Chapter Three
The infinite arena held its breath.
The words had been spoken. The challenge had been accepted.
Of course they would accept. To reject would be to tarnish their prestige. But even so, no one in that eternal expanse dared imagine that the being before them could actually win against a lowly Hetalgon.
He might be a Primordial. He might be an evolved human. But compared to the beings of their magnitude, victory was impossible. It was a miracle he had even ascended to the Eighth Realm, the pinnacle of all existence, the apex of all things that ever were and ever would be.
At the pinnacle of this realm sat the True Eternals, far surpassing even the Eternals themselves, beings who held absolute control over the fabric of existence.
Yes, several millennia ago, a shocking event had occurred—a single Armogon had dared challenge a True Eternal for their throne and had won, becoming an usurper. It had been shocking. Terrifying even. But an Armogon… a race that surpassed gods themselves and reached the brink of divinity… that was still within the realm of comprehension.
This creature… this puny Hetalgon… was not. And yet he dared to challenge not just any True Eternal, but the one who wielded dominion over destruction and creation itself.
Magnuor descended.
His presence alone suffocated the arena, bending the infinite space with the weight of his power. Every being present felt their existence shrink beneath his gaze. And all of it was focused on the arrogant, tiny Hetalgon before him.
"Tell me," Magnuor's voice echoed, deep and unyielding, "what is your name?"
It was not every day someone dared challenge their rule.
The Hetalgon smiled. Too human, too confident, and utterly fearless.
"I go by many names," he said. "Godslayer. Destroyer of this world. Some even call me the Monarch of Madness."
He chuckled, low and amused, before regaining his composure.
"Well… you can call me Vastro. Vastro Tasle. But by the end of this, you will no longer exist. So names will matter little."
Silence fell across the arena. The audacity, the arrogance, the sheer confidence of the Hetalgon stunned all who watched.
Magnuor said nothing. Calm. Observant. His hand extended, ethereal and impossible, as if reaching through the fog of reality itself. Then he punched into the air.
No destruction. No chaos. No sound.
And yet the arena fell completely silent.
Vastro fell to his knees, eyes wide, coughing blood. His face drained of color. For the first time, the Hetalgon's arrogance had placed him in a situation he could not escape.
He was doomed.
Magnuor was not content. The first strike had been intended to end the battle immediately, yet Vastro had survived. That in itself was proof: he had risen beyond cosmic comprehension. Perhaps he already ascended into the source realm. It was shocking.
It had been shocking, but it still did not faze them. Not one bit.
Even if he were in the source realm, Vastro would die under their next attack.
The ethereal hand materialized again. The figure punched forward, sending waves of force outward, destabilizing every law around them. When it hit the puny Hetalgon, his body collapsed, hitting the ground with a deafening bang.
It was over. The battle had ended—or at least, that was what everyone thought.
Magnuor looked at the Hetalgon with no particular reaction. A pity, really. If this creature had served under him, maybe one day he could have risen to become a True Eternal. But arrogance had led to his downfall… or so they thought.
Then, a strange sound pierced the silence. A sound that did not belong. Silent chuckles.
Every eye, every expression, every law of existence itself turned toward the source.
It was the puny Hetalgon.
His face smeared with his own blood, he grinned from ear to ear. Slowly, calmly, he rose to his feet.
Magnuor himself must be a fool if they thought that petty attack could kill him. The performance had been perfect. The terror, the drama—they all believed he had been hurt, that the True Eternal's powers had caused him pain.
They had been wrong.
Vastro had mastered pain. He had mastered negation. Death and suffering had no dominion over him anymore. Magnuor would have to go all out to even scratch him.
Vastro was done playing.
He opened his eyes. Black at first, then flaring to blue like cosmic flames. Black fire erupted from every layer of his body, shaking the very laws that held the infinite arena.
He raised his hand, and something extended from the existence around them, coalescing into a long, colorless scythe radiating absolute negation and destruction. The arena exploded into chaos. This was no ordinary weapon... it was a manifestation of one of the most powerful conceptual law itself: the Law of Negation.
As if that was not enough, another force stirred around him. A shifting, silvery substance formed around his body, alternating between armor and a template of dominance. The arena went mad with the sheer presence of it.
This was the Law of Domination, mastered to a degree that even the most powerful True Eternals had never reached. Magnuor themself was among the few to have touched it.... and yet, a mere Hetalgon had bent it perfectly to his will.
The black flames extended, surrounding the colorless scythe and the dominion armor, amplifying every already overwhelming ability infinitely.
Vastro's blue eyes met Magnuor's white gaze.
And he grinned. A devilish, merciless grin.
"My turn," he said.
And that was the end of it all.
The battle stretched on, lasting what seemed like eons. Energy tore through the infinite arena, shaking reality itself, twisting laws, and unmaking existence with every strike. Then, finally, it was over.
The arena held its breath. All eyes focused on the center, where a single figure stood. The black flames that had once surrounded him had vanished. In his hands, he held a compressed sphere of energy.... one side pure light, the other side absolute darkness.
He had won. The Hetalgon had won.
One of the Primordials whispered, voice trembling with fear and awe. Then, all at once, the Primordials, the Ancient Beings, and every entity in the arena fell to their knees, heads bowed to the ground, worshipping the second... and most horrifying.... usurper ever born.
Vastro did not even glance at them. His gaze remained fixed on the sphere. After a long moment, he swallowed it whole. Energy coursed through him, spreading across his being. He grinned, feeling unstoppable, more powerful than ever before.
He licked his lips and said simply, "That was… fun."
After that, Vastro claimed the Throne of Eternity, the dominion over destruction and creation. He lived a life of chaos and indulgence, though a few guiding rules still bound the realm... rules he found irritating but trivial.
No one dared oppose him after the display in the Infinite Arena. Yet, as the ages passed and more warriors ascended, the balance of power would inevitably be tested again.
Several millennia later, a figure stepped into Vastro's throne room. Its form was pitch black, dotted with scattered white stars. A Stellar Primordial, its aura reaching into the source realm, radiating immense confidence.
The Primordial bowed slightly before Vastro, then spoke, voice resonating across the hall.
"I challenge you… to the Eternal Conquest."
Silence filled the throne room.
Then Vastro's expression changed.... but not as the newcomers expected. His lips curved into a genuine, almost sweet smile. His tone was warm, almost gentle.
"Challenge accepted," he said.
The arena of eternity would tremble once more. This new challenger was doomed for sure.
TO BE CONTINUED...