Jhonathan swung his twin swords.
The impact shattered the Azurite Armour completely.
The system menu flickered—then vanished entirely.
No interface.
No guidance.
Only battle.
---
He moved instantly.
Roots erupted through the ground in thousands, each one aimed with precision—not at him, but at the civilians still trapped in the collapsing battlefield zones.
One by one.
Too many to count.
Jhonathan's body moved before thought.
Dodging.
Twisting.
Redirecting momentum mid-air as his instincts took over completely.
Speed that no longer felt human.
He avoided every piercing strike, every blade-like root emerging from beneath the ground, every shifting attack pattern that tried to predict him.
But even so—
he was still losing.
---
A voice entered his mind.
Not his own.
Reynaldo.
But distorted.
Divine.
"e evu kaiser…"
The words echoed like something spoken by an angel layered over reality itself.
Jhonathan's mouth burned slightly as he moved, his body reacting violently to the presence of higher-order authority interfering with his consciousness.
The roots struck again.
He barely avoided them.
His regeneration activated instantly—peak efficiency, near-instant recovery—but it didn't matter.
Because the opponent wasn't trying to out-damage him.
It was rewriting the battlefield faster than he could heal.
---
Three systems of ability existed in this world.
Aizer.
Eizeer.
Taizer.
The hierarchy of power.
Aizer—abilities beyond mortal comprehension.
Eizeer—mid-tier manifestations of trained force.
Taizer—the weakest remnants, used by common fighters.
Abilities were gained through worship of gods… or by killing those who held unique skills.
And yet—
Jhonathan had surpassed them all.
At least, that's what the system should have called him.
But even divinity had tiers.
And right now—
he was being pushed past his limit.
---
The blades slipped from his hands.
The tree changed.
It stopped behaving like a tree.
Bark peeled away like shedding skin.
The true form emerged.
A wrathful god beneath it all.
Desiree. God of Wrath.
Her bark-covered arms moved with crushing authority.
One strike shattered Jhonathan's arm into fragments of memory—like it had never been fully real to begin with.
Before she could destroy the other—
Jessabelle arrived.
---
She didn't speak.
She activated something immediately.
"Wings of Deformation."
Her body lifted into the air as reality bent around her movement. Space itself struggled to stabilize as she accelerated toward the god-form.
Her blade struck—
and got caught.
The bark swallowed it instantly.
Jessabelle clicked her tongue.
Then was forced back mid-air.
---
Jhonathan stood again.
Slowly.
His eyes changed.
Yellow light ignited in them.
Something deeper activated.
The Star of Greed resonated.
He began copying abilities mid-combat.
Not learning them.
Copying them.
Instantly.
Every skill used around him became available to him for a brief, unstable window.
He accelerated again—faster than light itself.
For the first time, Desiree hesitated.
---
Menchie stepped forward.
Her blade ignited.
"God's Blow."
Yellow-red energy surged through her weapon as she charged her ultimate attack.
At the same time—
Ralph raised his axe.
Ancient orcish words left his mouth, forming a bluish aura around the weapon.
Both attacks launched at once.
---
But before they reached her—
a roar exploded across the battlefield.
Not sound.
Authority.
Everything stopped.
The attacks were erased mid-motion.
Like they had never been allowed to exist.
Silence returned instantly.
---
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Not because they were frozen—
but because they had no answer.
For the first time—
they didn't know how she could be beaten.
---
Then—
rain began to fall.
Soft.
Slow.
And in that silence, something shifted.
Desiree's body trembled.
Cracks formed across her form.
Not from the attacks.
But from accumulated damage—persistent, unnoticed, inevitable.
Her heart stopped.
Stone began to spread across her body.
She was turning.
Slowly.
Into stone.
---
But even as she collapsed—
she did not stop moving.
Her arm reached downward.
Protecting something beneath her form.
Something small.
A sapling.
Alive.
Fragile.
New.
And still growing.