Chapter 35:

  "The Everything Man"

  Arc 4: Chapter 1

  POV: "???"

  The white-green flash that engulfed the Council Tower dissipated, leaving behind a charged silence and a vibration in the air that made bones ache.

  Outside, the crowd that had gathered for the trial now recoiled in panic, their eyes fixed on the smoking opening at the tower's peak. Bodies stumbled over each other, screams pierced the air, and at the center of it all, the silent question no one dared to voice:

  What would emerge from there?

  Luka was the first to reach the tower's base.

  His elite mages formed a defensive line behind him—but it was a line that trembled. Hands on staves faltered, eyes couldn't fix on any single point. The danger emanating from above was palpable, a density in the air that sucked courage like a vampire sucks blood.

  "Prepare yourselves!" Luka's order echoed, trying to sound firm.

  But there was a thread of doubt in his voice. A tremor he couldn't control.

  The tremor began in the foundations.

  It rose like an underground roar, vibrating in legs, in chests, in teeth. The tower's walls shook. Loose stones fell.

  Then, he emerged.

  From the darkness and smoke of the opening, a figure descended.

  Not falling. Descending. With a supernatural lightness more frightening than any violent impact. He floated through the air like a feather made of lead, defying everything they knew about physics and magic.

  It was Empty.

  But not the Empty they knew.

  His hair—long, white as pure light—fluttered gently, contrasting with his tanned and perfect skin that was once rotten and translucent. He wore only simple, durable pants and a loose white tunic, hanging off one shoulder, revealing a torso that seemed sculpted by a divine artist.

  But it was the eyes that seized attention.

  That froze the soul.

  Two points of fluorescent green light, glowing with cold intelligence and overwhelming power. They didn't blink. They only observed. Assessed. Judged.

  Luka swallowed hard. He fought to maintain composure, not to retreat a single step.

  "So this is you now, Empty?" he forced a tone of disdain he didn't feel. "You put on this whole charade, used a Universal Stone... just to get pretty?"

  He laughed, a dry, hollow sound.

  "Pathetic."

  Empty landed softly on the ground, a few meters ahead. His green eyes fixed on Luka without hostility—only with a distant assessment, like a man observing an ant before deciding if it's worth stepping around.

  "It's Everything now."

  The voice was calm. Melodic. And it carried a final weight, like the sound of a door closing forever.

  Luka laughed again, but the sound came out weaker.

  "It doesn't matter what you call yourself. I won't let you get near the other stone, and—"

  The world slowed.

  Or perhaps Empty accelerated.

  Before Luka could finish the sentence, Empty simply wasn't where he was anymore. There was no transition, no perceptible movement. He merely ceased to exist at one point and began to exist inches from Luka's face.

  So fast that even the displacement of air went unnoticed.

  Luka's instinct screamed.

  He tried to swing his hammer, channel his magic, activate whatever defenses he had—but he was slow. So incredibly slow. His muscles seemed to move through molasses, his thoughts crawled like slugs.

  Empty's fist moved.

  It was an economical movement. Perfect. Without excess, without flourish. Just the exact amount of force needed.

  The impact wasn't thunderous.

  It was a dry, deep thud. Like a great tree being felled in a forest, heard for miles around.

  Luka was thrown backward like a rag doll. His body arced through the air, uncontrolled, and smashed through the wall of an adjacent building as if it were made of paper.

  Bricks flew. Dust exploded.

  But Luka was the third strongest for a reason.

  Before his body could hit the second building, a bluish vortex swallowed him. The air distorted, and he reappeared a few meters ahead of Empty, already in an attack stance, coughing blood but still standing.

  Raphadun was at his side, gasping, his face pale with effort. His teleport energy still shimmered around his body.

  "Not so easy!" he shouted.

  Luka didn't waste time. His hammer already glowed with concentrated purple energy, so dense it seemed a small black sun. He lunged in a spinning strike that could split a mountain.

  Empty didn't even properly dodge.

  He tilted his body a few centimeters to the left.

  That was all.

  The hammer passed a hair's breadth from his face, the energy dissipating in the air behind him in a useless roar. The simplicity of the dodge was an insult—as if Luka were a child brandishing a stick.

  Empty, then moved again.

  He rose.

  Not with a jump. Floating. As if gravity were a suggestion he chose to ignore. He floated in the air, a few meters above the ground, a display of power that made the soldiers retreat a few more steps.

  Luka stood in shock, looking up.

  Empty looked down.

  And then he fell like a meteor.

  His fist raised, his body straight as an arrow, his speed increasing with each fraction of a second. The air around him caught fire with the descent.

  This time, Luka managed to react.

  He crossed the hammer's shaft above his head, channeling all the magic he had left into his defenses.

  The impact sounded like a world-ending bell.

  Shockwaves spread in all directions, knocking down soldiers, shattering windows within a hundred-meter radius. The ground beneath Luka's feet cracked and sank, creating a crater around him.

  But he held.

  Empty retreated, landing softly a few meters ahead. His face showed no effort, no frustration, nothing. Only that same terrifying calm.

  He raised his arms before him, palms facing Luka.

  "Temporal Destruction," he announced. The voice is still calm. Almost gentle.

  Luka didn't understand.

  But then he felt it.

  It wasn't a physical attack. There was no impact, no heat, nothing that could be blocked or dodged. It was a sensation. A disintegration beginning at the extremities of his body.

  His armor began to peel away. Not in pieces—in dust. Tiny metal particles detached, floating in the air before simply ceasing to exist.

  His skin tingled. A horrible numbness spread through his arms, his legs, his chest.

  It was as if his very existence was being erased. Molecule by molecule. Second by second.

  Raphadun, a few meters away, tried desperately to teleport him. His bluish energy enveloped his friend, pulled, forced...

  And faltered.

  Dissipated.

  Empty's power was like an anchor, holding Luka to that fate. Unmovable. Absolute.

  "NO!"

  Raphadun's scream was pure desperation. A sound no brother should ever have to make.

  A golden flash cut through the air.

  Luna arrived like a comet.

  Her body was enveloped in an aura of sunlight so intense it hurt to look at. She was a miniature star, a bonfire of determination and terror and love and everything else that made her human.

  Her fist—charged with all the fury, all the pain, all the fear she felt—connected with the side of Empty's face.

  The impact was thunder.

  A boom that shook the surrounding buildings, that shattered the remaining glass, that echoed through the streets like the herald of the apocalypse.

  "LIGHT PUNCH!"

  Empty was thrown sideways.

  His body slid across the ground for dozens of meters, carving a trench in the stone, raising a cloud of dust and debris. The Temporal Destruction was interrupted.

  Luna didn't pursue him.

  She ran to Luka.

  The mage staggered, parts of his armor and skin still seeming faded, fragile, as if they could unravel at any moment. His eyes were glazed, his breathing irregular.

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  "Are you okay?" Luna's voice was an urgent whisper. "I'll heal you. Hold on."

  Her hands began to glow with a soft, golden light—the same light that fed in the Infernal Zone, the same light that was her essence. She touched Luka's skin, and the light penetrated, sealing the deterioration, reversing what could be reversed.

  Luka smiled. A crooked, brave gesture, leaning on her.

  "That was nothing!"

  Raphadun landed beside them, breathless, his face bathed in sweat.

  "Are you two okay? Luna... that was close. That... that's not Empty anymore. He almost erased Luka from existence."

  Luna looked back.

  Empty was already rising.

  He rose from the dust as if nothing had happened, gently shaking debris from his white clothes. The mark from Luna's punch—a red spot on his perfect face—was already fading, the skin regenerating in seconds.

  "It did... nothing?" she murmured.

  A wave of cold despair rose in her throat.

  "Shit!"

  The three stood, forming a wavering trio. Luka is still fragile, Raphadun exhausted, Luna with fists raised, but her heart in tatters.

  Empty began walking toward them.

  Without haste. His measured steps echoed in the terrified silence of the city. The streets around were deserted now—all who could flee had fled. Those who couldn't hide in basements and crevices, praying to gods they didn't believe in.

  "I don't want... to hurt you."

  Empty's voice was almost pleading. But the green eyes—those eyes that glowed with a light not of this world—carried an unshakable conviction.

  "Just give me what I want."

  Luna smiled.

  A bitter smile. Sad. The kind of smile you make when there's nothing left to do but smile.

  "Even after almost killing Luka, right? Is this you now? Power, war... all of this will make you nothing but a horrible person, Empty."

  Empty stopped.

  He looked at her.

  And for the first time, a true smile touched his lips.

  It wasn't a smile of happiness. It was a smile of deep pity. Condescending. The smile of someone who has seen something no one else has seen and now carries the burden of that vision alone.

  He moved.

  It wasn't speed. It was instant teleportation. The same power as Raphadun, but without effort, without limitation. One moment, he was ten meters away; the next, he was in the exact space between Luna and Luka.

  His arms already extended in lateral strikes, seeking to neutralize both at once.

  The air crackled.

  Raphadun's counterattack was automatic—a reflex trained by years of battles in the Infernal Zone. His energy enveloped Luna and Luka, pulling them from the strike's trajectory.

  They vanished from the impact point.

  Reappeared a few meters behind.

  Empty's fists cut through empty air.

  But the effort made Raphadun groan. Keeping up with Empty's speed, predicting his movements, reacting in time—all of it was draining him too fast. His body wouldn't hold much longer.

  The battle that followed was a nightmare in fast-forward.

  Raphadun teleported Luna and Luka in a desperate choreography, trying to position them at attack angles. They appeared to the right, left, above, below—a frantic dance of light and movement.

  Luna launched blasts that illuminated the sky—golden projectiles, blades of energy, waves of heat that melted stone.

  Luka struck with magic blows that shook the ground—purplish spheres, webs of energy, controlled explosions.

  Empty, at the center, was a vortex of stillness.

  He moved the absolute minimum. A head tilt here. A sidestep there. A millimeter dodge that made each attack pass close to his skin without ever touching it.

  His movements were economically perfect. He predicted everything. Every strike, every teleport, every strategy—he had seen it before. In some future, in some timeline, this had already happened.

  And he knew how it ended.

  Luna, gasping, felt exhaustion beginning to take hold. Her attacks were slower, less precise. The light around her began to falter.

  Then she had an idea.

  It wasn't a good idea. It was a desperate idea. But it was the only one she had.

  She created a colossal sphere of pure light above them.

  It grew like a small sun, suspended in the air, hot and bright, illuminating the entire square with a brilliance that blinded. Her face was tense with the effort of maintaining it.

  Luka understood.

  He advanced, ignoring exhaustion, ignoring pain. His arms wrapped around Empty in a bear hug, restraining him for a fraction of a second.

  "Raphadun, NOW!"

  Raphadun shouted.

  His energy enveloped Luka, pulling him away. At the same time, it enveloped Luna, bringing her to the exact point where Luka had been.

  The small sun collapsed.

  Luka, from across the square, launched himself back like a human missile. His hammer spun in a vortex of purple energy, creating a tunnel of destruction in its path.

  Combined attack.

  The crushing light from above. The concentrated physical impact from the side.

  The world exploded in white and purple.

  The sound was deafening—a roar that wasn't just noise, but a physical presence that compressed lungs and made ears bleed.

  When the dust settled, a crater the size of a city block had opened in the center of the district. Smoke rose from its edges in slow spirals. Debris rained around like ashes from a volcano.

  Luna fell to her knees, gasping, sweating, her arms trembling.

  "Did we get him?" she murmured, her eyes fixed on the crater. "That attack... must have done some damage."

  Before her words could dissipate in the air, a figure emerged from the smoke at the crater's center.

  Not climbing.

  Floating.

  Empty rose into the air, hovering above the destruction they'd caused, absolutely untouched. His white clothes didn't have a tear. His skin didn't have a mark. His green eyes swept the city below like a god surveying his domain.

  Raphadun choked.

  "He's... flying?"

  Empty's voice descended like a decree.

  Calm. Clear. Heard by everyone, even those hiding miles away.

  "Cowardice is a blessing for those who believe they have already achieved perfection."

  He paused, his eyes scanning the city, the buildings, the people.

  "That is why I am here..."

  He closed his eyes for a second.

  When he opened them, the green glow seemed more intense. More absolute.

  "Because I love all of you."

  He raised his hands to the sky.

  Not in attack. In a gesture almost of blessing. Like a priest blessing his congregation.

  Nothing happened immediately.

  Silence.

  Then, the sky darkened.

  Objects—pieces of debris from the city itself, stones, metal scraps, twisted beams—were torn from the ground and distant buildings. Wrapped in a green aura, they rose into the air, hovering around Empty like a court of servants.

  And they began to rain.

  Not an ordinary rain. Directed meteors. Each fragment had a target—not Luna, not Luka, not Raphadun. But everything around them.

  Explosions erupted across the square.

  The ground trembled. Buildings collapsed. Fire and smoke rose in columns, creating an impenetrable curtain of chaos and destruction.

  "What was that? Why?!" Luka shouted, protecting his face from debris flying in all directions.

  Luna, illuminating the dust around her with her light, understood with a shock of horror.

  "He was testing himself... and taking Raphadun out of the fight."

  She looked to where Raphadun had been.

  Now completely obscured by smoke.

  Without a clear vision, her brother couldn't teleport with precision. He was blind, lost in that artificial hell.

  From the mist, Empty emerged again before them.

  His white figure was a ghost in the artificial darkness—pure, immaculate, terrifying. He looked at Luka.

  And Luka saw.

  Not Empty.

  A memory.

  He was a boy again. Sixteen years ago. Running in a sunny training field, heart light, future infinite. His father—a large man, smiling, with arms that could embrace the world—waited for him at the end of the course.

  "Go, Luka! Show your worth!"

  Young Luka smiled, shouting as he ran:

  "Look, Father!"

  The memory was so vivid. So warm. He could feel the sun on his skin, the grass beneath his feet, the love overflowing from his chest.

  Beside the memory, materializing as if it had always been there, stood Empty.

  His green eyes reflected the past scene with a distant, almost scientific curiosity.

  "So this is your past..." Empty's voice was soft, almost a whisper within Luka's mind. "It's a shame, Luka. In a normal world, we could have been great friends."

  He tilted his head, studying the memory like one studies an ancient painting.

  "The past is the virtue that builds a strong future. And for understanding that... I am now invincible."

  His fist rose.

  "My punch will surpass the time you trained. The punch was trained for sixteen years."

  The green light concentrated in his hand.

  "Punch of the Future!"

  The fist moved.

  It wasn't fast this time. It was inevitable. Like the sunrise, like death, like the end of everything. It carried the weight of all of Empty's years of solitude, his obsession, his distorted "love." It carried every curse he had killed, every memory he had absorbed, every fragment of humanity he had accumulated without ever understanding.

  It connected with Luka's torso.

  There was no explosion.

  There was a silence.

  And then, Luka simply... went.

  His body was hurled with a force that transcended physics. He flew like a rag through rows of buildings—first one, then two, then three. Each impact was new destruction, a new cloud of debris, a new hole in the city's landscape.

  Until he disappeared over the horizon, swallowed by a distant cloud of dust and ruins.

  "LUKA!"

  Luna's scream was torn.

  She had tried to move, tried to intercept, but the shockwave from the punch had pushed her away like a leaf in the wind. Now, she stood paralyzed, staring at the trail of destruction stretching for kilometers.

  That was Everything.

  And she realized, with a coldness that penetrated to her bones, that she had never—never—been ready for this.

  Fear came first.

  Then, it transformed.

  Into pure fury. Into absolute determination. Into something greater than herself, greater than her body, greater than her life.

  She turned to Empty.

  Her green eyes—hers, natural, full of life and pain and love—met his—artificial, cold, full of power and certainty.

  "The prophecy said the Definitive would defeat you, Everything!"

  Her voice didn't tremble.

  "And I am the Definitive!"

  She lunged forward.

  Luna's attacks were a storm.

  Brilliant projectiles shot from her hands like light machine guns, each capable of piercing steel. Energy blades formed around her, cutting the air in all directions. She conjured a giant of light, a colossal figure that enveloped her like armor, its enormous fists descending upon Empty with the force of a falling mountain.

  Empty dodged.

  Dispersed.

  Destroyed.

  Each attack met the same end: nothing. He moved like water, like wind, like shadow. The projectiles passed. The blades missed. The giant's fists crushed empty ground.

  He didn't counterattack.

  He only watched.

  His head was slightly tilted. His eyes were fixed on her. Like a scientist observing an experiment. Like a god watching a fighting ant.

  And then, the scene split.

  Not physically—but in the essence of the moment. In Luna's mind. In the soul of whoever watched.

  The Luna of now: sweaty, determined, landing fierce blows against the man who once saved her life. Her face contorted in fury, her eyes brimming with tears that didn't fall.

  And the memory...

  Three years ago.

  The year-end festival in the Safe Zone. Colored lights hanging on the walls. Soft music is playing in the background. People laughing, dancing, living.

  Luna, laughing, pulls Empty from his wheelchair.

  He is fragile. Dying. His body barely holds itself; his skin has the pallor of one who no longer belongs to this world.

  But she holds him.

  Their awkward bodies meet, and they begin to turn slowly. A trembling, uncoordinated, precious dance.

  The music is soft. An ancient melody that speaks of love and loss and everything in between.

  She laughs.

  He watches her.

  And for a moment—a single, fragile, precious moment—there is no Infernal Zone, no prophecy, no Persuer, no war.

  Just two beings finding a fragment of peace amid the darkness.

  The fight in the present continued.

  A strike from Luna. A dodge from Empty.

  A kick from her. Blocked by his forearm.

  She screamed in frustration. He remained calm.

  In the Infernal Zone, sitting in ruins, Empty draws.

  His strokes are primitive, childish, but the heart behind them is pure. He draws her and him as powerful heroes—capes in the wind, swords raised, smiles on their faces.

  She laughs, seeing the drawing.

  "Not like that, Empty," she says, but the smile on her face is genuine.

  They share the idea. Naive and beautiful. That peace could bloom from kindness. From understanding. That two such different beings could find a way to exist together.

  Now, the Empty in white looked at her.

  And in his green eyes, there was no understanding.

  There was a conclusion.

  Peace would only bloom from total war. From purification. From the destruction of everything weak so that only the strong remained.

  The dance in the past was about connection.

  The fight in the present was about separation.

  Everything had changed.

  Everything was this.

  The scene merged again into the critical present.

  Empty, predicting every move Luna made, every attack, every strategy, finally decided to end it.

  His punch wasn't spectacular.

  It was precise.

  It struck her shoulder—not to hurt badly, but to break her balance. To disrupt her posture. To make her fall.

  The shock coursed through Luna's body like an electric wave. Her arms tingled, her legs lost coordination. She tried to retaliate, but her limbs wouldn't respond—disconnected by the precise blow.

  She staggered.

  Her eyes lost focus.

  And she remembered.

  On their first encounter, in the Infernal Zone, she had fainted from exhaustion.

  And he had caught her before she hit the ground.

  Held her with an unexpected gentleness, his monster arms enveloping her as if she were the most fragile and precious thing in the world.

  Now, she fell.

  Her body hit the dusty ground with a dull thud.

  Empty didn't move to catch her.

  He only stood, looking down at her fallen form, his green eyes glowing with the cold light of his rediscovered purpose.

  Before him, beyond his defeated companion, rose the imposing Council Tower.

  Inside it, the last stone he needed.

  He began to walk.

  His steps echoed in the devastated square—slow, measured, absolute.

  "LUNA!"

  The scream was Raphadun's.

  He emerged from the mist, his face dirty with soot and marked by horror. He ran to his sister, kneeling beside her, trembling hands checking her injuries.

  She was alive. Unconscious, but alive.

  He breathed for a second.

  Then he raised his gaze.

  His eyes found Empty's back, moving away toward the tower.

  Raphadun stood slowly.

  The pain on his face transformed into something solid. Into a cold, absolute determination. Into the kind of courage that only exists when there's nothing left to lose.

  He raised his fists before him.

  His teleport energy shimmered around his arms—blue, unstable, but intense. Small sparks danced around his wrists, each one a cry of contained power.

  "So this is it, then?"

  His voice came out hoarse. But clear.

  "All these years... thrown into nothing."

  He planted his feet on the cracked ground.

  Between his friend—or what remained of him—and his fallen sister.

  "Don't think it's over!"

  Raphadun shouted. And for the first time, his voice held no fear. Only a dark acceptance of duty.

  "I am your enemy now."

  Empty stopped.

  He didn't turn immediately. He only stopped, his back still facing Raphadun.

  The silence between them was heavier than any scream.

  Then, slowly, Empty turned.

  His green eyes met Raphadun's—and for the first time, something changed in them. It wasn't pity. It wasn't contempt. It was... recognition.

  Two brothers in different ways.

  Two people who had once trusted each other.

  Two sides of an abyss that now could not be crossed.

  Empty opened his mouth to speak.

  But Raphadun didn't wait.

  His energy exploded around him, and he vanished.