Chapter 122 – Final Clash

The battlefield was no longer a place of mortals.

The skies cracked open, lightning woven from divinity itself spilling across a burning firmament. Oceans rose and collapsed as if the world could not decide whether to live or drown. Time bled irregularly—seconds stretching into eternities, eternities collapsing into instants. The Hidden God had revealed his true form, a colossal silhouette of endless faces, shifting bodies, and voices layered upon voices.

Kael stood before him—no, against him. Alone, yet not alone. The echoes of every erased god lingered inside him, their fragments of power carved into his soul. His shadow stretched endlessly, swallowing light, swallowing fate.

“Do you understand now?” the Hidden God’s chorus boomed, shaking heaven and earth. “You should never have existed. You are an error, a wound in the script of creation. I am the author, and you are nothing but a smear of ink.”

Kael raised his blade—its surface blacker than black, edges humming with concepts that should not be touched. His eyes burned with resolve, yet his voice came calm, steady.

“Then I’ll be the one who rewrites the story.”

The god descended, a thousand arms striking at once, each blow heavy enough to erase entire galaxies. Kael vanished. His body blurred between seconds, stepping through threads of time as though they were fragile glass. With a single swing, his blade shattered one arm—then another—then another. Each strike carried not just strength, but erasure. The god’s limbs did not bleed, they vanished, ripped out of the very narrative.

The Hidden God roared, but his laughter followed immediately, echoing like a madness that could not be killed. “Erase me? Fool. I am not flesh. I am not form. I am the concept of authority itself. For every strike you land, I shall multiply!”

And so he did. Where one god fell, two more heads sprouted, two more voices thundered. The sky itself became his body, the sea his veins, the land his armor.

Kael clenched his jaw. Even with Erosion, even with forbidden rituals, even with his arsenal of stolen divinity—this foe was endless.

But then… behind him, faint lights flickered. Shadows of the Avatars he had fought alongside—or against—throughout his journey. Seraph’s wings. Zenith’s cold glare. Void’s endless abyss. They were not alive. They were not whole. But their resolve lingered, woven into him.

Kael’s body shuddered, the voices of countless wills aligning with his own. His aura burst forth, not merely dark, but absolute—light devoured, time erased, space folded into a singularity of intent.

The Hidden God paused. For the first time, uncertainty crept into his layered tone.

“What… are you?”

Kael raised his blade to the heavens. His silhouette blurred, as though even reality had trouble containing him. His voice was a whisper and a thunderclap at once:

“The Hero Who Shouldn’t Exist.”

He moved. Faster than thought. Faster than inevitability.

Each swing carved away not just pieces of the Hidden God, but entire laws of his being. One cut devoured immortality. Another shattered omnipresence. Another tore divinity from its throne.

The world screamed under the weight of their battle.

The god struck back, hurling Kael into the ruins of stars, grinding him beneath unending pressure. Kael staggered, blood burning like molten fire in his veins—but he rose again. He carved an opening, thrusting his blade into the god’s core, and unleashed everything—his life, his shadows, his stolen divinity, his existence itself.

A single command, whispered like the end of a prayer:

“Erase.”

Silence.

The Hidden God unraveled. His voices collapsed into nothing. The endless faces blinked out, one by one, until only emptiness remained.

And Kael—broken, bleeding, barely tethered to existence—stood at the center of a hollow cosmos, his blade dissolving into dust, his body crumbling.

But he smiled.

Because it was over.