Once suspended — had now resumed...
Its relentless march continued while the Draconic Serpent, J?rmungandr, descended back into the abyssal embrace of the sea.
Its titanic tail crashed down with the force of an apocalyptic decree as it fell back into the sea—delivering a parting blow—shattering Aetherion’s boat in a single devastating strike.
The wood creaked and snapped, falling apart beneath the might of a G?od?.
The fishing line had long vanished, but the rod—strangely untouched—remained pristine.
With deliberate care, Aetherion placed it upon the half of the vessel still stubbornly afloat, as though honoring an unspoken promise before the battle began.
The great beast's eyes—red as molten embers—pierced the water’s veil, glowing ominously beneath the drifting remains of the boat—like a shark savoring its triumph.
Its serpentine form, a vast silhouette against the endless blue, pulsed with a primal power.
It began its attack, parting its massive jaws, unveiling fifteen rows of obsidian fangs—each one honed to perfection, each one a promise of annihilation.
Beyond those pristine daggers of death lurked something far worse: a yawning abyss, a void of pure nothingness, patiently waiting to erase whatever dared challenge it.
Aetherion did not flinch.
His gaze remained steady, unnaturally calm, locked onto the monstrous serpent below.
Then—
"(? _?)"
CRASH!
The world itself seemed to convulse as J?rmungandr struck.
The force of its bite was beyond mortal comprehension, beyond mere destruction—it felt as though the beast had bitten through existence itself.
A sickening crunch, followed by a horrifying gulp, echoed through the void—a dreadful punctuation to the erasure.
For a fraction of a second, reality faltered.
No wreckage remained.
No water.
No air.
Nothing...
Only absence.
A cold rain began to fall in sheets, as though the skies were weeping for the rift left by the serpent's might.
The droplets splattered in the empty space where the ocean had once been, their descent slow and deliberate, as if each drop carried the weight of the devastation.
Then...
With a thunderous roar, the ocean surged forward, scrambling to reclaim the void left in the wake of the serpent’s wrath.
As Aetherion blitzed away from the attack, something within him shifted—an imperceptible change; for the briefest moment, his eyes flared crimson, an ember that instantly faded back into their usual, tranquil blue.
The change was subtle, yet undeniable.
He propelled himself beyond the devastation, landing with effortless grace upon the ocean’s surface.
He did not sink.
The waves did not swallow him.
Instead, he stood as if the sea had solidified beneath his feet, as if reality itself had adjusted to accommodate his presence.
His eyes flashed red once more.
A machine should not feel anger.
And yet…
Was it the fishing rod?
That simple tool… held meaning?
So even perfect constructs are susceptible to fury, huh...
He gazed through the rain droplets at the beast, whose massive form loomed like a dark monolith against the water's surface; its glowing red eyes scanning the shattered remnants of the world it had wrought. For a brief, silent moment, the serpent, allowed the storm to wash over it while basking in the aftermath of its devastation, savoring the fleeting echoes of the destruction it had caused.
As the rain concluded, the dragon’s gaze—cold and calculating—shifted toward the golem, who had evaded its devastating strikes.
Their eyes locked once more.
In that instant, the beast, sank back into the depths, disappearing beneath the waves, preparing its next move—an attack far more lethal than before.
Aetherion stood unfazed, his figure a steady presence against the backdrop of the turbulent sea. His right hand rose slowly, fingers extending, reaching out for the horizon.
There was no panic in his movements, no rush—only a deliberate, controlled calm.
With a swift twist of wrist, his arm morphed.
It elongated, the smooth surface of his form shifting and hardening into a sharp, gleaming blade.
It was not a colossal weapon—no towering sword of myth—but its sharpness, its elegance, more than made up for its lack of size.
Despite its unmistakable porcelain nature, the blade was so delicate, so ethereal, it seemed to vanish into the air itself. One could easily mistake it for a shard of wind or a weapon conjured from the very breath of the void.
Ability name
『Unnamed?』
Ability Description
『Unknown?』
Ability Effect
『It seems that his very body is a manifestation of this ability—yet its full extent and details are unknown...』
Drawback
『Unknown?』
The golem’s response was lacking, its movements slow and minimal against the godlike force that threatened his lifeline.
"(?_?)"
The draconic entity parted its massive jaws once more—beginning another strike!
Aetherion’s left hand twitched.
His fingers elongated slightly, sharpening into claws like a collection of razor-sharp knives.
His wings fluttered once, a single, experimental motion—as if testing the surrounding air.
Preparations complete.
Ready.
A blitz was coming—one that would meet J?rmungandr’s bite with a strike of his own.
But the serpent did not rush.
Instead, the waters around its head began to bubble, boiling with an unnatural heat. The liquid was drawn in, sucked toward the beast with an insatiable thirst, as though the very ocean itself were being consumed. The immense size and grandeur of the movement took shape in less than a second, and then—
FWOOM!
A geyser of water erupted from the serpent’s maw, spiraling toward the golem with the force of a tidal wave. The pressure was so immense that it cleaved through the ocean itself, leaving a gash in the water as if it had been cut by a cosmic blade of pure force.
The blast struck the golem head-on, a cataclysmic force that sent him hurtling through the air, his eyes flickering crimson again.
"(?_?)"
The beast did not wait for the destruction to subside.
Without hesitation, it lunged, its massive form gleaming unnaturally, as though an invisible layer of magic had enveloped it—a shimmering armor forged by unknown forces.
But this attack was no mere instinct.
It was calculated.
The serpent didn’t strike blindly.
No.
It seemed to anticipate Aetherion’s next move, predicting with eerie perfection where he would dodge, as though the creature possessed a gift of precognition, its mind armed with the uncanny foresight of an ancient oracle.
Caught mid-air, Aetherion was forced to act sooner than he'd planned.
With a swift, almost mechanical motion, he extended his left hand, his fingers aimed directly at the beast.
"(-_-)"
He launched them in an instant, each one propelled with the flawless precision of a seasoned marksman.
Four of the blades shattered against the beast’s armor-like skin. But it was his pinky—a single, delicate claw—that found its mark.
With a sickening squelch, it drove deep into one of the serpent’s glowing red eyes, snuffing out its eerie light and leaving the vast creature blind in that orb.
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The beast’s scream erupted like a primordial force, a guttural wail so raw and unearthly that it seemed to tear through the very fabric of reality. The air itself quivered in terror as the sound reverberated, shattering the skies above. It was as though a thousand storms collided in a single moment—a deafening roar that twisted the atmosphere, splitting clouds and rending the heavens with its fury.
With a fluid flip, Aetherion shifted into an aerodynamic stance, its movements sharp and precise.
As he landed on the beast's head, he let his bladed arm crash against its nape.
Its sharpness so unbelievable—it ignored the enhancement, piercing the armored scales that enveloped the serpent clean and smooth, as if it was nothing more than water parting for a stone.
Then—like a flash—he dragged the sword along its form, a sleek dash of steel tracing its path towards the beast’s tail.
It screeched, unnatural, louder, without rhythm, without form.
It was pure chaos—an agonized shriek, as if the beast itself were being torn apart from the inside out.
The very earth seemed to tremble in response, and for an instant, the world stood still, caught in the relentless, soul-shaking agony of that scream.
The serpent swung its tail wildly, smashing it against water, air—even itself—forcing Aetherion to abandon his position above the beast.
He landed on the water’s shaky surface, his stance unwavering and his reaction unchanged.
"(?-?)"
The beast was wounded, both its flesh and pride—furious beyond reason. It clenched its teeth, cracking them from the sheer agony, blood sprouting within its maw.
Its gaping wounds festered bubbling blood, errupting like a volcan—each crimson droplet hissing as it struck the ocean’s surface.
Steam erupted in thick, ghostly plumes, a smothering veil born from the creature’s own searing rage.
The battlefield was fast swallowed by the rising fog, yet it still turned toward the golem.
Its growl rumbled through the mist, sinister and raw, a declaration of fury.
It would snuff out Aetherion’s light, no matter the cost—even if it meant its own destruction.
Aetherion’s stance shifted slightly, poised to end it with his next attack.
J?rmungandr’s growl became a screech of rage, so violent that its own mouth began to bleed.
Flesh tore.
Teeth cracked.
Splattering more crimson into the ocean.
But Aetherion was ready.
The serpent dove one last time.
With a final, earth-shaking slap of its tail, it sent a towering tsunami surging toward the golem—a wall of destruction, racing to erase all in its path.
It, too, sought to end this battle in a single, decisive clash.
Plunging into the abyss, it stretched its maw open once more.
It tore through more flesh.
It shattered more fangs.
Blood flooded its throat, swirling like a molten storm—an inferno barely contained. Heat pulsed from within, growing so intense that even its own body rebelled against it.
The searing waters around its face boiled its flesh, creeping into the one eye that still functioned.
Its own power turning against it, taking away the last fragment of its vision.
Aetherion shifted his own tail—a chained anchor launched, piercing through oceanic mountains as if they were made of cotton.
His blade and knives morphed into shields, bracing for the beast’s final breath.
J?rmungandr had had enough of his trickery.
Its fury had reached its peak, and its blood was no longer blood—it was molten wrath.
A single spark flickered in the depths—the signal of the attack.
From its bloodied guts, it unleashed another geyser.
Aetherion saw it.
Not of water, not of steam—this was blood and rage, liquefied into destruction itself.
The air burned away, turned null.
Ancient stones melted.
Souls disintegrated.
Even shards of sapphire, fractured from the serpent's own armor, lost their solid form and dissolved in the wake.
Will Aetherion's shields be enough to defend against the attack that killed Thor himself?
Somewhere else, before a mighty king, four figures knelt in unwavering reverence.
Among them was a boy—barely more than a child.
Cold sweat beaded at his fingertips, his trembling hands pressed firmly against the cold floor. His body betrayed him, each shallow breath a struggle to mask the panic gnawing at his insides. His heart pounded violently, a relentless drumbeat of fear, screaming what his lips dared not utter.
His stomach twisted, drowning in the suffocating weight of his surroundings. The pressure bore down on him, pressing his kneel deeper, as if the very air demanded his submission.
His mind was a storm—chaotic, relentless. Thoughts crashed and tumbled over one another, a frantic blur of calculations, doubts, and worst-case scenarios.
> Be me.
> Vichtor, random 17 years old nobody.
> Occasionally play adventurer for funzies.
> Return home for tasty food!
> Life is good!
> Then...
> Knock at the door.
> Open it.
> Knights.
> Serious-looking, armored-up, formation-taking knights.
> The King sent them?
> Me? Summoned by the King?!
> Wha—Why?
> For what?
> Please be cool. Please be cool. Please be cool…
> Fast forward to this moment...
> Kneeling before said King, who seems to know of [Judgment Finale]!
> Someone's a snitch!
> Can't complain though—I was focused on the three terrifying figures placed beside me.
> To my left.
> Angel girl.
> White hair, emerald eyes, fancy clothing, glowing-holy aura...
> Beauty incarnate.jpg
> But she's glaring daggers at me like I just kicked her pet or something!!
> I haven’t even opened my mouth yet! (╥﹏╥)
> Next to her?
> A six-armed orc.
> SIX.
> ARMS.
> That’s more than four, and four is already more than two. I only have two! I MUST not get on his bad side!
> Just… don’t make eye contact...
> To my right?
> A golem.
> The Honorable Mountain Slayer.
> No expression.
> No reaction.
> Just standing there...
> MENACINGLY!
> Hope he’s friendly.
> Please, be friendly!
> Be me.
> Be still scared.
> Someone send help…
> Please?...
In a far-flung corner of the universe, beyond the grasp of fantasy’s touch, a voice echoed with irritati—how distant, you wonder?
Well, to place it in context, her home lies within the frigid expanse of the Snowy Range, a galaxy so remote that it drifts beyond the very fabric of our reality. And yet, here she stands—waiting—on a humble street corner in a Latin-inspired city on a planet nestled within the vast Milky Way.
“Come on, girl! You said you don’t have a smartphone! Trust me, it’s only 899 Lions! Its normal price is 2000! It’s more than half off, can’t get a better deal!” The voice of the salesman buzzed with unrelenting enthusiasm, a sales pitch that hung in the humid air of the marketplace.
The scene itself was something of an absurdity—a young girl, no older than nineteen, standing with the poise of someone who clearly didn’t belong here, dressed in a dark, form-fitting ensemble that clung to her slender frame beneath a cloak that swirled around her like an inky shadow, as if night itself had draped her in its cool embrace.
Her pale, almost translucent skin glowed like marble under the harsh light of the neon store's sign, yet it was her hair that demanded attention.
Dark amber, like the deepest, molten honey, it cascaded to her shoulders. It was puffy, messy and defiant, yet undeniably charming in its chaotic allure.
It looked as though she had waged a battle against its unruly curls and, unfortunately...
She never stood a chance.
She was a striking figure, though her tone betrayed her soft, delicate nature. Her voice, sweet and light, shimmered with a hint of annoyance as she responded with a resolve that only a tired soul could muster.
"OnyX doesn't need a smartsy rock, no, she doesn’t!" She said insistently, clearly refering to herself in third person—how strage... "Please, leave OnyX alone already, please do!"
"But..." The salesman hesitated, his voice a little deflated. "Doesn't every girl your age obsess over her smartphone?"
It was like a wrong note struck in the air, and it seemed to hit a nerve. OnyX turned her head sharply, only to find herself facing the wrong direction—she had missed the mark entirely, the motion awkward yet somehow graceful. But her face, at least, was finally showing something like interest.
"Wh-what? Every girl has one!?" Her voice was high-pitched, a little panicked, as if she had just uncovered some dark truth about herself.
The salesman scratched his balding head in confusion. He stared at the bizarre spin she’d made and couldn’t quite figure out why she was talking to a decorative plant—but then again, she was kind of... cute, yes, let’s leave it at that… And that was all that mattered. He seized the opportunity like a hawk spotting a mouse.
"Yes! Every girlie has one! And again, it's only 899 Lions!"
OnyX finally turned her head towards him, her cheeks flushed with a deep crimson, as if the idea of blending in with the rest of the world—being normal—had lit a small fire inside her.
"Uhmmm..." she mumbled, the weight of this revelation sinking in.
"If you have almost enough, we can maybe even bargain!" the salesman wheedled, his tone now practically dripping with greed.
Unfortunately for him, OnyX might be as cute as a button, but she was way more clueless than he could have imagined. A horrifyingly cute amount of clueless. She fumbled with the folds of her cloak, diving into the deep, dark abyss of her robe like it was some magic trick waiting to happen.
The man tilted his head, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was she was rummaging for in there. But she was too swift, too elusive. What could she possibly be hiding in that cloak?
Then, with a swift step back, she made an exasperated sound, a high-pitched "Eeek," followed by an even sharper "Smelly!..."
The salesman, though a bit taken aback, chose to ignore the comments. He wasn’t about to let his chances slip. He simply stepped back, trying to preserve his dignity while his salesmanship hung by a thread.
"OnyX doesn’t have 899 Lions, no, she doesn’t..." She paused, a sly glint in her eye as her hand emerged from the depths of her cloak. Her previously ample chest… deflated, and just like that, out came the unexpected: a squishy, gelatinous blob in the shape of a rabbit. It shimmered and wobbled in her hand, its eyes blinking up at the salesman with innocent curiosity.
"But! OnyX has slime bunny! And with care and love, it can replicate itself more than 899 times!" she announced proudly, as though presenting some great treasure.
She wasn’t holding it normally—of course not. That would be too reasonable. No, she had it by the ears, gripping it like a makeshift sword, as if expecting it to slice through the air at her command.
And then… it happened.
The bunny creature took a deep, greedy inhale—its first true taste of Earth’s atmosphere. And in an instant, something inside it snapped.
It lost its mind.
With a sudden, violent twitch, the gelatinous creature erupted into a full-blown frenzy, biting at the air, the ground, and quite possibly the concept of existence itself. It chomped wildly, its translucent body vibrating with unhinged energy, tiny fangs snapping at absolutely everything and nothing all at once.
The scene was nothing short of absurd.
The salesman yelped, scrambling backward in pure, undiluted terror—only to realize, a second too late, that something felt... drafty.
He looked down.
Half his sleeve was gone.
It hadn’t been torn. It hadn’t been ripped. It had simply ceased to exist—devoured in a single instant by the frenzy of teeth and slime.
And yet, somehow, OnyX still held it like a sword, looking awfully proud…
