The circle of divine auras pressed closer, suffocating. The air itself bent under the weight of heavenly law, each breath heavier than stone. The battlefield was once a mountain range crowned in clouds, but now it was rubble, mountains ground to dust beneath the clash of higher realms.
The Godslayer stood at the eye of this storm, blood dripping from his black sword. Corpses of divine warriors lay scattered across the shattered plain. Even gods bled before him.
And yet… not even he could ignore the trembling of his wife at his back, clutching their infant son.
The golden-eyed man his own elder brother by blood tightened his grip on his spear. Golden flames coiled around him like a burning sun.
"Look at you," he said coldly. "Once we called you kin. Once, we believed you'd bring glory to our clan. But you—" his voice hardened, "you seek to defy heaven itself. That path cannot be allowed."
The Godslayer barked a laugh, though blood stained his lips.
"Cannot be allowed? Or are you afraid? Afraid that I've shattered the chains you worship?" He stepped forward, sword dragging furrows through broken stone. His aura erupted, cracking the sky once more. "Tell me, brother—when did you bow your head and become heaven's dog?"
The woman in white raised her flute, the faintest frown on her lips. A single breath from her instrument birthed countless sharp waves of sound. They sliced through the battlefield like invisible blades, shaking the air.
"Enough talk. Surrender the child. He is innocent—he need not share your fate."
"Innocent?" The Godslayer's wife stepped forward, though her body swayed with exhaustion. Her gown was torn, streaked with blood, yet her arms tightened protectively around the child.
"You dare to speak of innocence when you point blades at your own nephew? He is blood of your blood!"
"Blood of a heretic," the golden-eyed brother snapped.
At that moment, another voice cut in—a middle-aged man cloaked in violet, his aura vast as an ocean. He was the clan's patriarch, the one the Godslayer once bowed to as father. His gaze was cold as the void.
"Do you know what you've done?" His voice was calm, but it pressed like thunder in the marrow. "By reaching beyond heaven's order, you've doomed us all. The heavens whispered one truth to me, my son: if you live, the era of gods will end. For the sake of all creation… you must fall."
The Godslayer's face twisted—not with fear, but with grief. His sword trembled, not from weakness, but from rage held barely in check.
"Father… you too."
The patriarch closed his eyes. "Better I bury one son than doom ten thousand generations."
The eight surrounded him fully now, their combined domains crashing down. Fire, ice, sound, void, and laws beyond mortal comprehension layered into a suffocating storm.
The Godslayer exhaled, blood flecking his lips, and smiled.
"Then so be it. Today I learn… whether heaven itself can die."
He moved.
Black steel flashed, dragging a scream from the heavens. The first strike cleaved the sound blades in half, the second split fire and void. A third strike met his brother's golden spear, sparks bursting like suns. The shockwave hurled mountains into dust.
His brother snarled. "You can't fight us all!"
The Godslayer's laughter rang wild, unbroken. "And yet here I stand!"
Another wave of attacks surged: ice chains coiled around his limbs, void spikes pierced from beneath, sound blades screeched in his ears. Still he carved through, each stroke of his sword carrying the weight of slaughtered gods.
But numbers told. Every clash left his body torn further, blood soaking his armor. He staggered, knees dipping, before forcing himself upright.
Behind him, his wife whispered softly to the crying infant. Her lips brushed the boy's forehead, though her eyes never left the battlefield.
"Be strong, my son. One day… you will rise where we fall."