The realm of Eryndoril shuddered as two figures collided across the silent expanse of its shattered skies.
One was Kaien Asahiro, a Son of Heaven — born of the Styks' divine current, a reincarnated existence carrying the soul-echo of a god. His every movement seemed like scripture given form, a rhythm of destiny written in golden strokes. Each strike he threw rippled through the laws of the realm, and each breath carried the weight of ancient blessing.
The other was Lucien's clone — an echo of divinity molded in arrogance, amusement flickering in his eyes even as Kaien's golden fist grazed his jaw, detonating half the horizon in light. The shockwave carved rivers of molten stars through the void, reality briefly folding upon itself.
Lucien's clone straightened midair, rubbing the faint mark on his face, then smiled.
"Not bad," he said lightly. "But you're still too… loud."
Kaien's eyes burned like twin eclipses. "You mock the lineage of Heaven, false god?"
Lucien's clone tilted his head. "False? Perhaps. But unlike you, I didn't need Heaven's permission to exist."
Then he vanished.
The air itself cracked — fist meeting fist, will meeting will. Every collision was a hymn of destruction: craters of folded time, celestial storms igniting in the distance, the Styks River itself trembling in resonance.
Kaien moved like a storm born of light — circular steps, flowing palms, divine balance.
Lucien's clone moved like inevitability — sharp, angular, unpredictable.
At first, Kaien overwhelmed him. His blows carried divine cadence; he danced upon the laws of gravity, using every fragment of the Styks' energy to bend space. He landed a spinning heel kick that smashed Lucien's clone through several dimensional membranes, sending him crashing into a sea of collapsed stars.
But then… something changed.
Lucien's clone stood amid the debris, eyes dimming — not with defeat, but with calculation. He replayed every motion, every flicker of energy he had witnessed from Kaien, dissecting it down to the pulse behind each gesture.
A slow smile crept across his lips.
"So this is how Heaven dances," he murmured, stepping forward. "Then allow me to compose my own rhythm."
He moved — and the void answered.
No longer reactive. No longer mirroring.
It was creation in motion.
A strike that folded gravity around his leg — a kick that began at the foot but finished in the stars. His fist bent causality itself, so that it struck before it moved. His flow wasn't divine nor demonic — it was absolute.
He named it in silence:
Tian Quan — The Fist That Commands Heaven.
A simple kick tore through the dark — and a nearby cluster of stars vanished. Not shattered, not burned — simply gone, erased by the concept of the strike.
The resulting pressure shifted a planet's orbit, dragging it several thousand kilometers off its cosmic course.
Kaien barely saw it. His divine body trembled, cracks running along his skin as he was sent flying through several light-years in an instant. The sound followed after — a delay between destruction and realization.
Lucien's clone lowered his leg, dusting off his sleeve.
He looked at the distant golden light struggling to rise again.
"That," he said softly, "was one percent of Tian Quan."
Kaien spat blood, his halo flickering. "You… learned it mid-fight?"
"No," Lucien's clone replied, eyes gleaming violet. "I created it. You just showed me where Heaven ends."
The clone's aura expanded, darkening the realm — an endless sea of black and silver motes spiraling like galaxies. Kaien's knees buckled under the gravity.
Still, he smiled faintly, wiping the blood from his mouth. "Then show me where you begin."
Lucien's clone cracked his neck and stepped forward, the void trembling underfoot.
"As you wish."
He blurred forward. One move — Tian Quan's second form — The Collapse of the Firmament.
The heavens screamed. The Styks River split in two, divine energies leaking out like bleeding light. Kaien braced, his golden aura flaring brighter than a thousand suns. Their fists met one last time, the impact so fierce it rewrote the curvature of space.
Then silence.
Kaien fell, his divine aura dissipating into threads of light. Lucien's clone hovered above him, silent, unruffled.
He looked up toward the Styks — the cosmic river trembling overhead.
"Interesting," he muttered. "You fight well, Son of Heaven. But next time, Heaven will have to send something stronger."
With that, he turned, vanishing into the fold of the realm — his laughter echoing faintly across the divine current.
Far beyond the veil, in the true Metaphysical Plane, Lucien opened his eyes. He had watched the whole thing through his clone's vision, a faint smirk curving his lips.
"Tian Quan, huh?" he mused softly. "Not bad… I might keep that one."
And as he leaned back upon his throne of voidlight, the stars themselves seemed to bend toward him — as though Heaven had learned its place.