Vael struggled—not because he was weak, but because he was unaccustomed to the raw power surging through him.
The energy within him was limitless, terrifying in its intensity, but also unpredictable. He was stronger than he had ever been, but strength alone was not enough against a god who had honed its power for eons.
The God of Swords moved with elegance that spoke of battles fought across the fabric of reality itself. Every strike was precise, every motion a testament to mastery. Vael was fast—perhaps even faster—but his power was wild, unrefined, clashing with his instincts rather than flowing with them.
A blade of light cleaved through the battlefield, cutting through space itself. Vael barely dodged, feeling the edges of reality warp around him as he shifted at the last moment. He countered with a pulse of force that shattered the air between them, but the god stepped through it as if it were mist.
Vael gritted his teeth. His strikes were strong, but they lacked focus. The god saw this and exploited it mercilessly.
A thousand blades rained down, twisting through reality to strike from impossible angles, each one carrying enough power to erase a city. Yet they moved with the precision of a master's hand. Vael weaved through them, parrying where he could, but with every movement, he was being pushed further onto the defensive.
"Your power is great," the god spoke, its voice calm amid the storm. "But it is undisciplined. Power without control is destruction without purpose."
Vael didn't respond.
He couldn't.
He was too busy surviving.
Another slash tore toward him. He barely raised his arm in time. The impact sent shockwaves through his body, his bones trembling under the force. He stumbled. His footing faltered for the first time.
And in that moment, he realized—he was facing death.
Not as a distant threat, but as an absolute certainty.
This was not the first time he had danced on the edge of oblivion. But this time was different. The first time, he had barely escaped—surviving by chance. But now, he stood with power, not just fighting to live, but to defy the very order of existence.
The god did not hesitate. A blade of pure divine energy materialized in its grasp. It moved faster than thought, carving an arc that would sever Vael's existence itself.
He couldn't dodge.
Time slowed as the blade descended. The radiant edge neared, a breath away from ending him.
And in that instant, a thought gripped him with a force greater than fear.
If he died now, he would never keep his promise.
His mother—her voice, her touch, the warmth she once gave him—would be lost forever. He had sworn to bring her back, no matter the cost.
Nothing else mattered.
Not morality. Not honor. Not the laws of gods or men.
He would become anything to save her.
He would do anything.
The world could burn. The heavens could shatter. The gods themselves could fall.
He would save her.
No matter what.
Then, a voice echoed in his mind.
Low and ancient, yet tinged with unmistakable pride. It carried the weight of countless lifetimes.
"Will you really become anything?"
The words slithered through his thoughts, sharp and relentless.
"Will you truly do anything? Or are these just empty whispers of a man who fears death?"
The voice did not accuse. It did not mock. It questioned, peeling back the layers of his resolve, exposing the foundation beneath.
It already knew the answer. There was something almost familiar in its tone, as if it had walked this path before, as if it understood him in a way no one else could.
"What is your will truly worth? Will it shatter when the weight becomes unbearable?"
Vael's eyes burned with unwavering determination.
"I will not break."
His voice was steady, unshaken.
"No matter the cost, no matter what I must become—I will not stop."
The storm inside him surged, responding to his defiance.
"I will save her. Nothing in this world—or any other—will stand in my way."
Silence stretched between them, as if the voice weighed his words.
Then, it spoke again.
"The road ahead will be harder than any battle you have fought."
The voice was absolute.
"Even facing the gods without power would be easier than what awaits you."
No malice. Only truth.
"And so I ask again. Will you still take this path? Will you still choose this fate?"
Vael closed his eyes. The weight of the voice's words pressed down on him.
Then, he opened them.
"I will."
His answer was firm. Unwavering. Without hesitation.
"If sorrow is the price, I will bear it. If pain is the cost, I will endure it. If the world turns against me, I will stand alone."
His voice was steel.
"I will not stop."
The voice was silent for a moment. Then, as if considering something beyond the present moment, it spoke once more.
"Very well."
A shift, imperceptible yet absolute.
"Then just this once, I will help you."
There was no warmth. No cruelty. Only understanding.
"Listen carefully. I will show you how to unleash a single attack—one that will be more than enough."
The knowledge surged into Vael's mind.
"This technique will take the very essence of your power and condense it into a singularity of raw energy. It will not be a mere blast or a strike, but something beyond mortal comprehension."
"When released, it will take the form of an omnipresent storm—a force from which nothing can escape. Whatever comes into contact with its winds will not merely perish. They will cease to exist."
"Their essence will be erased, leaving no trace behind."
"But understand this," the voice continued. "This is merely a weaker version of a far greater technique—one that stands above all destruction."
A pause, filled with unshakable certainty.
"It is called 'Dimensional Eradication.'"
"And know this," the voice continued, "this is but one theory—one interpretation out of many. More than fifty exist, each holding a different truth, each capable of reshaping existence in its own way. But for now, this will be enough."
Vael's breath caught.
"But I don't have enough time. Even with time slowed while you speak… it's still moving. The battle hasn't stopped. There won't be enough time to prepare the attack."
The voice did not waver.
"There is more than enough time."
As its final words echoed through his mind, the weight of knowledge settled upon him.
No time to question. No time to hesitate.
The battlefield called to him, its storm of power and destiny converging upon this singular moment.
The god still stood before him, its eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Though its face remained impassive, there was a shift in the air—an unspoken recognition that something had changed. The winds of the battlefield stilled for a fraction of a second, as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for what was to come.
Vael exhaled slowly, fingers trembling as he reached into the depths of his own power.
The moment had come.
He would end this.
And the heavens would remember.