Without flourish, without even the need for stance, Asher lifted the weapon and waved it once.
The void screamed.
The calamity beast froze mid-lunge. Its colossal body seemed to resist for an instant—but then reality itself complied with Asher's motion. A perfect seam split down the center, from the crown of its head to the last joint of its tail.
And then, like a star cleaved in two, it fell apart.
Not just flesh was severed. Its essence—its soul core, the very anchor that made it a calamity—was cleanly divided, snuffed out before it could even realize death had claimed it. Both halves drifted past Asher's still-sitting form, dissolving into ash-like motes that scattered into the eternal void.
Asher exhaled slowly, lowering the scythe, his gaze following the fading remnants. "So fragile," he murmured. "And yet feared as if it were a god."
