Chapter Five
Wait… what..
It might not seem like much, but Vastro was a man who had faced countless situations... armies, gods, cosmic catastrophes..... and very few had ever managed to wipe the wide, unstoppable grin from his face.
But the moment he faced now… this was one of those rare exceptions.
Before his thoughts could even wander, Drakkon's sword pierced his body. Vastro's eyes locked on his friend.... the one person he trusted above all else.... and his mind froze.
Why… why would he do this? His thoughts were slow, fragmented, struggling to react.
It wasn't that he couldn't see the attack coming.... he did.... but he never expected this.
Before comprehension could even take hold, chaos erupted. Lines of his own army turned on each other.
Out of the near-infinite soldiers he had brought to the war, loyal warriors now slaughtered allies without warning. Betrayal spread faster than any blade.
The numbers alone made it inevitable: hundreds to one. In mere moments, his loyal forces were being decimated.
Vastro's mind finally caught up. Shock replaced confusion. He had been betrayed by the one he trusted most in all existence. Fury ignited instantly.
The sword embedded in his chest shattered as the Abyss surged outward, roaring with the intent to devour Drakkon utterly.
But before it could reach him, waves of multicolored energy erupted from Drakkon's body, blocking the attack.
The calm expression on Drakkon's face flickered... he had taken the first hit.
Drakkon's sword attack looked simple, but it was anything but mundane. The energy pierced Vastro's Abyssal space, striking at the very conceptual laws he had mastered, shattering the balance between them.
His own power, the Abyss, the law he had ruled over absolutely, turned against him.
The attack was designed to make his powers destroy each other. If it had fully succeeded, Vastro would have endured tortures unlike anything the cosmos had ever known.... he shouldn't even have been able to survive.
Drakkon knew exactly what he was doing. He had been with Vastro long enough to understand his weakness. But Vastro's greatest weakness, ironically, was that he had none.
Vastro raised his hand, intending to strike back. Finally, his reaction changed... his expression widened as the raw essence of his being trembled to its core.
The conceptual laws inside him clashed violently, tearing through his control, shredding the Abyss from within.
He couldn't react fast enough. Drakkon's next strike hurled him across the battlefield.
Eternities seemed to pass in that one moment of agony.
Vastro struggled to rise. His body was breaking from the inside out; his form outside was battered, torn, a war-torn monument of power.
To his right were countless armies still loyal to him. To his left, those who had betrayed him now stood with the enemy.
The very essence of Vastro's being shook to the core. The conceptual laws within him clashed violently, ripping at each other with a force so extreme that he could not react.
Drakkon's next attack struck, hurling him through the middle of the battlefield.
Eternities seemed to pass as he fell, battered and broken, and when he finally managed to rise, his body was a ruin.
His right side was flanked by countless soldiers from the side's of the enemies, while on his left, those who had betrayed him now stood alongside the enemy.
Vastro surveyed the dire situation, but there was no fear, no dread in his eyes.
He looked directly at Drakkon and asked, calm yet seething, "Tell me why."
Drakkon's face was neutral, devoid of warmth or smile. "None of your concern," he said.
Vastro's grin widened. He called upon his colorless conceptual ability..... the ultimate mastery of nullification.
The laws that had been clashing violently within him now collapsed under his control, the Abyss turning upon itself and devouring the chaos.
By doing this, he intentionally reduced his own fighting power by a several tiers, making himself weaker than he had been, but it was the optimal choice.
It was necessary, and he had made it.
Since Drakkon refused to speak further in front of the watching crowd, Vastro announced, "Then I will ask you again… after I take care of the rest."
Black flames erupted across his body. A silver-hued scythe formed in his grip, his eyes burning with blue cosmic fire.
The colorless nullification spread outward, engulfing nearly the entire battlefield. The war had begun.
Millennia passed. Thousands of years of relentless conflict. For the first time since ascending as an Usurper, Vastro had lost a battle.
No.... he had lost the war. His body, for the very first time since reaching the Existence Source Realm, was wracked with exhaustion and pain.
His strength was depleted. Collapsing to his knees, the blue cosmic glow in his eyes vanished.
The battle had been brutal and far from fair, but he had slaughtered more opponents than anyone could have imagined. Bodies lay scattered across the battlefield, torn apart, existence erased.
Out of all the enemy Usurpers, he had taken down three. The rest, alongside Drakkon, remained alive. He was truly finished.
Vastro heard the sound of footsteps and raised his eyes to meet Drakkon's golden gaze.
His own eyes flared faintly as he lifted a hand. A blue orb appeared, glowing with an eerie light. Letters formed upon it—one green, one red: O and X.
Drakkon had played the decisive role in his defeat. After all, he was the second-strongest Usurper, and his power directly countered Vastro's.
Every aspect of Drakkon's abilities, including his absolute mastery of the Judgment Concept, worked against him now.
"You, Vastro Trasle, are guilty of the following crimes," Drakkon began.
"Publicly erupting and causing chaos, not only in your domain but in others. Wild and unrestrained fits of destruction, even at the cost of lives you were sworn to protect. The destabilization of several fundamental laws, nearly tearing the fabric of existence itself..... all for your amusement."
Vastro listened, every word striking true. He had no defense.
Drakkon listed several offenses, all of which, to be fair, Vastro was guilty of. Vastro's face remained impassive as he listened, eyes steady, unflinching, while Drakkon read out the charges.
When he finished, Drakkon spoke again, his voice calm, melodic, almost gentle.
"For these existential law-breaking crimes," he said, "you are found guilty."
His hand lifted slightly. "I hereby strip you of your title as the Usurper of the Abyss."
The orb in his hand glowed. A green light flashed.
Vastro felt it instantly.
His connection to the Abyss vanished. Abrupt. Absolute. Like a limb ripped from his soul. That was the most dangerous aspect of Drakkon's power.
And he was not done.
Before Vastro could react, Drakkon continued. "You are to be stripped of your manipulation over conceptual laws."
The red X flashed instead.
It failed.
But Drakkon adjusted the statements. The laws did not leave Vastro. They were sealed deep within his existence instead, locked away, unreachable.
Then came the final cut. His colorless ability was stripped from him entirely. Just like that, Vastro was reduced to something weaker than most Eternals and Primordials.
And yet, his gaze did not show dread.
Not now. Not during the thousands of years of war. Not even as his power was torn away piece by piece.
He was confused.
Yes, he was guilty. That was never in question. Chaos, destruction, broken laws, that was who he was.
But none of it explained this.
None of it explained why the one he trusted most had turned on him.
They had gone through too much together. Fought too many wars. Survived too many ends of existence side by side.
What did Drakkon gain from this.
It could not be something as petty as becoming the strongest Usurper.
…could it?
Then came the final sentence.
"For your final punishment," Drakkon said, his tone thoughtful, as if discussing the weather, "and for the crimes and scale of chaos you are charged with… Vastro Trasle, you are hereby sentenced to die."
Vastro's expression finally changed.
Not fear. Never fear.
His confusion deepened.
He watched as Drakkon walked closer, sword in hand, and he asked again, quietly this time, "Tell me, Drakkon. Why are you doing all this."
"I told you already," Drakkon replied calmly. "You are not in a position to know."
He raised his sword.
Something twisted inside Vastro. The confusion burned away, replaced by something he had not felt in an unfathomably long time.
Hatred.
Pure. Unfiltered. Burning.
A manic grin spread across his face as he spoke. "You know what. Next time we meet, you are doomed."
Even as he said it, he knew there would be no next time.
Drakkon's voice rang out just before the blade fell.
"There will be no next time."
The sword descended.
Clean. Precise.
Vastro was split into two.
To be continued…...