Unrivaled in another world

[: 3rd POV :]

The aftermath was silence, deafening and absolute.

Varnokh was gone.

He was not slain but rather erased. 

His throne lay shattered.

His essence was devoured.

No soul, no afterglow, only a gaping void where once stood an Overlord of Decay.

The other six froze as the smoke from Daniel's Oblivion Breath lingered in the air like an ancient curse, thick and suffocating.

"V-Varnokh?!" Ixellion's voice cracked, eyes wide in disbelief.

"He… he's not just dead," Myraen whispered, her fingers trembling.

"He's unwritten… even the strands of fate where he should exist are gone."

Zar'Kael's celestial eyes narrowed.

Even in their vast, incalculable age, they had never witnessed something like this.

Never.

"This isn't a battle anymore…" Shyros murmured. "This is execution."

"He's toying with us…" Saelithar said under her breath, her tone a mixture of dread and rage.

Daniel stood where Varnokh had perished, surrounded by curling remnants of the multi-elemental annihilation breath that had devoured every law and logic around it.

His wings slowly folded in.

His silver-and-void hair danced unnaturally.

His draconic eyes gleamed like twin catastrophes on the edge of manifestation.

"Come then," Daniel said with a calm that cut deeper than any blade.

"Three more offerings."

The temperature shifted—no, the entire dimension did.

Fueled by wrath and the bitter taste of loss, Myraen, Ixellion, and Saelithar charged.

Myraen, The Weaver of Infinite Threads

Her eyes glowed a soft, eerie gold as she lifted her arms, shimmering threads stretching out in every direction.

"Fate Blessing!" she cried.

A surge of divine force wrapped her in layers of protective outcomes.

In every strand of possibility, she would survive.

Her Stigma and Grace of Destiny amplified this—each attack she made would unravel the fates of others while denying any adverse threads for herself.

Then her Core and Origin flared.

Threads of potential tore through space, each one a reality-tethered weapon, forged in timelines where Daniel could be hurt.

They flew toward him with a speed that defied time.

"My fate is absolute!" she screamed.

Ixellion, The Eternal Sunfire

The ground shattered beneath him as his Blessing awakened.

"I WILL BURN YOU TO OBLIVION!"

Black suns burst around him.

His Stigma and Grace erupted, ensuring that no matter how many times he fell, his body would knit itself back from flame and cinder.

His Core and Origin bled fire that devoured even light.

"Commandment!"

Black flames twisted like hungry serpents, howling toward Daniel in waves, devouring the threads Myraen summoned as they passed.

From his Throne, he launched spears, spheres, and torrents of solar collapse, all aimed at obliterating the man who murdered Varnokh.

Saelithar, The Moonborne Sovereign

She floated into the air, lunar circles orbiting her like shattered halos.

"Lend me your strength, oh forgotten moons—Blessing of Celestial Blood!"

The moons above the dimension flickered and shifted.

She was borrowing from realms unseen.

Her Stigma and Grace shimmered around her skin—every blow she took would be turned into strength.

Then she invoked her Core and Origin.

In this form, Saelithar becomes a beacon of celestial madness.

Her body is encased in mirrored moonlight, and any direct gaze into her eyes sends enemies into a spiral of lunar delusion.

Her magic twists reality subtly with lunar tides—warping distance, weight, even time.

With her Throne and Commandment, she spoke, and the space around Daniel bent.

All three charged at once.

Myraen's threads lashed with timelines of death.

Ixellion's black suns roared with searing apocalypse.

Saelithar's lunar beams shattered causality itself.

For a moment, it felt as if the chamber itself would fall.

But Daniel… didn't move.

His tail swayed lazily. His gaze never left them.

As Myraen's fate threads closed in—

SNAP.

They unravelled before touching him.

"No..." she gasped.

"My threads… they're coming undone…!"

Ixellion's black inferno engulfed him—

Yet, when the fire cleared, Daniel stood, untouched.

The flames had spiralled around him like reverent spirits.

"Why... why doesn't it burn you?!"

Saelithar's moonlight twisted the battlefield—

Daniel vanished.

"Behind you."

She turned—too late.

A single flick of his wing knocked her back, her shield of fate shattering like porcelain.

''It's kind of funny that all of you are using all of your abilities against a person,'' Daniel smirked.

''How about I render all of it useless?'' Daniel questioned eerily.

At that moment, all of them sensed something was wrong. 

Then, Daniel slowly raised his hand toward the sky. The air crackled.

He exhaled softly. And in that breath, there was the whisper of worlds ending.

Daniel stood still, composed, unbothered—yet in the next breath, the very laws of divinity convulsed.

He raised his hand slightly, and the air itself folded around him like trembling silk. Then—

"Bloodline Form: Apocalyptic Pulse."

A wave of invisible force rippled out from his body, cascading through the battlefield like a silent quake.

There was no light.

No sound.

Only a shift—a horrid, soul-wracking shift.

Myraen gasped, staggering mid-air.

"M-My fate threads… they're withering!"

Ixellion's inferno dimmed like a dying ember.

"My flames—why aren't they regenerating?!"

Saelithar floated backwards instinctively, her moons flickering with distortion.

"I feel… hollow. My mana, my divine blood—it's draining…"

It was a 50% reduction.

Not just in strength.

In everything.

HP. MP. Divine Energy.

Even the natural regeneration blessed upon them by their Thrones and Origins ceased entirely, frozen as if time itself was weeping.

They stared at Daniel in disbelief. Confusion. Panic. Dread.

"This should be impossible," Myraen whispered, horror in her golden eyes.

"Not even 'them' can defy so many absolutes…"

"No ability should ignore Blessings. Not Grace. Not Core. Not—" Ixellion hissed, clenching his fist as his flames sputtered.

"This is a god-killer's power…"

But Daniel wasn't done.

He raised his gaze slowly, and the world dimmed.

His voice echoed like the first whisper spoken into an empty universe.

"Bloodline Form: Eye of the First Apocalypse."

A tremor shook the skies.

Above Daniel, space tore apart—not with light or fury, but with silence.

From that fissure, it emerged.

A gigantic eye, lidless and void-wreathed, its iris swirling with forgotten colours and a pupil shaped like a dying star.

Time stopped for an instant.

The three Overlords froze mid-motion.

Their bodies refused to move.

Not from fear—

But from universal rejection.

"What is that…" Saelithar breathed. Her voice cracked.

"No. No. That's… that's not even a skill," Ixellion snarled, though even he stepped back instinctively.

"My fate… It's gone. I can't see it anymore," Myraen's voice shook. "I can't read anything. Not even death."

Then it hit.

Another pulse—but this time, it wasn't just their strength.

Their stats plummeted by another 90%.

All buffs—divine, throne-born, fate-woven—vanished like they'd never existed.

Their boons were silenced.

Stigma? Muted.

Commandments? Voided.

Even their Origins—the core of what they were—shuddered.

Myraen clutched her head, stumbling as her golden strings snapped and shrivelled in mid-air.

"What… is this madness…?!" she cried. "It's seeing me… It's consuming my concepts!"

Ixellion roared, flames exploding uncontrollably from his back.

"My soul's on fire—and not by my doing! I can't stop it! Something is—screaming—inside!"

Saelithar collapsed to a knee mid-flight, hands shaking.

"I… I hear the moon weeping...It's showing me something that shouldn't be seen…"

As they stared into the Eye, they felt more than fear.

They felt the collapse of identity.

Madness crept into their thoughts. The memories of their births, their ascensions, even their names—all began to blur.

The battlefield—once brimming with divine energy, roaring flames, silver light, and twisted threads of fate—had gone deathly silent.

And standing at the heart of it was Daniel.

Calm. Still. Unshaken.

In front of him, the once-feared Overlords, Myraen, Ixellion, and Saelithar, were crumbling.

Their bodies trembled.

Their divine energy was flickering like broken lamps in a storm.

Their once-proud forms—each a monument of power, shaped by Blessings, Thrones, Cores, and Commandments—had lost all meaning.

Two bloodline forms from Daniel alone had reduced them to less than dust in the wind.

[: Apocalyptic Pulse :]

[: Eye of the First Apocalypse :]

Together, these two abilities had not merely weakened them.

No, they obliterated the foundations that made them Overlords.

Their stats were zeroed.

Their regeneration had ceased.

Their divine buffs—erased.

Their bodies were intact.

Their minds were conscious.

But their power?

Gone.

As if it had never existed.

Daniel stepped forward, his gaze cold, void of mercy and devoid of recognition.

He stared down at the three kneeling husks that once called themselves gods.

"How does it feel..." Daniel spoke, his voice low and laced with eerie calm,

"...to be worse than a mortal?"

His eyes—jet black with hints of cosmic decay—pierced their souls.

In that gaze was no anger. No joy.

Only dominance.

He was the one they had tried to overwhelm.

Now he was the one standing above them like the embodiment of the inevitable end.

Myraen tried to rise. Her legs buckled.

Ixellion growled, but his flames no longer came. Even smoke betrayed him.

Saelithar stared at the sky, breath catching as the moon she'd worshipped turned its face away, as if in shame.

"I told you," Daniel continued, voice rising slightly, echoing across the collapsed battlefield.

"All things… come to an end."

Before they could utter a single word—before they could beg, curse, or even understand—

Daniel snapped his fingers.

A deep, world-splitting hum followed.

And in the very next instant—

THREE SPEARS—massive, jagged, glowing with obliterating energy—erupted from the void and plunged through their chests.

No wind-up.

No incantation.

Just absolute will—given form.

Destruction Element Manipulation.

Authority of Destruction.

And finally… Bloodline Form: Singularity Destruction.

The spears didn't merely pierce flesh. T

hey devoured existence.

With Destruction Element Manipulation, they burned through every known law of resistance.

With the Authority of Destruction, they carried the force of absolute erasure—atoms, memories, even their conceptual forms were being stripped.

And with Singularity Destruction, nullifying all attacks and defences, consuming all regeneration, and devouring even the soul.

They didn't scream.

They couldn't.

The moment the spears struck, their bodies began to collapse inward, pulled by a force far beyond gravity—like stars folding into black oblivion.

Their divinity. Their essence. Their command of Fate, Flame, and Moon.

All gone.

No explosion. No glorious light.

Just… obliteration.

The only thing left behind—

Were their eyes.

Three sets of fading eyes remained, hovering in the air where their bodies had stood.

Eyes that said a thousand unspoken things.

Regret.

Despair.

Disbelief.

And most haunting of all, recognition.

They now understood.

He was their end.