*Content Warning: This chapter contains mature themes, violence, blood, and morally dark actions. Reader discretion advised.*
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The empires unleashed their assassins and swordmasters upon the world, chasing rumors and shadows. Yet in their throng, hidden among mortals, moved the apostles—avatars of the wrathful gods, sent down with only one goal: to drag Void into oblivion.
Above the chaos, Void stood atop a silent rooftop, Echo of Silence masking his presence. He observed the gathering storm below, eyes cold and calculating.
"They move better than I thought. But skill is meaningless when fate's already sealed," he mused, surveying the battlefield. "Even now, apostles fall. The gods must be livid. Their killing intent stirs the air itself."
Suddenly, Void dismissed his silence. He faced the heavens, voice cutting the sky: "Oi, you pathetic gods. Are these apostles the best you could offer? Weak—laughably so. They died to traps a mortal wouldn't miss. Their idiocy is a credit to your own."
His words echoed through the worlds. The gods trembled with fury. One roared, "You bastard! How dare you kill my apostle?"
On the ground, emperors and swordmasters felt their blood freeze. For the first time, they understood—this was no longer a contest of mortals. This was humanity and divinity united against a single enemy. Even Leon, hidden among the crowd, clenched his fists. "Master, why are gods themselves your enemy? What can I do?"
The gods raged, threats pouring down like poison: "We will kill you, Void! We will torment your soul until nothing remains but dust!"
Void stared back, his gaze blank, unbowed. "If you dare, come. I am weak today, but you are still powerless to kill me. Did you forget already? I told you—I will end you all. Gods, heavens, whatever stands in my path, all will fall to Void."
A god demanded, "Do you know what it means to defy gods and heaven, you foolish mortal?"
Void's expression did not change. "I know exactly what it means. It means freedom. It means war—war against everything that thinks itself above consequence. I even speak to you, Void Expanse. You claim to chain me. I will shatter you, too."
With those words, killing intent shrouded the world; every god in existence glared down, their orders absolute. "Retreat!" they commanded. For the first time in history, the apostles fled—not out of strategy, but fear. But Void would not allow it.
He disappeared, reappearing before an apostle and, with one fluid motion, wrapped his arm in Oblivion Chain. Energy devoured energy. The apostle was trapped, eyes wide with a fear not seen since the dawn of their creation.
"Void grinned, a devilish smile spreading across his face. 'Now, let's make this entertaining.'"
The gods panicked, scrambling to protect their pieces, but Void moved among them like a specter—appearing in a dozen places, severing hopes, breaking defenses. His words dripped contempt: "Whichever god you serve must be worthless. Just look at you. Kneeling. Trembling. Trash, the lot of you."
The apostles, stoked into rage, unleashed every forbidden art their gods granted—Void leapt down without sound. The first apostle rushed him—armor rippling with divine inscriptions, blade flickering with sealed light.
Void closed the distance in three precise steps. The apostle's sword struck, but Void's head tilted—the edge missed by a hair. His elbow shot forward, crumpling the apostle's jaw, then his knee snapped up, breaking ribs with surgical finality. His palm twisted, wrenching the sword away, and in a fluid arc, Void slammed the blade's hilt into the apostle's temple. The armored fool dropped, his world already darkening.
Another apostle was already to his right—moving faster, a blur of divine energy. Void didn't blink. He caught the apostle's fist, fingers locking around flesh and bone. With a turn of his hip, Void drew the man forward and twisted—the arm broke, the apostle spun, disoriented. A heel strike shattered the apostle's kneecap; the next punch drove him face-first into the stone.
Taunts laced the battle.
"Is this what passes for heaven's wrath? Pathetic."
Three more joined—one crackling with lightning, another cloaked in flame, the last flickering like a living nightmare. They attacked in tandem, combining divine arts with centuries of trained violence. Any lesser foe would've become ash.
Void smiled, seeing echoes of every mistake before it was made.
Lightning struck. Void ducked, the bolt shattering rock behind him. As the flame apostle breathed hellfire, Void spun beneath it, grabbing his wrist and twisting, using the apostle's momentum to hurl him into the nightmare shade. Shadows screamed—the flames consumed nothing but their maker.
The lightning apostle closed in. Void side-stepped, palm like a knife, driving up into the man's throat. He choked, light flickering from his eyes, and dropped as Void brushed ash from his shoulders.
The nightmare apostle rose, confusion clouding his features as every trick failed. With a lazy flick, Void kicked him in the knee—bones audibly snapped. He slammed the man's head into the ground, holding so tightly even illusions fractured.
At every turn, Void's movements spoke of endless training—fluid, brutal, economized to the edge of inhumanity. He barely broke sweat.
Another wave fell upon him; apostles shifting their coordination, adapting, gods howling for a turn in fate. Blades flashed, fists swelled with borrowed might. Void seized a wrist, rotated under an arm, snapped a joint. He caught a leg mid-swing, yanked the apostle off-balance, then kneed his skull so hard the mask split.
Two apostles tried for his back. Void rolled, caught their strikes, and used their own weapons to cut each other. He did not waste energy. His style spoke: see, anticipate, use their strength, find their weakness, exploit—efficient and heartless.
One apostle, greater than the rest, bellowed, "Face me, demon!" Divine sigils covered his body, fists glowing. He rained down attacks, each enough to shatter boulders.
Void matched him strike for strike. Bones clacked, flesh bruised, but every exchange left the apostle slower, more desperate. Void's hand shot out, grabbing the man's throat.
"You call this power?"
He squeezed. The apostle's aura broke, his knees gave way, his vision narrowed to silence and darkness. Void threw his limp body into a piling of the fallen, then turned, unbothered.
He let them think, let them grow angry; rage made them predictable, and predictability meant death. "Humans, apostles—control them the same way. Poke, let pride blind them, then end them all at once," Void thought, smirking as the final apostles charged.
Blood soaked the street, apostles groaning, crawling, eyes wide with panic and disbelief.
Void stood amid them, pristine, untouched.
One after another, apostles fell. Broken and sobbing, one spat, "You think you can defy heaven? Once they erase you, you'll learn what true despair means!"
"He wiped blood from his cheek, amusement cold in his eyes."
"Existence is but a battlefield of wills. The weak cling to fleeting warmth, mistaking comfort for meaning; the strong carve eternity with their resolve. To live is not to breathe, but to conquer — to bend reality beneath one's dominion. Mercy, love, hope… these are ornaments of the powerless, illusions forged to soften the cruelty of truth. Only power endures, and only through relentless pursuit of it can one stand unchained.
He lowered his voice, gaze rising to the sky: "I am not powerless, and I will never be. If your gods think erasing me wins the game, tell them to try. I welcome their tricks. Let them all come."
The gods screamed—threats and promises of pain. "If you slay them, we will descend! We will show you agony!"
Void chuckled, low and dangerous. "Come, then. But it's a bluff, isn't it? Even if you dare, I hold trump cards you cannot predict. My options are many; your moves are limited."
Without hesitation, Void tore through the last apostles. The broken bodies fell silent at his feet. He stood above them, looking toward the heavens. "Come for me, if you dare."
The void above quivered with divine anger. "You bastard—we're coming for you!"
Void smirked. "Let's see if you're brave or just loud."
The battle ended, the city in terror, the gods in chaos. Just then, the system window flickered before him.
"Host, are you certain this was wise?"
Void stared through the broken night, voice steady. "There is nothing to regret. If the gods descend, they only fall further into my palm. Let's see what they try next."
And in the darkness, the hunter waited—intent on the next move, unconcerned with the shadows still gathering.
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