A tall figure shrouded in darkness laughed, his face lost in shadow, his body more smoke than flesh.
"Look who we have here… Fariel. And alone, no less."
Another god spoke, his voice mocking. His body was humanoid, but scales of deep blue covered him, three horns crowning his head.
"Seems the task was too much for the God of Eternity. Perhaps Seythar was right after all."
Fariel's reply was sharp, dismissive.
"I have no time for your prattle. I must speak with Fate."
Seythar, silent until now, lowered his gaze. His arms folded, eyes shut, but his presence pressed like a storm.
"Fariel… six gods sent, and yet you return empty-handed. One deity escaped your grasp. Do you understand what this means? The underlings will question the council's strength. Authority cracks not in an instant, but in whispers. That is how empires die."
Fariel scoffed, refusing to bow his pride.
"I owe you no explanation. A minor flaw, nothing more. Stay off my back."
The shadowed figure's voice cut through the air like a whip.
"Fariel! Watch your tongue. Council seat or not, respect those above you."
Fariel's face twisted with rage—then smoothed into a smile.
"…My apologies. I spoke out of line."
Seythar's voice, low but commanding, silenced the room.
"Enough, Erebus. Leave him be."
He turned to Fariel, eyes narrowing like blades.
"Tell me, Fariel… what is this I hear about my son?"
Fariel's smile widened into cruelty. This was what he had been waiting for.
"Your son stood against us. He shielded the fugitive. And for his betrayal—he forfeited his life."
Erebus rose instantly, fury burning in his voice.
"How dare you! You failed against a single deity, and then struck down the one you had no right to touch. For this, I will—"
A single gesture from Seythar silenced him. Nexus pressure crushed the room, unyielding.
"That is enough."
"But—"
"I said… enough."
The words reverberated like thunder. Even gods bowed under his will.
Seythar's gaze turned cold, empty of all emotion.
"If my son fought against justice, then he deserved his end. Thank you, Fariel, for correcting my failure."
Without another word, he turned and left. The other gods followed in silence.
Fariel's veins pulsed with fury, his composure cracking once the doors shut. His breath hissed through clenched teeth.
Sadean entered quietly.
"Fariel. How did it go?"
Fariel spun on him, seething.
"Does this look like victory to you? That monster… he doesn't even care for his own son. To strip him of power and position will not be so simple. Seythar, God of Chaos… I will tear down everything you hold dear."
Devon, facing the creature, removed both his gloves as he built up his god-level Nexus in his hands. A symbolic pattern appeared on them, looking like a complex magic circle.
He summoned his weapon — a one-handed sword that glowed with a blue light. The hilt was shaped like a wolf's head, and he gripped it with vigor. But that wasn't the unusual thing about this sword.
The weapon in his hand was called Necrofell, a blade forged through endless battles. It grew stronger with every enemy slain. Once, it belonged to the God of War. Before he ascended, that god had been a lowly mortal obsessed with death. The fragility of the human body fascinated him, and he killed and killed, carving a bloody path until he reached godhood. He became known as the God of War.
Devon had taken the sword from his desecrated grave. It was said that only one whose heart could bear the grief of the millions slain by the blade could wield it. Devon was one of the few.
In the next moment, Devon vanished from his spot, contracting space and accelerating the time within his own body. His movements appeared impossibly fast, beyond what mortal eyes—or even lesser gods—could follow. He reappeared in flashes, striking the giant's armor again and again. Sparks flew as deep slashes carved into the brass plates. With one decisive strike, he severed the giant's arm clean off. The sword it had been holding crashed to the ground with an earth-shaking thud.
And yet, something was wrong. Devon noticed that, despite his impossible speed, the giant's dead, glowing eyes followed his every move. It wasn't reacting, but it knew exactly where he would appear next.
A sense of unease crawled over him.
Suddenly, the giant dropped its shield. Then, with a rumble, its massive frame shrank, contracting until it stood at the same size as Devon.
Devon's eyes widened in awe. He hadn't believed it possible, but there it was. The giant's reduced form still carried the same sword and shield — Law and Order.
Devon vanished again, reappearing at the creature's blind spot. He aimed Necrofell for its uncovered eyes. But the giant blocked the strike with its blade, the tip of Necrofell stopping mere centimeters from its target. Even so, the giant staggered back under the sheer force of Devon's attack.
Devon blurred once more, moving faster, almost as if the fight itself was accelerating his body. His strikes cracked the giant's armor, driving it back. At first, the creature struggled, blocking sloppily, but then its defense sharpened. Its blade began to meet his with precision, turning away blows that should have cleaved through gods.
Devon halted, stepping back. His eyes narrowed. He had it figured out. This next move would confirm his suspicion.
"So you're just going to defend this whole time?" Devon said coldly.
The giant disappeared from sight.
Clang!
The clash of blades rang out, and Devon was hurled backward, his hand broken. The bones snapped back into place in an instant, healed by his godly body.
"I see…" Devon muttered, his voice low. "You can adapt, can't you? As long as you're not killed instantly, you adjust. When I cut off your arm, you changed your size to fight better. When I pressed harder, you adapted to my speed and strength. No matter how powerful the attack, you adjust until you can counter it. And when you strike back… you grow even faster, even stronger than your opponent."
His expression hardened. "Anyone else would have already lost against you in a drawn-out fight. But me? I'll end you."
Devon's eyes flared crimson. His coat burned away to ashes, revealing his toned, muscular frame beneath. The fitted cloth he wore clung tightly, highlighting his body as his aura roared to life.
"Let me show you the true power of a god."
Gripping Necrofell tighter, Devon sliced his own hand, pouring blood along the blade's edge.
The sword shrieked — a high, piercing cry that tore through the void itself. The sound was so dreadful that even the giant staggered, forced to one knee before Devon.