his voice low and laced with malice. “I don’t undo anything. Once the pieces are in motion, they stay in motion. If your kid’s stuck in the [Dungeon Call], then he’ll have to survive like everyone else. Or he won’t. Either way, the system I’m building doesn’t care about your parental woes.”
Sylver’s gaze burned with an intensity that could rival the sun. “You dare speak so flippantly about the lives you’ve endangered? My son is only—” He cut himself off, his voice faltering momentarily, before steeling himself again. “Enough talk. I’ll drag the answers out of you if I must.”
Oz raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin returning with a dangerous edge. “Ah, the classic hero’s move. When words fail, swing the sword. Go ahead, Sylver. Strike me down if it makes you feel better. But remember…” His voice dropped, his tone becoming icy. “Every second you waste here is a second your precious son might not have.”
The words were a dagger to Sylver’s heart, and Oz knew it. This was his game. Push the hero to the brink, make him question his every choice. Chaos was his currency, and despair was his weapon.
Sylver’s eyes narrowed, his resolve unshaken. The knight raised his blade, its silvery glow intensifying as he prepared to strike. “You will answer for your crimes, Oz. One way or another.”
Oz smirked as he stood on the edge of the rooftop, his posture casual as chaos unfolded around him. “Fatherhood, huh? Sorry, my man, but no can do—”
Before he could finish, his instincts screamed a warning. With instantaneous reflexes, Oz tilted backward, narrowly avoiding a streak of blue lightning that shot past him. His hyper-perception kicked in, and time seemed to slow. Within the crackling blur of electricity, he saw Azura, a Gifted hero covered in arcs of vibrant energy, her form almost indistinguishable from the lightning she wielded.
Simultaneously, a glint of silvery steel filled his vision. Sylver was upon him, his curved longsword descending in a perfect arc, aimed to cleave through him.
Oz clicked his tongue, muttering to himself, “This is the problem with superheroes. Always holding back...”
In his hyper-attuned awareness, Oz noted the hesitation in Sylver’s swing, the deliberate restraint. “Some misguided notion that you’re stronger than me, huh? In this case, it’s almost justifiable—you want my cooperation. But sadly…” His grin widened as he raised his hand. “I won’t be undoing anything.”
With a single, fluid motion, Oz intercepted the blade with his index finger. The clang of steel meeting flesh reverberated unnaturally, as if the laws of reality themselves had warped around the impact. “Pathetic.”
Sylver’s eyes widened in disbelief, his momentum stopped cold. Before the knight could react, Oz whispered a command under his breath: “Data Scramble.”
A surge of purple electricity erupted from Oz’s finger, coursing through Sylver’s sword and into his power armor. Sparks flew as the knight let out a grunt of pain, his armor failing catastrophically. Systems shut down in an instant, forcing Sylver to his knee as his weapon clattered uselessly to the ground.
“Senior!” Azura’s voice rang out, her tone sharp with alarm.
The streak of blue lightning reappeared, descending on Oz with devastating speed. Azura’s form solidified mid-air as she drove her leg forward like a spear, aiming directly at him. Her speed was incredible, so fast she didn’t register in his perception until the last possible moment.
But Oz wasn’t just anyone. He was a battle-hardened veteran who had faced countless foes across countless worlds. Her attack landed—or so it seemed. Azura’s foot passed through his body like smoke, her momentum carrying her forward. It was an illusion.
Oz chuckled, watching from the shadows of his [Mirage] skill, which rendered him invisible. The illusion she struck was a [Data Clone], a skill he had perfected to trick even the fastest opponents.
Azura twisted mid-air, attempting to recover and launch a follow-up strike, but her positioning had already betrayed her. She was airborne, her momentum lost, and her initiative squandered.
With a snap of his fingers, Oz unleashed a devastating combination of [Telekinesis] and [Impact]. The air around Azura rippled violently as an invisible force slammed into her. The sound was like a thunderclap as she was hurled downward, her body carving a jagged path through the air before crashing into the streets below with an earth-shaking impact.
Oz dusted off his hands, stepping back into view as his [Mirage] faded. “Too predictable. You’re all so predictable.”
He looked down at the shattered street where Azura lay amid a plume of dust and debris. “This is why I hate dealing with your kind. Always rushing in headfirst. No patience, no strategy.”
Sylver gritted his teeth, struggling to rise. His eyes burned with defiance despite the failure of his armor and the pain coursing through his body.
Oz tilted his head, his smirk never wavering. “Stay down, hero. I’m not in the mood to kill you yet. I’ve got bigger plans to attend to.”
Oz smirked, his confidence unshaken as he extended a hand toward Sylver. “Let’s end this. If you’re lucky, you’ll only end up a cripple... [Data Scramble].”
Purple lightning arced toward the armorless Sylver, intending to overwhelm him with a surge of destabilizing energy. But the lightning shattered into harmless fragments as it reached him. Oz’s eyes narrowed in confusion, an unfamiliar sense of danger prickling at his instincts. What?
Before he could react, the ground beneath him detonated in a controlled explosion. Oz barely had time to shift his weight before he fell miserably in mid-air. His hyper-perception caught the briefest glimpse of a brown-haired man below—a muscular figure wielding a massive sledgehammer, poised and ready to strike.
The hammer connected squarely with Oz’s torso. The sheer force should have ripped him in two, but in the instant before impact, he activated his [Anti-Force Veil], a skill designed to nullify any singular force inflicted on him. The energy dissipated harmlessly, sparing his body from complete destruction.
Still, the strike rattled him, throwing him off balance. “A Gifted abandoning their armor?” Oz thought, his mind racing. “What kind of lunatic—”
His train of thought was violently interrupted as the hammer morphed mid-swing. The head split apart, transforming into a jagged, mechanical clamp that latched onto his torso. Sharp, serrated edges dug into his flesh with brutal efficiency. A painful oscillation reverberated from the weapon, tearing through his internal systems and leaving him gasping for breath.
For the first time in years, Oz bled—thick, dark crimson pooling at his feet.
His shock barely had time to register before a flash of blue streaked past him. Azura. She reappeared with deadly precision, her twin curved daggers glinting in the rising sunlight. The blades sliced clean through Oz’s raised arm, severing it at the elbow in one swift motion.
A strangled growl escaped his lips as pain coursed through him, though his focus remained razor-sharp. “This isn’t over…”
Sylver, now completely without his power armor, displayed no hesitation. His expression was grim but resolute as he let go of the sledgehammer’s handle. The weapon shifted again, its shaft extending and twisting into a mechanical chain-like appendage. It coiled around Oz, tightening with each passing second, forcing him to his knees. The jagged edges of the device bit deeper into his flesh, amplifying the oscillating vibrations that wracked his body.
Oz gritted his teeth, his sharp mind searching for a way out even as the odds stacked against him. For the first time, the self-proclaimed architect of chaos found himself at the mercy of others.
Sylver stepped forward, his eyes burning with fury. “This is for my son.”
Oz's laughter filled the air, a chilling sound that seemed to echo across the battlefield. His voice, calm yet mocking, dripped with condescension. “I promised myself I’d never fall for the belief that numbers are everything. And yet... here I am, thinking I’m superior to you just because I outlevel you so completely.”
Sylver stood firm, his steel gaze locked on Oz. “How do you reverse the [Dungeon Call] you’ve caused?”
Oz gave a half-hearted shrug, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “There is no reversing it... Such a pity. So much talent, wasted in one world because the [Government] loves its borders too much.”
Azura narrowed her eyes. “What?”
Sylver, unshaken, motioned for her to focus. “Ignore his ramblings. We don’t need to take him seriously.”
Oz’s smirk widened as if Sylver’s attempt to brush him off amused him. “Oh, I might be mistaken... Sylver, you seem to know about the ‘greater world’ out there, don’t you? Of course, you do. You’re at that age... the age where truths become harder to ignore. And it makes sense, after all.” His tone grew sharp, laced with venom. “It’s because of people like you that the [System] works. The conspiracy holds together because someone straight and narrow, like you, plays along.”
Oz spat blood onto Sylver’s boot, his grin widening in defiance.
Azura stepped forward, her voice stern. “Senior is not that kind of person—”
Oz cut her off with a manic laugh, his piercing gaze shifting between them. “Oh, but he is. He hides it well, but your dear senior has experience. Experience fighting on a much bigger stage than this little city-state.”
A flicker of recognition crossed Sylver’s face, though he quickly masked it. Azura glanced at him, confused but resolute in her trust.
Oz tilted his head, activating his [Appraisal] skill. Azura’s level materialized before his eyes: Level 78. Competent, but no real threat to him. His smirk widened as he moved to Sylver. Level 85. “How quaint,” he muttered, dismissing it. But a nagging suspicion tugged at the back of his mind. There was something off about Sylver, something he couldn’t place.
He pushed his [Appraisal] further, empowering it with [Limit-Break]. His eyes widened as Sylver’s true level unraveled before him. Level 160.
Oz’s expression froze for a moment before erupting into hysterical laughter. “And here I thought I only needed to watch out for the Obelisk Lord! Level 160? A regional-class hero hiding in plain sight? Oh, this is rich!”
Sylver’s calm demeanor didn’t falter, but a subtle tension lingered in the air. Azura looked between the two, realization dawning on her.
Oz leaned forward, his grin feral. “You’re not just some city hero, are you? You’ve fought where it truly matters. Tell me, Sylver—what made you come back to this pathetic little corner of existence?”
Sylver said nothing, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. “Your theatrics won’t save you, Oz.”
But Oz’s laughter only grew louder. “Save me? Oh, Sylver, this just makes it all the more thrilling! To think I’m not just dealing with the usual rabble... No, I get to tangle with someone who’s seen the real fight!”
The restraints around Oz tightened, pressing harder, their mechanical jaws threatening to snap every bone in his body. Yet, even as the pressure increased, Oz simply smiled, unfazed.
Sylver's voice cut through the tension, sharp and demanding. "How do you reverse the effects of the [Dungeon Call] you just caused?"
Before Oz could respond, a sudden, deafening blast of wind filled the air. Descending from the ruined rooftop was a towering figure encased in sleek, black power armor. The suit gleamed in the dim light, its hulking frame standing over seven feet tall. A soft hum of energy accompanied the figure’s descent as a jetpack adjusted its trajectory.
The Obelisk Lord landed with a heavy thud, the ground beneath him cracking slightly from the sheer weight of his armor. Blue circuitry pulsed along the edges of his suit, and in his hands, he carried a massive halberd that crackled with electrical energy. The field around him radiated authority and menace.
Oz's gaze shifted to the newcomer, his smirk widening as his [Appraisal] skill flickered to life. Level 177. Not bad.
Sylver raised a cautionary hand toward the Obelisk Lord. "Don't get too close to him. He has a skill that counters technology. The restraints I’ve used are bionic and resistant to electromagnetic pulses, but he might still have more tricks up his sleeve."
The Obelisk Lord’s voice, deep and authoritative, reverberated through his comm system. "Well done, Sylver."
Oz chuckled darkly. "Well done indeed."
Fate, Oz mused, had a malicious sense of humor, but that only made things more entertaining. A laugh bubbled from his throat, loud and manic.
Without warning, the Obelisk Lord vanished, teleporting in a flash of black energy. He reappeared mere steps behind Azura, who hadn’t even registered his movement. The air around him warped as his suit unleashed a magnetized electrified field. The distortion slowed Azura’s super-speed to a crawl, rendering her helpless.
In a fluid motion, the Obelisk Lord brought his halberd down in an arc of molten, superheated metal. The blade struck true, cutting the superheroine down.
Sylver’s voice roared with fury. "Obelisk Lord! What is the meaning of this?!"
The towering figure turned to Sylver, his tone almost regretful. "For the high crime of affiliating with the terrorist known as Oz, I bestow upon you the punishment of death. I am sorry, Sylver... but this is the end of the line for you."
Oz barked out a laugh, his voice dripping with mockery. "Yeah, I know, right? Fun twist. Hey, Sylver, wanna join my camp? Believe it or not, I’m the good guy here."
Before anyone could react, Oz’s body shimmered and disappeared, the restraints snapping apart as he teleported free using [Blink].
Reappearing in an instant, Oz thrust his hand forward, unleashing a combined [Telekinesis] and [Impact]. A concussive wave rippled through the air, slamming into the Obelisk Lord with immense force.
The halberd-wielding titan stumbled slightly, the shockwave testing the limits of his armor’s defenses. Oz’s grin widened as his crimson eyes locked onto the black-armored figure.
"I’ve been waiting for this, Obelisk Lord. You’re a bit higher on my list than most, you see."