The storm within him raged. Power surged through Vael's veins like molten fire, raw and untamed. And in an instant—faster than light itself—he struck.
One of the gods never saw it coming.
His form blurred, crossing the battlefield in less than a heartbeat. The divine being, wreathed in golden radiance, stood tall, unchallenged, unprepared. And then, in a moment of sheer impossibility, Vael raised his hand—and with a single motion, space and time itself split apart.
A wave of unseen force, sharper than any blade, tore through reality, cutting through celestial armor and divine flesh alike. The god never even had a chance to react. In an instant, its form was cleaved, its radiance flickering before vanishing entirely. But even that was not enough. The very essence of its being unraveled, erased from existence itself. No remnants, no traces, no memory of its birth or its reign. It was as if the god had never been. The heavens themselves seemed to shudder in the wake of his strike, as reality struggled to comprehend the absence of what once was. The god was not just killed—he was erased, struck down by a mortal.
For the first time, a god bled—at the hands of a mortal, a mere human who had defied the impossible.
The second deity faltered, its divine eyes widening in disbelief. It had never conceived the possibility of one of its own falling—let alone to a human. Confusion twisted its features before its stance shifted, its guard rising, wariness seeping into its once-unshakable presence. For a fraction of a second, there was hesitation—uncertainty. But only for a second.
Then, the god spoke.
"I see now… You are no mere mortal," its voice resonated, deep and steady, devoid of mockery or disdain. "To not just kill, but to erase a god from existence itself… You have shattered the very order of reality."
Its gaze bore into Vael, not with contempt, but with recognition—acknowledgment of an equal, of a force capable of opposing the divine. The weight of its words pressed upon the air, but Vael did not waver.
"And yet, you still stand," Vael replied, his voice unwavering, charged with the same power that had felled the first god. "Will you fall as well? Or will you run?"
A silence stretched between them, crackling with the remnants of the battle's fury. Then, slowly, the god's stance shifted once more—not in fear, but in preparation. It would not underestimate him. Not now.
"I do not run," the deity answered. "But neither do I fight blindly. You have changed everything, mortal. Now, let us see what you truly are."
Vael's eyes remained locked onto the god, his breath steady despite the overwhelming force lingering in the air. "Why were you fighting? What was this battle for?"
The deity studied him for a moment before answering, its voice neither dismissive nor defensive. "It was a test—a contest of strength, nothing more. We have fought countless times before, refining our power, challenging the limits of our existence. And yet, never have we faced a force like yours."
Vael's fists clenched. "You mean to tell me that this destruction, this chaos… was nothing but a spar? That you shattered the world beneath you for sport?"
The god's expression did not change, but there was something beneath its gaze—an understanding of the fury behind Vael's words. "We did not see it as destruction. Mortals perish, civilizations crumble, but to us, it is no different than the shifting of the wind or the turning of the stars. The world recovers. The balance remains. Their lives are fleeting, insignificant in the grand scheme—like a man stepping upon a mere insect, unaware or unbothered by its end. But now, you stand before me—one who has undone not just a life, but an existence itself."
Vael's breath was steady, but his eyes burned with fury.
"Is that what you truly believe?" he asked.
The god remained silent.
"That mortals are nothing more than insects beneath your feet?" Vael continued.
Still, the deity did not respond.
"That their suffering, their pain, their very existence means nothing to you?" His voice was laced with venom.
The god finally spoke. "It is not a matter of belief. It is simply what is."
Vael's fists clenched. "Then tell me... was my mother's death as meaningless as a crushed bug?"
The god's gaze did not waver.
"Were the lives of countless people erased in your battles just a passing breeze to you?"
Vael took a step forward, his voice cold and unyielding. "If that is how you see us, then know this—I will not feel regret, nor sorrow, nor hesitation in ending you. Just as you see mortals as nothing, I will see you as nothing more than an obstacle to be erased."
The air between them grew heavy, charged with an intensity that crackled like a coming storm.
Then, as if in silent agreement, both Vael and the god shifted their stances—each one poised, neither making the first move. Their eyes locked, watching, waiting. Every breath, every twitch of muscle, every flicker of energy was analyzed in an instant. No reckless attacks. No wasted movements.
The battle had not yet begun, but it had already reached its most dangerous moment—the calm before the storm.
Then, as if a silent signal had been given, they moved.
The god struck first, raising a hand, and from the empty air, an impossible force erupted—blades of pure energy, warping and twisting through reality itself. They split the space around them, carving through the battlefield like celestial scythes meant to erase all in their path.
Vael weaved through them, his movements fluid and precise. He twisted, ducked, and leaped, each step perfectly timed to evade the deadly onslaught. The god's attacks were more than just force—they defied logic, appearing where they should not, bending in ways that should have been impossible. And yet, Vael slipped through them, untouched.
Then, with a flick of its wrist, the god unleashed another attack—a ripple through existence itself. The world around them distorted, space folding in upon itself as gravity twisted into chaos. Vael barely managed to break free, pushing through the warped battlefield with sheer will. His foot slammed into the earth, stabilizing himself just in time to avoid a cascading burst of divine fire that consumed everything in its path.
Then, the god spoke its name. A name that had shaped reality itself, a name that carried the weight of countless battles—'I am the God of Swords'—and as it did, the very fabric of reality shuddered. The moment the words left its lips, the limiters placed upon its power shattered. No longer bound, no longer restrained—now, they had to fight with everything they had. A duel where death was not just the price, but the rule. To hesitate was to fall, and to fall was to face erasure itself.
Vael struggled—