The cosmos trembled. Reality itself twisted and howled in protest as the battle between mortals and God's escalated beyond comprehension. Entire galaxies were unmade in the wake of their clashes, their luminous cores reduced to cosmic dust, drifting through the abyss like the remnants of forgotten civilizations.
Knox hovered in the void, his body wreathed in surging energy, his blank eyes locked onto enemies. Vaelith, Draeven, and Zerath stood before him, their power forming an overwhelming wall of destruction. But Knox no longer felt fear. No longer felt hesitation.
He clenched his fists. This ends now.
Vaelith struck first, a spear of condensed reality forming in his hand, spiraling with the weight of existence itself. He lunged forward, thrusting it toward Knox's heart with enough force to collapse a star.
Knox dodged. Not teleported. Not blurred. He moved. His speed now surpassed the very concept of perception, allowing him to sidestep the attack as if it were a sluggish breeze. The spear hurtled past, carving a hole through a distant nebula before detonating in an explosion that shattered the very fabric of space.
Draeven followed next, his eyes burning with unfathomable power. He raised a single hand, and the void froze. The entire battlefield ceased to exist for a fraction of a second—a moment stolen from time itself—before Draeven unleashed an all-consuming force meant to erase Knox from existence.
But Knox did not yield. He pushed against the erasure, his very presence resisting annihilation. His form flickered—disappearing and reappearing—as if refusing to be bound by time's dominion.
And then came Zerath.
His fists ignited with primordial devastation as he descended like an extinction-level event. Every punch struck with the force of collapsing realities, each blow threatening to obliterate Knox down to his very essence.
But Knox endured.
He parried one strike, then another, his movements now perfect, refined, controlled. No wasted effort. No unnecessary motion. He countered with his own attacks, each one carrying the weight of his newfound strength.
For the first time since battle began—Zerath was being pushed back.
Across the infinite expanse, Seraph and Iskander's battle raged like a war between gods of creation and destruction. Light and darkness clashed, intertwining in a celestial dance that dictated the fate of the cosmos.
Iskander's shadowy form twisted and expanded, blotting out entire solar systems with his mere presence. His attacks were relentless—blades of pure abyss, tendrils of nothingness, implosions that devoured time itself.
Yet Seraph met him blow for blow.
Her radiant wings burned with divinity, their golden eyes surveying the battlefield with an omniscience that made prediction effortless. She weaved through his onslaught with a grace that defied physics, countering with beams of incandescent light that reduced entire dimensions to ash.
She was winning.
Iskander snarled as Seraph struck him directly, her light searing through his very essence. His massive form recoiled, his control slipping.
Seraph's blindfold flared.
"You cannot escape judgment," she whispered.
And she attacked once more.
Knox exhaled slowly. His vision locked onto Zerath, the final piece that needed to fall.
Zerath, despite his power, looked at him with something dangerously close to apprehension. Knox saw it—the subtle shift in his posture, the microsecond of hesitation.
For the first time, Zerath was unsure.
Knox's entire body pulsed with unrestrained power. His blank eyes gleamed—two burning stars collapsing into themselves—before twin beams of destruction erupted, carving through existence.
The moment stretched, infinite and fleeting, as the beams erupted from Knox's eyes.
They did not burn.
They erased.
Zerath barely had time to react before the energy struck him. His body convulsed, his form unraveling at a molecular level. His very existence was being unmade.
He roared, struggling against the inevitable, but it was useless. The energy consumed him, tearing through his flesh, his bones, his very soul.
Knox did not stop.
The beams intensified.
Zerath's screams echoed across the void—before he was no more.
Nothing remained. Not ash. Not dust. Not even a memory.
Zerath was gone.
Forever.
The universe trembled. A shift occurred—something ancient and fundamental fractured.
Vaelith and Draeven staggered back.
Across the battlefield, Iskander faltered, his form flickering as though sensing the imbalance.
And Nyxara... she simply stared.
Her expression remained unreadable, but her eyes narrowed. Something was off.
Knox's gaze dropped, his blank eyes piercing the void with an eerie stillness. He could feel it—a shift beyond the chaos, a ripple in the fabric of existence itself.
Something had changed.
And this war was nowhere near its end.