The translucent void screamed without sound.
Ashura and Dracius Endeavor collided again—this time without restraint, without courtesy. Their movements surpassed light, surpassed causality itself. The void no longer registered motion; space folded preemptively, trying to guess where they would be next.
A strike from Kuroha passed through three layers of dimension before Dracius reacted. He twisted—not his body, but the concept of his position—and the blade shaved past him, carving a silent crescent through the rift itself. That crescent didn't fade. It remained, a permanent scar etched into existence.
Dracius countered with a palm thrust layered with higher-dimensional compression. Entire axes of space collapsed inward, attempting to crush Ashura between realities.
Ashura stepped through it.
Not dodging.
Not resisting.
Simply walking, as if those collapsing dimensions were suggestions, not laws.
The pressure of their clash rippled outward. The city below—inhabited by high-dimensional beings—shuddered as its foundational equations recalibrated to survive. Towers bent. Time stuttered. Several observers fell to one knee, not from fear, but from instinct. Their minds understood before their bodies did.
This was no longer a spar.
Dracius skidded back across the void, boots grinding against nothingness, breath heavier than before. For the first time, his composure cracked—not in panic, but in realization.
"…Enough," he said, raising a hand. "Eternal One—Ashura—stop holding back."
Ashura halted mid-step.
The black light around him dimmed slightly, like a star drawing in its corona. He tilted his head, amused—not mockingly, but genuinely.
"You feel it now," Ashura said calmly. "The distance between us."
Dracius straightened, chest rising and falling. "If you continue like this, I learn nothing. If I am to kneel, I wish to understand why."
Ashura smiled.
"I will not use my full power on you, Dracius," he said softly. "If I did, you would cease to exist—not die, not be erased—cease. Your realm would follow."
The void itself seemed to tense.
"Instead," Ashura continued, "I will use two percent of my true strength."
Dracius' pupils contracted.
Ashura raised one hand.
"First Seal—Release."
The words were not loud. They did not echo.
They occurred.
Black Light erupted.
Not expanding—asserting.
The entire dimensional rift was instantly submerged in a boundless sea of black radiance. Not darkness—authority. Pressure descended like a cosmic verdict. Space thickened. Time slowed to a crawl. Higher-dimensional beings across the city froze mid-thought.
Dracius' knees buckled.
He gasped—not because air was gone, but because existence itself had weight now. Each breath felt like lifting a universe. His vision blurred. Looking at Ashura was like staring into a singularity that judged him back.
This…
This was two percent.
Ashura stood at the center of it all, unmoved, unimpressed—observing.
Then—
The pressure vanished.
Instantly.
The black light folded back into Ashura as if it had never been released.
Dracius fell to one knee, one hand braced against the void, breathing hard. Silence returned—not peaceful, but stunned.
Ashura stepped forward and extended a hand—not to help, but as acknowledgment.
"Dracius," he said, voice calm, even warm, "I am impressed. You amused me."
Dracius looked up, eyes steady despite the exhaustion. He understood now. Completely.
"I will spare your life," Ashura continued. "And I want you—and this rift—under my command."
There was no hesitation.
Dracius rose just enough to kneel properly, head lowered.
"We promise," he said, voice carrying across dimensions. "And we vow to serve the Monarch—no—the Sovereign of Black Light."
Behind him, across the city and castle, thousands of high-dimensional beings followed suit, bowing in perfect unison—not out of fear, but clarity.
Ashura smiled once.
"Good."
Earth 10 — Two Years Later
Time flowed differently beyond the rifts.
While Ashura reshaped realms and bent dimensions, two full years passed on Earth 10.
The world changed.
Luciferus Deynar Bellet stood unsteadily in the courtyard of Ashura's estate, fists clenched, eyes glowing faint crimson. At five years old, he was already too still for a child—watchful, focused.
Nearby, Serenity Deynar Bellet laughed softly, silver hair swaying as she toddled after a floating leaf that refused to fall. One crimson eye. One blue. Both far too aware.
They walked.
They spoke.
They listened.
Lysera watched them from the veranda, power coiled quietly beneath her calm expression. She had grown stronger—far stronger. Earth itself seemed to accept her now, as if recognizing her as one of its pillars.
Then—
The sky split.
Not everywhere.
Not all at once.
But enough.
Portals began to open.
Unlike dungeons—those were Earth 10's own phenomena, bound by its laws, rooted in its soil—portals were foreign. Tears in reality leading elsewhere.
Some led to distant universes.
Some to fractured realms.
Some to dimensional rifts.
Monsters poured through.
Awakened humans moved to intercept them, instincts burning, powers surging. Governments mobilized. Guilds rallied. Humanity stood at the edge of a new era—one far harsher, far grander than before.
And somewhere beyond time and space—
Ashura opened his eyes.
A faint smile crossed his face.
"The stage is set," he murmured.
Far away, in the Palace of Twelve Shadows, the black light pulsed once—anticipatory.
And Earth 10 braced itself.
The age of balance was ending.
The age of ascension had begun.