The air between them collapsed.
Not exploded.
Collapsed.
As if existence itself refused to remain intact in their presence.
Gideon moved first.
Not with strategy.
Not with control.
With instinct.
The moment he stepped forward, the ground beneath him shattered into fragments of floating stone. Space twisted around his body, pulling everything toward him like gravity had chosen a new center.
Azael did not move.
Gideon's strike should have landed.
It didn't.
It passed through.
Like hitting a concept instead of a body.
Azael's voice echoed from everywhere at once—
"You still think in limits."
Gideon turned—
Too late.
A force struck him from behind, sending him crashing across the ruins of Eryndor. The impact didn't break bones.
It bent reality around him.
Pain surged through every part of his existence.
Not physical pain.
Something deeper.
As if his very definition was being challenged.
"You are not a warrior," Azael said, appearing above him. "Not yet."
Gideon forced himself up, blood dripping from his lips.
"Then why do I feel like I've done this before?" he growled.
Azael's eyes narrowed slightly.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
"You shouldn't," he replied.
Gideon smiled faintly—
Despite everything.
"Then something's wrong with your world."
Silence.
Azael looked at him—
Not as a mistake.
But as a possibility.
And for the first time—
The god-level entity felt something unfamiliar.
Uncertainty.