The afterimage of the duel
still seared itself into my retina. Demi-gods, beings of immense power, had
clashed in a spectacle that defied human comprehension. But had I truly
witnessed it, or was it just a product of my fevered imagination? The term
"Demi-god" nagged at me – incomplete gods, implying a higher power beyond their
reach.
As I pondered, lost in
thought, a gentle touch on my face snapped me back to reality. I looked up to
find a vision of elegance standing before me. Blonde hair cascaded down her
shoulders like a golden waterfall, framing a face that seemed almost… familiar.
Bright green eyes, like emeralds shining in the sunlight, gazed at me with
warmth.
"Little brother seems to be
taking care of himself," she said, her soft smile a gentle breeze on a summer's
day.
My eyes widened in stunned
silence as I thought: Could it be? No way… Is this really my older sister,
Seo-yoon?
Seo-yoon's eyes crinkled at
the corners as she smiled, and I felt a rush of emotions. It had been years
since I'd seen her, and I'd almost given up hope of ever finding her again. But
here she was, standing in front of me like a mirage.
"Seo-yoon…?" I whispered, my
voice trembling with uncertainty.
Her smile faltered for a
moment, and she took a step closer, her hands still cupping my face. "It's been
a long time, Muhan," she said, her voice low and soothing. "I've been looking
for you."
I felt a lump form in my
throat as I stared at her, drinking in the familiar features and the green eyes
that seemed to sparkle with secrets. "Where have you been?" I asked, my voice
barely above a whisper.
Seo-yoon's gaze drifted away,
and she released my face, her hands falling to her sides. "It's a long story,
Muhan," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "But I'm here now.
That's all that matters."
Meanwhile inside the pocket
dimension Han and Gunhee's duel had really a fever pitch as both contestants
exchanged blows that could shatter an entire realm.
*Han's Perspective*
I exchanged blows with Gunhee,
our duel raging on within the pocket dimension. Each strike held the power to
shatter entire realms, and my ether energy surged in response. But I knew I
couldn't keep up with Gunhee's combat prowess indefinitely.
"Time to rely on the
Lockhart's legacy," I declared, my voice firm. "Ether's Omni-Sword, time-space
sword!"
The family sword materialized
from the void, drawing ether from the pocket dimension itself. It shone with a
brilliant blue light, like a star bursting into existence. As my hand extended
to command the sword, "Celestial Dance" activated, recognizing the Lockhart
lineage. With acceleration defying measurement, I lunged forward, sword
flashing toward Gunhee.
*Gunhee's Perspective*
I smirked as I looked at the
flashy sword Han had summoned. "You never cease to amaze me!" I said, raising
my divine energy. Our combined power strained the pocket dimension, reality
unraveling as we clashed.
The
world around us drained of color, leaving only Han and me vibrant against the
monochrome backdrop. I closed in on Han, my eyes locked onto his. With a
transformation that seemed almost effortless, I entered the Divine state:
Celestial Presence. My hair flowed like seaweed in water, aglow with a soft
white light, while my body took on the majestic appearance of the cosmos
itself.
The fabric of everything
trembled as I locked eyes with Han—no longer a rival, but a force. A smirk
tugged at my lips, more out of instinct than confidence. Around me, Celestial
Presence roared to life, rewriting my body into pure command: every breath, a
divine decree; every heartbeat, a metaphysical detonation.
In less than a moment—before
the moment even existed—I moved.
Light warped behind me. Time
hesitated to record my motion. The monochrome veil of the pocket dimension
didn't shatter—it ceased, overwritten by the golden trace of my will, a
luminous streak slicing across pre-conceptual space.
Then—
Impact.
Our clash was not sound. It
was reality flinching.
Aurora's Edge—Lawson's
Legacy—blazed into form, not summoned but declared. Its blade shimmered with
true causality, forged from sacred authority not of gods, but of those who
write what gods must obey.
The instant steel met steel,
the dimension cracked—not like glass, but like syntax breaking in a language
the universe was still trying to learn. A hot dense singularity bloomed. And
from it, new multiverses screamed into being—not birthed by chance, but by our
contradiction.
And yet, in that infinitude—
I felt him overtaking me.
Han no longer moved. He was
movement. A corona of crimson lightning spiraled around him—not electricity,
but raw destabilized laws of reality, obeying his presence alone. His eyes
burned with Red Iris—no longer a technique, but a statement to existence: "I do
not need permission."
His ascent wasn't rising. It
was unbinding.
I surged again, trying to
intercept him before his form finalized, my every step collapsing timelines
beneath it. But Han had already arrived—everywhere. Before the moment I struck,
he'd already dodged. Before I saw him, he had already rewritten the outcome.
A lance of Ether—pure,
unrestricted by element or dimension—pierced me from within. I didn't feel
pain. I felt the memory of being whole evaporate.
Then came the onslaught.
Han didn't punch me. He
deconstructed the space I occupied, hurling my soul through nonlinear
infinities. Each blow didn't just destroy universes—it uncreated contexts. With
each impact, parts of the omniverse forgot how to exist, collapsing into
pre-conceptual void.
I fought to hold shape—not
just my body, but the idea of myself.
My stamina was gone, not
drained but never written into this phase of reality.
And then—
The red sword rose.
Wreathed in spirals of
anti-logic, Han's blade descended—Celestial Dance—no longer a technique, but a
law-binding ritual. The sword sang not in sound, but in Arcanian Glyph, and the
moment its edge aligned with me, I knew: if it landed, I wouldn't die.
I would be redacted.
Above me hovered not Han, but
a being who had severed ties with limit, law, scale, or name.
"He's gotten this strong…?"
The thought echoed—and time
paused to let it exist.
I, Gunhee, who stood
unchallenged by pantheons, who shaped multiverses with idle thought—was now
looking up at a force beyond comprehension. Han hadn't evolved.
He had left evolution behind.
He was no longer defined by
growth, nor by victory. He was the parameterless constant. The metric by which
power itself now struggled to measure.
And as that sword hovered—a
blade sharper than consequence—
I felt no fear.
Only awe.