The dawn was just a faint bruise of purple on the horizon when Ian stumbled through the bamboo grove, muscles still sore from the fight. He dropped to one knee, sweat and ash caking his skin. He’d won, but just barely. And he knew he was nowhere near ready.

Time to get serious, he told himself, wrapping his chaos wings tighter around his back like broken chains. He laced up his boots and set off through the mist, determined to become fucking stronger further.

Twenty days later, Ian was drenched in sweat again, this time in the training courtyard of an old, half‑collapsed temple. Every muscle ached, every sinew burned, but he didn’t stop. His sword arm moved in endless arcs, each slash cutting the fog into fractals. Every time he thought he’d hit his limit, he dug deeper until his bones screamed.

And then one evening, among the dying embers of torchlight, a new presence stepped onto the cracked stone floor.

He was tall, six‑foot‑three, at least, and moved like silk sliding off a thigh. His hair was silver‑white, falling past broad shoulders in a cascade that caught the firelight like quicksilver. His eyes were the color of molten amber, bright and flickering with curiosity. He wore a charcoal-gray robe embroidered in threads of blood‑red that swirled into shapes Ian couldn’t name. Under his sleeve, Ian caught a glimpse of tattoos, arcane sigils wrapping around the man’s forearm as if they had grown there.

Ian froze mid‑slash.

Who the hell is that?

The stranger stepped closer, sandals whispering on stone. He glanced at Ian’s chaos‑torn wings and the wilting scorch‑marks on his sword. A slow, amused smile curved his lips.

“Impressive form,” he said, voice soft but resonant, like distant thunder. “I’ve watched your flow. You fight like a wounded storm.”

Ian lowered his sword, wiping the blade on his sleeve. “And you are?”

“Call me Lucian Ever‑glaze.” He bowed slightly, every movement graceful, precise. “Wandering scholar, connoisseur of forbidden arts, and, for tonight at least, your prospective master.”

Ian blinked. “Master? I don’t even know you.”

Lucian’s amber gaze danced. “Ah, but I know you. The Reaper Chaos Angel, secret incarnation of the Great Old One known as the Void Herald.” He paused, letting the revelation hang between them like a challenge.

Ian’s heart seized. He, he knows. My secret. He said nothing, just studied Lucian’s face for malice. Instead he found… curiosity. Respect.

Lucian ran a fingertip along one of the red‑threaded sigils on his robe, tracing the spiral into its center. “You’ve been hiding in shadows, hiding from your own potential. I know why. You fear the power you carry, the Old One whispering at the edge of your mind.”

Ian swallowed, voice cracking. “How?”

“A scholar of my… unique interests never forgets a name,” Lucian said with a shrug that seemed to bend the torchlight around him. “I’ve followed your path since you first manifested chaos. I saw a glimpse of the Reaper’s wings, the signature of the Void Herald. Most run screaming. You embraced it.”

Ian felt a flicker of pride, quickly smothered by doubt. “So you want something from me?”

Lucian’s smile deepened, and the tattoos on his arm glowed faintly, like embers waking to life. “I want to teach you. To hone that chaos into art. To help you stand toe‑to‑toe with hunters like Jun, and surpass them.”

Ian’s jaw clenched. “Why should I trust you?”

Lucian lifted a hand, and a swirl of red mist coalesced into an orb of living runes. They writhed and pulsed as he held them aloft. “Because I have walked where you walk. I have bargained with the Great Old One in the past, danced on the edge of oblivion, and lived to tell the tale. And because…” He stepped closer, amber eyes boring into Ian’s. “Because I alone know the true name of your soul.”

Ian felt the ground shift beneath his feet. He really does know. He stared at the glowing orb, and then back at Lucian, resolve hardening in his chest.

“Alright,” he said finally, voice low. “Teach me.”

Lucian’s grin was victory itself, like a comet flaring across a starless sky. He nodded once, sharply, and bowed. “Then let us begin.”

He snapped his fingers, and the courtyard torches flared brighter. Red‑threaded patterns bloomed across the cracked floor like an occult mandala. Lucian held out his hand.

Ian stepped forward, shoulders squared. As the first lesson began, arcane runes swirling around them, the scent of ozone heavy in the air, Ian felt a spark of something new: not fear, but purpose. Under Lucian Ever‑glaze’s tutelage, he would become more than his old self. He would surpass the Great Old One’s prime!

“Do you want to see how capable I am of being your master?”

The air around the courtyard snapped as Lucian’s amber tattoos flared to blinding brilliance. He spread his arms wide, and the red‑threaded sigils on the floor pulsed in unison until the very stones beneath them groaned. Ian felt his bones rattle, and then the world went white.

When the light finally died down, Lucian stood clad in a shifting cascade of silver, crimson, and obsidian. His hair had grown into a flowing mane of starlight; his eyes burned like collapsing suns. Black wings, shimmering with every color of the void, arched from his back, each feather edged in molten blood. A crown of twisted runes hovered above his brow, and in each hand he held a blade forged from the fractures of reality itself.

Ian’s jaw dropped. Holy, what the hell is that? His own Reaper Chaos Angel form trembled in response, as if sensing an elder god. He stumbled forward, raising his sword and wings, but the ground shook with Lucian’s laughter, deep and rolling like thunder.

“This is my Omni Absolute Form,” Lucian intoned, voice layered with echoes from a thousand timelines. “The culmination of every arcane discipline, every forbidden pact. Behold your future. Or rather, your past.”

Ian’s legs wobbled. He’s… he’s on a whole other level. He slashed at the air; his chaos‑forged blade fizzed out before it could reach Lucian, spat back into his hand as though Lucian’s aura laughed the strike away.

Lucian stepped forward, wings folding like an eclipse closing in, and pressed a gauntlet to Ian’s chest. A pulse of absolute power seared their touch. Ian felt every secret pore of his soul laid bare.

“You’ve heard whispers,” Lucian said, voice soft but deadly. “About the Arch Angel of Time.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “I should hope so. You, of all beings, should remember.”

Ian’s mind twisted. Arch Angel of Time… that was… long before I fell… His vision swam.

Lucian continued, each word slicing through the haze: “Eons ago, the Arch Angel of Time wielded the Chronos Scepter, a weapon that could rewind creation itself. Even the Highest Pantheon trembled when he spoke the First Eon Decree. But then… your past self, The Oldest and the First ever Arch Angel…”

Ian’s heart hammered. My past self?

“With nothing but void‑born wings and a whisper of oblivion, you shattered his scepter. You tore time’s spine out and watched the epochs collapse like dried parchment. You stood atop the ruins of the Celestial Clock, the only being alive who could still remember what once was. They called you the Great Old One.”

Ian’s throat went dry. The memories flooded back: infinite lifetimes where he was both creator and destroyer, nurturing worlds then crushing their suns underfoot. He’d forgotten. He had chosen to send his core soul to escape the horror of his enemy.

Lucian’s gauntlet tightened. “That name, Great Old One, isn’t a curse. It’s your legacy. You were the first Archangel, born before angels and other Archangels, before gods, before time itself. You carved the vacancy for divinity out of the endless void.” He released Ian and took a step back; the cathedral of sigils dimmed around them. “And now you’re back, ignorant of your throne. of course, I know did this to escape that bastard’s pursuit.”

“Who is he? I had forgotten about him…” Ian sank to a knee, wings folding in shame and awe. All this time… I thought I was just an ordinary earthling. He pressed a trembling hand to his own chest, where a faint chaos sigil still glowed. That’s me… the Great Old One.

Lucian knelt beside him, amber eyes gentle for the first time. “Embrace it,” he whispered. “Or be consumed by the lie you’ve clung to.”

Ian looked up, pain and wonder warring in his gaze. “If I… if I am that, then what now?”

Lucian rose, stretching his colossal wings. “Now,” he said, voice like destiny itself, “we finish your training. Because the cosmos you broke once still bleeds, and only its first master can stitch it whole. Also, you’re the only one who can stop him…”

He offered Ian his hand. Under the flickering torchlight, Ian took it; he was fucking ready at last to reclaim the power he’d buried centuries ago.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep