The floating camera descended from above, circling over the improvised arena. Its lenses captured every detail—every face, every tensed muscle. Fear, uncertainty, courage, valor, sacrifice… an ocean of emotions presented itself to the lens. And then, the commentator appeared on screen.
He had no face—only a metallic sphere with lights blinking in rhythm with his voice—but his tone vibrated with the energy of someone who knew he was about to narrate pure history.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and unclassified cosmic entities!” his amplified voice boomed, echoing even in places where sound should never reach. “The moment you’ve all been waiting for, for eons, is here!”
The lens swung toward the first “corner.”
“In this corner, weighing the same as the average woman and thinking like an entire civilization, the undisputed sovereign of humanity… the Queen of Humans! The dreaded Queen of Demons! Hope of her people, salvation made flesh, goddess of wisdom and whip of ignorance… KATHERINE!” he finished with an electronic roar that made the broadcast tremble.
“And let’s not forget her loyal… or at least obedient… elite lackeys! Ready to leap into combat the moment her gentle command sounds!”
There was no response. The purple membrane tightened around her body; the black wings stayed folded. The pistols, parallel to the line of her hips. Her breathing was data, not feeling. Behind her, everyone held their breath. They knew what was coming.
A flash captured the other side of the stage.
“And in this other corner… hold onto your realities, because here he comes! Weighing more than an entire galaxy and carrying the mind of a sage who’s seen it all. With a physique that would make sculptors weep. The handsome, sensual, and charismatic— the all-powerful, the immortal, the absolutely invincible… GOD of CREATION and DESTRUCTION… DINAMOOOO!” Every syllable struck like digital thunder, as if the transmission might break.
The commentator leaned forward, like he was sharing a secret with the entire audience.
“Friends—strap in whatever you need to strap in, take a seat, grab your popcorn, keep your local deities firmly secured… because… this… will be… INCREDIBLE!”
The air over the battlefield seemed to shrink.
Katherine and Dinamo stared at each other as if the rest of the universe were background noise.
The countdown had already begun.
The fractal city around them didn’t dare make a sound.
No one was allowed to interfere.
That’s why Dinamo spoke first. He spoke without any hurry. The fight could wait, for the moment.
“A curiosity, Katherine. How much of your real power can you use with that piece of junk?” He pointed at the synthetic body with a friendly gesture.
They both knew the low quality of the body she was using.
She looked at him. Expressionless. Indifferent.
“Five percent.”
“Oh, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy… you’ve gotten naughty today,” Dinamo said, amused. “You think I can’t spot a lie that obvious. I’ll assume your limit is closer to fifteen percent… though it’s only an estimate. It’s hard to guess with how well you’re hiding it.”
It wasn’t an accusation. It was an accurate estimate. Dinamo always trusted his instinct—never disappointed by it.
Katherine didn’t bother responding to the jokes and mockery from the God in front of her.
To her left, Yehiel dipped his head slightly. His voice came out clean, respectful, with a faint tremor he barely managed to hide.
“With your permission… and if you allow it,”—faced with her indifference and his amusement, he continued with what he had to say—“out of purely academic curiosity, and to satisfy my uncertainty… what are our chances? If it’s not too much trouble, Your Magnificence.”
Katherine didn’t stop him. There was no point holding back information now. There was no way to stop the inevitable. Better that they knew they wouldn’t leave this battle alive—though they should already know that.
The others thought it was rude to interrupt their commander, but with no reaction from her, they didn’t criticize him. And they’d be lying if they said they weren’t interested.
Dinamo enjoyed the courtesy. He liked it when reasonably talented creatures recognized their place. Besides, it was always fun to crush an opponent’s hopes by telling them the truth.
“If I take it seriously… you have no chance. You won’t even be able to touch me.” He smiled. “But today I’m in a good mood. The audience would get bored if this ends too fast, wouldn’t they? All that effort thrown in the trash. So I’ll limit myself to the maximum power Katherine uses during this show—of course, as long as it stays fun.”
His arrogant smile stayed in place through the entire exchange. These weren’t empty words. As long as Katherine kept attacking him, he was willing to limit himself. As long as she obeyed the rules.
The commentator seized the moment to inflate the epic.
“Attention, audience! Today’s rules: there are no rules. Physics: under review. Five-second window with no counterattack from the gentleman in the right corner, courtesy of a considerate host—don’t waste it. So adjust your pupils. This is about to ignite. You won’t want to miss it.”
There was no signal. She didn’t even wait for the commentator to finish his monologue.
Katherine moved without warning. The cannons didn’t erupt— they rewrote direction and pressure. Two vector shots carved a furrow through the air and tore through Dinamo’s first force field like wet paper. The defensive layer split into two planes: one folded toward a point that didn’t exist; the other opened like a hinge and nullified itself.
She was already in front of him, a barrage following the first shots. Corrupted energy seeped from every projectile.
“Rude! Outrageous! Disrespectful!” the sphere vibrated with the tone of a trampled presenter. “Ladies and gentlemen—our beloved sovereign of humanity has decided my voice deserves no protocol! Attacking while I speak! A grievous offense against the sacred art of spectacle!”
The broadcast was followed by the dry crack of Katherine’s shots. They weren’t bangs— they were decisions. Each projectile redirected the pressure of its own advance, pierced Dinamo’s force fields, and unstitched them like it had hooked the exact seam of the fabric. A first field burst into a two-dimensional fan, folded along an impossible axis, and died. The next lasted even less. The third held for a blink—microfractures from conceptual tension, collapse, silence.
Dinamo laughed. He didn’t step aside, didn’t retreat—memories of old battles dancing in his mind.
“Doesn’t it bring back memories, Katherine?” he said, as a chain of personal fields appeared and died in sync with the gunfire. “That rhythm. That angle. That little habit of yours—overcorrecting at the last moment… doesn’t it make you miss the past?”
The fourth defense detonated; the fifth held just long enough to fracture into pale-gold hexagons. The sixth wasn’t even visible— it only left a band of distortion in the fabric of the “concept of air.” Thin cracks started forming in his skin; his smile didn’t change. Each crack sealed before the stain of “blood” could fully emerge.
Katherine didn’t answer. Not a word. Not an insult. She just advanced and squeezed the trigger; her synthetic body moved cleanly, coldly, calibrated. Every two shots, an invisible vector trimmed millimeters of distance. Every three, a plane shift: a hip twist, a step with no slide, a wrist adjustment—her black bracelet shining like a silent threat.
“Tell me,” he continued over the hum of dead barriers, “how far do you think you’ll get with that deficient body? Without your resources, without your factories, without your favorites…” His chin lifted slightly toward the bracelet. “And with a cursed bracelet as your only luxury.” His smile turned a shade more sadistic. “A bracelet made from the remains of your greatest success… or Fra—?”
The purple metal of her second pistol spat a flash that cut his sentence in half. Katherine didn’t respond. She fired. Fired. Fired. Fired—and kept firing.
Dinamo started having problems: it wasn’t just blocking anymore; now he was deflecting. For brief moments, the damage cadence exceeded his best defensive pattern at the self-imposed limitation he was using.
Both were pushing their limited resources to the limit, processing and planning every action.
A shot pierced the ninth barrier and burst against his clavicle. His perfect skin cracked like dried varnish, and beneath it there was a brief darkness. He narrowed his eyes, amused. The darkness sealed, and the skin returned to its original shine, no scar.
The exchange became inefficient even for him. He noticed. He accepted it with good humor. And then he did what he always did when it didn’t suit him to stay on the same tile: he created distance.
He didn’t step back. He didn’t teleport. He inserted distance that hadn’t existed the instant before. The space between them stopped being a continuum and, for a heartbeat, became a new block hammered into existence by conceptual force. The split street stretched like rubber; the buildings copied the motion obediently; the horizon made a slight fold. In that artificial breath, he inhaled—taking a good breath was always good for your health.
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His smile stayed in place while the damage disappeared as if it had never happened. Any residual cut sealed; any dent in the defense leveled out. Everything back to the start.
Then the sound came from behind—powerful and simple. A roar carrying the weight of the world.
“Feel the weight of my existence, Colossus.”
He heard the declaration as he turned. The first thing he saw was the fist. No— it wasn’t a fist. It was a continent.
Indigo. Indigo with a faint sheen. That was the second thing he noticed.
A cyclopean gauntlet, carved from the only material that could kill him, came for his face from a distance the world tried to measure—and failed.
Dimitri was at the end of that arm, his conceptual ability making the impossible possible.
Dinamo sighed, slightly bored, almost tender— but disappointed.
“How irritating it is to fight users of that material—hiding their lack of talent behind a shield.”
And he dodged. Not like someone retreating—like someone deciding he will not be a target. The fist tore through the space where his head had been and kept going.
The city didn’t survive what followed.
The impact wasn’t just noise and dust. Reality opened, and for a wide stretch, stopped insisting. Everything that wasn’t Rank 10 was reduced to nothing. Streets vanished; beams were erased at the level of history; air lost the way it behaved. The lower layers—matter, then form, then memory—peeled away. What remained wasn’t a crater: it was a hole in continuity.
The metal narrator didn’t waste the opportunity.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is not a fight—this is a masterclass in extinction for educational purposes!” the sphere spun on itself, ecstatic. “This is Rank 10 versus Rank 10! Gods with name and number! Every move distorts reality! Every mistake is a catastrophe! Clench your teeth, turn off notifications, and pray to whatever can still hear you!”
Dinamo landed on an edge where there was still an “edge.” He wasn’t in an ideal position. He knew it. The strike had emptied the map of comfortable options. He decided to dirty the line of sight: he let the golden gas spill out—not as fog, but as a curtain. Each particle held a concealment instruction, an order for light to bend, an elegant scent of trap.
The glow-rimmed haze rose like a stage curtain.
“Haidong Gumdo: Thousand Drops.”
Baek’s voice snapped like fine water. The curtain didn’t tear— it vanished into a thousand equidistant points. Each “drop” was a cut that didn’t slice matter, but intent. The gas lost its design and dissolved, obedient. Air returned to being air. Space, space.
But there was no one there.
Dinamo’s laughter came from afar—dry, in good spirits.
“Interesting technique… did your family’s owner teach you that?”
Not a scratch on him. He had teleported before the first cut fully formed. He’d seen the attack coming easily.
He enjoyed himself even more at the man’s well-hidden grimace of irritation.
In that distraction, another embrace went for his neck from behind. Human contact—direct—smelling like… gold? Arms closing like rings, hunting their destination.
“Poverty Haunts Me.”
The weight of the concept left no air for a response. Dinamo didn’t react in time; the golden turned into gold. Skin, eyes, smile—statue. A perfect piece of greed petrified, standing at the edge of the void. Hassan kept his arms around him, completed the double elbow lock, closed his fingers. The world waited for the break.
It didn’t happen.
The gold exploded into splinters like fine glass. Not because Hassan let go—because the illusion shattered. The real Dinamo spoke from a distance again, pleasant.
“Good attempt… good style, by the way. Gold always highlights a man’s virtues.” Dinamo couldn’t help commenting after giving his opponent a quick look.
Then came the sound of bubbles again. Dinamo, confused, blinked.
Around him, reality turned into bubbles—spherical surfaces obeying rules that weren’t these. Behind them, a transparent sheet, without shine.
A reflection without an image.
—Nothing Lasts Forever. / I Am The Mirror Of Your Soul.
The bubbles burst in unison. The translucent membrane— a mirror that doesn’t return a face, but intent—caught all that violence and folded it toward a single epicenter. The combo landed in full: Ramiro with the bubbles, Freya with the mirror that sends everything back.
The golden figure showed at the end of it: his personal force field vibrated one step from collapse. His body displayed wounds—many of them, detailed, ugly—for a single breath. They sealed shut with pleasure. Dinamo smiled wider. Happy.
Katherine reappeared to the side, already firing. She gave him no room to breathe. A barrage of bullets in pursuit. Her goal: destroy every defense and bring her enemy down, no matter how impossible it seemed.
“This is absolute madness!” the commentator howled. “And since we’re already in full madness— a message from our sponsors: Blue Mushroom Premium! If you’re going to die under gods, at least let your last breath have a good bouquet!” And then, shamelessly: “We’re back! Let’s go!”
The sequence stretched. Not seconds—much less. But it was enough for the entire map to change three times. Dinamo dodged like a dancer showing off new steps to his partner.
He covered himself when it looked elegant. He let himself be touched where the pain told a new joke. He regenerated every time.
Dimitri charged like a rabid bull; Baek fell like rain; Hassan tried to turn him into gold at the first opening; Ramiro and Freya measured their rhythm so they wouldn’t step on each other.
It all was barely enough not to die in the attempt— and to earn a couple of clean laughs from him.
“Alright, alright, alright…” the robot sing-songed. “Is anyone else starting to find it monotonous to watch a god have fun? Audience at home, don’t worry— we’ll speed up the projection and jump straight to the juicy parts!”
The conceptual camera—one designed to capture the tiniest events—compressed continuity and left only selected frames:
- A low angle. Dimitri, Colossus active, gauntlet in hand, trying to end his opponent with another crushing blow. Dinamo isn’t there: he left a hollow version of himself to take the courtesy hit. The impact wipes out another strip of city.
- A thin line, identical to a brushstroke on glass. Baek says Haidong Gumdo: Watercourser; with a second technique, he releases a slash that nearly decapitates Dinamo. Dinamo dodges, delighted—delighted to always live on the edge.
- Arms closing in during the chase. Hassan recites Poverty Haunts Me like a prayer. The curse can’t reach its target—because Dinamo won’t grant him the luxury of touching him a second time. With a propelled movement, he slips out of reach.
- The burbling cluck of bubbles in service of Nothing Lasts Forever; Ramiro raises a curtain meant to trap him. Dinamo dodges again, taking the best route—always alert to attacks that predictable.
But it was a trap. Katherine was waiting at the end of the path—another burst of shots punching through his defenses. And his body.
- I Am The Mirror Of Your Soul. The bullets that pierced him were reflected by Freya to maximize the damage.
The scenes continued. At times Dinamo looked too cornered, but he always found a way out untouched.
Though sometimes the damage was too much. A good rest was always useful in those moments.
But then the frames slowed. Something was approaching.
Dimitri entered first, this time with a kick—an attack Dinamo could block without condemning himself.
But the momentum of the blow left him with a blind spot.
A blind spot Baek exploited. Sword in hand, stance ready, breathing controlled.
—Haidong Gumdo: Riptide Cut.
The edge dragged emptiness like foam.
Dinamo wasn’t there. He’d left fruit in his place— a courtesy he hoped his opponent would appreciate. He appeared two steps to the right, laughing.
“Are you going to keep running like a coward, you golden clown?!” Dimitri spat, furious.
Dinamo brought a hand to his chest, wounded, like a comedian facing a dead room.
“I thought it would be rude to interrupt such an active couple. Was I wrong?”
Baek said nothing. He tightened his jaw; his pulse trembled once in his knuckles.
The second exchange was immediate. Dimitri swept from low to high; Baek chained:
—Haidong Gumdo: Falling Rain.
Hundreds of minimal, precise impacts. Dinamo passed through them like a curtain of applause. Smile intact.
“Oooh!” the robot sing-songed. “Dynamic duo versus eternal smile. Result? Laughs: 2. Hits: 0. Keep practicing, boys! The spirit is in trying.”
Katherine marked the beat with three dry shots; the bullets arrived in perfect lines.
Hassan raised the prayer.
—Poverty Haunts Me.
Golden chains descended, meant to imprison Dinamo. He dodged with a wide motion.
Freya tilted the conceptual mirror.
—I Am The Mirror Of Your Soul.
The echo returned the bullets to multiply the damage. For an instant, Dinamo was exactly where he needed to be— and the next, he wasn’t. His skin recomposed before the shine even faded.
The chains tried to chase him, but they were too slow.
Ramiro appeared from above, trying to use massive bubbles to cage him—without much success.
The attempt was still far too predictable for him.
“Sure, this is intense, right? Understandable. Not everyone is born with the stomach to watch geometry reorganize itself. So… why not consult a specialist…”
The battle’s intensity was enormous: every blow, every shot, every action left reality irreparably broken.
His opponents were giving everything they had just to keep up. Only Katherine managed it. But things couldn’t stay like this forever.
Dinamo was regenerating calmly. One of those brief moments where he’d managed to carve enough space to reflect.
He brought a hand to his chin, still smiling, while a couple of Katherine’s shots came apart against the freshly regenerated surface of his golden field. He didn’t look affected or anxious, but his eyes gleamed with a different tint.
“Maybe it’s about time…” he murmured, barely audible—like he was saying it more to himself than to anyone else.
For the first time in the entire fight, he let his attention settle into a conscious review of the situation. Through the brawl, he’d limited himself to reacting, laughing, testing, enjoying the pressure. Now, however, he mentally reviewed the game board unfolding around him.
Five individuals had been harassing him nonstop alongside Katherine:
Dimitri with his grotesque gauntlet of miracle material;
Baek with cuts so precise they brushed abstraction (his sword made of that same material that could kill him);
Hassan and his curse of poverty or wealth—depending on who you asked;
Ramiro with his incredibly annoying bubbles;
and Freya with that mirror that sent everything back.
Five pieces moving at once, all with name and style.
On the edge, four more waited:
Caetano, solid and unshakable, holding his moment for something bigger;
Yehiel, the knight disguised as a messenger, observing with a sage’s patience, though he wasn’t fully calm;
Irina, on the brink—there was a trace of worry on her face;
and Seo Min… she stood out the most to him, the weakest link. She didn’t fit with the rest.
Then there were the ones he couldn’t even see. Three shadows on the board: Rajiv, Hanami, and Eoin. Their whereabouts were unknown, and that unknown pulled an even wider smile from him. The fun wasn’t what stood in front of him, but what was still hiding.
Nine confirmed. Three hidden. And the same old doll with her pistols and her cursed bracelet.
His attention slid back an instant in time. There was something that still sparked his curiosity. In the middle of his entertainment, two ability names had been spoken in full, with the conceptual force only experts could invoke. One had boosted her people in a way he still hadn’t fully measured; the other… he wasn’t even sure what it had done. And that detail intrigued him more than any wound or regeneration.
“Mmm… interesting.” The murmur was lost under detonations, but his laughter immediately filled the void again. “This is going to get better.”
Dinamo wasn’t the only one planning to end the dead time.
In an instant—without warning—Katherine gave the signal: not a visible gesture, but a prearranged intent any Rank 10 could read by following the flow of battle.
Twelve auras erupted at once and collided with Dinamo.
They surprised him.
But his greatest surprise…
Wasn’t Irina’s cotton, closing around him and stealing his leverage; nor Rajiv’s vines, squeezing until they creaked; nor Ramiro’s bubbles, compressing air and space around his torso.
Not even Hassan, marking him with his gaze to turn him into gold again, nor Seo Min, trying to hack his technology without permission—without effect.
The surprise didn’t come from Caetano’s silent use of his concept, shutting down senses Dinamo had assumed were infallible.
Twelve ability names were spoken. And yet, he only heard the one breathing at the back of his neck.
—I am the rose on your back… Kagebara.
Hanami was already behind him. She whispered with sadness—melancholic—while the ninjatō slid cleanly through his back and pierced his heart.
Dinamo coughed golden blood. He didn’t react.
Not even when the bindings dispersed to return him a margin of movement; by then, the blade had already come out and gone back in through his neck. One cut. Precise.
His head separated from his body in a fine, shining spray.
Katherine clenched her fist. She didn’t blink as the corpse—now lifeless—fell into the ruins of the city that had once been glorious.
The battle took an unimaginable turn.