During his battle with Muria, the Thorned Evil God couldn't help but reflect on the absurdity of the situation.
Their enemy was the same: the cowardly Evil God of Desolation hiding in his origin world. Yet, these two beings had outright rejected his offer of alliance without explanation. Not only that, but one of them had attacked him without hesitation.
Why?
From the Thorned Evil God's perspective, there was no rational justification for this assault. What benefit could Muria possibly gain by fighting him? There was no profit in this conflict, no prize to claim. The entire affair was baffling.
Was Muria confident that he could kill him in this battle? If that were the case, it would make sense. But as their fight unfolded, the Thorned Evil God realized that Muria's strength, while formidable, wasn't overwhelming enough to guarantee his demise.
If there was no profit and no certainty of victory, why fight?
Every action has a reason, the Thorned Evil God thought grimly. Every seemingly irrational event has a logical explanation if viewed with enough information. If this fight seemed senseless, it was only because he lacked some crucial piece of the puzzle.
He tried to speak with Muria during their battle, attempting to understand his opponent's motives and end what he saw as a pointless conflict. But Muria ignored him entirely, leaving the Thorned Evil God to his musings.
Then, he noticed something troubling. As their battle dragged on, Muria's power seemed to grow. It was a subtle increase, but to a being of epic stature, even the smallest details did not escape notice.
More importantly, this growth did not appear to be a temporary surge. It was as if Muria was permanently strengthening himself through the battle.
Understanding dawned upon the Thorned Evil God. Muria wasn't fighting him for any material benefit but as a means to grow stronger.
This realization unsettled him further. Muria was undoubtedly the one who had gravely injured the Evil God of Desolation. Yet, this didn't align with what the Thorned Evil God observed of Muria's power. While strong, Muria didn't seem capable of such devastation.
What had reduced the Evil God of Desolation to such a pathetic state, forcing him to flee without his army and hide in his origin world like a frightened animal?
A chilling thought crept into the Thorned Evil God's mind. Could there be a hidden factor he had overlooked?
The possibility was enough to prompt immediate action. Mustering his strength, the Thorned Evil God unleashed a powerful attack to push Muria back momentarily. Then, without a second thought, he turned and fled, abandoning his minions without hesitation.
Better to lose some disposable followers than to risk his own existence.
His instincts proved correct. The moment he disengaged, the void ahead of him split open. From the rift erupted a torrent of golden dragonfire, searing hot and impossibly fast. The breath of flames pierced straight through his core.
HSSSS!
The Thorned Evil God screamed in agony, his distorted voice echoing through the void. The pain was excruciating, unlike anything he had felt before.
But the dragonfire was only the beginning. As it subsided, a crimson blade of divine energy emerged from the rift—a sword aura far more potent than any Mikaela had unleashed earlier.
The sword aura bore the weight of divine authority, its sharpness matched only by the oppressive gravity it exuded, as though it intended to collapse the very fabric of the void.
SLASH!
The blade struck true, cutting cleanly through the Thorned Evil God's form. The sacred flames of the Seraphim ignited within him, burning away corruption and filth. His agonized screams grew louder.
"What is going on here?"
Muria, who had paused his pursuit upon seeing this spectacle, frowned. Instead of joy at his enemy's suffering, his expression darkened.
He didn't need to guess who had delivered these attacks. The energy was unmistakable. But that familiarity only soured his mood further.
This was supposed to be his battle. There was no reason for his elders to intervene.
"Muria, care to deliver the final blow?"
From the void rift emerged a massive golden dragon's head, its regal horns shaped like a crown. It was Deimos, Muria's draconic grandfather, who gazed at him warmly while making the suggestion.
"No need," Muria replied flatly. He glanced at the Thorned Evil God, writhing in pain as divine and draconic flames consumed him. "This isn't a game. There's no point in me taking the final strike."
His tone grew sharper as he continued. "Grandfather, can you explain why you're here? Are you worried for my safety? Or do you think I'm incapable of handling my enemies?"
Deimos's sudden appearance was anything but random. The vastness of the void made encounters between epic beings exceedingly rare unless coordinated. The fact that Deimos had shown up here, in this isolated section of the void, meant he had been tracking Muria's movements the entire time.
This paternal vigilance, while rooted in care, irritated Muria. It suggested a lack of trust in his abilities—a sentiment he found deeply frustrating.
"Hahaha, you misunderstand," Deimos chuckled, his ancient eyes gleaming with amusement. "I didn't come here just for you. I'm here because the reward for this task was too tempting to pass up."
A voice chimed in before Muria could respond. "Deimos, I don't recall promising you any reward before we set out."
From another void rift emerged Arudiba, Mikaela's grandparent and a Seraphim of unmatched authority. His holy presence radiated dignity as he unceremoniously debunked Deimos's excuse.
"Who said you didn't?" Deimos retorted, his composure faltering. "Arudiba, don't act like you didn't go to Titan territory, knowing you'd get beaten, just to secure that world's coordinates!"
"Beaten?" Arudiba's serene expression cracked. "Do you even know how to phrase things properly? It wasn't a beating—it was a calculated battle to obtain the coordinates."
Mikaela, who had arrived silently, watched her grandfather's reaction with a faint smirk.
"Calculated, you say?" Deimos teased. "You went to Titan territory alone, got your wings broken, and bled enough to drown a small world. That's what you call 'calculated'?"
"It's normal to take injuries in a fight with a Titan! How is that strange?" Arudiba protested, growing increasingly exasperated.
"Oh, sure. And what injuries did you inflict in return?" Deimos asked, his draconic grin widening.
Arudiba fell silent, gripping his sword tightly. His so-called triumph had amounted to nothing more than cutting a Titan's long hair—hardly a comparable feat.
"I merely state facts," Deimos said with a laugh.
"And who begged me to bring them along once I secured the coordinates?" Arudiba shot back, his calm demeanor giving way to a sharp glare.
"Begged? Me?" Deimos's scales bristled. "Nonsense!"
Their argument echoed through the void, leaving both Mikaela and Muria to exchange weary glances. Ah, the elders—always the same.
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