The usurper's sword slashed through the air, aimed at God. But this time… it was different.
God moved—not with indifference, but with intent. He dodged.
Forcing God into a defensive stance, even for a moment, was a feat in itself. But it did not last. A beam of light erupted from the heavens, piercing the usurper's skull. Half of his head was simply gone.
God's voice rang out, firm and absolute.
"Can't you see? This is meaningless. I am the law, and laws cannot be broken."
Yet, even with half a head missing, the usurper laughed. A raw, guttural sound.
"Hahaha… meaningless? Yes. Everything is. Even you. But you can feel it too, can't you? This time, it's different."
For the first time, God's gaze wavered—faint, but undeniable. A crack in his divine certainty.
"Meaningless?"
His voice sharpened, filled with righteous fury.
"I am not."
The sky trembled. The weight of his presence bore down upon the battlefield.
"But you, you are nothing. A wretched stain upon creation. A mistake long overdue for correction."
The usurper's grin widened as his fractured skull knit itself back together. His body trembled, overcome with something far beyond joy—rapture.
"Yes… I feel it!"
His voice quivered with delight, his breath ragged.
"This sensation… the thrill I felt the first time I fought you—it's back! And oh, how I've missed it…"
God exhaled. Not with rage. Not with pity. With finality.
"You stray further from the light with every breath."
The usurper charged.
From his back, another set of hands erupted—twisting, grasping, clawing at the air. With four limbs now striking at impossible speed, he became a storm of blades, a whirlwind of carnage tearing through the space between them. Each slash warped reality itself, leaving afterimages that lingered just long enough to fracture and shatter into nothingness.
But God did not falter.
He did not step back.
With a flick of his wrist, the heavens split.
A barrier of light formed in an instant, divine threads weaving together into an unbreakable wall. The usurper's onslaught crashed against it—steel against judgment, chaos against order. Sparks of golden fire rained down as each impact sent shockwaves rippling through the battlefield, shaking the fractured land beneath their feet.
Then, without a moment's pause, God retaliated.
A single step forward, and space itself bent around him.
His fist met flesh.
The usurper's chest caved inward, the force behind the strike bending him nearly in half before launching him through the air like a broken doll. He spiraled, limbs flailing, before crashing into the ground with such force that the earth beneath him cratered, entire slabs of stone ripping free from their foundation.
But before the dust could settle, before the echoes of destruction could fade—
The usurper was already moving.
With a grotesque snap, his shattered torso mended itself. His head twisted unnaturally, cracking back into place. He grinned, his feet barely touching the ground before he lunged again—faster this time, more feral.
His blade came from every direction at once.
Four arms, moving independently, each a separate force of chaos. One slashed at God's throat, another sought his spine, the third aimed to sever his leg, and the last—jagged fingers outstretched—reached to crush his skull.
God did not block.
He did not dodge.
He raised a single hand.
And time—stopped.
For the briefest moment, existence itself held its breath. The wind ceased. The air thickened, pressed inward by the weight of something far beyond mortal comprehension. Then, with a voice like the breaking of the world—
"BE STILL."
Reality obeyed.
The usurper's body locked in place, frozen mid-attack, his movements caged by unseen forces. His limbs trembled, muscles tensed, straining against the will that bound him.
Then, cracks began to form.
Not in his body.
In time itself.
A deep, horrible laughter bubbled from his throat. His eyes gleamed with wild, unhinged delight.
"Ah… so that's how far you'll go."
And with a sickening snap, he moved.
The air screamed. The ground split. The bindings shattered like fragile glass—
God's eyes widened.
Too late.
The usurper was upon him.
The first blade struck his shoulder, slicing through divine flesh.
The second drove into his side, golden ichor spilling into the air.
The third raked across his chest, carving deep into immortal sinew.
The fourth—pierced his left eye.
For the first time in eternity—
God bled.
His golden essence dripped from his wounds, each drop sizzling as it touched the ground, warping the very fabric of existence. He staggered, if only for a moment, his expression unreadable.
The usurper, still grinning, leaned in close. His breath was ragged, his body trembling with uncontainable euphoria.
"I told you... this time, it's different."
God exhaled.
Not in pain.
Not in fear.
But in something dangerously close to anger.