My Charity System made me too OP

Karm no longer floated—he descended.

With a wave of his staff, thorned tendrils erupted from the ground and coiled around Leon's limbs. Not tight enough to break him—but enough to hold judgment.

And then—

"Sin Manifest: For the Life You Took in Vain."

A spear of white-hot energy plunged through Leon's shoulder.

"Sin Manifest: For the Power You Abused."

"Sin Manifest: For the Life You Let Die."

Each invocation came with a blow. A wound. A memory forced to the surface.

Leon dropped to a knee, gritting his teeth. Blood fell. His shell reverberated, but there was no rhythm. No clarity.

He was being undone by his own choices.

"How do you plead, Leon?" the Judicator intoned.

Leon's fist clenched.

And then, with a breath of molten fury, he rose.

"I don't plead," he said coldly. "I fight."

He raised his hand—and unleashed the full fusion:

Destruction Core: Cataclysm Vein.

Aether Blood: Chrono Conduit.

Gold Magic: Crowned Echo.

Abyssal Mana: Mirrorbane Leech.

His body ignited with chaotic harmony—four conflicting forces flowing in synch.

With a roar, he shattered the vines of judgment, blasted through the phantom sins, and raced toward Karm.

Each strike he landed now rewrote the karmic record—displacing sin with intent, rewriting guilt with understanding. His blows weren't raw anymore. They were surgical.

One strike for his mercy.

One for his regret.

One for the future he chose to shape better.

Karm raised his staff for a final counter—

And Leon drove his palm into the Judicator's chest, releasing Origin Pulse: Harmonic Zero.

A blinding light exploded.

The thorned armor fell.

Karm collapsed, unmasked—revealing not a monster, but a face eerily like Leon's. Tired. Weathered. Worn.

"You… passed."

"Not because you are perfect. But because you keep trying to be better."

"May your path… remain sharp."

The arena restored itself.

[Victory: Rank 21 – Thorned Judicator Defeated.]

[Level Up: 616 → 618]

Leon stood still for a moment, breathing heavily.

Then he wiped the blood from his face, and turned to leave.

"Next."

Rank 20 – The Sunken Architect of Lost Time

Leon stepped through the obsidian threshold into Rank 20's chamber—and felt the world shiver.

This was no arena. No dueling ring. The space was impossibly vast, yet claustrophobic. Curved walls of petrified coral spiraled upward in defiance of geometry, layered with broken clocks, stilled pendulums, and mural fragments that depicted battles that never happened… or perhaps hadn't yet.

Each step echoed not forward—but backward.

And in the center, standing on a cracked mosaic of a sundial long forgotten, was a robed entity whose form flickered between elder and infant, scholar and corpse, knight and prisoner.

A mechanical voice intoned:

Rank 20: Vaer'Zhul, the Dreambane Architect

"Leon… do you remember the world you might have had?"

Before Leon could answer, the realm folded.

Suddenly, Leon stood not as a warrior—but a child.

He blinked—and saw his mother. His village. A peaceful world untouched by war or ascension, where he never picked up the sword. Where he grew old with friends, learned to read stars instead of cut through them.

The crowd was laughing.

Roselia was there. So was Roman. But none of them were Ascenders. They were people.

"You wanted this," whispered Vaer'Zhul from everywhere.

Leon tried to lift his arm—and realized he had no weapons. His Shell Pulse was gone. His Core? Silent.

"This isn't real," he muttered.

"It was once. Until you chose."

Vaer'Zhul appeared as a fatherly figure now, extending a hand. "Stay. Relinquish the burden of the climb. You are tired. Your soul bleeds. You've killed to survive. But here… you are healed."

Leon's hand trembled.

But then—a flicker. A memory. Of Naval's laughter in the dungeon. Of Roselia bleeding but grinning. Of the Shellfire. Of the Mirror.

"No."

His voice hardened.

"I chose this path. And I'll see it through—even if I bleed for every step."

Time shattered.

Leon's adult body reformed, fully armored in truth. Shell Pulse activated.

The Architect screamed as the false world burned away.

Vaer'Zhul now hovered, form half-shadow, half-gear. He summoned phantom timelines—alternate Leons who made other choices: a tyrant Leon, a coward Leon, a berserker who lost control. All turned on him with terrifying strength, wielding distorted versions of his own power.

"Face the futures you denied!"

Leon clenched his fist, activating Shell Pulse: Echo of Origin and Absolute Return in sync. He flowed like a storm through the echoes, redirecting strikes, learning from each failure.

He broke the spine of the coward Leon.

Crushed the ambition of tyrant Leon.

And finally faced the last version—himself, fully consumed by Destruction.

This one said nothing. It simply attacked.

And it was perfect.

Blows struck with his own rhythm, his own rage. His own Destruction Core.

The battle was nearly even.

But Leon was real. This echo was not.

He shifted into Gold Magic: Crowned Echo, layered with Aether Blood: Chrono Conduit, and in a blazing spiral of golden-silver light, unleashed his trump card:

Shell Reverb: Tripart Echo + Karmic Loop + Abyss Mirror Shard

His staff cracked the final version's skull in three simultaneous timelines.

Vaer'Zhul screamed and shed his illusions.

The arena vanished, replaced with a storm of clocks and gears falling through a void. In the center floated the real Architect—his core a dying sun of regret and shattered creation.

"You have rejected paradise, warrior. Now you must carry the weight of knowing what could've been."

Leon soared upward through the falling debris, arms flaring with Abyssal Destruction.

"Good. I'd rather earn my future."

He impaled Vaer'Zhul's core with his staff and whispered:

"I forgive what I could have been."

And detonated it with Origin Pulse: Harmonic Zero.

The void blinked—and returned to obsidian.

The voice echoed:

[Victory: Rank 20 – Vaer'Zhul the Dreambane Architect Defeated.]

[Level Up: 618 → 621]

[Skill Gained: Paradox Thread – Once per day, rewind one second of time and act with knowledge of both outcomes.]

Leon dropped to one knee, drained—but whole.

Roselia and the others met him at the edge, concern in their eyes.

"You alright?" Roman asked.

Leon wiped sweat from his brow. "Yeah. I just… remembered a few things I'd rather not forget."

He stood.

"Let's go. Rank 19 awaits."