Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100-Chapter 351: A Snap!
Only the sword stood before him.
Waiting.
Calling.
The hesitation in Max's eyes flickered.
And vanished.
In its place came something else—eagerness. A raw, primal urge. Not born of logic. Not even of defiance. But something deeper.
Need.
He stepped forward without a word, his hands rising to grip the hilt of the crimson sword with both hands.
The instant his fingers wrapped around it, a jolt shot through his entire body.
But Max didn't flinch.
Didn't let go.
He was too far gone for pain to matter.
Teeth gritted, muscles tight, he began to pull.
Slowly.
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Agonizingly slow.
The blade resisted him—like it didn't want to be removed. Like it was holding on to the altar with everything it had.
'Damn… this thing is heavy!' Max cursed under his breath, sweat already forming on his brow.
Without wasting another second, he summoned the full might of his physical strength.
Fifty-eight Draconic Essences flared to life inside him.
Power surged through his limbs—raw, unrestrained. His body expanded slightly under the pressure, his muscles tightening like coiled steel.
With a sharp growl, he pulled once more.
This time, the sword came loose in a single, brutal yank.
And the moment it did—
CRACK!
The altar caved in beneath his feet, splitting apart like it had been holding back the end of the world.
Max's eyes widened. Without thinking, he leapt back.
He landed hard on the ruined hall's floor, skidding a few paces before regaining his balance.
Behind him, the altar collapsed completely—disintegrating into nothing. In its place was a wide, bottomless pit, darkness stretching downward into the unknown.
'Made it out... barely.' Max exhaled, his heart pounding.
His arms dropped.
The sword—still heavy with infernal energy—slipped from his grip.
BANG!
It slammed against the stone floor with a resounding crash, shattering the surface beneath it like glass under a hammer.
And then—it hit them.
A wave of pressure.
Crushing. Suffocating.
Not physical. Not elemental.
Soul pressure.
Something ancient. Something alive.
Every leader in the hall froze as the weight of it bore down on them.
Even Max—with his fortified yellow soul—felt it. A sharp tremor raced through him, as if his soul itself flinched from the presence that now emerged.
And then they saw it.
Rising from the pit where the altar once stood was a golden figure—shimmering, radiant, formless yet unmistakably powerful.
It hovered there for only a moment before scattering into countless golden particles—light as dust, bright as stars.
The fragments drifted across the hall, then surged straight toward Mark.
And vanished into him.
Absorbed completely.
Mark's body lit up, bathed in a golden glow that pulsed from beneath his skin.
He stood still, eyes closed, arms outstretched, a serene expression on his face—as if he were basking in sunlight he hadn't felt for a thousand years.
"I've been waiting for this moment… for so long," he whispered.
His voice trembled—not with fear, but satisfaction.
Triumph.
And just like that, the missing piece returned.
His soul had finally come home.
"Hehe… finally."
Mark chuckled softly, his voice light—too light, considering the weight of what had just happened.
He turned to face everyone in the hall, arms slightly raised, as if addressing an audience that had been watching a grand performance.
At that very moment, a subtle shift rippled through the air.
Everyone felt it.
The crushing force that had pinned them to the ground… vanished.
Their limbs were their own again. The suffocating weight over their bodies lifted like fog burned away by the sun.
They could move.
They were free.
But the relief didn't last long.
"YOU!"
A furious roar exploded across the hall.
Wind howled violently as Palace Master Hugh stormed forward, a raging tempest of power swirling around him.
His eyes were bloodshot. His expression—maddened with grief.
He stopped just inches from Mark, fists trembling.
"Where is my son?!" he bellowed. "Where is Mark?!"
Mark turned to him casually, as if he hadn't just been threatened by one of the strongest cultivators in the Lower Domain.
He gave a nonchalant shrug. "He's inside."
His smile sharpened.
"Watching. Crying. Observing everything play out like a movie… but unfortunately for him, I'm the one holding the remote."
Palace Master Hugh's chest heaved.
"Return him to me! Now!"
Mark exhaled as if bored, shaking his head. "Ahh… see, that's where it gets complicated."
He raised a finger, pointing lazily at himself.
"My true body was sealed by that man," he said. "And I've got no idea where it is now. No clue what state it's in, or if it even still exists. So I had to improvise. I needed a vessel to survive in."
He gestured around his borrowed form.
"And this Mark kid? His body's not bad. Quite attuned to mana. Not so much infernal energy, but that's manageable."
He paused.
Then snapped his fingers.
Snap!
A bright flash.
Everyone flinched as Mark's body suddenly began to rot before their very eyes.
His skin peeled and blackened. His face contorted—eyes hollow, lips shriveled. Across his arms and chest, flesh broke apart in patches, revealing bone beneath.
It was grotesque.
Horrifying.
And then—
Another snap.
Just like that, his body returned to normal. Whole. Intact. As if nothing had happened.
"I'm using my own healing powers," Mark explained, tone casual. "Constantly repairing the damage the infernal energy is doing to this… meat suit."
"But eventually," he added, almost absently, "this body will become useless."
Everyone drew in a breath of cold air. The truth hit like a punch to the gut.
But none more than Palace Master Hugh.
His eyes locked onto Mark—his real son—and his expression turned from rage to horror.
"W-What happens to Mark," he asked quietly, voice trembling, "when you're done with the body? When you… leave?"
Mark tilted his head.
"He'll return," he said simply. "But not for long."
He smiled again.
"Without my powers, his body won't survive the remnants of infernal energy left behind. His organs will rupture. His soul will burn. He'll die in seconds."
"YOU—"
Palace Master Hugh staggered back a step, his face ashen.
"Return him to me now!" he shouted, voice breaking.
"Give me back my son!"
His words cracked through the hall like thunder.
Mark slowly turned his head, an expression of growing irritation spreading across his face.
"Man," he muttered. "You're annoying."
Then—
Snap!
There was no warning.
No sound.
No light.
Palace Master Hugh's body simply crumbled.
Into dust.
He disintegrated in front of everyone—his robes, his flesh, his bones—turned to ash in an instant and scattered to the ground like sand in the wind.
