The arena roared with an almost terrifying anticipation. A billion spectators from across the galaxy leaned forward in their seats, their screens buzzing with static as they tuned in to watch what was being billed as the most unfair fight in cosmic history. The holographic display above the ring flickered, showing the odds:
one against an entire intergalactic army.
In the center of the ring, looking completely unbothered by the sheer scale of the situation, stood Aetherion.
One hand held the last, magnificent bite of his sandwich, its starlight-shimmering sauce a perfect counterpoint to the impending doom. The other hand rested lazily in his pocket, a universal sign of a man who was completely and utterly relaxed.
His opponent? Well… technically, it was supposed to be a young upstart swordsman named Vrynn, a promising warrior from a distant star system.
But thanks to a certain sandwich-related "incident" in the VIP lounge, the stage was now very, very crowded. Hundreds of black-armored Shadow Dominion soldiers lined the edges of the arena, their rifles humming with void-energy, their visors gleaming with cold, red light.
Above them, hovering in the air with a menacing aura, was the towering warrior from earlier, the one who had so foolishly challenged Aetherion's claim to the Royal Sandwich. He still glared at Aetherion like a man who'd just found his mortal enemy, even though his weapon was now likely sitting in a dimensional closet somewhere.
The announcer's voice boomed across the stadium, a voice filled with both disbelief and a morbid sort of excitement.
"Ladies and gentlemen… and non-corporeal entities! In a shocking, unprecedented turn of events, Contestant #77 will now face… all of them."
The crowd went insane.
A new System notification, flashing with the urgent red of impending chaos, popped up in the corner of Aetherion's vision.
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[Warning]
You have provoked an entire intergalactic army.
New Status: Enemy of the State (Lv. ???)
[Quest: The Snaccident]
Defeat all hostiles. Do not lose your sandwich.
Reward: The satisfaction of a truly excellent lunch.
____________________________________
Aetherion took a final, contemplative bite of his sandwich, savoring the rich flavor. He could taste the glory
.
The match began with a deafening volley. Hundreds of plasma fire ripped across the arena, a wave of pure, destructive energy aimed squarely at the unmoving man in the center. Time slowed—or maybe it didn't. Maybe Aetherion just decided he didn't feel like moving at normal speed.
He watched the plasma bolts as they hurtled toward him, each one a glowing, miniature sun. He could see the individual particles, the ripples in space-time they created, the minute imperfections in their trajectory.
And then, with a casual shrug, he vanished.
No flash, no teleport animation, no sound of displacement. One moment he was standing there, the next he was walking casually behind the Shadow Dominion's front line, still chewing his sandwich. The plasma bolts, however, were still midair, hanging just a few feet in front of where he had been, like lazy, fiery fireflies suspended in a forgotten moment.
Aetherion finished his sandwich and, with a sigh of deep satisfaction, tapped one of the soldiers on the shoulder. The man turned, his visor showing a confused frown as he tried to process how the target had gotten behind him.
And was instantly launched skyward by a casual flick to the forehead. The force was so immense, so ridiculously over-the-top, that the flick broke the sound barrier, then the light barrier, and then what scientists would later refer to as the "common sense barrier."
The soldier became a shimmering streak of light before winking out of existence in the upper atmosphere.
Then things got truly messy.
Aetherion strolled through the ranks with his hands still in his pockets. Each step bent the air around him, a ripple of raw power that threw soldiers off their feet.
Reality itself seemed to get out of his way. Soldiers flew, their weapons exploded into harmless glitter, and their armor crumpled like tinfoil just from the sheer pressure of his proximity. The black-armored warrior finally roared, a sound of frustrated rage, and leaped forward with a blade wreathed in starfire.
The swing was a masterpiece of destructive intent. It tore through the air, splitting the clouds above them in a perfect, glowing line. Lightning danced along the edge of the blade, crackling with enough power to ignite a sun.
Aetherion caught the blade… with two fingers. His thumb and forefinger, to be exact. The force of the blow was absorbed instantly, the raging starfire dying down to a faint shimmer.
"Nice sword," he said, his voice flat. "It's mine now."
With a lazy twist of his wrist, the weapon dissolved into a stream of glowing motes that swirled into his palm, coalescing into a small, harmless-looking marble. The ground beneath them cracked from the sheer, incomprehensible power of the action, and gravity in the entire arena… just stopped.
Spectators gasped as debris, soldiers, and even the announcer began to float upward, their cries of panic echoing in the sudden, quiet chaos. A small, confused-looking alien floated past Aetherion's face, looking deeply concerned.
In the midst of the chaos, Aetherion snapped his fingers.
Every soldier who had been floating—and their disoriented comrades on the ground—was suddenly slammed into the arena floor. It was gentle enough to knock them out cold without causing any permanent injury, but hard enough to make the stadium quake and cause a few minor meteors to rain down in the distance.
The black-armored warrior remained standing, his armor cracked, his breathing ragged.
"You… monster," the warrior hissed, his voice filled with a stunned awe.
Aetherion tilted his head, his face a perfect picture of indifference.
"Monster? Nah. I'm just hungry." He took a step forward, and the unconscious warrior collapsed.
Up in the VIP box, the Tournament Host grinned so wide it was almost frightening. He was watching the carnage with the gleeful look of a man who'd just found his main attraction for the next ten millennia. He picked up a microphone and leaned in close.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he whispered, his voice a low, excited rumble, "we may have just found the strongest man in the multiverse."
But the victory celebration didn't last. A low, foreboding hum filled the air, a sound so deep and powerful it vibrated through the very fabric of space. Above the arena, the sky—which had only moments ago been a beautiful nebula—split open with a sound like tearing silk, revealing a massive, obsidian-black Shadow Dominion warship. It was a city-sized behemoth bristling with weapons, its silhouette casting a terrifying shadow across the floating arena.
From its loudspeakers came a voice like rolling thunder, deep and powerful enough to shake entire planets.
"You have offended the Emperor. Prepare for annihilation."