Zane stood quietly.
Before him, Kaelos’s corpse hung impaled on her own trident—pierced through face, throat, and chest. Divine blood, red laced with fading gold, dripped slowly onto the cracked ground below. The once-proud goddess of surges no longer radiated power. Her divine aura had already begun to disperse, dissolving into the cold wind of the dead planet.
The trident was grounded deep into the surface, holding her lifeless body upright like a cruel monunt.
Zane rested one hand in his coat pocket, the other loose at his side, his deep purple eyes calm as ever.
Across the battlefield, Drakthar stared at the scene.
Rage boiled violently inside him.
His fists trembled, golden frenzy mana flickering wildly around his arms, cracking the ground beneath his feet. For a mont it looked as if he would charge blindly, tear reality apart just to reach Zane—
—but he stopped.
Drakthar inhaled.
Exhaled.
Then he looked toward Vorathrax.
The god of tyranny t his gaze and gave a slow, silent nod.
They would not rush.
They would not repeat Kaelos’s mistake.
Zane watched their exchange and sighed softly.
"...They still don’t understand," he muttered.
His gaze moved from Drakthar, to Vorathrax, then briefly to the fading divine residue where Zephyros and Kaelos had fallen.
"They are gods in na only."
He shook his head.
"They’re not gods."
Zane lifted his eyes, expression unreadable.
"They’re just people who live longer... and hit harder than normal."
A faint breath escaped him.
"And yet you mistake that for divinity."
The wind swept across the ruined battlefield, carrying with it the last traces of Kaelos’s divine mana as it vanished into nothingness.
Drakthar and Vorathrax moved at the sa ti.
Space cracked beneath their steps as they flashed forward, divine pressure exploding outward.
From Zane’s left, Drakthar struck first—
a full-power punch wrapped in blazing yellow divine mana. The tallic bands around his fists ignited, frenzy intent roaring as the blow carried enough force to shatter continents.
From the right ca Vorathrax.
The greatsword descended in a brutal overhead slash, its massive blade coated in orangish divine mana laced with gold. Tyranny poured from the edge, the strike ant to crush will itself along with flesh.
The two attacks converged.
Zane did not move.
At the last instant, he crossed his arms.
His right hand caught Drakthar’s fist.
His left hand closed around Vorathrax’s descending blade.
The impact detonated.
A deafening shockwave tore outward, flattening distant mountain ranges and sending violent ripples through the planet’s crust. The sky split with thunder as divine mana clashed—
—and then stopped.
Zane uncrossed his arms.
With one smooth motion, he twisted his waist and flung them both away.
Drakthar was hurled sideways like a teor, yellow mana spiraling uncontrollably around him.
Vorathrax was ripped from his stance, the greatsword screeching as he was thrown in the opposite direction, his body skidding through the air for hundreds of kiloters.
Both gods barely managed to stabilize themselves, boots carving long scars across the ground as they forcefully halted their montum.
Silence followed.
Dust drifted slowly back to the earth.
Zane straightened his coat, purple eyes calm—almost bored—as he looked toward the two remaining gods still standing before him.
Drakthar roared and surged forward again.
Yellow divine mana erupted around his body, frenzy intent screaming as he vanished in a blur. His fist tore through space, smashing toward Zane’s head with raw, overwhelming force.
At the sa ti—
Vorathrax moved.
The greatsword swept sideways, releasing a massive arc of orangish-gold tyranny mana. The pressure alone crushed the ground flat for dozens of kiloters, gravity bending toward the blade.
The attacks overlapped.
Zane exhaled softly.
His stance shifted.
Ripple Vein Flowing Fist — Opening Form
The world seed to slow.
Drakthar’s punch connected—
—and slid past Zane’s shoulder.
The mont contact occurred, Zane’s arm rotated, his palm tapping the god’s wrist. The frenzy mana twisted, redirected along invisible pathways, and exploded backward into Drakthar’s own ribs.
Ripple Vein Flowing Fist — Returning Current
Drakthar’s eyes widened as his own power slamd into him, sending his body spinning through the air, blood spraying in golden streaks.
Before he could recover, Vorathrax’s blade arrived.
Zane stepped forward instead of back.
He placed two fingers against the flat of the greatsword.
Ripple Vein Flowing Fist — Still Water Deflection
The tyranny mana wavered.
The sword’s path bent sharply downward, carving a 30-kiloter trench into the planet instead of Zane’s body. The redirected force detonated far behind him, turning mountains into vapor.
Vorathrax snarled and swung again, faster, heavier.
Drakthar rejoined from above, fists crashing down like falling suns.
Two gods attacked together.
Zane moved between them.
Every strike that landed was t with a turn of the wrist, a shift of weight, a redirection of intent itself.
Punches missed by milliters.
Blades slid aside as if guided by fate.
Their own divine mana rebounded against them again and again.
Ripple Vein Flowing Fist — Flowing Echo
A knee strike redirected upward sent Drakthar crashing headfirst into Vorathrax’s shoulder.
Ripple Vein Flowing Fist — Twin Reversal
Zane caught Drakthar’s elbow, twisted, and used the god’s montum to hurl him straight into the tyrant’s chest.
The collision shattered the ground beneath them, creating a crater tens of kiloters wide.
Drakthar staggered back, coughing golden blood.
Vorathrax skidded to a halt, boots grinding into molten stone.
Both gods stared.
Their breathing had grown heavy.
Their divine auras flickered violently.
Zane stood untouched.
Hands relaxed.
Expression calm.
The difference between them was clear.
.
.
.
Zane exhaled lightly.
"Ti to finish this."
He looked at the two gods before him.
"They ca with montum," he said calmly. "But they’re... lackluster."
Drakthar and Vorathrax were breathing heavily now.
Sweat mixed with divine blood.
Both of them were thinking the sa thing.
What in the hell is this man?
Their auras flared at the sa ti.
Drakthar roared as frenzy mana exploded outward. His divine bands shattered and reforged, glowing violently as his eyes rolled white.
Frenzy God’s Rampage.
Reason vanished from his gaze.
He charged straight at Zane.
Vorathrax moved as well, greatsword dragging golden tyranny mana across the ground as he followed behind.
Drakthar reached Zane first.
Punch after punch fell like teors, the shockwaves ripping the terrain apart. Each strike carried enough power to erase mountains.
Zane stepped forward.
His movents were smooth.
Unbroken.
His arms traced gentle arcs as he parried every blow—redirecting elbows, slipping knuckles aside, guiding wrists away with minimal contact.
Ripple Vein Flowing Fist — Continuous Stream
Drakthar swung with everything he had.
The punch should have torn Zane in half.
Instead—
The mont it connected, Zane rotated his wrist.
The impact folded inward.
The frenzy mana twisted violently and reversed direction.
Drakthar’s own fist drove straight into his chest.
Divine flesh ruptured.
His ribs collapsed inward as blood sprayed from his mouth.
Before he could stabilize, Zane stepped to the side and kicked him cleanly across the torso.
The redirected force tore the wound wider.
Drakthar was sent flying like a broken doll, skidding across the planet before stopping himself with raw instinct.
He ripped his own arm free from his chest cavity.
The wound tried to regenerate—but frenzy had consud his mind.
He no longer felt pain.
With a distorted roar, he charged again.
Zane raised one hand.
Above his palm, a tiny blue orb ford.
Barely the size of a bullet.
Inside it, space itself twisted—compressed layers folding endlessly inward, rotating in silent spirals.
Zane studied it briefly.
"...This should be enough."
He closed his hand.
The orb shattered soundlessly.
Drakthar closed the distance.
Zane opened his palm again.
Then blew gently across it.
Space Devouring Dust
Dark-blue particles scattered forward, glimring like starlight.
For the first ti since entering berserk—
Drakthar felt fear.
Before he could react, the dust passed through him.
There was no explosion.
No impact.
His body was simply... perforated.
Hundreds of perfect circular voids appeared across his torso, arms, and skull.
Behind him, entire mountains vanished without sound—erased as if existence itself had been scraped away.
Drakthar collapsed mid-stride.
His body fell apart before it hit the ground.
Vorathrax froze.
He stared past the remains.
Another mountain chain behind them distorted—then vanished, sucked inward as though swallowed by an invisible singularity.
His breath caught.
"...What... was that?"
The battlefield was suddenly silent.
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