Chương 168: Chapter 152: Building a Weather Station in the God Mode Windup

[Time]: Summer Break, Day 38 — 1: 00 PM [Location]: The Crown of Ovelia · Grand Masters Main Arena · Royal Rosas Team Bench The total annihilation of a continent-sized combat stage would, for any land-dwelling sporting league, necessitate a multi-week postponement, congressional hearings, and a ruinous insurance payout. For the Witch Authority, it was a logistical hiccup. By 12: 45 PM, the sky above the arena had been unceremoniously torn open by a spatial rift the size of a small moon.

A swarm of hyper-specialized gravity-manipulation barges drifted out of the void, hauling an entirely fresh, perfectly calibrated Eight-Part Island. They dropped the colossal landmass into the boiling ocean, flash-froze the water to stabilize the foundation, smoothed the atmospheric wards, and clocked out. At 1: 00 PM exactly, the broadcast cameras turned back on. Above the new central dome, the terrain roulette spun and locked. [Selected Terrain: Sector 1 — Mirror Lake.] Mirror Lake stretched in every direction, its surface so still it functioned as a flawless infinite mirror. The sky above was duplicated in perfect symmetry below. There was no horizon line: only an endless, dizzying sphere of blue and white where up and down were matters of opinion. The heavy gates of the Royal Rosas tunnel ground open. Professor Nino walked out onto the water. Hathaway sat forward, her tactical processor automatically parsing her professor's physical broadcast.

Nino's posture was rigidly upright, her steps measured and heavy, the wind catching the hem of her combat robes. She radiated the terrible, quiet dignity of someone who had received the order, confirmed it was suicidal, and was executing it anyway, fully aware her name was about to be appended to a very short, very fatal Wikipedia article. Every practiced anti-Karula flowchart Nino had prepared became mathematically obsolete the moment Karula decided that gravity was a suggestion and continents were expendable.

As a purely academic Witch confronted with a total paradigm collapse, Nino had done the most dangerous thing imaginable. She had decided to innovate. To the citizens of modern Earth, phrases like"being proactive," "thinking outside the box," and"doing research" were glowing performance review buzzwords. To a competitive gamer watching their teammate, they were the vocabulary of a localized panic attack. Being proactive. The word alone is enough.

In a ranked lobby, it means a teammate has decided the established strategy is boring and they are going to force a highlight-reel play. Solo. You got globally reported for intentional feeding before the first wave cleared. Thinking outside the box. Mechanical failure costs you one round. Philosophical failure costs you five, your rank, and your keyboard. Researching new tactics. You first-timed the hero in ranked and saved the training room for after the match. A timeless classic.

Hathaway gripped her armrests, her developer brain throwing a barrage of yellow warning flags. Professor, please. Stick to the anti-Karula flowchart. Even if it's doomed, at least it's documented. Do not pioneer on the main stage. The referee hovered above the lake. The countdown sphere dropped. The ward shattered. Nino didn't look at Karula. She stared directly at her own feet and began chaining an orchestral sequence of environmental manipulation.

The core philosophy of the Park the Bus defensive strategy was a psychological paradox: you could not want to win. The moment a turtle-player reached for a win condition, the defense cracked. Only a player who had completely abandoned the concept of individual engagement could successfully park the bus. And to eventually beat a monster like Karula on a stall tactic? Infinite late-game scaling. [Call the Rain] overlapped seamlessly into [Raise the Deep]. The perfectly still surface of Mirror Lake shattered.

The shallow, infinite reflection tore apart as the depth beneath it churned into a raging, stormy sea. Without breaking her casting breath, Nino layered [Animate Lightning] and a [Degraded: Summon Storm Monitor lizard], dragging a localized, violently aggressive thunderstorm directly out of the ether. Thunder cracked across the dome. Thick bolts of purple lightning began striking the churning waves.

On the bench, Rhode dragged a hand down her face and closed her eyes before the first bolt of lightning even struck the water.

"GG," the Vanguard muttered.

"Super GG. Pack it up." Beside her, Alucard, radiating the exhausted authority of someone who had recently been vaporized and was handling it poorly, stared through her fingers at the monitor.

"What a retro loadout," the Archon said flatly, watching the storm clouds gather.

"Are we doing a tactical renaissance this year? Are we playing the 1980s meta?" Further down the bench, Bella simply turned her head away. She wore the pained expression of a theater critic watching a lead actor walk onto the stage completely naked by accident.

"Standing still for such a ponderous invocation, and she didn't even prepare a grand monologue to justify the delay," Bella whispered, her voice laced with agonizing pity.

"It is a tragedy devoid of any aesthetic merit." Hathaway looked between her groaning teammates and the complex spell matrix rapidly expanding on the screen. Wait. Her developer brain ran the numbers. Let her cook. A weather-and-terrain-adapted fortress. Defense is absolute. Ambient storm damage scales exponentially every second the domain holds.

Once the territory is fully established, she unlocks composite-attribute Legendary spells—and firing with the wind and the storm at her back, her DPS output will quintuple her baseline ceiling. The water was already present, Nino's setup time was subsidized by the terrain. This is a brilliant, on-the-fly tactical audible! If she establishes the domain, she actually mathematically out-guns Karula's firepower! Down on the lake, Nino's sequence was cascading with terrifying speed.

She slammed down the [Absolute Kinetic Shield] and immediately initiated [Polymorph: Deep Sea Kraken]. Her human form began to expand, twisting outward into a colossal, multi-tentacled leviathan as the storm-tossed lake rose to meet her. She was actively converting herself into a weather-adapted, super-heavy artillery platform perfectly synced to the environment she had just artificially constructed. The theoretical math was structurally flawless. The tactical vision was genius. The fatal flaw was the cast time.

To call the rain, shift the terrain, summon the lightning, build the shields, and complete the polymorph... Nino had spent the entire intermission meticulously prepping her robes with pre-loaded runes and burning through a fortune in one-off consumable artifacts, all to compress that catastrophic domain sequence into a single, breathtaking second of cast time. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. 1 second. 1 second is a lifetime.

Hathaway's surge of hope collapsed into bottomless despair as she watched Nino trapped in the polymorph animation. If you stand completely still for sixty uninterrupted frames in front of Karula, she is going to vaporize you at any moment. At the half-second mark, Hathaway's eyes snapped across the churning lake, bracing for the inevitable kinetic bombardment. But the bombardment wasn't happening. Karula hadn't fired a single spell. Her dark iron staff was lowered to her side.

And her physical outline was already halfway melted into the void. Hathaway shot out of her chair, her knees hitting the reinforced glass of the monitor panel.

"No," Hathaway whispered, her developer brain dumping a cascading wall of red-flagged system alerts directly into her prefrontal cortex.

"You can't. That's banned. That's mathematically banned." In the fiercely regulated ecosystem of competitive Witch dueling, there were exactly two spells that functioned as universal, unspoken automatic-surrender conditions if you let your opponent cast them. The first was the infamous [Greater Time Stop]. The developers had nerfed it in every single patch since the League's inception. It currently sat behind a ten-minute pre-reading sequence and three separate ley-line locks, its standard 0.

5-second cast time forcibly dragged out to a grueling five-second channel. If you stood there and let a Witch openly chant for five consecutive seconds without interrupting her, you were cordially invited to uninstall the game and take up farming. The second spell was [True Mana Form]. The deliberate, stable release of the physical containment shell. The mana's true shape, unbound and uncorrupted.

The shedding of mortal physics to ascend into the unknowable, invisible, untouchable tier of non-reality: the precise mechanism by which an Arch-tier Witch actively rewrote local reality and birthed her own irreversible Age. An Arch-tier Witch in [True Mana Form] ceased to be a combatant. She became the singular anchor point of her own billions of branching probability timelines. She existed simultaneously in the past, the present, the future, and parallel tri-dimensional space.

It was, in practical terms, a God Mode cheat code, but nobody used it. The logic was simple: no opponent would ever give you sixty uninterrupted frames in a real match, and no Witch would be arrogant enough to attempt it anyway. No one had accounted for Karula. No one had accounted for Nino. Down in the arena, the twin one-second countdowns hit zero simultaneously. In her armored kraken-fortress, Nino finished her setup. Across the lake, Karula's flesh and bone ceased to exist as a solid state.

Her silhouette became a two-dimensional cut in the fabric of the world. Inside that void flowed a mesmerizing, liquid gradient of deep crimson, amber, and twilight purple—a silhouette carved out of a bleeding sunset. Her long hair lost its physics, dissolving into the pure, lightless void of deep space, expanding outward from her shoulders and spawning a swirling galaxy of brilliant, living stars. A halo of shifting, impossible auroras ignited in the storm-lashed sky above.

At the tips of her fingers, the glowing, compressed husks of dying suns orbited with silent, catastrophic gravity. [True Mana Form: Heat Death]. The visual impact struck the arena like a physical blow. Mirror Lake, true to its essential nature, reflected the transformation. But Karula's form fundamentally dissolved the boundary between reality and magic—and the lake's reflection simply glitched. The auroras, the star-field, and the dying suns appeared simultaneously above the water and deep beneath its surface.

The 360-degree sphere of twilight cosmos swallowed the arena whole. The horizon line vanished. The essence of Mirror Lake, Hathaway realized, her breath catching, is the deletion of boundaries. The essence of that form is the dissolution of borders. She's not in the terrain. She is the terrain. Nino stared across the cosmos at the entity that had been Karula. Pioneering required commitment. She tapped into the massive, amplified mana grid of the storm and the deep water.

She executed the sequence with the clinical, merciless precision of an academic demonstrating a terminal ballistic equation. A colossal, suction-cupped appendage broke the boiling surface of the lake, elevating an ancient, heavily engraved artifact into the storm. A [Jeweled Gong]. A second, armor-plated tentacle coiled backward, locking into place with the heavy, terrifying tension of a hydraulic siege engine. Then it snapped forward, delivering a mathematically perfect, catastrophic payload. DOOOOOOM.

The gong atomized. The sound hit the storm domain like a tuning fork the size of a fist striking a bell the size of the sky. Every charged particle in the atmosphere lurched toward the spell matrix simultaneously. [Boundless Spreading Tide]. In the bench area, Hathaway stopped breathing. She had watched that same spell vaporize Alucard and sink a landmass just weeks ago. But Alice had cast it half-dead, draining the last dregs of a bankrupt mana pool.

Nino was firing it from the apex of a fully operational, weather-synced domain, fueled by the monstrous reserves of a deep-sea leviathan. The air pressure plummeted. A towering wall of white water materialized from the void, an annihilating tsunami of purity. Karula did not move. The world-ending flood crashed down. Beside Hathaway, Bella's unsealed red eye flared with absolute clarity. She leaned forward, her hands resting flat against the reinforced glass of the viewing panel.

"The mortal chrysalis is discarded," Bella whispered, her voice carrying the chilling recognition of a predator watching a peer achieve the zenith of their shared curse.

"You cannot strike the twilight, Hathaway. She has untethered her coordinates from the vulgar constraints of linear causality. She resides in the absolute zero of the present: the phantom interlude between the death of the past and the birth of the future." The apocalyptic tsunami washed completely through the liquid-sunset silhouette. It didn't break. It didn't splash. It simply passed through. Hathaway stared at the monitor. She has no hitbox. Conceptual evasion.

She is permanently existing in transitional frames. The roaring water began to churn around Karula's starlight-woven feet.

"And to that which dares approach her," Bella murmured, her breath fogging the glass, "she bestows the ultimate mercy of eventide. Look at the water, cousin. She is granting the ocean the privilege of old age." Hathaway watched in numb, breathless silence. The purifying tide didn't freeze. It didn't break against a barrier. It aged.

The world-ending flood transitioned to its ultimate lifespan in a fraction of a second: stagnating, turning foul, boiling away into thin steam, and finally eroding into a fine layer of dead, dry salt that blew away before it could ever make contact. The Legendary spell died of old age before it touched her. The raging thunderstorm Nino had summoned withered into a light, pathetic drizzle the moment the storm-front drifted too close to the aura.

Even Mirror Lake itself was groaning: the water beneath Karula's position rapidly glassing over as its conceptual lifespan was forcibly concluded. Hathaway's blood ran cold. She looked slowly from the dying lake on the monitor to the woman in the velvet cape standing beside her. The chuunibyou vocabulary isn't a delusion. The grandiose, anime-villain bullshit is the literal physics of the server right now. Down on the lake, Karula raised a single hand woven from starlight and dying suns.

"Distance and trajectory are the chains of the unawakened," Bella intoned, her unblinking red eye locked onto the screen.

"The Sovereign simply decrees the ending." Karula didn't fire a beam. There was no travel time. No projectile. No impact frame. The mechanical concept of "traveling through space to strike a target" was simply skipped. The result: the target has been hit, arriving directly at its destination. In the bench area, Hathaway's tactical monitor shrieked with a fatal error tone.

The spell-identification array had devolved into a catastrophic, unreadable wall of overlapping annotations: [Infinite Blinks / Dimensional Doors / Spatial Rifts Available] [Mana Regeneration: 50% Maximum Pool / Second] [Permanent: Apotheosis] [Permanent: Omnipotent Hands] [Permanent: Myriad +9 Energy Weapons] The monitor's identification system had simply stopped trying to sort them. Down in the arena, in less than 0.

1 seconds, Professor Nino's kraken fortress, her weather domain, her armored shields, and her academic dignity had their intervening timelines murdered simultaneously. There was no explosion. No cinematic struggle. Nino simply ceased to exist on the material plane. The resurrection stone flashed with violent urgency, snatching her from the field before the effect could complete. The storm broke. The rain stopped.

Karula floated alone in the center of the cosmos, a silhouette of liquid sunset suspended in the infinite silence of the stars. [Match Complete. Winner: Karula (Greed Umbrella).] [Final Score: 5-2. Greed Umbrella: 2 Win, 0 Losses.] In the bench area, Hathaway sat motionless, staring at the glitching, smoking monitor. There is a difference, her developer brain said, very quietly, between the final boss you fight in the gameplay engine, and the final boss as they appear in the lore cutscene.

In the game, you check their stats. You learn their attack patterns. You chip down the health bar. But when a Witch successfully casts [True Mana Form], the PvP match ends. The server forces a transition. You are no longer playing the game. You are now an un-skippable NPC in her cutscene, and the script only says one thing: You die. You dragged [Greater Time Stop] out to a miserable five-second channel, but you left this God Mode cheat code at one second?! What kind of garbage balancing is that?!

Then she remembered. During that single second of shedding the physical body, the caster's defenses dropped to absolute mathematical zero. A stray [Magic Missile], a thrown pebble, a [Hideous Laughter], anything. Attempting it in a Grand Masters duel was practically suicide. That one second of absolute vulnerability was the padding. Karula had stood over that lake, completely undefended, for one whole second. And Nino built a weather station instead.