The golden sphere pressed against Xerollion like a physical tide, a tsunami of divine authority attempting to drown his very existence.
For three excruciating seconds, he had actually felt it—the terrifying, beautiful pull of entropy reversing, the sensation of his own heartbeat stuttering as time tried to unmake him.
It was the first time since his confrontation with Kaeleth that anything had made contact with him in a way that required genuine cognitive processing.
Three seconds of real, tangible effect. That wasn't a failure; it was a data point of immense value. Most gods would have been unmade in the first millisecond.
'Impressive,' Rex thought, his mind working with cold, inhuman speed even as the golden pressure roared around him. 'The output is magnificent... The scale is unprecedented...'
He filed the sensation away with genuine appreciation, a predator cataloging a new kind of venom. He reflected, not for the first time, on the grim mathematics of his own ascension.
