Each blow carved cracks in the sky. Not the void or the air, but the actual domain barrier—the divide between domains. The primordial wind howled in pain. The stars blinked in and out as void itself folded.
His bones broke, reformed, then broke again. His lifespan bled into the void like ink spilled across a blank scroll.
The sky wept light.
A jagged wound split open above the world—not in cloud or air, but in the very boundary that held the realm of mortals apart from the divine. From that rift poured a light too deep for eyes, too old for names. Golden-violet threads of essence spilled downward like the blood of a slain god, falling not with violence, but with solemn grace.
A voice descended, not heard with ears but carved into every soul!
"Lo, a hand has reached where none dared lift it. A mortal of dust and blood has struck the gates of dominion. Who speaks so boldly, whose fist dares judgment?"
