Dragon King: Throne of Demons and Gods-Chapter 197: Act IV, Scene V: The Sword Against the World

"I got it..."

Bel's voice cut through the chaos. His body finished regenerating, the cruciform wound on his chest sealing as if it had never existed.

He hovered there, white dragon wings beating steadily against the void's pull, claws flexing as he gripped the Void Orb. It shifted in his hand, elongating into a sleek, obsidian sword pulsing with latent energy.

Without pause, he bolted forward, slashing at the air itself. The blade whistled, carving a violet arc that ripped through a cluster of reforming puppets.

Threads snapped like over-taut strings, their forms dissolving into wisps. As he moved, his mind raced, piecing together the puzzle.

This whole place... It's not a battlefield. It's the King's authority itself. A giant, ever-shifting attack. Every puppet, time slowing, all of it...it's him. It's one giant attack. That's why he feels omnipresent, why attacks come from anywhere.

The King's hands clapped together, and the void warped, folding into spirals of white thread that constricted space itself. Bel darted between them, each slash of his blade leaving scars from which lightning erupted, delaying explosions that shredded the spirals into smoke. But his thoughts carried on.

If his power makes him everywhere, if he can attack from anywhere, it's because everything here is an extension of his attack. He doesn't launch attacks... He is the attack. And every part of it works by different rules.

He twisted mid-flight, incredible speed turning him into a streak of purple haze. A phantom hand swiped at him from the side; he met it head-on, sword thrusting through its palm.

The hand disintegrated in a burst of black threads, but Bel didn't stop. He spiraled upward, slashing horizontally at empty space. A ripple formed, like fabric tearing, and a section of the void flickered unstable.

An attack... turned into a whole dimension... The Nightmare Realm Key... it should give me something that operates on a similar principle. A pocket dimension I control, extending my essence outward. The King's layers are like that, overlaid realms where his authority is the surrounding. But mine is destruction. If I can pierce that...

Regulus, still hovering nearby, called out.

"Bel! What did you figure out? You said that you got it!"

Aurus, pressed against his rock by the lingering pressure wave, watched in stunned silence. His sword trembled in his grip, but he held back, eyes locked on Bel's fluid movements.

"He's... this one will be a problem to deal with if he turns against us..." he whispered to himself.

Bel ignored Regulus, diving toward the reforming obsidian vessel. He slashed vertically, the sword trailing purple essence that ignited mid-swing. The cut landed on the giant's shoulder, shearing off a chunk of armor that evaporated into mist.

As he pulled back, dodging a retaliatory thread-whip that grazed his scales, his thoughts deepened.

The attacks vary because his authority adapts. One slows time to trap, another erases with voids by filling it... threads bind and puppets overwhelm. But they've all failed to leave a mark on me... But better than my regeneration... His attacks are weaker when he use more of his Authority... And I know why.

He accelerated, wings propelling him in a corkscrew ascent. Speed tore at the fabric of the slowed time, creating micro-rifts in his wake. He slashed diagonally at a descending phantom hand, the blade biting deep and exploding it in a shower of light shards.

The Mantle of Ruin! He can't kill me because of all the power from my Authority, and even if he does a mortal damage, if he use his Authority, it will do almost no damage, because my Authority nullifies opposite authorities... the Authority... it's the key.

He felt barely any pain as a hidden slash clipped him, drawing blood, but it sealed instantly, his HP surging back everytime.

That's the key the King showed me. His power peaks, yet the effects diminish against me. Too much force, too much counter. My authority trumps his in direct confrontation. Destruction erases the Authority of Sloth... Then... If this space is his extended attack... If I want to reach his true location...

Regulus shouted.

"I'll get you," Bel murmured, his voice now laced with a feral thrill.

He fueled his essence into the Void Orb sword, purple veins crawling along the blade like living lightning.

It vibrated with concentrated form of his essence, the air around it distorting as if reality itself recoiled.

He halted mid-air, the battlefield a frozen tableau: puppets suspended, debris orbiting like doomed planets, the obsidian vessel half-reformed in a grotesque hunch. Aurus's eyes widened from below, Regulus tensed in anticipation right behind.

Bel raised the sword high, his essence pouring in waves, not aimed at the vessel, not at a phantom hand, but at the space around him, the void itself.

The true form of the attack.

With a roar that echoed his draconic power, he swung.

The slash was no mere cut; it was a cataclysmic arc, the blade trailing a comet-tail of dazzling purple light that bloomed into fractals of violet and black.

Energy cascaded outward in a spectacular display, like a star imploding in reverse, ribbons of essence unfurling, coiling through the air, igniting the void with bursts of purple fire.

The swing carved a luminous path, the purple glow intensifying to blinding brilliance, shattering the haze of the dimension.

Shockwaves rippled, space folding and unfolding in hypnotic waves, the attack destined for no tangible foe but the fabric of the realm itself.

The sword met resistance, not solid, but conceptual, like slicing through a thin membrane.

A rift tore open, a jagged gash in the air ten meters wide, edges crackling with unstable purple sparks.

Beyond it, nothing; a blank, absolute void, devoid of light, matter, or even the concept of space.

It pulsed once, twice, exuding a chilling emptiness that sucked at the surrounding debris, pulling puppets and threads into its maw before they vanished utterly.

The rift held for a heartbeat, then closed with a thunderous clap, leaving only fading echoes of purple haze.

Bel hovered, breathing calmly, observing the spot where the rift had been. His purple eyes narrowed.

"Regulus... what was that? Did it lead to the King?"

Regulus blinked.

"What... What do you mean? What do you want me to know? That... that was your doing! You did... whatever that was. What did you even do?!"

Bel shook his head sharply, fangs glinting.

"Stay focused, young man. I mean, did it breach through his true layer? Did it open a breach to him?"

Aurus, finally freeing himself from the pressure as the wave ebbed, stared upward in stunned silence.

"What... did he just do?" he murmured, sword lowering slightly.

The air felt thinner, the void less oppressive, as if Bel had carved out a piece of the King's dominance.

Horror and awe warred on the old man's face; this wasn't battle, it was a show of power.

But the true shock came from the King. The omnipresent voice, till now booming with mocking confidence, laziness and annoyance, fractured into a stuttered gasp.

"What... what have you done?" It echoed not with thunder, but with raw terror, cracking like glass under strain.

The void trembled, cracks spiderwebbing outward from where the rift had been, as if the dimension itself recoiled in fear.

"That... that shouldn't be possible! You... How did... How in the...! No... NO!"

The scream built, a terrified wail that warped the air, phantom hands convulsing wildly, puppets crumbling unbidden.

The King's composure had shattered, his authority fraying at the edges like a nightmare unraveling.

Regulus's eyes lit up.

At last... At long last... A light of hope.

"Bel... that reaction! It worked! Whatever you just did, it wounded him! I'm sure you touched him! Do it again! Push harder! We can tear this all down!"

Bel's grin widened, this was so exhilarating. But even as he raised the sword once more like a perfect warrior, it was one of these rare times he had made a mistake.

His reflection had been on point, dissecting the layers with precision. Yet, he couldn't know everything; a subtle mistake lingered in his assumption.

Despite the name others whispered, Lord Ravager, his authority wasn't exactly destruction.

Pushed to its perfect form, it was something worse, a primordial doom: Ruination.

Not mere erasure, but the absolute unmaking of existence, reducing concepts, essences, and realities to a void beyond recovery.

It devoured authorities like the King's, erasing their foundations, explaining his lethal edge against any power.

Where destruction left ruins, Ruination left oblivion, a cosmic famine that starved creation itself.

And now, with the rift's echo fading, Bel stood on the precipice of unleashing it fully.