Asmon stood amid the ruins, his wings folding slightly as he surveyed the battlefield. Mountains were reduced to rubble, oceans churned into clouds of steam, and continents seemed to have cracked and shifted.
Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face. To him, this level of destruction was nothing more than background noise—a routine occurrence in the life of a being who had shaped entire realities.
The gods who called themselves the highest were also his creations. He had only given them a false sense of power—yet in reality, he could snap his fingers and destroy them all.
Even Reign, whose power far exceeded that of Asmon's creations, registered as little more than a minor inconvenience—a bug, an irregular that could just as easily be deleted.
"Do you understand what you are standing against?" his voice was calm, low, and unshakable. "I do not measure power the way mortals or even gods do. You… are curious. Interesting. But ultimately irrelevant."
