Shadow galloped through the vacuum, her hooves striking the invisible star-paths with rhythmic thunder. They blurred past distant galaxies, a streak of dark purple and obsidian against the infinite black.
Suddenly, the space ahead thickened. They slammed into a massive meteor shower thousands of jagged rocks hurtling through the void. Shadow didn't slow down. She wove through the debris with supernatural agility, dodging the tumbling stones as they screamed past.
But the meteors weren't the only danger.
Out of the darkness, magical icy chains, Chains of Niflheim erupted. These were cosmic restraints, tipped with jagged, spiky barbs that hissed as they cut through the thin atmosphere of the star-path. Shadow banked hard, twisting her powerful body to dodge the first few volleys. Apeiron remained anchored to her back, his eyes tracking the silver-blue glow of the magic.
Then, one of the chains snaked upward from a blind spot. It lashed around Shadow's hind leg with a violent, metallic snap. The stallion let out a neigh of raw pain as the frost immediately began to spread this was no ordinary winter chill, but the dreaded Niflheim Magic.
These were the Chains of Niflheim, forged in the primordial realm of mist and death. As the silver-blue rime climbed Shadow's flank, it didn't just freeze the flesh; it began to lock away the very concept of her movement. The limb became a statue, not just through cold, but through a conceptual seal that forbade the muscle from even remembering how to flex.
"Shadow!" Apeiron roared. He struck down, his hand a blur. He didn't just break the chain; he struck the specific metaphysical pressure point on Shadow's leg to restore the flow of life. In the same breath, he stripped the "Permission" of the sealing Niflheim magic, causing the unnatural ice to shatter and evaporate.
"Where are they coming from?" Apeiron growled. He unleashed a Presence Chop, the shockwave obliterating the surrounding meteors.
The destruction revealed ten pirate soldiers hiding within the hollowed-out husks of the rocks. They didn't hesitate. Together, they thrust their hands forward, erupting a localized storm of the Chains of Niflheim.
The jagged, frozen spikes sought to pierce Apeiron's skin, but his durability was absolute; the points simply bounced off his flesh as if striking indestructible steel. Seeing their weapons fail to penetrate, the pirates adjusted their tactics, the Niflheim Magic surging as the chains lashed out to wrap around his torso and limbs instead, binding him in a tight, frozen cocoon of primordial ice.
"We got him!" one of the pirates shouted, yanking the chains taut to activate the temporal seal.
Apeiron didn't struggle yet. His voice remained dangerously calm, the silence of the void amplifying the threat in his tone. "What do you want? Why are you kidnapping them? You mentioned Modi where is he? Why does he want her so badly?"
The lead soldier laughed, pulling out a holographic poster that flickered with a cold, blue light. "She's his wife. And the girl? His daughter. A traitor to the Valkyries, too. Odin wants her dead, but Modi wants his property back. Regardless, we get paid."
He tapped the poster, which displayed Apeiron's own face in high-definition detail. "And you? You're the Empty Fist. You've got a bounty of one quadrillion Ancient Drachma on your head. With this much coin, we'll eat like kings until the end of time. We, the Niflheim Reavers, are going to be the ones to turn you in."
Apeiron's teeth clenched, a low, guttural growl vibrating in his chest that seemed to shake the very chains binding him. "All of this for money... you'd kidnap a little girl just for a paycheck?"
His Black Presence began to bleed into the chains. The pirates looked nervous. "Do it now! Seal him!" they screamed in unison.
The Niflheim Reavers chant the forbidden spell in unison, their voices screaming with a cold, jagged power that echoes through the void.
"Niflheim: Eternal Ice Prison!"
The chains erupt in a blinding flash of silver frost, unleashing Niflheim Magic so absolute it doesn't just freeze matter it freezes the very seconds around the target.
The impact creates a massive shockwave of absolute zero energy. It ripples outward, instantly locking the surrounding meteors in place mid-tumble, freezing time itself in the immediate area. Apeiron and Shadow are caught at the center, encased in a colossal, jagged bowl of primordial ice.
This is the ultimate Sealing Magic, designed to anchor an object in place forever. The ice doesn't just surround them; it acts as a physical and temporal ceiling, capping reality so they cannot move upward, outward, or forward in time. It is a total lock a frozen prison where the flow of the universe stops, sealing them in a motionless void.
"There's no way he's getting out!" a warrior screams, clutching the glowing Chains of Niflheim. "That ice is the Eternal Prison! They are anchored to this exact moment in time, sealed away from existence forever!"
But then, the chains began to vibrate. The pirates felt a sudden, violent tug as they were yanked forward, their boots sliding uselessly across the star-path. They looked up in horror as the massive, time-locked ice prison began to spin with a low, bone-shaking hum.
Inside the seal, Apeiron was not frozen. His physical power was so vast that it ignored the laws of magic; his sheer existence was a rejection of the ice's authority. He surged off Shadow's back, seizing the frozen mass from within using his immeasurable strength. With a roar that vibrated through the vacuum, he began to rotate the entire icy bowl, but as he spun, the "unbreakable" prison could not contain the pressure.
The ice shattered into a million jagged, cosmic shards, yet Apeiron remained anchored, keeping the chains tightly connected to his own frame. He turned the very act of his breakout into a centrifugal nightmare, swinging the chains and the remnants of his prison like a flail, transforming the shattered ice into a lethal, spinning weapon.
With a roar of pure kinetic fury, he tossed the chains. The soldiers, still tethered to their own weapons, were snatched like ragdolls. Driven by his strength, they became blurs of friction and flame, launched across the cosmos at such a violent speed that they vanished into the distance, their bodies igniting from the sheer velocity of the throw.
Apeiron hopped back onto Shadow as the ice around them continued shattered into harmless stardust, unable to withstand the pressure.
"We're almost there," he said, his eyes glowing with a cold light. "I can sense her energy."
Apeiron and Shadow tore through the vacuum, the stallion's hooves kicking up sparks of purple light. "I see them, Shadow!" Apeiron roared.
The Naglfar was broadside to them, its heavy cannons belching black powder and jagged ice at the pursuing duo. On the deck, the remaining crew stood ready, their blades drawn. Skuld was awake, straining against the thick ropes that bound her and the sleeping Hildara to the central mast.
"Let us go!" Skuld screamed, her voice defiant even in chains. "You're not taking us back to that monster!"
Hermoor backhanded her, the crack of his leather glove echoing. He took a massive swig from a flagon of dark liquor. "Shut up if you know what's good for you. You're lucky they want you alive I hate a live bounty."
Beside him, Eirlys glares with icy contempt. "I hope Odin kills you," she says, her voice trembling with zeal. "I hope he rejects Modi's orders to keep you alive, you traitor of our cosmos!"
Skuld sneers and spits right at Eirlys's feet, her eyes burning with defiance. "That's what I think about Odin and his rules!"
As the insult lands, the vacuum of space outside the ship is torn apart. Shadow and Apeiron are still blurring through space, weaving between the magical cannonballs and shards of frozen Niflheim magic launched from the deck. They close the distance in a heartbeat.
Shadow lets out a deafening neigh as a massive blast of dark energy erupts from his horn, slamming into the Naglfar's hull with the force of a falling black hole. The ship groans, wood and iron splintering under the pressure as the duo touches down on the deck.
Immediately, they are surrounded. The Pirate warriors close in from all sides, their blades glowing with cold frost.
Apeiron looks at the stallion, his voice cutting through the freezing wind. "Transform, Shadow. Form: Berserker."
Shadow's shadowy essence began to warp and churn at a terrifying rate. He reared back, his dark, ethereal form stretching and thickening as he rose to stand on two powerful, muscular legs. He towered over the deck as a 12-foot-tall Berserker beast, his once-sleek silhouette hardening into a thick, monstrous hide that seemed to swallow the very light of the stars.
The transformation was a dark mimicry of a foe they once crushed; Shadow had completely taken the shape of a monster they had defeated before. His front hooves shifted into massive, clawed hands capable of crushing worlds. He wore no shirt, leaving his barrel chest exposed and clad only in heavy, battle-worn armor pants. Glowing purple markings surged across his skin like tattoos, pulsing with a dark energy that snaked around his entire body.
Thick, spectral chains drape over his shoulders, rattling with the sound of a thousand graves as hot, white steam hisses from his snout and mouth. The Pirate soldiers freeze, instinctively taking a panicked step back as the monster's massive shadow falls over them, his eyes glowing with the same purple fire as his markings.
"You deal with them, Shadow," Apeiron commands, his voice steady as he locks onto his targets. "I'm going straight for the girls."
Shadow lets out a guttural roar, his massive fists smashing through ranks of pirates. He moves like a whirlwind of destruction, grabbing soldiers and hurling them into the void. As warriors attack from behind, stabbing into his hide, Shadow simply reaches back, grabs them, and squashes them with his bare hands. His own wounds seal instantly as he channels his dark energy.
Apeiron blurs past the chaos. With every step, he uses the Empty Fist to strip the "Functions" of the guards in his way, dropping them with single, precise strikes. His mastery is absolute; with each hit, he strips away a different function. One guard loses the function for his heart to beat; another loses the system that allows his magic to allow him to survive the vacuum of space. Others lose the function of their legs and bones, collapsing instantly as they fall.
He lands in front of the mast, but before he can reach the captives, he unleashes a Presence Chop behind him. The force is so concentrated it physically severs the deck, separating the area where he stands with the warriors from the battle where Shadow is fighting.
"I see why your bounty was so high," Hermoor growled, stepping forward.
"Enough small talk," Apeiron said, his eyes glowing with a dangerous light. "Let her go, or I will end you."
Hermoor did not flinch. He seized Skuld by the hair, pressing a jagged, rusted blade against her throat. "Make but one move and I shall carve her open," he growled. "I will lose my silver, and you will lose the girl. We both walk away with nothing, and that suits me just fine." He let out a raspy, bitter laugh that smelled of stale ale. "Or, I collect my bounty, and you can play the hero another day."
Skuld strained against her bindings, her eyes swirling with a frost-bitten, crystalline blue as she attempted to summon the ancient, glacial magic of the Valkyries. But the moment the temperature around her began to plummet, the runes etched into the chains flared with a jagged, suppressing light, instantly shattering her connection to the cold and forcing the frigid energy back into her own veins.
A sharp gasp of pain escaped her as the frost-bite of her own power recoiled, but her defiance remained unbroken. Lunging forward as far as the cold metal would allow, Skuld spat directly into his eyes. "I would sooner embrace Hel's cold embrace than return to that monster!" she hissed, her voice trembling not with fear, but with pure, unadulterated loathing.
Hermoor wiped the moisture from his face with a snarl and struck her hard across the jaw. "Aye, you truly possess that cursed Valkyrie blood."
As Apeiron took a predatory step forward, the deck groaning under his weight, Hermoor swung the edge of the knife toward the sleeping Hildara. "Hold! I have woven a Forbidden Binding upon them both, anchored to my own life-force. Our pulses beat as one. If my heart stops, or if this magic is severed without my command, the frost of Niflheim will trigger. All three of us will die frozen from the inside out before you can blink."
"Vile cur!" Skuld screamed, her voice cracking. "You dare lay a soul-tether on me and my daughter?"
Hermoor only grinned, his attention fixed entirely on Apeiron now. Confident in his own leverage, he slowly drew the blade away from both of their throats, no longer bothering to keep it pressed there as he faced him head-on.
Apeiron stood perfectly still, his breathing shallow and rhythmic. "I am not leaving without either of them," he said aloud to Hermoor, his voice a cold promise.
Then he thinks to himself, his mind racing through the void: I must find a way to liberate them without his notice. I have to sever the tether before he can even think to trigger the frost.
He activates his ability: "Empty Presence Projection: Fabrication."
He focuses every ounce of his discipline. A single Fabrication Clone appears, invisible to all. It remains a thing of non-existence, a pure fabrication, yet this one is different; it isn't just a mental echo. He pours a concentrated amount of his Black Presence into the clone's hands, making them tangible capable of affecting the physical world without Apeiron himself moving a muscle.
The clone moves undetected, walking toward Skuld. She catches a faint shimmer of the projection appearing beside her. "How are you doing that? Am I the only one who can see you?" she whispers.
"Just give me a second," the clone's voice echoes directly in her mind. "It takes a lot of focus."
The Fabrication Clone moves like a shadow in the moonlight. Its hands, glowing with the weight of Apeiron's dark presence, strike Skuld and Hildara in a single, silent blur. The Niflheim binding spell shatters instantly, and the bindings disintegrate into ash before Hermoor can even tighten his grip.
Eirlys is the first to react. Seeing the magic dissipate, she thrusts her hands forward, launching a jagged bolt of energy. Skuld, now free, flares her icy Valkyrie wings, forming a shimmering crystalline shield to protect Hildara, who finally gasps awake in the chaos.
Apeiron ignores Eirlys, his eyes locked on the pirate captain. He surges toward him like a physical law of nature. "I told you," he growls, his voice vibrating through the deck. "I'm not leaving without them. Now, where is Modi?"
Hermoor laughs, his eyes wild. "They will die for your foolish decision!" He tries to trigger the frost, his fingers snapping to activate the binding, but nothing happens. "What? What is this? Why is it not working?"
Apeiron continues rushing toward him, his presence heavy and suffocating. "I severed that connection. Your spell is invalid."
Hermoor didn't panic; he just laughed, a sound like grinding stones, and aimed a flask-clutching hand forward. "Niflheim Gale: Gravewind!"
A localized storm of absolute zero roared from his palm, the force of the Niflheim Gale: Gravewind slamming into Apeiron and throwing him backward. As Apeiron skidded across the deck, the wind solidified into a complex Sealing Magic, attempting to anchor him to a single, fixed point in space and time.
This was no mere block of ice; it was a temporal anchor, stripping away his permission to move relative to the universe. Apeiron flexed his muscles, the very fabric of the frozen reality cracking under his raw, immeasurable strength, but Hermoor used the momentary distraction to lunge.
He snatched Hildara from Skuld's side, hoisting the crying girl into the air with one hand. "Let me go!" she screamed, her small voice lost in the howling wind. Suddenly, a spectral, six-legged horse coalesced from the frost beneath Hermoor's feet a creature of pure Sleipnir-blood and winter magic.
"Let her go! Let my baby girl go!" Skuld shrieked, her voice cracking with a mother's desperation, but Hermoor was already mounted upon his six-legged steed.
"It seems I cannot claim both of you, so I shall settle for the whelp," Hermoor sneered, taking a final, deep swig of his liquor. "Half the prize is enough to live like a king in the halls of the wealthy, and my crew has already been sent to Hel anyway. I'll keep the entire pot for myself."
"You cannot mean that! What of me?" Eirlys cried out, her eyes searching her leader's face for any spark of loyalty.
"Aye, even you," Hermoor laughed darkly, the sound jagged and cold. He pointed a mocking finger at Apeiron. "You waste your breath on us when you have far greater woes, Empty Fist. Your hidden base has been laid bare to the All-Father. The gods of this cosmos are descending upon your home even as we speak. You should scurry back to your hole... if your kin aren't all cold corpses already."
"You're a fool," Apeiron countered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "This is nothing but a desperate distraction."
"Believe what you will, then!" Hermoor spat, his eyes wild with malice. "How else do you think we found your sanctuary? The gods sent me out to retrieve Modi's kin. They probably already have their blades at the throats of your people, you fool. Everyone you hold dear is likely already cold in the dirt! And you? You will never catch me. My steed leaves no trail in the stars. You have already lost!"
Hermoor slammed his heels into the six-legged beast's flanks, his face twisted in a jagged, triumphant grin. He aimed his flask-clutching hand straight at Apeiron, the ancient runes on his palm igniting with a sickly blue light.
"Niflheim Gale: Gravewind!" he roared.
The surrounding reach of space once a dark void instantly transformed into a Sealing Wasteland, a frozen graveyard of wind and zero time. The frost didn't just coat the ship; it claimed the very vacuum itself. Skuld and Eirlys cried out as their bodies began to stiffen, the primordial ice locking their joints and sealing their spirits. They fought against the rime, but the Niflheim magic was absolute, anchoring them to the spot.
Apeiron alone kept moving. He forced one foot in front of the other as the gale roared against him, trying to pin him to a single coordinate in the universe. Even while remaining in his Stage One form, a single pulse of his presence shattered the temporal seal, but the Gravewind was relentless it reformed instantly, layering over him like a suffocating shroud of white mist.
He watched, helpless for a heartbeat, as Hermoor and the screaming Hildara vanished into a fold of space that left neither scent nor wake. With a final, violent burst of kinetic energy, Apeiron's presence flared, shattering only the temporal anchors bound to his own form. Shards of the Gravewind fell away from him like broken glass as he surged forward into the empty rift.
He cast his senses out into the deep void, pushing his perception to the absolute limit. He searched for a ripple in the fabric of space, a lingering heat signature, even the faintest soul-trail of the child.
There was nothing. The void was hollow and silent. The pirate and the child were gone.
A grim silence settled over him as he turned back toward the ship. As he flew back and touched down on the deck, the source of the magic having fled, the Sealing Wasteland finally began to dissipate. The oppressive, icy winds vanished into the vacuum, and the crystalline frost encasing the ship weakened, its grip on the survivors failing.
Through the thinning mist, the sound of steel on steel rang out. Skuld moved with a mother's lethal rage, her wings no longer shimmering shields—they had sharpened into jagged blades of frost. She slashed through the air, trying to sever Eirlys apart. Eirlys desperately conjured magical shields to block the assault, but each strike shattered them instantly. A fourth shield splintered into dust, forcing her to manifest another as she retreated.
"Where did he take my daughter?" Skuld screamed, unleashing a Sonic Icy Wave. The vibration bypassed the magical barriers, striking Eirlys directly. The traitor collapsed, clutching her head as her face turned a deathly pale blue.
"My... my brain..." she gasped. The sonic frequency was freezing her from the inside out, turning her thoughts, her soul, and her organs into brittle glass.
Skuld stood over her, eyes glowing. She breathed a cloud of frost that encased Eirlys up to her neck. "Tell me where she is, or I will let the frequency finish you. Your insides will be nothing but shards."
"I... will never... betray my cosmos," Eirlys whispered through blue lips. "Just kill me."
As Skuld raised her hand for the final strike, Apeiron caught her wrist. "Stop," he said softly. "We need her. We can get her to speak eventually, or pull the memories. She's still useful."
He lowered his head, his voice heavy with a rare, bitter defeat. "I tried, Skuld. I ran as fast as I could... but I couldn't find her. He's gone."
Skuld collapsed onto the deck, sobbing. "I have to find her! I have to go right now! I can't allow Modi to raise her!"
Apeiron touched her back gently. "Don't worry, I promise we will find her. But why does he want you back? Is he truly your husband?"
"Yes... his ex-wife," Skuld choked out. "I'm running because Odin wants me dead. I betrayed the Valkyries and the cosmos by giving information to the rebels and the Demon Fist. I was tired of being a monster, tired of destroying worlds and how Modi treated me. I took my daughter and ran, and they have chased me ever since."
"We will get her back," Apeiron said firmly. "I will deal with Modi myself."
Nearby, Shadow still in his towering Berserker form crushed the last Pirate Warrior before shifting back into his unicorn form. Apeiron commanded, "Shadow, use your power. Turn the remaining pirates into your monsters."
Shadow loosed a beam of dark energy, absorbing the survivors into his essence. "We have to hurry," Apeiron muttered. "The pirate wasn't lying. If the gods know where you are, they know where the base is."
"I know the way back," Skuld urged. Apeiron hoisted the unconscious Eirlys onto Shadow's back and helped Skuld mount up. But before they could leap into the void, the fabric of reality shrieked as a massive portal tore open.
Two figures stepped out. The first was Immaniel, a radiant being draped in white and gold, his presence casting a blinding light that scorched the freezing air. A golden halo floated above his head, and six crimson wings unfurled from his back, each one lined with unblinking eyes that seemed to pierce through time itself. Beside him stood Belial, a dark contrast in black and red armor. His heavy, prehistoric goat horns and four burning crimson eyes gave him a terrifying, predatory silhouette that seemed to swallow the light around him.
Immaniel clapped slowly, the sound echoing like thunder across the broken deck. "Impressive movements and power. Yet... I sense no energy, no spark of magic coming from you. I can tell exactly what your race is simply by looking at those dull, gray eyes. You are from are Cosmos , the Ein-Olam Cosmos, a member of the Ashbore. The people with that unbreakable will."
Belial stood with arms crossed, silent and imposing, his demonic presence weighing heavy on the deck.
"Who are you? What is it you seek? I speak for the two worlds I call home the heights of Olympus and the blood of my people," Apeiron demanded, his voice a steady, low-frequency hum that vibrated through the wreckage.
"A pity your new allies, the Messiah and his band of wretches, have not sung of my glory," Immaniel sneered, his golden radiance flaring with ancient malice. "I am the Sovereign of the Stars, the mightiest of the Gods of El. Countless times I have broken their resistance, and this day shall be their final sunset. Your sanctuary has been bared to us; even now, the other Gods and the Holy Knight descend to scour your home and the Messiah from existence. It is a perfect convergence while your world burns, we shall extinguish the flicker of the 'Empty Fist.' The Successor? You are a hollow promise. Your title is a mockery, as pathetic and shameful as the race that birthed you."
"Apeiron, these two are no joke," Skuld warned, her voice trembling. "Immaniel is a Creator God who fashions multiverses within this cosmos. And Belial is one of the Ten Generals of the Demon Fist, a conqueror of cosmoses!"
"All that means nothing," Apeiron said, staring them down. "It means nothing to the most invincible martial art: Mu no Ken, The Empty Fist!"
He turned to the stallion. "Go, Shadow! Take them to the base and get them to safety. I will deal with these two and meet you later."
Shadow shook his head in protest, and Skuld cried out, "Are you crazy? They will kill you!"
"GO NOW!" Apeiron roared.
Shadow galloped into the stars, vanishing into space with Skuld and the prisoner. Apeiron stood alone on the wreckage of the ship, facing the two gods with nothing but his bare hands.
Apeiron reached for the gauntlet on his wrist, deactivating the shimmer of his purple cape. The fabric vanished, leaving him in his raw combat attire as he spoke, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low hum. "This is your last chance to walk away."
He shifted his gaze specifically to Belial. "Before you leave, you will tell me where Pandora is. You are one of the high leaders of the Demon Fist that means you know. Tell me now."
Belial's crimson eyes narrowed into a jagged smile. "King was right about you. They were wise to send me to be the one to claim your head."
Apeiron's expression tightened, a flash of shock crossing his face. "You know King?"
"Ashbore peasant!" Immaniel interrupted, his divine radiance flaring with indignation. "I was speaking. When a God speaks, the lowborn do not open their mouths. I expected nothing less from your breed of barbarians. I was among the circle of Gods who slaughtered your deity the God of the Ashbore people. And you... you are the son of Anaximander, are you not? One of the founding leaders of the rebels."
Immaniel let out a mocking, melodic laugh. "I was there. I watched Modi kill him as he tried to rescue his wife that pathetic excuse for a woman. She is still alive to this day, kept as a trophy of our victory. We broke the leader of the rebels, and we kept the prize."
Apeiron lowered his center of gravity, sliding into a focused fighting stance. The space around him began to warp, not from magic, but from the sheer weight of his presence. "After I beat you down," he said, his voice cold and flat, "and before I kill you, you will tell me where she is. You will suffer for every word you just spoke."
Immaniel looked toward Belial with a dismissive sneer, his golden radiance pulsing with arrogance. "Is this the warrior who haunts your thoughts? Is this the 'Successor of the Empty Fist' you speak of with such reverence? I sense no divinity, no spark nothing but a hollow shell. He is weak. I shall finish him here and now, so we may move on to the true threat: the Messiah. The only one truly worthy of a God's fear."
Belial kept his arms crossed, his four eyes fixed on Apeiron with predatory focus. "Looks can be deceiving, Immaniel," he rumbled, his voice a low, jagged warning. "A true martial artist weaves delusions and lies; they shroud their movements until the moment your heart is pierced. True power is not found in bright explosions or grand displays. It is found in complete destruction and the absolute denial of an opponent's will."
The God of El stepped forward, his divine energy erupting in waves of blinding gold that groaned against the very hull of the wrecked ship, threatening to splinter it into the void.
"I shall show you why Elyon chose me to lead the hosts of El," Immaniel declared, his voice a thunderous chorus that vibrated through Apeiron's bones. "I am the architect of heavens, the one who fashions the very multiverses of this cosmos! Witness the power of a true Creator, and understand why your 'unbreakable' will is nothing but a pebble before the tide of a living God!"
Apeiron remained in Stage One, an immovable shadow against the blinding light.
"It would be as simple as using my holy powers of creation," Immaniel sneered. "My power to manipulate the narrative of this cosmos... I imagine you gone. Feel my wrath be erased! Genesis Decree!"
Godly, divine energy wrapped around Apeiron like a shroud, attempting to unmake his existence. But Apeiron's Black Presence flared, hitting the metaphysical joints of the holy energy and stopping its functions mid-air. His higher existence simply refused the command to vanish.
Immaniel's hands trembled as he held the Devine Holy spell. "Why won't you just vanish? Fine... I see you are strong. I shall break your body before I erase your soul!"
He thrust his hands forward again. "Genesis Decree!" From the golden light, three towering Holy Knights materialized, armed with celestial weapons. "Charge! Slay him!"
Apeiron settled into his fighting stance, his Black Presence representing infinite martial arts condensed into one. He blurred forward. With a singular, violent Spinning Roundhouse Kick, he shattered the first knight into golden dust. The second lunged, but Apeiron slipped the strike, his fist plunging into the knight's chest. He didn't just hit the armor; he severed the soul, ripping the celestial essence out and splitting it in half before rushing the third. His fist drove straight through the final knight's core.
Before Immaniel could even fire an energy blast, Apeiron was there. A heavy punch connected with the God's jaw, sending him spiraling backward across the vacuum, skipping past planets and stars. The impact cracked Immaniel's very essence.
Immaniel crashed onto a distant, desolate planet. He struggled to his feet, golden spiritual blood dripping from his lip as his divine nature forced his wounds to knit shut.
Apeiron landed beside him, the ground cratering beneath his feet. "I told you. I'm going to beat you until you tell me where my mother is. Where are you keeping the rest of the slaves?"
"You dare speak to me as a peer?" Immaniel roared, firing a concentrated beam of creation energy, Genesis Decree. Apeiron ducked the blast and surged forward.
The two collided in a blur of strikes. Immaniel threw punches and kicks laced with the Genesis Decree, each strike carrying the focused weight of the cosmos's energy, which he could dial up or down at will. His power allowed him to imagine and destroy anything that fell below his own level of authority, manipulating the very narrative of this cosmos through the balance of positive and negative narrative forces.
Apeiron, however, was a phantom in the storm. He moved with a precision that defied the God's divine senses, dodging every lethal arc of the Genesis Decree. Each of Immaniel's missed strikes surged forward, the narrative energy bypassing physical barriers to carve massive, jagged craters into the planet and vaporize entire mountain ranges. The stray beams of holy light didn't stop at the atmosphere; they lanced into the void, shattering distant planets and extinguishing suns in their wake.
In contrast, Apeiron's counter-offensive was surgical and devastating. His martial arts, refined beyond the comprehension of a God, found every opening with ease. His fists landed with the weight of absolute denial, ripping through Immaniel's divine form and shattering his celestial armor. With every connection, Apeiron was Emptying Functions, systematically shutting down the biological and metaphysical processes of the God's being extinguishing his senses, his reflexes, and his very right to occupy that space. Immaniel's body splintered and cracked, forced to constantly expend his holy power to knit his essence back together before it could unravel completely.
As the God struggled to land even a single punch, his strikes laced with the Genesis Decree flailed uselessly through the air. Each blow that Apeiron landed acted as a siphon, stripping away Immaniel's power with every hit. The Narrative Energy within Immaniel's aura attempted to bypass physical durability entirely, trying to strike at the conceptual essence of Apeiron's being; it sought to overwrite his story and treat his existence as a line of text to be erased.
Finally, after a frantic exchange of light and shadow, Immaniel managed to force a trade. He leaned into a punishing blow from the Ashbore to deliver one of his own. He laughed as he felt his knuckles finally pierce Apeiron's skin, confident that the sheer weight of the narrative would finally unravel the man from within.
But the laughter died in his throat. Apeiron's head snapped back, then slowly turned to face him. A tiny bruise on his cheek was the only mark left by the overwhelming force of the cosmic narrative of Ein-Olam Cosmos.
"Impossible," Immaniel gasped, his divine composure fracturing. "I am wielding the power of creation and destruction! I imagine myself as stronger than you and what I imagine, create, or destroy becomes reality within the narrative of this cosmos! I am manifesting the absolute authority of my Lord!"
Apeiron flexed, his Black Presence surging like a dark tide, instantly healing the bruise and anchoring his existence against the God's script.
"I guess your imagination isn't stronger than my will, or my presence," he said coldly. "I guess you can never imagine yourself stronger than me."
Apeiron delivered a brutal sidekick to Immaniel's jaw. Before the God could fly off, Apeiron snatched his leg, slamming him repeatedly into the ground like a ragdoll, left and right, before hurling him through a mountain range. Standing firm, Apeiron leveled his hand for a Presence Chop, the kinetic wake slicing the mountains and the planet's crust clean in half.
Immaniel rose from the debris, his body stitching itself back together after being nearly bisected. "I will show you the true scale of what I can create!"
The planet began to shudder violently. High above, Belial watched with crossed arms, his four eyes tracking the chaos. Suddenly, the world erupted. Lava spewed into the atmosphere as the planet shattered under the stress of their power.
The two stood once more in the silent void of space, staring each other down amidst the floating debris of the shattered world. Immaniel hovered in the vacuum, his face twisted with divine fury as he summoned his Holy Sword. His six crimson wings flared, and the countless eyes lining them began to pierce through the layers of the present, past, and future, searching for a timeline where Apeiron fell.
Absorbing the raw power of the cosmos into his frame, Immaniel raised his blade. Through his creation power, he manifested an uncountable storm of golden swords and celestial polearms.
"Genesis Rain: Execution!" he roared, and the weapons charged at Apeiron like a tidal wave of light.
Apeiron moved with blurred precision, dodging the onslaught while striking the pressure points of any weapon that drew too close not merely breaking them, but shattering their functions so that they crumbled into useless celestial dust.
As he slipped through the storm of light, he didn't just throw punches; he leveled his hand for a Presence Chop. A focused wave of his Black Presence surged forward like a blade of absolute void, cutting through the vacuum toward Immaniel. The God of El barely evaded the lethal arc.
Gritting his teeth, the God focused his remaining energy to merge the millions of drifting blades into a single, colossal sword a weapon larger than a planet that swung down with the weight of the heavens.
Apeiron caught the edge, blocking the planetary blade with his bare hands, but he was momentarily blinded by the radiance. Four more massive swords, each the size of a world, slammed into him from his blind spots. The impact sent him hurtling across the star system, crashing through several planets that detonated upon contact.
Finally, Apeiron slammed into a distant, oxygen-rich world, carving a massive crater into its crust. He lay there for a moment, his body covered in bruises, before his Black Presence slowly began heal his bruises.
As he rose from the crater, Apeiron looked out at the world around him. He didn't see a wilderness; he saw sprawling, ancient cities filled with golden pyramids and towering monuments to the Gods of El. But beneath the splendor, he saw the truth. Everywhere he looked, people were being whipped. He saw thousands of slaves working under the scorching sun, their backs scarred and their spirits broken. His heart went cold as he locked eyes with some of them they had the same dull, gray eyes as his own.
Ashbore. He had landed in one of the mortal realm slave-colonies of the cosmos.
Immaniel floated below, his laughter a melodic, discordant chime that echoed across the atmosphere. "A fitting view, is it not? Behold the faithful the broken vessels who exist solely to sustain our light."
He paused, his eyes gleaming with the ancient, cold malice of a being who has seen eons of suffering. "This is merely the Outer Court, the base labor of the mortal realm. Once their bodies are spent, we transition them to the Higher Tabernacles to have their very souls consecrated harvested as raw essence for our glory. That is the 'sacred' fate your mother currently endures, and soon, it shall be yours as well. You should be down there among your kind, groveling in the dust of the sanctuary."
His golden radiance flared, blinding and cruel. "Or perhaps a more intimate reunion is in order? You could join her on the altar, allowing both your souls to be extinguished as a singular burnt offering to the majesty of the One True God. To be consumed by the Heavens is the only purpose a lowborn like you will ever truly serve."
The swords around him began to merge, forming a single, massive blade larger than the planet itself. Its shadow stretched across the stars, plunging the entire world into an artificial night.
"I will stop you before you do that to my mother or to anyone else," Apeiron declared, his voice cold and resonant. "I won't let you make another orphan. No more wars!"
Immaniel let out a sharp, melodic bark of laughter, his golden radiance pulsing with genuine amusement. "Do you hear yourself, Ashbore? You speak of 'morality' and 'war' as if your little heartbeats carry any weight in the Grand Script."
He leaned into the void, his eyes narrowing with a predator's delight. "A God does not 'care' for the opinions of the harvest. Whether you live as a slave or die as a sacrifice, your purpose is the same: to be consumed by the heights of our heavens. Your 'will' is a smudge on my canvas I shall simply paint over it."
"Witness the true hierarchy of this cosmos," Immaniel sneered, his voice booming across the atmosphere. "A God does not struggle with a peasant. A God simply... ends the story."
Apeiron's Black Presence erupted, surrounding his body as he reached up to catch the edge. The earth shattered beneath his feet as he tried to hold the line, but the force was too great. His hands slipped, and the blade cleaved through his defense, following through the planet's core. The world detonated in a massive explosion, killing everyone on the surface.
Apeiron floated in the resulting debris of space, his face twisted with a new, quiet fury. A deep bruise marked his stomach where the blade had struck his narrative, but his body was already beginning to knit itself back together.
"I can see you're giving up," Immaniel said, appearing beside him. "You're getting tired. You cannot do this forever, but I can. I have the infinite power of this cosmos not just one multiverse, but the separate collections of every infinite multiverse within this cosmos."
"You're lucky I need information from you before I kill you," Apeiron said, activating Stage Two of the Empty Fist. "But this fight is over. No more games."
"You're right. No more games!" Immaniel screamed. He gathered the energy of the cosmos, his constructs vanishing as he drew all that power into his own body. His six wings flared into an overwhelming, blood-red brilliance, and the golden eyes lining them widened, frantically searching the future, present, and past to calculate every possible path to victory. His armor turned a blinding, transcendent gold as he rushed forward, striking Apeiron with such force that the Ashbore was sent flying through planets and across galaxies. They tore through the boundaries of the universe, punching out of the infinite multiverse they once stood in, until they finally reached the raw center of the void that exists between all the infinite multiverses of the Ein-Olam Cosmos.
Apeiron's body was covered in bruises, his narrative being hacked at with every strike. Immaniel raised his blade for a final blow. "I'm going to finally cut you down!"
Apeiron dodged the attack by a hair's breadth, his black presence surging. "I allowed you to hit me those times... I needed to get you away from the planets. You cause too much damage."
Apeiron struck Immaniel in the stomach, Emptying his Permissions and functions. Immaniel's body went numb, yet he let out a jagged laugh as his soul and essence instantly knit back together. "It won't work! I can heal forever!" he roared, his strength and power surging back into his frame as he gripped his sword, swinging it in a wide arc toward Apeiron's head.
Apeiron caught the God's blade with both hands, the impact shattering the pressure points and anchors of the celestial weapon. In the same breath, he unleashed a flurry of strikes, hitting multiple pressure points in a blur of motion. Each punch stripped away a different layer of divinity; flight, creation, and narrative authority were all torn from the God's being.
These strikes were far more precise than his previous ones. He wasn't just hitting the physical body; he was striking the spirit and the very essence connected to the narrative. Then, he struck even deeper piercing the Continuity itself. It was a level of destruction so absolute that the God could not heal from it, as the very "history" of his recovery was being erased.
Immaniel floated in the void, his essence in pieces. His physical body, his spiritual form, and his metaphysical existence were all shattered and Emptied, leaving him as nothing more than a broken vessel.
"What's going on? I cannot heal... I cannot use my powers!"
"Because I stripped them away," Apeiron said, his voice cold and final. "Permanently. You aren't getting them back. Now tell me: where is my mother? Where are you keeping the slaves?"
Immaniel began to laugh hysterically, a jagged, broken sound that echoed the fracturing of his very soul as his divinity bled away. "You think this is the end of the liturgy? You think a mere strike can halt the Grand Script?"
He looked toward the heavens, his eyes wide and bloodshot, fixed on the distant spheres of the higher realms. "We were prepared for your coming, Successor! You and that wretch you call the Messiah... you are but errors to be purged from the holy text!"
His golden radiance flared one last time, fueled by desperation and fanaticism. "Once I have ground your bones into the dust of the Outer Court, I shall hunt him! I shall scour every star and every soul until the scent of your rebellion is replaced by the incense of our Father's glory! No traitor shall escape the Fire of El!"
He threw his arms wide, his voice a screaming prayer that tore through the void. "Brothers! Sisters! Archons of the High Thrones! Do not let this vessel fail! Offer your essence to the Altar! Sacrifice your divinity for the glory of the One True God! HEAR ME AND CONVERGE!"
Massive, ghostly hands appeared in the void. Immaniel's body began to regenerate as the other Gods of El and Elyon himself poured their power into him. Some of the gods even sacrificed their lives to fuel the transformation.
"I see now that I cannot play with you," Immaniel boomed, his size increasing until he dwarfed the size of stars. "I will finish you with one hit!" The power of multiple infinite multiverses rushed into his blade. "Holy Cosmos of Destruction!"
The blade descended, warping time, space, causality, and the narrative itself. Apeiron began to panic as he realized the blade wasn't even moving in a traditional sense; it was simply appearing exactly where he was at, manifesting at his precise spatial and narrative coordinates. The narrative of the story had already written his end, shattering causality to reach him before the strike was even thrown. Realizing the inevitability of the hit, he activated Empty Presence: Projection Fabrication.
His form transcended physical limits, and hundreds of versions of him appeared everywhere in the void. The real Apeiron vanished from the "script" of the strike as the Fabrication clones took his place.
Immaniel's voice rumbled the cosmos, echoing with the sound of a thousand gods. He swung his sword over and over, hitting only illusions, fabrications. "Where are you? Show yourself, coward!"
Apeiron appeared directly in front of him, his presence flickering as hundreds of after-image fabrications overlapped into a single, unstable point. Immaniel laughed, bringing his massive sword down in what should have been a killing blow. The blade seemed to connect perfectly, but the moment it struck, the after-image clone split apart into dozens of identical versions of Apeiron, all rushing forward simultaneously.
Immaniel swung back and forth in a blind panic, his celestial blade manifesting instantly at the exact narrative coordinates where he believed Apeiron stood. Yet, despite his divine accuracy, the warrior was never truly there. Each time the blade connected, it felt as though he were striking solid flesh and bone; the after-image fabrications would even react to the impact, pretending to be wounded and dying before vanishing into the dark. On other strikes, his hand would simply phase through the form as if hitting empty air, realizing too late that he was hunting a ghost that only chose to be "solid" when it wanted to mock him.
He realized with growing horror that he was being played; every "perfect" hit was merely a fabrication clone that felt entirely real upon impact, only for more to surge from the dark to take its place. He had been exhausting his divinity swinging at ghosts that felt like men, blinded by the sheer, overlapping number of after-image clones until the trap had already closed.
Before Immaniel could even process the shifting reality, Apeiron's voice cut through the void, cold and absolute.
"Presence Sore: Shattering Omni-Strike!"
Apeiron lunged. A punch buried itself deep into the God's chest, followed by a relentless, rhythmic storm of strikes. He was hitting Immaniel from every direction at once, his fists functioning as instruments of erasure. Every punch targeted a metaphysical pressure point, stripping away the God's functions, divine powers, and ancient abilities with surgical precision.
The attacks became truly omnidirectional, hitting Immaniel everywhere simultaneously as the after-image fabrications and the physical reality of Apeiron's fists merged into a single, crushing truth. Immaniel's body was left almost completely Emptied, with only a few flickering permissions remaining to hold his consciousness together. He reverted to his regular, diminished form, his eyes dim and hollow as the golden radiance died out.
"I... I can't move my body," he wheezed, staring down at the tiny fragments of himself that remained. Only the specific permissions and body parts that Apeiron allowed to exist were left functioning; the rest had been systematically erased from the world's design. Immaniel had become a prisoner within his own skin, held together only by the mercy of the Ashbore.
"Don't bother asking your God for help," Apeiron said coldly, his voice echoing like a death knell in the vacuum. "I severed your connection completely. No one can give you power, and in your state, you can't even receive it. You are a closed circuit, Immaniel."
Apeiron leaned in, his Black Presence casting a long, suffocating shadow over the broken deity. "Now... where is my mother? Where is this higher realm you speak of the place where you sacrifice the souls? Tell me exactly where you are keeping all these slaves."
Immaniel began to scream, a raw, ragged sound that no longer carried the resonance of a thousand voices it was merely the sound of a terrified man. "Help me! Someone... please, help me!"
He clawed at the air, his eyes wide and bloodshot, realizing with a cold, paralyzing horror that the "Grand Script" was no longer answering his call. The heavens were silent. His divinity was not just suppressed; it was gone. He was mortal, his skin pale and shivering against the freezing vacuum he once called his domain.
He began to sob, the tears hot and heavy against his cheeks. "Please... I beg of you... return my divinity! It is all I am! Without the light, I am nothing!" He looked up at Apeiron, the arrogance that once defined him replaced by a desperate, groveling hunger for survival. "I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything! The High Altars, the Mother's location I will betray them all! Just give me back…."
"Good," Apeiron said.
But before Immaniel could utter a single word of truth, Belial materialized within the void.
"We can't have him doing that," the Demon General rumbled, his four eyes igniting with a hellish light. Twin beams of infernal Demon Fist energy erupted from his gaze, incinerating the former God's skull instantly.
Apeiron hung there in the absolute void between the infinite multiverses of this cosmos, his chest heaving as he drew in the nothingness of the between-space. His Black Presence began to flicker and fade, the sheer strain of the battle finally taking its toll. The absolute precision of his movements wavered, and his Empty Presence: Projection Fabrication deactivated, leaving him as a singular, bruised figure against the dark.
He steadied his breath, narrowing his eyes as he stared down his new enemy. The games with the Gods were over; now, he faced the Demon who had watched it all from the shadows of the void.