MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

A faint smile touched Anthony's lips as he saw that what he had attempted had worked flawlessly. The Anthony of the past would hardly have gone so far, for the man he once was had no reason to meddle with the natural order. Why, after all, should he have gone out of his way to bring the dead back to life?

Besides, once word spread that someone possessed the ability to call back souls from beyond, the fragile threads of daily life would inevitably be torn apart. Everyone, powerful, rich, old, young, would hunt him down, begging, demanding, even forcing him to return their loved ones. Such an ability would uproot the balance of the world itself.

But Anthony had no reason to hide what he had just done. He had ascended to a realm of strength where the weight of people's demands no longer chained him. He had the power to reject whoever he wished, the will to turn away any request without consequence. If he chose to help, it would be of his own accord, and if he chose otherwise, no one could compel him.

Across the Abandoned Desert of Ruins, those who had survived from the very beginning bore witness. Their eyes, wide with disbelief, refused to blink as they stared at the scene before them.

They couldn't understand.

They couldn't believe.

They dared not believe.

It was one thing to wield seemingly infinite mana, to halt and reverse the flow of time for an entire world. That feat alone was already enough to crown him a legend above all legends. But to bring back the dead, not one or two, not a handful or a scattered company, but millions of soldiers, was something beyond myth.

The former could be compared to a candle's flame in the dark, extraordinary yet finite. But the latter? It was a blazing sun, impossible to behold without being blinded by its brilliance. The difference was staggering, immeasurable, a gulf no words could bridge.

Such power they dared not imagine. Such power they dared not hope could exist.

This was fallacy.

This was taboo.

This was against the heavens themselves.

And yet, in this moment, did any of them care? Obviously not. None of them had the heart, or the audacity, to protest. To them, Anthony was no different from a god as he floated gently above the sands, his white hair swaying like threads of silk in the desert wind.

His eyes, a piercing blue, gleamed as they scanned the resurrected multitudes below. He was light and judgment, savior and sovereign, all at once.

Their hearts pounded violently within their chests, drums of flesh and blood hammered by adrenaline and awe. The soldiers trembled, their voices cracked, yet the frenzy in their eyes spoke louder than any words.

Far away, StreamGhost, who had prematurely cut off his livestream after assuming Anthony was finished with his miracles, scrambled to turn it back on the instant Anthony began reconstructing new bodies for the fallen millions. His hands shook as he fumbled at his device, nearly cursing his earlier impatience.

He would not, could not, miss this. To lose such footage was to forfeit not only millions in hard cash but also billions in views.

The world froze in shock once again as Anthony performed his second miracle before their very eyes.

The live chat erupted, the gift section flooding with extravagant offerings from awestruck viewers around the globe. People did not care if they emptied their wallets in gifts, if poverty awaited them tomorrow. In this moment, their minds were too clouded, too intoxicated by emotion.

{AuraNova has gifted a Massage Chair}

{Aaaninja has gifted a Luxury Car}

{Lolphh has gifted a Luxury Car}

{KingNull has gifted a Dragon}

Anthony turned his head, his gaze shifting toward the soldiers of the Abandoned Desert of Ruins behind him. They screamed his name with broken voices, their throats raw and vocal cords nearly torn, yet they did not stop. The very sands beneath their feet trembled under the weight of their cries.

Anthony would not lie, he enjoyed this life. He savored the acknowledgment, the worship. But do not mistake him for an attention seeker; adoration was not his goal. He was far beyond such shallow hungers.

With a simple motion, he raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

In that instant, the resurrected soldiers gasped as waves of memories surged into their minds. Anthony wove recollections into them seamlessly, memories of everything they had missed since their deaths. They saw the rise of the Hands, the dreadful summoning of Lilithra, her demise, the descent of the Demon King, his annihilation, the reversal of time itself, and now their resurrection.

Every moment was stitched into their minds with flawless precision.

And then, with a faint smile, Anthony vanished from where he floated.

Like ants swarming to spilled sugar, the soldiers rushed to the resurrected, weeping, laughing, embracing. Comrades reunited, brothers and sisters in arms reclaimed from the void of death.

This time, Anthony appeared high above the sky. With another snap of his fingers, clones of himself burst into existence, filling the sky in the tens. They scattered instantly, streaks of light darting across the world toward distant Domains and hidden strongholds of the Forsaken Cult.

Each clone repeated what the original had done. Wherever they arrived, they too raised the dead, mercenaries who had perished in battle, adventurers who had fallen in the chaos, civilians buried under rubble when houses collapsed during the earthquakes and shockwaves. Children, elders, men and women alike, all who had been lost to stampeds were returned.

Every race, every kind, Human, Demi-Human, Dwarf, Elf, Vampire, Dragon, Titan, Fairy, none were ignored. Anthony made sure the world suffered no permanent loss for today.

And since each clone carried the fullness of his strength, including the terrifying Authority of Information and the Authority of Severance, not a single mishap occurred.

The world rejoiced. Social networks exploded. Words of thanks flooded every corner of the internet, gratitude overflowing as they realized Anthony had not only saved soldiers and warriors but also remembered the ordinary, the forgotten, the powerless, the voiceless.

When it was done, Anthony canceled the ability, his clones dissolved into nothingness.

And then, he vanished and reappeared.

Before him stood a woman of ethereal beauty, her form slender yet calm. Her long hair, a cascade of purple silk, glittered under the sun like a nebula scattered across the cosmos. Her eyes, the same purple hue, shone with unfathomable depth, as though galaxies swirled within them.

Vega.