Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100 - Chapter 484

Chapter 484: Dying
“You can’t run!” Max’s voice roared out from the cracked ruins of his throat, hoarse and laced with pain. His body trembled violently, barely clinging to consciousness, but his will remained firm—unyielding. He raised his charred arm and commanded the dragon, the very essence of his Dimension of Lightning, with a simple thought.

And the Violet Lightning Dragon responded.

With a single otherworldly roar, the massive beast let out a blinding burst of light, then dived—its body moving faster than thunder itself. It cut through the sky like a guillotine of wrath, devouring Drevon mid-flight in the blink of an eye. The impact was instant. The dragon slammed into him and drove him downward, shredding through the atmosphere like a meteor sent by the gods.

BANG!

The collision struck the sea with world-breaking force.

A massive pillar of violet light exploded from the surface of the ocean, punching deep into the earth’s crust below. The shockwave alone flattened waves into vapor for miles, sending tsunamis racing in every direction. A blinding crater of steam, lightning, and destruction erupted from the sea, swallowing everything within.

Even from the distant shores of the Lost Continent, it looked like a second sun had just fallen into the ocean.

And within the heart of that calamity—there was no trace of Drevon.

Max might have killed him—he might have erased Drevon from existence with that monstrous violet dragon birthed from the raw fury of his lightning dimension—but he couldn’t be sure. He would never know. Because at that very moment, he himself was dying.

The cost of wielding a power so far beyond his limits had finally come due. His body, already pushed to its very edge, had crossed the line. The energy that had allowed him to command the heavens, to summon a dragon made of divine wrath, was now devouring him.

His skin, once pale and marred by battle, had turned black—scorched and crumbling. His arms, the very ones he had slammed together to unleash the final attack, began to flake away, turning into gray ash that scattered like dust in the wind. Slowly, piece by piece, he was disappearing.

“No…” Princess Lenavira’s voice broke, her hands flying to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes as she witnessed the unbearable sight. Max, the boy who stood against god like figures, who faced armies, who shook the sky with his will—was burning away in silence.

His entire figure was glowing faintly, ember-like, barely holding together as smoke rose from every inch of him. It wasn’t just injury. It wasn’t blood loss. It was destruction—from within.

And just when it seemed the final part of him would crumble into nothing, a silver glow enveloped his charred body. A gentle, divine light, like moonlight washing over a battlefield, wrapped around him, slowing the process of decay. It didn’t heal him—not really. The damage was too deep, too absolute. His body wasn’t wounded—it was breaking. Shattered by the overwhelming force he’d dared to wield.

But the silver light bought him time. A few seconds more. A chance for breath. A moment to cling to the world, even as the ashes whispered to the wind.

And in that moment, everyone could only watch. Powerless.

“Mother!” Princess Lenavira cried out, her voice laced with panic and desperation as she flew toward the silver-haired elven queen who had just cast the silvery light encasing Max. Her eyes, wide and wet with tears, locked onto her mother’s calm but solemn face. “Can you heal him?” she asked, almost pleading, clinging to that last thread of hope. “Please—can you save him?”

The silver-haired elven woman looked at her daughter, then at the fading figure of Max, her eyes heavy with sorrow. Her aura pulsed gently around him, a silver cocoon trying to hold together a body already on the edge of annihilation.

She placed a hand over Lenavira’s trembling shoulder and shook her head, her voice soft but unrelenting. “I can’t heal him,” she whispered. “His body is beyond healing. All I can do is slow the process… of him crumbling into dust.”

Silence fell like a veil across the battlefield.

King Magnar’s fists clenched at his sides, the veins in his arms bulging with helpless fury. “Damn it…” he muttered under his breath, the weight of everything—victory, sacrifice, loss—crashing down all at once. The strongest genius they’d ever seen, the boy who had saved them all, was slipping through their fingers, and even he, a man revered as the King of the West, could do nothing.

Kate, the cold and composed strategist of the East, stood frozen in place. Her lips trembled, but no words came. She had seen war, death, and miracles—but never something as cruel as this. “He burned everything he had… just to stop Drevon,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else, her voice tight with emotion she rarely showed.

Marcel, the leader of the Moon Faction, looked away and swallowed hard. “And he was just a boy…” he muttered, his face lined with guilt. He had once doubted Max, once thought the war had no chance. And yet here stood the proof of what a single soul could achieve. And what it cost.

Aurelia’s face was black, unreadable. It wasn’t sure what she was feeling right now.

Elarion remained silent, his eyes closed, as though offering silent prayers to whatever gods remained in the world. He knew, more than most, the pain of watching someone with such promise burn out too soon.

Klaus, fists clenched, knelt beside Max’s crumbling form. He didn’t speak. He didn’t cry. But the rage burning in his eyes promised vengeance if Max’s flame truly extinguished here.

And around them all, soldiers, humans and elves alike, watched in stunned silence. The battlefield that once echoed with war was now a graveyard of silence, as all eyes turned to the boy who had torn through heaven and earth—and now hovered between life and ash.

Max, the strongest genius the Lower Domain had ever seen…

was fading.

Dying.

But before anyone could react, before the silence around Max could settle into grief, a figure rose slowly from the sea, dragging steam and crackling energy in its wake. It was Drevon.

Gasps rippled across the battlefield.

At that moment, he was no better than Max—his entire body charred, blackened to the point of looking like cracked charcoal, with trails of burnt flesh flaking off him in the wind. His once-imposing form now looked fragile, brittle, as if a single gust would shatter him into dust.

And yet, somehow, he still floated above the sea, barely holding himself together, his limbs trembling, his entire being suspended between survival and collapse.

“Finish him!!” King Magnar bellowed, his voice thunderous, filled with fury and vengeance. He launched forward at once, his golden armor blazing in the sky as he charged toward the broken figure of Drevon.

The other leaders were right behind him—Elarion, Kate, Marcel, Aurelia, Klaus—each one of them fueled by the rage of everything they had witnessed, of everything Max had sacrificed. Their faces were twisted with ruthlessness, with the singular intent of ending the Young Monarch once and for all.

But Drevon, barely conscious, his eyes completely burnt away, somehow sensed the incoming strike. His body swayed midair like it would collapse at any moment, but his lips still moved. In a whisper that echoed despite the wind, he said, “Next time… I will go for the kill.”

And then—

Boom.

His figure erupted into a pulse of black flames, a last surge of power, and before anyone could reach him—before a blade could pierce his flesh or a skill could be cast—he shot into the sky like a black comet, streaking across the clouds. In the blink of an eye, he was gone, vanishing beyond the horizon, disappearing into the void.

The leaders stopped mid-flight, staring at the trail of smoke and flame left behind.

He had escaped.