Hex Nocturne's fists were still clenched, lightning arcing faintly across his arms as the air trembled with the residue of the First Great Gate. His senses had expanded beyond the limits of ordinary perception, every molecule of the ruined island, every pulse of residual energy, every echo of the Ruinborn's existence cataloged in his mind. Aetherion sang in his veins, a primordial, invisible current of power that resonated with the elemental truth of his being. It hummed, whispering promises of annihilation and creation alike, bending the very fabric of reality to his will.
The Ruinborn moved. Slowly at first, its grotesque form crawling from the smoke and debris, sinews flexing, bones snapping into place, every action a testament to perfect adaptation. Its clock hand twitched erratically, faster than Hex had ever seen, a frantic measure of evolution racing toward inevitability. The creature had survived every strike, every slash, every collapse of entire mountains. It was more than a monster. It was a living force of natural selection, a being designed to endure, to consume, to rewrite itself in defiance of the laws of existence.
Hex's eyes narrowed. His heart was steady, but every nerve screamed with tension. This would be his final test. Every slash, every strike, every ounce of stellar energy he had wielded was merely preparation for what was coming. The Ruinborn was formidable, but Hex Nocturne had something it could never possess: experience, instinct, mastery over Aetherion, and the refusal to lose.
He took a measured breath, letting the currents of Shadowflare coil around him like living serpents of invisible energy. Each arc pulsed with intent, bending space around him, warping the air, whispering a promise: "You will not exist after this." Hex moved, but not in haste. Strategy was as deadly as speed. He could not risk throwing away even a fraction of his potential; he had one window—one chance to end this nightmare.
Then, with a suddenness that blurred thought and reaction, Hex vanished. Flash-step. Air cracked where he had been. He appeared above the Ruinborn, arm extended, fist wrapped in the invisible weight of aetherial force.
Void Sever—Absolute Null.
The slash descended like inevitability itself, invisible yet absolute, severing space rather than flesh. The Ruinborn staggered as if reality itself had been torn apart in its path. For a heartbeat, the creature paused, the first sign of hesitation Hex had seen. Its bones twisted midair, sinews stretched, but it did not fully reconstitute.
Hex landed lightly, barely disturbing the fractured stone beneath him. His eyes glinted. "…Already?" he muttered. "…You're faster than I imagined."
The Ruinborn roared, a sound that split the air, resonating with the chaos of its own regenerative energy. It lunged, faster than thought, its claws slicing the space between them, warping the air, testing the limits of Hex's reflexes. Hex did not move as a human would. He was movement. Each step, each strike, each thought merged into a single force, an extension of the currents of Aetherion that flowed through his very soul.
The clash came. Fist met claw. Impact detonated outward like a star collapsing in miniature, lightning exploding along Hex's arms as energy rippled in all directions. The island itself groaned under the pressure, jagged peaks fracturing, boulders shattering into clouds of dust.
The Ruinborn's adaptation reached a fever pitch. Bones snapped and reknit, muscle and sinew reshaped, skin flowing like liquid over jagged forms. It advanced relentlessly, a storm given form, each movement predicting Hex's counters before he executed them. Yet Hex's strategy, honed through years of survival, experience, and mastery of Aetherion, allowed him to push further. He did not fight blindly. Every strike calculated. Every void slash measured. Every ounce of energy deployed with precision.
The air distorted violently as Hex condensed raw stellar energy, forging a sphere so dense it bent light, twisting space itself. Solar Dominion—World Pyre.
He hurled it.
The sphere collapsed inward, detonated outward, forming a miniature sun for a heartbeat. The island vanished, replaced by plasma and fire, the heat bending reality. Smoke and ash clawed at the sky, a reminder of absolute annihilation.
And yet… the Ruinborn emerged.
Its body reformed almost instantly, a mockery of survival. The clock hand spun erratically, as though mocking Hex's attempts to end it. Hex exhaled slowly, his body coiling with restrained power. Lightning arced over his form, spectral gates carved reality behind him, glowing runes marking the final limits of his restraint. First Great Gate… Heaven-Lock: Storm Sovereign—Open. His bones screamed, his muscles tore and reforged, but he pushed through, knowing he had five minutes—five minutes to end the impossible.
He stepped forward. Shadowflare surged. Every ounce of his body, mind, and soul aligned with the currents of Aetherion. He was the variable the Ruinborn could never anticipate.
Void Sever—Oblivion Cataclysm.
The slash struck. Not one. Not two. Hundreds of invisible, perfect arcs of energy rained down, slicing through the Ruinborn's regenerative form, tearing at its essence, at the very principles of its existence. Space quivered, air shattered, the island became nothing but the echo of destruction.
The Ruinborn screamed. Its adaptation faltered. The clock spun wildly, nearing completion. Yet Hex pressed forward, combining stellar energy, Shadowflare, and void slashes into a symphony of erasure, a maelstrom of pure Aetherion intent.
Time itself seemed to bend as Hex's final strike descended. Fist and void, energy and force, condensed into a single point of annihilation. His aura blazed with primal energy, golden arcs entwining with shadows, lightning singing along the currents of his being.
And then—impact.
The Ruinborn ceased. Not merely destroyed, not merely erased—but its concept, its essence, its being, unmade. No regeneration. No memory. No trace. The universe exhaled. Silence followed.
Hex stood alone in the emptiness, breathing heavily, body battered, Aetherion still thrumming like a heartbeat in his veins. Blood dripped, rain—or what remained of it—mixed with the dust of annihilation. "…That took longer than I expected," he muttered, voice low, almost human in tone for the first time since the fight began. "I really am rusty."
Something lingered in the air: a presence, subtle, deliberate, and familiar.
He didn't need to look to know who it was.
Space itself began to fold, twisting like water parting for a god. Golden light spilled across the shattered clouds, bending reality, warping perception. The air trembled as the presence solidified. Hex's fingers flexed. His heartbeat matched the rhythm of the energy pulsing around him: Kael.
Kael descended slowly, each movement deliberate, each ripple of light a statement of power and authority. His golden aura shimmered, tracing the edges of his form like molten sunlight, and the pressure of his presence alone made the fractured clouds tremble. Hex understood immediately—his brother had been watching the battle unfold, calculating, waiting, ensuring Hex would survive without interference. Kael's absence during the fight had not been negligence—it had been strategy, foresight, and protection.
Hex's voice was flat, controlled, yet edged with raw awareness. "…You were watching."
Kael hovered a few meters above the island, his expression calm but unreadable. "I was," he said evenly. "I needed to see how far you could push. To understand whether the Ruinborn could be destroyed by one man alone. To measure your capacity… to survive."
Hex turned his gaze toward the ruins of the island, the blackened stone and shattered peaks still smoking from the force of their clash. "Then you saw everything," he said, voice quiet but charged with the weight of what had occurred.
"I did," Kael replied. His golden eyes scanned the battlefield, cataloging every scar, every crater, every remnant of the fight. "Every strike. Every adaptation. Every ounce of your will. I waited because I had to know—not just if you could win, but if you could endure the cost. The Ruinborn was not a creature of instinct alone. It adapts. It calculates. And you… are its only equal."
Hex inhaled slowly, letting the wind wash over him, the remnants of Aetherion rippling faintly beneath his skin. The weight of Kael's presence pressed against him—not in judgment, but as a tether, a reminder that even in godlike power, vigilance was required. "And now?" Hex asked.
Kael's golden aura pulsed, a heartbeat of light and purpose. "Now, we have a lead. Someone who knows what happened that night… someone who knows who orchestrated the massacre of your family." His voice lowered, heavy with meaning. "The one responsible… is the son of Virex Drathos."
Hex felt the world tilt. His fists clenched, the air around them warping as raw energy built along his arms. "…Aurelion," he breathed, the name a knife cutting through the silence.
Kael nodded. "He was there that night. He led the attack. Your children. Luna. All of it. Aurelion Drathos is responsible."
The silence between them was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of lingering Aetherion. Hex's fists tightened until his knuckles cracked audibly, lightning snapping faintly around his fingers. "And his father?" Hex asked, his voice cold, precise, every word weighted with lethal intent.
"Virex Drathos is no ordinary man," Kael said, his tone darkening. "A conqueror, a tyrant. He believes only in strength. He wishes to rule all Twelve Universes. Once weak, beaten, mocked, he trained relentlessly. Monsters, warriors, gods—he faced them all and absorbed their power, mastering what others deemed impossible. And now…" Kael's gaze locked onto Hex, piercing through the haze of exhaustion and anger. "…there are few beings left stronger than him."
Hex's mind absorbed the information like a weapon being forged in fire. "And Aurelion?"
Kael's voice dropped. "…He killed your family."
Time seemed to slow. Hex's chest tightened. His vision sharpened. Fury, grief, and resolve fused into a single point within him. "Then he will pay," he said, low and unflinching. "Every last one."
Kael took a step closer. "Brother—"
"I'm going," Hex cut him off. His voice was steel wrapped in shadow. "Alone."
Kael's eyes softened, but he nodded, understanding. "You don't need to do this alone."
Hex's gaze drifted toward the distant glow of Earth's cities, calm and unaware, fragile and beautiful. "I need to know this planet is safe while I settle this."
Kael's golden eyes met his, silent acknowledgment passing between them. "…If that's what you want," Kael said finally.
Hex exhaled, tension releasing slightly. "Thank you. And… I'm sorry for dragging you into this."
"You didn't drag me anywhere," Kael replied with a faint smile.
Hex raised his head, calling into the void. "Raze."
The clouds shivered. A voice echoed, teasing and sharp. "You know I'm always listening, brother."
A figure emerged from a swirl of shadow and light—shorter, leaner, mischief dancing in sharp eyes. Raze Nocturne. The youngest. Hex's lips twitched. "Been a long time since I saw you both," Raze said, grin wide. "I missed you idiots."
Hex turned, expression hardening. "Can you take me to Universe Eight?"
Raze's grin faltered. "…So it's time."
Hex nodded. Raze raised his hand, forming a massive gate of dimensional fire and shifting runes, a portal shimmering with energy. "Try not to die without me, yeah?"
Hex stepped forward. Kael watched, golden light painting the ruined island. "Come back alive, brother," Kael said quietly.
Hex didn't respond. He walked into the portal. The gate closed behind him, leaving Kael alone with the ruined sky, the silent echoes of battle, and the faint pulse of Aetherion still lingering in the air—a promise that the war was far from over.