The Supreme Monarch of Continuum

A day had passed since Klaus nearly decided humanity wasn't worth the trouble. Not just because of their cringe-inducing, soul-eroding content plastered across social media like mold on bread, but because of the grotesque fascination with violence, war, and drama. Billions were clapping like trained seals at videos that would give higher beings aneurysms.

Klaus couldn't help but think, So this is what the bottom of the consciousness barrel looks like.

He got dressed for the day like a confused mannequin: cargo pants, a tucked-in polo shirt that screamed "retired assassin-turned-golfer," and sneakers that looked too clean for someone who'd nearly been tree-mulched in a forest brawl a week ago. He threw on the matte-black watch Emily had gifted him, an accessory chosen less for function and more because it "matched his aura."

The elevator dinged, and Klaus descended to the lobby, where a black SUV awaited him. The driver stood nearby, perfectly composed in a black suit and sunglasses that made him look like a retired Men in Black agent. Klaus stepped into the vehicle without a word.

"Good morning, Mr. Klaus," the chauffeur said, adjusting his shades. "Ms. Donaldson has asked me to escort you to the American Guild entrance. Afterward, I'll be in the parking lot waiting for your return."

"Appreciated. Very procedural. I like it," Klaus replied with a firm nod, genuinely impressed by the orderliness of the arrangement.

The ride lasted only five minutes, just long enough for Klaus to judge at least twelve pedestrians, two dogs, and an entire billboard ad campaign. He thanked the driver with a nod and stepped out of the SUV, his shoes clicking against the clean stone walkway as he entered the imposing structure.

Inside, the marble floors gleamed under the overhead lighting. The air smelled like paperwork and control. But before Klaus could fully absorb his surroundings, a broad-chested man with the neck circumference of a tree trunk strutted by. His arm was hooked around a girl whose sole job appeared to be laughing at nothing.

The man bumped shoulders with Klaus, intentionally. Klaus didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He simply adjusted his shirt collar and walked past. The big man's brain struggled to process the lack of reaction. His ego did the rest.

Klaus reached the receptionist desk, lips parting to ask for Emily, but a meaty hand landed on his shoulder like someone slapping a steak on a cutting board.

"Hey, you little shit," the guy growled, grinning like a villain who had never read a full book. "You didn't apologize for bumping into me. I'll let it slide this one time if you say sorry. So what's it gonna be, punk?"

The girl beside him cackled like a dying fax machine. Klaus blinked slowly.

"I don't know, lardbasket. From what I recall, you were the one busy doing your power-waddle through the lobby."

The guy's grin faltered. The girl giggled louder. Klaus turned toward him, eyebrow slightly raised.

"You look like you drink protein powder instead of water and flex at stop signs. Is the compensation that severe?"

The guy bristled. "You got a real mouth on you."

"And you've got the muscle density of a baked potato. But go on."

"Say that again!" the man barked, stepping closer.

"Which part? The potato thing, or the part where your personality is modeled after a reality show villain from 2006?"

The girl gasped, covering her mouth, trying not to laugh. Klaus gave her a small, polite nod, like he was in a tea party and not mid-insult.

"You trying to get hit, freak?" the big guy roared, his fists tightening like he was prepping for a bar brawl in a PG-13 movie.

Klaus leaned slightly forward, hands still in his pockets. "Only if you're planning on missing. Because that swing of yours looks like it comes with a loading screen."

That was it.

The big guy's hand flew toward Klaus's head like a freight train loaded with insecurity. Klaus tilted his body to the side, letting the punch whip through the air with all the grace of a falling fridge.

The receptionist ducked behind the desk.

The girl screamed in excitement.

Klaus just exhaled.

"I challenge you," the big guy growled, pointing a finger at Klaus like it was a deadly weapon. "To a guild duel."

Klaus sighed. Loudly. "God, why is it always the ones shaped like refrigerators?" But then he shot the guy a glare of death, which made the guy shake in his boots, quake in his hands, and sweat from his temple. "But, of course, I have to accept." 

The guild's main hall darkened. 

Lights overhead dimmed as the combat arena, a wide, circular platform ringed by silver rails, began its slow mechanical rise from the center of the marble floor. The sound of gears grinding thundered through the building like the prelude to violence.

A soft electronic chime echoed, reading: "Duel registered. Combatants: Klaus versus Bradley Knox. Fight conditions: No rules. Spectators behind the barrier. Commencing in thirty seconds."

Klaus stepped onto the platform, calm and unblinking. His posture was relaxed, his hands in pockets, black slightly hunched, like someone who'd been dragged out of bed for his. Then, realizing his hunched back, he straightened like a pole. 

Across from him, Bradley Knox cracked his knuckles like gunshots. His muscles bulged beneath a sleeveless compression shirt. Veins like industrial cables pulsed on his arms. He grinned with a cocky confidence of a man who thought muscles replaced intelligence; all brawn no brain. 

"You're going down, you string bean," Bradley spat, stomping into his corner of the arena. 

Klaus looked at the crowd behind the reinforced barrier, Emily included. She stood there sipping a smoothie. Her eyes met his. She nodded once, almost bored. Klaus returned the nod. No pressure. Just win. 

The countdown ticked.

Three.

Klaus exhaled. 

Two.

Bradley crouched like a sprinter.

One. 

The bell rang, the crowd raging onwards, screaming through his lungs, as nearly all, but one person, voted for Bradley to win. That one person, of course, was Emily, who knew even with the level gap, Klaus would be at a massive advantage, but something told her, that Klaus's levels, didn't even really mean much. 

Bradley moved first. 

A pulse of energy snapped around his legs, coiling like bands of lightning, and then he vanished in a blur. His skill activated: Shattercoil Dash. 

Klaus didn't have time to think. Just react. 

BOOM!

Bradley shot across the arena like a torpedo wrapped in static, slamming shoulder-first into Klaus's side. Electricity exploded outward in a spray of blue arcs. Klaus's vision titled, his muscle locking up from the shock. He staggered, dazed. 

Bradley didn't give him room to recover. 

WHAM! 

A meaty fist connected with Klaus's face, sending him skidding backward across the smooth floor. Blood sprayed from his mouth. Static popped in his ears. His head rang like a bell. 

He coughed, wiped the blood, and stood up, unfazed. His eyes burned with cold fire. 

"Nice opening shot," Klaus muttered, raising a hand. 

Then he unleashed a fireball at Bradley, an orb of flame coming into existence, crackling with energy. He decided to, at the last minute, change the direction of the fireball not at Bradley, but straight into the ground beneath him. 

BOOM!

The explosion created a thick plume of smoke and fire. Klaus vanished into it. 

Bradley blinked. "What the hell was that supposed to—"

From the thick blanket of smoke, water spikes erupted from the arena floor like jagged ice, catching Bradley off-guard. One slammed into his side, piercing his arm. Blood spattered the ground. Another grazed his leg. He screamed, half in pain, half in rage. 

The moment's pause was all Klaus needed. 

He emerged from the smoke, sprinting low. His foot slammed into Bradley's kneecap with a brutal crunch. The big guy stumbled. Klaus delivered a second kick to the gut, forcing Bradley to reel back. Klaus followed it with an open-palm strike to the solar plexus, sending his opponent stumbling back, hitting the barrier. 

"You fight like a fridge with rabies," Klaus taunted, stepping back just in time to avoid a wild swing. 

CRACK!

This time he aimed for full-body slam. But Klaus was ready. He twisted sideways, the attack grazing past his ribs. 

Klaus's hand glowed. 

He unleashed another fireball. 

This time, he threw it directly at Bradley's back. 

BOOM!

The flames engulfed the brute, singeing flesh and burning off parts of his shirt. Smoke rose from his skin. He screamed in raw fury, turning with a face distorted by rage and pain. 

"You little freak! I'm gonna—"

Water Spikes interrupted him. This time, six erupted in a fan pattern, encasing Bradley in a half-cage of sharpened pressure. One drove into his thigh. Another pierced his shoulder clean through. Blood pooled. He fell to one knee. 

Klaus stood above him. "You could've just let me ask the receptionist a question," Klaus said calmly. "Now you're leaking on the floor."

Bradley screamed, activating Shattercoil Dash for the third time, this one faster, angrier, more reckless.

He zoomed toward Klaus, electricity sparking violently. But Klaus stepped sideways, grabbed Bradley's arm mid-dash, and used the momentum.

CRACK!

With a perfect throw, Klaus flipped him. Bradley's body slammed into the arena floor like a meteor, cracking the stone surface.

Silence.

Bradley groaned, limbs twitching. Klaus stepped over to him, raising one hand. His eyes shimmered.

"Dominion Protocol: Absorb."

A pulse of purple energy spiraled from Klaus's palm, wrapping around Bradley's body. The skill, the very essence of Shattercoil Dash, was drawn out like smoke pulled into a vacuum. 

Bradley screamed as his energy was drained. The purple light condensed into Klaus's hand. 

Then the system pinged in front of him. 

---

[System Notification]:

Absorption failed.

Your Dominion Protocol is currently a lower rank than the target skill. Upgrade required to absorb higher-rank abilities.

---

[System Notification]:

Congratulation!

Your Dominion Protocol skill has been upgraded to E-rank.

---

Klaus closed his hand. The purple energy going back inside of Bradley.

He turned to the crowd, wiping blood from his mouth. "Can someone get this man a stretcher and a brain?"