[???]
The earth quaked with terrifying ferocity, a cataclysm that sent the world into a state of upheaval. Grimm stood firm, his sabatons rooted against the ruined ashen ground, the tremors reverberating through the soles of his feet. The land convulsed with a force far greater than any of the devastation that had come before it—mountains crumbled as if they were nothing more than brittle stacks of stone, fissures split open, devouring all within reach.
The quake was more than a mere aftershock; it was an event of pure annihilation, a tremor so violent it felt as if the Gods of this realm had cast their wrath upon it.
And yet, for all the destruction it wrought, Grimm did not so much as flinch.
("What kind of freaks are responsible for this nonsense?") Grimm scoffed internally, his patience wearing thin. His red hair swayed beneath his helm, though his expression remained unseen behind the shadowed visor. Even so, irritation bled through in his stance, the shift of his gauntleted fingers betraying his growing annoyance. ("Tch. This is quite irksome. At this rate, this planet probably won't last much longer.")
The tremors gradually subsided, the earth heaving one last groan before finally stilling. He turned his attention back to his opponents, a leisure hand resting against his hip, his gauntlets clinking softly against the plated armor that encased his frame.
"M-my, how rude of you to ignore us."
The voice was laced with amusement, dripping with a saccharine playfulness that barely concealed the malice beneath it.
Grimm's attention fully returned to the duo before him. Lilith and Reylthorn. He recalled their names from the moment the contestants had been introduced—siblings bound by the God of Space and Time. Of all the contestants present, they were among the most dangerous, wielding dominion over time and space.
And yet, as he looked at them now, they appeared anything but dangerous.
Lilith stood with a composed smile despite the horrific state of her body. Her entire right arm was missing, severed just below the shoulder, with tattered flesh and bone protruding from the stump. Deep gashes marred her once-pristine dress, her porcelain skin now streaked with red, blood dripping onto the ruined earth below. And yet, her expression was eerily calm, unfazed—as if pain was merely a trivial inconvenience.
Beside her, Reylthorn fared no better. The young boy knelt on the ground, clutching his mangled shoulder, blood soaking through his once-elegant attire. His breath came in ragged, uneven pants, sweat clinging to his forehead. Unlike his sister, he did not wear a smile. Instead, his face was twisted in frustration, his blue eyes narrowed as he glared up at the imposing figure of General Grimm.
The air shifted, before Grimm's eyes, something unnatural began to unfold.
Bone rapidly sprouted from Lilith's stump, growing outward in an eerily smooth motion, followed by veins, sinew, and muscle, weaving themselves together in a disgusting display of regeneration. Flesh formed over the limb, pale and unblemished, and in the next instant, even the sleeve of her dress restored itself—as if the injury had never existed. Reylthorn's body followed suit, the wounds closing up, his torn garments mending themselves in unison.
Grimm's fingers tensed slightly, his mind already analyzing the scene. Regeneration tied to time itself, or an absolute reversal of causality? Either way, they were more trouble than they appeared.
Reylthorn exhaled shakily, his voice low with disbelief. "What... what the hell is with this guy?"
Grimm tilted his head ever so slightly, his gaze unreadable behind the narrow slit of his visor.
"What? Did you expect I'd hold back simply because I'm facing a brat and a woman?" His voice was sharp. "I have fought in countless wars, boy. Women, men, children, geezers—none of it matters. If you come at me with the intention to kill, I shall extend you the same courtesy."
Lilith let out a soft chuckle, tilting her head as she regarded him. "You're quite ruthless, you know? Not very enticing."
"Must we really be talking about stuff like that when this bastard is trying to kill us?" Reylthorn snapped, exasperated as he stole another wary glance at Grimm. ("I just thought he was some nobody. I never even heard of him—yet we can barely even scratched him.")
Lilith's smile deepened, a glint flickering in her eyes.
"Ah… I recall why your name sounded so familiar now." She spoke with the air of someone remembering a long-forgotten story. "Grimm… A general. A Reaper of War." She let the words roll off her tongue, savoring them. "I remember visiting Zephyria once, and oh, how fearful the people were of your name… Even seasoned soldiers quivered at the mere mention of it."
Her smile widened.
"How deliciously fascinating."
Reylthorn shot her a look of pure disbelief. Was she seriously flirting with this maniac right now?
"But," she continued, her voice lilting, "even so, I've also heard whispers of your supposed benevolence toward your troops. That, however, seems rather misplaced, considering you so graciously threw your comrade into an enemy teleportation spell."
Then, in an instant, the amusement drained from her face.
"Still," she murmured, her voice dropping into something low, "I do have to get my get-back, you know?"
She took a single step forward, and the air around her warped.
"I don't really care how much you harmed me," she continued, her tone deceptively soft, "but you hurt Reylthorn. And for that, I'll turn you inside-out."
Grimm exhaled through his nose, unbothered.
"If you're looking to intimidate me, girl, you're failing miserably," he stated flatly. Then, as if her threat was already dismissed from his mind, he shifted gears entirely. "Whoever is directing Galadriel is quite clever."
Lilith and Reylthorn frowned in confusion.
"They divided their forces into smaller groups, forcing us into unpredictable encounters. Then, while one team kept their enemies preoccupied, another led their opponents into a battlefield where they would be at a disadvantage. It's a well-structured tactic." His gauntleted fingers flexed slightly at his side. "That is why I threw that fool into the enemy teleportation spell. They will no doubt leave two or three of their people behind to deal with her, and I have faith that she will eliminate them with ease."
Then, with a casual tilt of his head, he declared:
"As I shall do with you."
Lilith merely smiled.
"How cocky." Her smile widened as an electric thrill coursed through her. The air around her vibrated, her blue eyes flicked to Reylthorn, who, despite his earlier frustration, now shared in her smirk.
Grimm watched in silence, then the moment shattered.
Lilith and Reylthorn, their voices overlapping in a resounding declaration.
"Arcane Ascendance: Astral Sovereignty!"
The world responded immediately.
A colossal pillar of radiant light erupted from the ground beneath them,.
Grimm instinctively planted his feet, his cloak billowing violently behind him as he withstood the overwhelming force emanating from the two figures at the pillar's core.
And then—it happened.
The transformation was not abrupt, nor was it violent—it was a seamless metamorphosis. Lilith's form shifted. Her once-human silhouette became something otherworldly. As the light began to wane, she was unveiled like a Goddess.
Her eyes—larger now, luminous and expressive—glowed with an incandescent blue, the color more vivid than the clearest sky, deeper than the most wide ocean. Her hair fell like starlight, its silk-like strands reflecting an almost bright glow. Resting atop her head was an elaborate headpiece, decorated with gold and inlaid with resplendent light-blue gemstones.
A necklace—no, no doubt a Divine Artifact—rested against her collarbone, its craftsmanship almost unfathomable in its details. Her attire had been wholly rewritten by the transformation. Where once was a dull dress now flowed a gown, threaded with golden accents.
And then, beside her, Reylthorn emerged.
No longer the irritated youth, his form had ascended into something mature. His hair, now long and flowing, fell in waves of immaculate white.
Upon his forehead, a headpiece—a structure of gold, decorated with elaborate engravings and blue crystal embedded at its center. His attire was nothing short of regal, a flowing, layered robe of light-white and off-white fabric billowed behind him, draped over his form. Beneath the robe, an exquisite breastplate-jacket hybrid clung to his form.
And then silence, there was nothing. No movement. No sound.
Lilith blinked.
Her larger, glowing blue eyes narrowed slightly, her smile returning, but this time—it was different.
"Do you wish to know something interesting?" Lilith spoke. "It might not be common knowledge for someone of Vel'ryr who doesn't even worship the Gods properly, but the Gods themselves rarely made use of magic. They govern over concepts, concepts they hold power over. They have no need for magic. Barring of course Octavia."
Grimm remained silent.
"For Inheritors, we use magic to imitate the true power of our Gods," she continued, a smirk playing at her lips. "But among us, there are few who can make use of our Gods' true power."
"!?"
Grimm's body, honed through countless scenes of violence and tempered by a sense of battle, tensed. His instincts—so sharp they bordered on precognition—flared violently as an alien force bled into the air around him. It was not magic. It was something else. Something vast. Something unrecognizable.
His hair, streaked with flecks of ash, lifted ever so slightly as the air seemed to groan beneath
Lilith moved.
A single, gesture—her delicate, glowing fingers raised ever so slightly and the world collapsed upon Grimm.
An invisible force, colossal in its magnitude, slammed into him, the impact was instantaneous.
A soundless boom tore through the area, not an explosion, but an impossible pressure—a crushing force that did not burn, did not slice, did not pierce—it simply consumed, the earth beneath Grimm died in an instant.
Everything within a mile radius simply ceased to exist, compressed into an invisible singularity of pressure before violently detonating outward. Grimm's frame was launched like a meteor, a streak of black and crimson ripping across the landscape at impossible speeds.
The force of his ejection caused the air to scream—a sonic boom of such immense ferocity that entire mountainous formations in the far distance buckled under the pressure, their structures sheared clean in half as though sliced by an invisible hand.
Grimm's flight was not graceful.
His body became a bludgeoning weapon against the land, careening through vast expanses of terrain—
The impact struck an unfathomably large plateau, a natural fortress of stone, it did not stand anymore.
The moment Grimm's body touched its surface, a shockwave erupted outward, turning the massive structure into am avalanche of debris, dust, and stone. The once-proud plateau ceased to exist.
But Grimm did not stop.
His momentum carried him further—miles upon miles, his body carving a scar through the world itself.
Until—
Impact.
Grimm finally met the earth, his body carving a trench that stretched for leagues, a wound in the world.
Despite being flung like a plastic bag in wind, he was unharmed. Grimm exhaled slowly, lying at the bottom of his newly carved ruin, his expression unreadable beneath his helmet.
Silence.
Dust billowed into the sky, a thick, suffocating fog.
Grimm simply laid there.
One hand resting against his chest, the other draped lazily over his armored stomach. His legs were casually crossed, a long, exasperated sigh escaped his lips.
"Well…" He drawled, his voice carrying not a hint of frustration, as though he had merely been tossed onto a particularly inconvenient bed of stones. "My hairs all dirty now. What a pain."
A sudden lash entered his view,.
High above was Reylthorn.
He had not arrived—he had always been there. A correction of perception rather than movement. A mere acknowledgment of his existence from one moment to the next.
The world trembled again, Grimm felt it this time, a pressure. One that did not crush, did not burn, did not wound. It simply demanded his presence elsewhere.
Another force slammed into him.
The earth beneath him shattered violently, imploding under the unfathomable pressure of the invisible force. A new shockwave ripped through the already devastated land, turning the ruined trench into an unrecognizable area. The atmosphere trembled, skyward winds spiraling uncontrollably under the magnitude of the force unleashed.
And Grimm?
He was once again hurled across miles of land, a streak of red and steel streaking across the skies like a comet. This time, he crashed into the remains of a mountain range, his body carving a path of that sent entire peaks crumbling.
For a moment, all was still, the landscape was left unrecognizable. Geological formations had been reduced to mere ruins in mere seconds.
Grimm rose to his feet with the same unbothered ease as a man stretching after an afternoon nap.
The dust settled. The silence returned.
He let out another long exhale, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off an inconvenience rather than the full-force assault of divine beings.
"Alright," he muttered, finally tilting his head upward.
His gaze locked onto Reylthorn, still floating in the sky, Grimm raised a single hand—flexed his fingers.
"You done playing catch with me?"
Reylthorn's expression changed, ever so slightly, his radiant, blue eyes narrowed—just a fraction. And Lilith, now hovering above, let out a soft, mirthful laugh.
"My, my," she mused, tilting her head. "You're quite the stubborn little thing, aren't you?"
"Brat," he muttered, "you could hurl me across the world a hundred more times, and I'd still be standing right here."
He rolled his neck, the audible crack of bones shifting echoing through the vast silence.
"But that means it's my turn now."
Grimm flexed his fingers, his cloak, billowed in the wind. It still loosely hung from his shoulders. Then, in a single motion—he ripped it off.
The heavy fabric tore free, catching the wind, beneath it, his full armored form was laid bare.
But it was his right hand that drew attention, for there—an eerie, hollow resonance thrummed.
It was not magic, it was something much more foreign. A spark began, small, a glimmer of dull light at his palm.
Then—it expanded.
A blade was forged in an instant, forming from nothing—not through fire or through steel.
A sword, one that did not shine—but devoured light.
It was a light grayish-white, its metal faintly tainted by a darker, shifting hue that twisted along its surface. The hilt bore a floral pattern, it was entangled—a twisted bunch of thorns and curling barbs.
He vanished. The moment was so instantaneous, so violent, that even sound itself seemed delayed. One moment, Grimm stood upon the shattered ruin, the next, he was before Reylthorn.
In the air.
There was no transition. No motion to track, only the absence of presence—and then its sudden return. Reylthorn's blue eyes widened. His instincts screamed—too late.
Grimm's sword sang.
A single, brutal slash, it connected. The blade sliced through Reylthorn's chest, carving deep into his radiant form. There was a spray of blood, a jagged gash of blood split across his torso.
Lilith screamed.
"REYLTHORN!"
Her voice was piercing, the sheer anguish in it like a blade of its own.
Her hands, glowing rose and the sky shook. From the palm of her hand, space warped inward, twisting, folding—
A miniature black hole was born, it simply devoured.
The area buckled violently, the air distorted as a spiraling vortex of absolute gravity formed in an instant. Rubble, debris—even light itself—was drawn inward, vanishing into the consuming hole.
And Grimm was caught within it, for the first time—his body shifted, not by his own will. He was being pulled in.
But then he simply snapped his fingers and the black hole ceased to exist. One moment, it was a ravenous singularity, a force beyond even magic itself.
And the next, nothing, Lilith's breath caught.
The area fell silent.
Reylthorn's feet touched the ground, his form still burning, his wound reversing, healing before the eyes of all who bore witness.
Grimm landed leisurely as he spoke.
"You know…" His voice was unhurried. "I have to say—I expected better."
Lilith's hands clenched into fists. "Women won't find you enticing with that kind of talk, you know?"
Grimm tilted his head slightly.
"That little trick of yours… the black hole…" He let the words linger. "Do you even understand what you just did?"
Lilith's frown hardened. "I don't need to understand. It was meant to erase you."
Grimm let out a low chuckle. "Oh? Erase me?"
Then, before they could react, he raised his right hand.
A sharp, crack filled the air—not magic, not energy. The space above his palm distorted, folding inward, spiraling into itself.
A black void emerged.
A true black hole.
Not one made of magic.
Not one conjured by divine power.
A real one.
A singularity—a mass so dense, so compact, that its gravitational pull twisted everything around it. The air was drawn inward, pulled toward the abyss he had summoned. The loose debris, shattered stone, broken remnants—all of it lifted into the air, pulled toward the consuming force. Even the light bent inward, distorting around the edges of the singularity.
Reylthorn and Lilith, instinctively, planted their feet firmly, summoning their power to root themselves in place—the force of the black hole threatening to pull them in.
Lilith's eyes widened, this wasn't just some ordinary power.
"You seem confused," Grimm mused. "Allow me to educate you."
Lilith's hands trembled, her breathing shallow. Reylthorn was much the same, his frown deepening.
"A black hole," Grimm began, "is a region of space where the gravitational pull is so intense that nothing—not even light—can escape it."
His voice was steady, almost as if he were lecturing them in a classroom rather than on a battlefield.
"It is not a spell. It is not an illusion. It is not some vague construct of energy."
He turned his gaze toward Lilith.
"It is science."
Reylthorn gritted his teeth. "What are you playing at?!"
Grimm ignored his frustration.
"To form a black hole, you need an object of immense mass, compressed into an infinitely small space. This creates an event horizon—the boundary beyond which nothing can return."
The space around his summoned black hole continued to collapse inward, the sky above now twisting, bending unnaturally, the clouds contorting as their structure was pulled apart at the atomic level.
Lilith's voice was calm, but apprehension filled her. "You formed this… without magic?"
"Magic?" he echoed, his tone almost offended.
Then, he slowly raised his left hand—and with it, the black hole ceased to exist.
A silence heavier than any sound followed.
Lilith and Reylthorn could only stare.
Then—Grimm spoke again.
"My power is not magic. It is not divine. It is not bound by normal limitations." He slowly turned his gaze toward them, "It is my Draconic Resonance."
Their expressions twisted into confusion.
"My Draconic Resonance is the ability to harmonize with the fundamental forces of the universe itself. I do not wield simple fire, nor ice, nor mere winds." He stated. "I command all elements. Not just those just us mortals recognize—not just fire, water, wind, and stone. But the elements that shape reality itself."
Reylthorn and Lilith braced themselves, their power flaring violently, their feet digging into the shattered ground.
"And do you want to know how? By commanding the very fabric that shapes this universe."