---
title: "Chapter 1253: A World Ending Attack"
slug: "ch-1260"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 1260
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1022
createdAt: "2026-04-15"
---

His gaze swept across the hundreds of Divine Rank experts. None dared to meet his eyes. The leaders of the Four God Nation, the commanders of the Seven Overlord Forces, and dozens of other peak experts all stood frozen with beads of sweat trailing down their temples.

Mark’s voice thundered across the sea.

"Who unsealed my soul?"

The words struck like a hammer against their hearts. The air trembled under the force. Many leaders felt their knees weaken. Not one dared to respond. They all knew the truth—they were preparing to kill Mark by using his greatest weakness, one he didn’t realize existed. Even a slight slip could reveal their intentions.

So silence prevailed.

Mark’s eyes narrowed dangerously at the wall of silence. The ocean itself churned violently beneath him in response to his irritation.

None of the leaders spoke.

None dared to breathe too loudly.

They needed to protect the secret at all costs—for if Mark learned that unsealing his soul would make him vulnerable, everything they planned would fall apart.

And right in the midst of that suffocating tension, two figures stepped out of a portal behind them.

Max and Lucien.

Max came out smiling as though greeting an old acquaintance rather than confronting a calamity. Lucien’s expression was steady and unreadable, yet the air around him radiated quiet defiance.

Max stepped forward, his calm voice carrying across the fear-filled silence.

"Why don’t you ask me directly, Mark?"

Every leader’s heart stopped for a moment.

The moment Mark’s eyes locked onto Max, the atmosphere shifted. The ocean froze. The clouds tightened. Even the wind seemed to hold itself still. His stare carried an authority that pressed against the soul itself.

"You two..." Mark’s voice dropped to a low rumble, sharp enough to pierce the silence. His brows tightened slightly as he studied Max and Lucien. "I sensed my soul approaching unsealment, and then it suddenly stopped. What did you do?"

Max smiled with a relaxed confidence that irritated Mark instantly. "What do you think?"

That answer was enough to ignite a spark of danger in Mark’s eyes.

"Do not play with me, Max," he said coldly. "It might cost you a limb or two."

"Is that so?" Max raised his brow and crooked his finger in a taunting motion. "Then come. Let’s have a little spar."

Lucien remained silent at Max’s side, but the faint shift in his posture showed he was ready for anything.

Mark’s sneer darkened. "If you want to die, I can certainly help you."

He lifted a single finger.

That tiny flick was all it took to change the world.

The sky above the Lower Domain turned black within seconds. Not the darkness of night, but a suffocating, oppressive red-black shadow that swallowed the horizon. Red lightning lanced through the clouds, tearing across the sky in chaotic zigzags. The air burned with the taste of metal and destruction.

Then the clouds parted.

And something descended through them.

A hand.

A red hand.

But calling it a hand was an insult to its true scale. It was a colossal manifestation of Mark’s power, an energy-formed limb of divine destruction so enormous that it blotted out the entire heavens above the Lower Domain.

Its size dwarfed everything.

It dwarfed the mountains, the oceans, the clouds.

It dwarfed the Lost Continent itself.

The continent below them, once revered and feared for its curse, suddenly seemed no larger than a stone under the shadow of that hand. The hand kept growing as it pushed downward, its edges stretching beyond the curvature of the world visible to the naked eye.

It was like witnessing a god reach down from the heavens to crush an entire region.

Its descent created tidal waves in the ocean. The sky warped. The pressure alone caused cracks of red lightning to erupt across every direction. Even the Divine Rank experts felt their bones shudder under the weight of it.

Every leader’s face drained of color instantly.

Despair tore through the gathered forces like wildfire. Even those who were fearless on the battlefield felt terror wrap around their throats as the hand descended.

Alexander Draconis felt his pupils contract sharply. "Max is in trouble," he muttered. "A direct hit from that... it’s beyond Divine Rank. It’s on a level none of us have ever seen."

Victor Whiteclaw’s voice trembled despite his attempt to stay composed. "This attack is not for show. It could kill any one of us outright. Even surviving it by a miracle would mean permanent damage."

Damian Xuan’s face was grim, his usually calm demeanor shattered under the sight above them. "Open your eyes. The hand is still expanding. If it falls completely, it won’t only kill Max. Its impact will reach the entirety of the shoreline. I estimate less than a handful of us could survive it. And that’s only if we run at full strength right now."

The other leaders didn’t bother to speak. Their fear was visible. Their auras trembled. Some gripped their weapons. Others clenched their fists until veins bulged.

Only Aden, the Phoenix God Nation’s leader, kept his eyes on Max instead of the world-ending catastrophe descending from the sky. While every other Divine Rank expert froze in hopeless fear, Aden focused on Max’s expression alone.

There was no panic.

There was no tension.

There was not even the slightest flicker of worry.

Max stood calmly, his gaze fixed on the colossal red hand that dwarfed the Lost Continent. His expression carried the kind of stillness that belonged only to those who had crossed the threshold between mortal and impossibly strong. That serene focus told Aden more than any display of power ever could.

"His strength..." Aden’s heart thundered as the realization hit him hard. "Could it be...?"

Max was no longer the same genius who left the Middle Domain three months ago.

He was something else entirely.

The sky trembled with the descent of Mark’s hand. Storms twisted around it. Red lightning cracked open the heavens. The pressure made weaker geniuses collapse to their knees, gasping for air.

Max finally moved.

It was a simple motion—unhurried, clean, controlled.