SSS-Rank Skill Copy: I Can Steal Every Class

The mid-level transit plaza of the Azure Spire had been designed as a monument to corporate elegance. Its floors were paved with seamless white marble, its vaulted ceilings supported by pillars of glowing cyan glass. It was a place of quiet, sterile perfection, insulated from the grime and chaos of the Outer Rings.

Now, it was a battlefield plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness.

Glen stepped off the heavy freight elevator, the Abyssal blade held loosely in his right hand. His S-Rank Predator Domain rolled outward like a tidal wave of entropic decay. The pristine cyan lights of the plaza flickered and died, the ambient mana in the air freezing into microscopic flakes of black ice that drifted to the marble floor.

Standing fifty feet away, blocking the entrance to the corporate elevators, were the fifty elite warriors of the Imperial Vanguard.

They did not break formation. They did not scramble backward in terror like the Astra Guild enforcers had. They were A-Ranks, hand-picked by an SSS-Rank Champion, and their discipline was absolute.

At the front of the formation, Captain Akira raised his nodachi. The long, curved blade crackled with intense, cyan lightning, the magical energy fighting desperately against the suffocating weight of Glen’s aura.

"You have power, Wraith," Akira’s voice echoed across the darkened plaza, smooth and unbothered by the freezing cold. "But power without structure is just chaos. You are a single, blunt instrument. We are an empire."

Akira didn’t charge. He didn’t order his men to attack blindly. He raised his left hand, his fingers forming a complex, geometric seal.

"Shogun Protocol," Akira commanded. "Engage."

The fifty Vanguard warriors slammed the hilts of their swords against their armored breastplates in perfect unison. The sound was a deafening, metallic thunderclap that shook the marble floor.

Instantly, the cyan mana radiating from their armor flared to life, pushing back against the darkness of Glen’s domain. But the mana didn’t act individually. Glowing, ethereal tethers of cyan light erupted from each warrior’s core, linking them together in a massive, interconnected web of magical energy.

Glen narrowed his eyes, his pitch-black gaze analyzing the formation.

They were sharing their mana. The Shogun Protocol wasn’t just a tactical formation; it was a hive-mind resonance technique. By linking their fifty A-Rank cores together, they created a localized, artificial mana pool that rivaled the density of an S-Rank. The combined output stabilized their magical shielding, creating a massive, glowing dome of cyan energy that successfully repelled Glen’s entropic decay.

"Fascinating," Glen whispered, his voice a dual-layered resonance that vibrated through the frozen air.

"Execute," Akira ordered.

The Vanguard moved as a single, terrifying organism. Ten warriors broke from the front line, blurring forward with synchronized Lightning Movement. They didn’t attack all at once. They moved in a flawless, overlapping sequence, their nodachis weaving a deadly net of cyan lightning aimed at Glen’s vital points.

Glen didn’t retreat. He stepped into the storm of blades.

He brought the Abyssal blade up, parrying a horizontal slash aimed at his neck. The impact sent a jarring shockwave up his arm. The Vanguard warrior wasn’t just striking with his own strength; he was striking with the combined kinetic force of the entire linked formation.

Glen ducked under a second blade, pivoting on his heel to deliver a devastating kick to the warrior’s knee. The bone didn’t break. The cyan shielding absorbed the kinetic energy, distributing the damage across the network of fifty men.

"You cannot break the shield, Wraith," Akira called out from the center of the formation, his eyes glowing with cold certainty. "Every strike you land is dispersed. Every attack you make exhausts your core, while ours is constantly replenished. You will drown in our numbers."

Glen deflected a third strike, his boots sliding backward on the marble floor. He was surrounded, the ten warriors pressing the advantage with relentless, mechanical precision.

Akira was right. If Glen tried to brute-force his way through the Shogun Protocol, he would eventually burn out. His S-Rank core was massive, but it wasn’t infinite. He couldn’t fight fifty A-Ranks who shared a single, regenerating health pool.

He didn’t need to break the shield. He needed to break the network.

Glen triggered Spatial Fold.

He didn’t teleport away from the ten warriors attacking him. He teleported directly upward, materializing thirty feet in the air above the center of the Vanguard formation.

Before gravity could pull him down, he raised his left hand, his fingers splayed wide.

Shadow Thread.

He didn’t shoot five threads. He pushed his S-Rank core to the absolute limit, manifesting fifty razor-sharp lines of condensed black mana. The threads shot downward like a rain of dark needles, piercing the glowing cyan dome of the Shogun Protocol.

The threads didn’t aim for the warriors’ flesh. They aimed for the ethereal tethers of cyan light connecting their cores.

"Sever," Glen commanded.

He yanked his arm upward with brutal, unforgiving force. The Shadow Threads, infused with the necrotic, entropic decay of Void Touch, sliced cleanly through the magical tethers.

The Shogun Protocol shattered.

The sudden, violent severing of the hive-mind network caused a catastrophic magical feedback loop. The fifty Vanguard warriors screamed in unison as the shared mana violently snapped back into their individual cores, overloading their channels. The glowing cyan dome collapsed instantly, plunging the plaza back into absolute darkness.

Glen dropped from the air, landing heavily in the center of the broken formation.

The Vanguard warriors were stumbling, their discipline shattered, their armor sparking as their cores struggled to stabilize. They were no longer an empire. They were just fifty disoriented men.

Glen didn’t give them time to recover.

He became a blur of absolute violence. He triggered Lightning Movement, chaining it seamlessly with Spatial Fold. He didn’t just move; he flickered in and out of reality, a phantom of dark energy that struck from every conceivable angle.

The Abyssal blade flashed in the dark, severing limbs, shattering armor, and piercing cores. He didn’t use Void Touch to rot them. He used the raw, physical density of his S-Rank strength to dismantle them.

Blood sprayed across the pristine white marble. The screams of the elite warriors echoed through the transit plaza, a horrifying symphony of corporate defeat.

In less than sixty seconds, forty-nine members of the Imperial Vanguard lay dead or dying on the floor.

Only Captain Akira remained standing.

The Vanguard leader was breathing heavily, his ornate armor cracked and stained with the blood of his men. His nodachi still crackled with cyan lightning, but the light was dim, flickering erratically. He looked around the plaza, his glowing eyes wide with a mixture of shock and profound, existential terror.

He had spent his entire life training to be the perfect weapon for the Empress. He had believed the Vanguard was invincible.

Glen walked slowly toward him, the Abyssal blade dragging against the marble floor, leaving a trail of sparks and black blood.

"You said I was a blunt instrument," Glen whispered, his pitch-black eyes locking onto Akira’s face. "You were wrong. I am the surgeon. And I just cut out your heart."

Akira let out a guttural, desperate roar. He gripped his nodachi with both hands, channeling every ounce of his remaining A-Rank mana into the blade. The cyan lightning flared, illuminating the dark plaza for a fraction of a second. He charged forward, launching a devastating, overhead strike aimed directly at Glen’s skull.

Glen didn’t dodge. He didn’t use a skill.

He raised his bare left hand and caught the blade.

The cyan lightning seared his palm, but the S-Rank Obsidian Skin held firm. The kinetic force of the strike shattered the marble floor beneath Glen’s boots, but his arm didn’t even tremble. He held the razor-sharp edge of the nodachi effortlessly, stopping the Captain’s ultimate attack dead in its tracks.

Akira stared at Glen’s hand, his mind completely unable to process the physical impossibility of what he was seeing.

"Is that all?" Glen asked softly.

Glen tightened his grip. The dark, necrotic energy of the void fragment surged from his palm, flooding into the nodachi. The high-tech, enchanted steel instantly rusted, turning brittle and gray.

With a sharp twist of his wrist, Glen shattered the blade into a thousand pieces of useless ash.

Before Akira could react, Glen stepped forward and drove his left hand directly into the Captain’s chest. His fingers pierced the ornate armor, shattering the breastplate and plunging deep into the man’s chest cavity.

Glen’s fingers closed around Akira’s core.

"Tell the Empress," Glen whispered, leaning in close so only Akira could hear him. "Tell her the Wraith is coming for the Tower."

Glen crushed the core in his palm.

Akira gasped, his eyes rolling back in his head as the magical energy was violently ripped from his body. He slumped forward, dead before he hit the floor.

Glen stood alone in the center of the ruined transit plaza. The silence returned, heavy and absolute. He looked down at his blood-soaked hands, feeling the massive influx of refined A-Rank mana flooding into his system. The void fragment pulsed, digesting the energy, expanding his channels even further.

He had broken the Vanguard. He had conquered the mid-levels.

He turned his gaze toward the massive, reinforced corporate elevators at the far end of the plaza. They led directly to the upper echelons of the Azure Spire, and beyond that, the Celestial Tower itself.

The hunt was far from over.

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