Judgment Finale!
image [https://i.imgur.com/Ya3vB0P.png]
Long ago, an evil force known as the Ruler of the Stars emerged, casting a tyrannical shadow over the world with unyielding cruelty. Its reign was a relentless force, bending the very fabric of existence under its malicious grip.
In the face of such overwhelming darkness, hope withered away. This world—once a place of light and promise—was now suffocated, its spirit broken.
The entity itself defied the very concept of a being, for it was no more than an incomprehensible thing, its presence too vast and insidious to be understood. This darkness did not merely veil the world; it devoured its light, snuffing out the stars that once guided all life. And so, it came to be known as the Ruler of the Stars, for it took not only the stars above but the very essence of hope itself.
This ruler... His greed knew no bounds, surpassing even that of the demon Mammon, whose lust for wealth would seem a mere jest in comparison.
His insatiable desire to possess everything—wealth, sustenance, power, and even lives—was relentless.
No amount of conquest could ever ease his hunger, no victory could satiate his thirst.
In the end, it was this overwhelming desire that consumed him, clouding his once-sharp judgment and drowning his intellect in a tide of unchecked emotions.
These very emotions—wild and untamed—ultimately led him to the creation of our galaxy.
His insatiable desire to possess would, in the end, become his undoing.
Why?
Because of the galaxies—of course. They hold planets.
Planets?
Yes, planets! These celestial bodies cradle countless lives—souls that burn brightly with the fierce passion of hope.
Life?
Indeed, life! A multitude of births, each one brimming with possibility.
And what do higher birthrates bring?
A hero!
The one who would rise to challenge him, the one destined to bring an end to his tyranny, would emerge faster... sooner than he could ever anticipate.
And so it came to pass.
This hero, along with his steadfast companions, ventured through unimaginable trials—crossing seas of fire, braving storms of brimstone, and battling the very forces of despair itself. Each step was a struggle, each moment a test of willpower and endurance. But they pressed on, for the end of the Ruler’s tyranny was within their reach.
At last, they stood before him, the dark force that had cast the world into shadow. The hero, resolute and unwavering, raised his hand. In that moment, his skill—Judgment Finale—manifested. It was a power unlike any other, a final reckoning born of hope, despair, and vengeance intertwined!
With a single touch, the skill surged through the Ruler’s being, and in less than the blink of an eye, the world was rid of its tormentor.
The tyrant’s reign ended not with a roar, but with the silence of a soul erased, leaving only the echoes of his dark legacy behind.
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Judgment Finale?
image [https://i.imgur.com/Ya3vB0P.png]
The air in the forest crackled with tension as Vichtor squared his shoulders, a dark-red dagger gripped tightly in his hand. Before him, the slime—surprisingly cute yet unnervingly smug—slithered with an air of quiet confidence. Its round, glistening body shimmered under the muted sunlight filtering through the trees. But that infuriating smirk never left its gelatinous face, as if it were aware of Vichtor's every thought.
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With a snarl, Vichtor lunged forward, his dagger aimed for the soft, squishy center of the creature. But the slime, with an almost exaggerated grace, leapt upward, landing atop Vichtor’s head. The smugness on its face remained unshaken as it balanced precariously, its gelatinous body wobbling just enough to mock his every move.
Before he could react, the slime sprung again, twisting midair to slam its sticky, bulbous head into his back. The force sent Vichtor stumbling, his legs giving way as he crashed to the ground, gasping for air. The slime’s smugness was unchanged. It perched nearby, watching him with what could only be described as quiet amusement.
But Vichtor, burning with a fury deep inside, refused to stay down. Gritting his teeth, he summoned every ounce of strength to push against the dirt and rise, his body shaking but unwilling to yield.
Vichtor’s hand shot up toward the creature, his fingers trembling with barely contained rage. His face was a twisted mask of embarrassment and fury, his dark-red dagger now abandoned in favor of the ultimate move. This was it—the final attack, the one that would prove to himself, if no one else, that he wasn’t some weakling destined to be crushed by a lowly slime.
The slime paused, its smug grin faltering for the first time. The small creature recoiled slightly, its round form wobbling as if sensing the shift in the air.
Fear, real fear, crept into its eyes.
The defiance, the arrogance, slowly melted away, replaced by the instinctive recognition of the overwhelming power that Vichtor was about to unleash.
The boy inhaled deeply, the silence of the forest pressing down on him, his chest tightening with each passing second. With a roar, he thrust his hand forward and screamed, "JUDGMENT FINALE!"
And then…
Nothing...
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Judgment Finale
The Unique Hero Skill forged in the Age of Terror, and drowned in the Hopes of the Lost
Ability Description
"No strongest foe of the world is to face me and live to tell the tale!"
Ability Effect
When activated, Judgment Finale simply destroys its target, obliterating the strongest creature—their body reduced to ash and their very essence erased from existence.
Drawback
It has no effect on anything that is not considered 'The strongest being', rendering the ability useless 14,598,073,437 times out of 14,598,073,438 (current world population).
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The forest stood still.
The wind didn't even rustle the leaves. The slime, still uncertain but recovering, tilted its form in confusion, watching Vichtor expectantly. He, with his arm still extended, stared in horror at the empty space before him.
Nothing had happened.
He glanced down at his hand, suddenly aware of how absurd the whole situation had become. His lips parted in disbelief, and then in a sickening moment of realization, he felt the weight of his failure. His ultimate move—the one that was supposed to annihilate his foe—had… fizzled.
No magic, no power surged through him. His greatest attack was nothing but an empty gesture.
The slime, after a brief moment of stunned silence, rolled back slightly, its face returning to that infuriatingly smug expression. It made a tiny, almost mocking squeak as it bounced in place, its gelatinous body quivering with anticipation, its tiny eyes narrowing with malicious intent. It had watched Vichtor with a knowing gleam, its smirk turning almost smug to the point of arrogance.
The slime had waited long enough, and now it was time for its ultimate move.
The aim was clear: the boy’s legs.
Vichtor’s heart skipped a beat as he noticed the creature’s sudden shift. He tried to react, his legs bracing for impact, but he was too slow, too off-balance.
It was far too late.
In a movement that defied its adorable, squishy form, the slime sprang forward, launching itself with the spring-like force of a rubber ball straight for his knees. It hit him square-on, a sickening thud resounding as Vichtor’s legs buckled beneath him. He staggered, unable to keep his balance, and before he could even process the pain, the slime had already moved—swiftly and without mercy.
Target hit, successfully.
But it wasn't over yet, no!
Before Vichtor could recover, the slime was behind him, its next move already in motion. He braced himself for more pain, ready for another attack, but what came next was something altogether unexpected—something far more cruel.
The slime paused for just a moment, turning its glistening, almost innocent face toward Vichtor. Its tiny, bouncing body stilled for a fraction of a second before it gave the most devastating thing it could offer:
"Pufu!"
A singular, simple chuckle.
It wasn’t loud, nor evil, no, it was just a soft, quiet sound of amusement—a sound that carried with it an unbearable weight.
It was the laugh of something that knew it had won.
Vichtor froze. That laugh, so gentle yet so powerful, ripped through him. It wasn’t the sting of a blade or the burn of magic; it was the silent shattering of his pride, of everything he had believed about himself. It was an emotional attack, one so subtle and devastating that he could do nothing but stand there, crushed by the enormity of his own failure.
The slime didn’t wait for him to recover. With that same smug grin plastered across its face, it rolled back into the forest, its victory sealed.
As it disappeared into the trees, Vichtor sank to his knees, utterly defeated. The silence around him was deafening, and the weight of his failure pressed down on him, suffocating him in its cruel embrace.
The monster had done what no blade or magic could do—it had shattered him, not through force, but through a simple, mocking laugh.
The weakest adventurer in the kingdom had just been bested by the weakest slime…
image [https://i.imgur.com/iJzk2NR.png]
Again!