Knox wiped the sweat from his forehead, his entire body screaming in protest. His muscles ached, his bones felt like they were grinding together, but still—he stood. The gravity passed down like an unrelenting force, turning every movement into a battle against his own limits.
Seraph was in a similar state, her wings trembling under the added weight. She had collapsed more times than she could count, but she always got back up, refusing to let Knox have the satisfaction of outlasting her.
Knox exhaled sharply. "We're not moving fast enough."
Seraph shot him a glare. "We're fighting under a hundred times gravity, Knox. What do you expect?"
Knox smirked slightly. "For us to adapt."
Seraph huffed, rolling her shoulders. "You say that like it's easy."
"It's not. But we don't have a choice." Knox clenched his fists. "If we don't push past this, we'll never be strong enough."
Seraph eyed him. There was something different about him now, something heavier than just the gravity itself. His usual confidence was still there, but underneath it—something else.
"Are you still thinking about earlier?" she asked.
Knox didn't answer immediately. He flexed his fingers, staring at his hand. "She made my power disappear. Just like that."
Seraph didn't have to ask who he meant. That woman—whoever she was—had nearly killed them. And Knox, who had always been so untouchable, had been helpless in that moment.
Seraph exhaled. "And what? You think breaking your body over and over again is the answer?"
Knox's jaw tightened. "What else is there?"
Silence stretched between them.
Then, Seraph smirked. "Then stop talking and prove it."
Knox turned to her just as she launched forward. He barely had time to react before she was in his face, her fist rocketing toward his ribs. He twisted, barely dodging, but she was already following up with a knee aimed at his gut.
He caught it just in time, but the force sent him sliding backward.
Seraph grinned. "You're slowing down."
Knox let out a short breath. "Then I'll speed up."
They clashed again, their strikes slow but precise, the weight pressing down on them with every movement.
Knox ducked under a punch and drove his elbow into Seraph's side, making her wince. She retaliated with a wing strike, the unexpected movement catching Knox off guard and sending him stumbling.
"Cheap," he muttered, shaking off the pain.
Seraph smirked. "Effective."
They kept going, no longer bothering to talk. Every strike, every movement was a battle against exhaustion. They weren't fighting each other anymore—they were fighting their own limits.
Knox's breathing was heavy, but he refused to stop. His entire body screamed at him to collapse, but he wouldn't. He couldn't
Seraph was the same. Every part of her body felt like it was about to break, but she wouldn't give in either.
This was what it meant to push past limits.
This was what it meant to grow.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Seraph collapsed onto her back, panting. "Okay... I'm calling it."
Knox fell onto his knees, his hands resting on his thighs as he tried to steady his breathing.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
Then, Knox chuckled. "We're insane."
Seraph let out a breathless laugh. "You just figured that out?"
Knox smirked, staring up at the ceiling. His entire body felt broken, but for the first time since returning—he felt like he was moving forward.
And that was enough.
For now.
Elsewhere
Beyond the grasp of ordinary men, within the heat of a domain untouched by time, a manor of impossible grandeur stood beneath a sky that pulsed with shifting constellations. Its architecture defied mortal limitations—black marble veined with gold, arching towers that shimmered like liquid obsidian, and windows that reflected no light, only the endless void beyond.
Inside, the air was thick with power. The walls seemed alive, whispering secrets in a language long forgotten, and the very floor pulsed beneath their feet, humming with energy beyond comprehension.
Seated around a circular onyx table, five figures loomed like gods among mortals.
At the head sat Nyxara Veyne, a woman whose mere presence seemed to command the fabric of reality itself. Her skin was a deep violet hue, a mark of her celestial lineage, and her eyes were bottomless voids, galaxies swirling in their depths. Long silver hair cascaded down her back, strands shifting like living stardust. She exuded an eerie calm—the kind that came before the destruction of worlds.
To her right sat Vaelith Solvair, a specter of cold calculation. His features were sharp and regal, his skin as pale as the moon, his silver armor seamlessly woven into his flesh. His presence froze the very air, the chill creeping into the bones of those around him. In his hand, he absentmindedly toyed with a small sphere of condensed starlight—a sun crushed to the size of a pebble.
Beside him, Zerath Kael'Vorne leaned back lazily, his emerald cloak draped over his broad shoulders. He was a creature of raw physicality, his muscles corded with energy that crackled along his arms like barely contained lightning. His hair was midnight black streaked with pulsating green veins of pure power. A smirk played at his lips—the look of a man who found amusement in the suffering of others.
Opposite him sat Draeven Mal'Zorr, a specter cloaked in endless shadow. His form was ever-shifting, tendrils of darkness peeling away from his body, only to be pulled back into the abyss that was his existence. His voice, when he spoke, was layered—a hundred echoes speaking in unison, a sound that could drive lesser beings to madness.
And finally, Iskander Vhalros, the warrior-priest, the executioner of gods. His body was wrapped in silver-gilded armor, his face half-hidden by an ornate mask. His presence was calm, composed, butunshakable—the kind of stillness found in a blade just before the killing stroke.
A silence lingered between them, heavy and absolute, as if the universe itself awaited their words.
Then, Zerath broke it with a scoff, running a hand through his black-and-green streaked hair, amusement curling at the edge of his lips.
"You let them live," he said, voice laced with mockery, "You, of all people, decided mercy was the correct course of action?"
Nyxara remained still, her expression unreadable.
Vaelith, still idly rolling the crushed sun between his fingers, exhaled. "She does nothing without reason." His voice was as cold as the space between galaxies. "But I'm inclined to ask—why? You could have erased them before they even realized what you were. Before they even breathed in the weight of your presence."
Draeven let out a low, grinding chuckle, his shifting form coiling like a living shadow. "She enjoys the struggle. The false hope. It takes the inevitable all the more...entertaining."
Zerath snorted. "A waste of time. I say we rip out their spines and mount their corpses as a warning."
Vaelith hummed in amusement, his celestial eyes gleaming. "You always lacked patience."
Iskander, who had remained silent, finally spoke. His tone was even, indifferent, but it carried weight. "Does it matter?" His golden gaze flickered beneath the mask. "They could break themselves against reality for a thousand lifetimes, and it still wouldn't be enough."
Zerath leaned forward, his smirk widening. "Speaking of which, did you know he's training? That little mortal—Knox—thinks he can improve." He let out a sharp mocking laugh. "He's drowning himself in gravity, breaking his body apart just to put it back together. As if that will make the slightest difference."
Draeven grinned, barring sharp, jagged teeth. "Let him. It won't matter how many times he reforges himself. We've unmade things far stronger."
"How many now?" Vaelith asked idly, tilting his head. "I lost count after the first few trillion."
"Amateur," Zerath shot back. "I stopped keeping track around five billion universes ago."
Draeven rolled his shoulders. "Pathetic. Eighteen trillion, give or take a few quadrillion souls."
Zerath whistled. "Well, look at you. A record-holder."
Vaelith smirked, the dim glow of his miniature sun flickering in the reflection of his pale silver eyes. "You all argue over numbers like children. Does it matter?" He turned his gaze toward Nyxara. "Or do you already know how this ends?"
Nyxara's bottomless eyes shimmered, endless and knowing. She spoke, her voice quiet yet it eclipsed the weight of every conversation before it.
"It was never a question of if they would fail." She tilted her head, strands of silver-stardust hair slipping over her shoulder. "Only when."
The room remained still for a moment longer, then Draeven chuckled, his voice like a collapsing void.
"Then we'll enjoy the show while it lasts."