The fight stops pretending to be contained.
Whatever passes for sky above us splits cleanly down the middle, a seam of raw brilliance tearing open as power bleeds out faster than reality can redirect it. Distance collapses. Direction becomes suggestion. The Sea beneath me thrashes, no longer reacting to pressure but to instinct—as if it knows this is the point where gods stop posturing and start killing.
Xyrrath floats opposite me, half-framed by the widening rift, his form flickering like a bad memory that refuses to settle.
I don't give him time.
I draw everything inward.
Not water.
Not depth.
Mass.
The Sea compresses behind my strike, authority folding space tighter and tighter until it screams. I step in and drive my fist forward.
The impact lands.
It is not metaphorical.
The force detonates against Xyrrath's face like a newborn star going critical—light exploding outward, shockwaves ripping through layered realities. A supernova's worth of violence erupts in a single, focused moment. Space caves inward around the blow, folding like crushed metal.
Xyrrath is hurled backward.
Hard.
He smashes through three spatial layers, each one shattering on contact, his body carving a ruinous path through stacked dimensions. The shockwave ripples outward, rattling distant universes like loose glass.
I don't let up.
I raise my hand.
"Stay."
Authority clamps down.
Space around Xyrrath compresses violently, flattening inward from every direction. Dimensions buckle as I force the coordinates to collapse, crushing him into a shrinking cage of impossible density. Reality groans, then cracks, lines of white fracture racing outward from the pressure point.
For a heartbeat—
I think I have him.
Xyrrath snarls.
Not in pain.
In effort.
He plants his feet against nothing and pushes.
Space ruptures.
He tears free through raw resistance, ripping the compression apart with his bare will. Shards of collapsed reality explode outward as he lunges forward, teeth bared, eyes burning with something ugly and delighted.
"You're hitting harder," he growls. "Good."
He disappears.
Not teleports.
Counters.
The rifts around us flare to life, and Xyrrath attacks from everywhere at once. From one tear, a blade of inverted causality slices toward my spine. From another, a mass of writhing abominations pours out, screaming as they fall. From a third, his hand reaches through space itself and strikes.
I barely manage to turn before the blow lands.
Pain detonates through my side—not physical, not clean. It tears at my continuity, rattling my connection to the Sea hard enough to make my vision blur. I skid backward across collapsing layers, anchoring myself with raw authority before I'm thrown clear into nothing.
I hiss and straighten.
Enough.
The black liquid rises.
It pours from the Sea around me—not corruption, not shadow, but depth so dense it looks like darkness. It coils around my limbs, spreads outward like ink dropped into infinity.
Xyrrath sees it and pauses, interest flickering across his face.
"Oh?" he says. "Going there?"
I answer by unleashing it.
The black tide surges forward, swallowing rifts, flooding through space itself. It wraps around Xyrrath and his abominations, dragging them together into a single, sealed mass. The creatures thrash and dissolve inside it, their screams cut short as the liquid erases distinction.
Xyrrath struggles—but only briefly.
Before he can slip free, I act.
I raise both hands.
And create a sun.
Not a star born of fusion—but a sphere forged from destruction as concept. Its light does not warm. It annihilates. It exists solely to end what it touches.
I compress it down to the size of a city.
Then I shove it into the encapsulated mass.
The explosion is beyond scale.
Light obliterates everything. Space disintegrates. The shockwave tears outward in all directions, shattering rifts, flattening dimensions, sending ripples through the universe itself. Distant realms shudder. Gods feel it in their bones. The Sea roars as the force passes through it like a tidal wave.
For one impossible moment—
There is nothing.
No Xyrrath.
No abominations.
No distortion.
Just aftermath.
I hover in the void left behind, breathing hard, power flaring unevenly. The universe around us trembles, slowly knitting itself back together where it can.
Kaelthar.
The thought cuts through me.
He needs help. Now.
I turn—
And darkness slams down.
It pours over the battlefield like a curtain, swallowing light, sound, and sense. Laughter echoes through it, low and amused.
Xyrrath's laughter.
"Oh, that was excellent," his voice says, close. Too close. "You almost convinced me."
My eyes widen.
The darkness peels back.
Xyrrath steps out of it, whole. Unmarked. Not even breathing hard.
I stare.
"How—"
"I stepped between," he says lightly. "Between moments. Between outcomes."
He taps his temple. "Then I erased the version of me that died."
The realization hits like a blade.
Timeline excision.
He never survived the explosion.
He removed the version of himself that didn't.
Before I can react, he moves.
The strike lands squarely.
It hits me with layered force—space folding inward, time snapping forward, reality itself punching through my defenses. I feel something break as I'm hurled backward, my connection to the Sea flaring violently before stabilizing.
Pain tears through me.
Real pain.
I barely manage to stop myself from tumbling into the void.
Xyrrath floats toward me, eyes alight, smiling wide.
"You thought you were my equal?" he says, mockery dripping from every word. "I was playing with you."
He tilts his head, studying me like a tool.
"Now," he continues, voice soft and dangerous, "what should I do with you?"
His gaze sharpens, glinting.
"I could use you," he says thoughtfully. "Turn you loose on that dragon. See how long he lasts."
Rage flares—
And then—
Light.
Pure, blinding light rips through the darkness, cutting it open like a blade through cloth. The shadows recoil, hissing, as the radiance floods the battlefield.
Xyrrath's smile fades.
Something has arrived.
And whatever it is—
It is not afraid of him.
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