A fearsome howl—like the shrieking of several beasts at once reverberated across the desert. And with the sharp follow-up of a strange wind, everything began to fall apart.
At the same time, a larger quantity of mana started to assemble beneath the eye. To Noel, it felt like every ounce of magical energy in the atmosphere was being weaponised against him.
He remained calm, yet excited. His face bore a grin that nearly stretched to the ends of his face.
"Gregory, why don't you lend me that authority?"
"Sure."
Noel felt an insane force rush into him. It was magic. A foreign magic that spread around his body till it became part of his very being.
He was going to use Gregory's contracted authority against the very one that granted it. Of course, he was taking an absurd risk since he didn't even know the characteristics of the said authority.
But to him, that was the fun of it. As more and more mana swarmed towards the being that lurked at heights unimaginable, Noel speedily commenced his retaliation.
A fraction of the ascending mana which flooded the skies like a waterfall in reverse motion, diverted and immediately came under his control. Noel's palm widened, and solidified mana took form above it.
In a matter of seconds, Noel had wielded a golden spear from the mana. He spun it around a few times, and with his left hand still stretched, uttered a command.
His voice was cold and bone-chilling. "Time Stop!"
Everything stopped at once.
The sight was pictorial, like an ultra-vivid depiction of mythical lores and tales. The eye in the sky, the blue mana drawn into the sky, and Noel.
While everything ceased, he did not. He was like the irregular in a painting that seemed to move each time you didn't look.
Except he did move.
Silhouettes of chains extended from his figure, bolting towards the god like slithering snakes. They went in unison, coated in disintegrating layers of mana.
And when they reached the eye, they danced, running their ways over the surface. They wounded time and time again, dashing like a serpent that would not let loose of the prey.
But compared to the ridiculous size of the figure, they were too small. And shortly after, they would start to break. But Noel was not discouraged.
[Slayer is calling out to you]
A major fraction of the frozen mana became alive and descended mightily on him. It cascaded down his body, washing past his head, torso and legs.
A circle of an extremely wide radius was formed on the ground, made purely out of raging mana. Blue flames danced around the circumference, as they fluttered wildly in one accord, blazing with an intense heat.
The chains developed cracks and shattered. One after the other. And they did so at increasing speed. Simultaneously, the sphere that once stared blankly in space began to move. Slowly but surely.
Noel took a different stance in response. He pushed back his right leg and took a step forward with the other.
His eyes locked with the eye above. It was now alive, and it could see.
Noel extended his left hand, using it to enhance his aim. His right hand spun the spear, while his left pointed towards the god.
At that moment, all the chains broke and time resumed its normal pace. The mana that froze turned red and pulsed with a malevolent energy.
And what once rose to the skies, fell like lightning.
It was a larger scale attack than the palm that intended to crush him into bits. And it wasn't just going to crush him—it would make him age and rot till nothing was left. Soul and all.
Noel screamed with a loud voice and raised his weapon. Then pushing forward, he flung out his arm in one swift motion, extending it with all his strength.
The spear didn't just leave his hand. It vanished from his grasp.
Instantly breaking through the sound barrier, it sped upwards, moving too fast to leave a streak. The force was so strong that he felt his arm dislocate from its socket.
But before he could worry about it, the battle had already ended.
SWISSHH! A swift sudden sound came nano-seconds after the clash. And then, everything shook.
BOOOM!!
The sky itself splintered into several fragments, leaving several huge gashes that stretched from heaven to earth. It went as far as the eye could see. Space had broken apart, and the entirety of the pocket dimension had begun to erode.
What was left of reality was quickly being eaten by the ever-extending tear, which expanded into several dark pits of hollow nothing. Everything that was, began to fade into the blackness that dawned.
No explosions. No shockwaves. Just chaos.
And the eye…was severely wounded.
A scar which it didn't even attempt to heal extended over the enormosity of its mass. It was deep—too deep. Not a single muscle lied in between. The eye was divided in two equal halves, but somehow it was alive.
And it did not bleed.
It wasn't just because the attack had reached it, but because nothing—including itself could withstand it.
The pocket dimension of a god was not a domain. It was part of the god itself.
A message appeared before Noel.
[You are being ejected from the pocket dimension]
Noel wished he could finish what he started, not minding his dislocated arm. But he was satisfied for now—he had done enough damage.
And then, the pocket dimension, in its entirety, crumbled into nothing.
….
….
"....."
There was no sunlight in the room where they were. Side by side they sat, spread around a huge white table like petals of flowers. There were 80 of them.
A bronze candelabra that held several candlesticks hung overhead, illuminating the room in a dim yellow glow. And below it were 80 people—all in masks and suits.
"He's absent." someone said.
"And he will be penalised!" Another responded. "We can't have him ruining the Balance."
The man who spoke after was a huge burly man in a suit that wore a tie fitted to his neck. His brown suit was well ironed, and neatly tucked into his trousers. However it had a weird batch latched onto the breast pocket.
It was a number that read '033'.
Another man cleared his throat and joined in on the conversation. "He is being incompetent by not showing up." He had a thicker, more masculine voice.
His batch read '021'.
"Anyways.." another person said, looking a lot younger than the rest. "We could always blame any predicament on him, can't we?"
It was a young man that looked like he was in his early twenties. He had black curly hair that cascaded down to the sides of his neck, and a smug, narcissistic smile refused to leave his face. As he spoke, he played with his hair, curling it around his fingertips.
He was also seated quite informally, as he extended his legs fully, allowing his frame to rest on the chair like he was the head of the meeting.
"Not every god is as easygoing as yours." A bald man sharply retorted, silencing another which tried to speak with his heavy, booming voice.
"Sad." The young man remarked, showing no interest in his words. His number was 010 while the other person that spoke numbered 009.
Then suddenly, everyone went quiet.
A majority of the people present glanced over in unison at one certain someone. At the very end of the table, seated like a CEO amidst his staff, was a person.
But his figure was shrouded completely in darkness and could not be seen. It was an odd type of darkness—one that seemed to occur around him, and him alone.
A silhouette—too obscure to make any descriptions of, sat motionlessly before the 79 people present. At his left were 39 people and at his right were 40.
However, one thing shimmered under the dim light of the candelabra. A metal plate—a batch that sat in the darkness of his frame.
It had a number.
001.