A death knell.
The words did not echo.
They did not need to.
They existed. And with their existence, they carved existence itself.
"Using a weapon is prohibited here."
The voice carried weight beyond sound. It did not spread through the air.. it devoured it.
Agon’s mist sword dissolved instantly.
Not shattered. Not dispelled. Not broken.
Erased.
Like it had never even been there. Like it had never even been summoned.
His grip closed around nothing.
His stance remained unchanged. His breathing did not falter. But something shifted behind his deep yellow eyes.
A pause.
Then.. his gaze lifted.
Above.
To the being who loomed in the suffocating dark, suspended like a monarch upon a throne of nothingness.
The Darkness Angel smiled.
Slowly.
Carefully.
The gesture did not break the stillness of his form. His ashen-glowing eyes did not flicker, did not waver. The black ring above his head pulsed, distorting the space around it, warping the void into something less than nothing.
Then.. softly, smoothly.
"Don’t worry."
The words slithered into the silence like a whispered promise.
"I’ll make sure you suffer a little first."
The wings twitched.
Tattered and black, curling inward, rippling like a beast stretching before it pounced.
And then he lifted his right hand.
A simple motion.
Fingers rising with an effortless grace, a flick of the wrist that barely disturbed the abyss.
But Agon saw it.
Not the motion.
Not the hand.
Not the darkness.
The absence.
A tide of void, so dark it could not be seen, a presence beyond mere sight, a force beyond mere space and it was rushing for him.
Agon moved.
He did not hesitate.
Not even for an instant.
His body shifted, muscles reacting with pure instinct. He lunged sideways, twisting midair, backflipping in a single seamless arc.. just as the darkness passed where he had stood.
He landed.
Low stance. Feet light. Fingers flexing, not to summon, but to brace.
And in that instant..
A voice, smooth and entertained, drifted from above.
"Why didn’t you use your mist?"
Agon’s eyes lifted.
The Darkness Angel watched him, head slightly tilted, curiosity laced within the glow of those ashen eyes.
Agon smiled.
A small thing.
Faint. Amused, but not careless.
"So it gets prohibited instantly?"
His voice was light..
"No, thank you."
He straightened, rolling his shoulders as though loosening tension that did not exist.
"I’d rather keep dodging until I can’t."
The Darkness Angel’s smile widened.
Just slightly.
"Impressive," he murmured. "I’ll give you that."
Then..before another breath could pass.
Agon’s senses screamed.
His body was already moving.
Left.
The space he had occupied twisted, a streak of void-darker-than-void tore through the air.
An arrow.
But not an arrow.
A wound in reality, a thing that should not be.
His senses screamed again.
Right.
Another void-arrow.
He turned, shifted, legs bending, body weaving between shots with a precision that was no longer thought but pure reflex.
Then came another..
Louder. Sharper alarm.
And this time.. it was different.
Not a single attack.
Not a pattern.
Not a simple evasion.
The space around him bent.
Folded inward.
Shapes.. countless, shifting, impossible.. spinning in the abyss.
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Blades.
Darker than void.
Hung in the air like stars that had been corrupted, like spears forged from the absence of existence itself.
And they were all aimed at him.
Agon stilled.
Not in fear.
Not in hesitation.
But in understanding.
This was not a test of skill.
Not a battle of endurance.
The Darkness Angel was toying with him.
He could have prohibited his abilities outright.
Agon knew that.
He had used his mist before.. in the battle against the Lords of Teka. The Darkness Angel had witnessed them. Had seen them in full. And yet..
He was waiting.
Letting Agon fight.
Letting Agon struggle.
Why?
The realization settled.
Because it was entertaining.
Because this wasn’t a battle to him.
It was a spectacle.
A mere performance.
A show.
And Agon was the lead actor.
His jaw clenched.. but inwardly.
No reaction. No shift in stance. No betraying emotion.
The Darkness Angel was watching.
Waiting.
And then, the blades moved.
They all shot toward him like a storm has descended.
Countless, twisting, void-forged abominations that did not reflect, did not gleam, did not even acknowledge reality or existence. They carved through the air, through space, through concepts, their very presence disrupting the fragile boundary between being and nothingness.
Agon moved.
Not a thought.
Not a hesitation.
His detection screamed.
His body reacted.
His spine arched as he twisted left, his shoulder rolling just as a spinning void-blade grazed past.
A flash of pain.
Not sharp. Not cutting.
A sensation of absence.
Like something had passed through him.. not flesh, not skin, but his very existence.
Vroom!
Another.
He flipped.
Legs coiled, body twisting in the opposite direction, his boots scraping against nothingness.. momentum carrying him back, away, escaping the inevitable.
But before he even landed.
Another scream.
Not a sound.
A warning.
From within him, from that honed instinct, that cultivated sense of survival that was no longer a matter of choice but of absolute necessity.
He adjusted.
Mid-air.
A fraction of a second before impact.
Muscles tensed.
Breath controlled.
He halted.
Not falling.
Not landing.
Stopping.
The blade that should have cleaved through him rushed past, mere inches from where his foot had been.
And then.. tap.
He stepped.
Not on the ground.
There was no ground.
His boot.. almost passing through the darkness itself, pressed against the very blade that sought to erase him.
Weight distributed.
Not resisting it.
Moving with it.
He pushed off, his balance seamless, his landing precise.. feet finding purchase on the unseen, the intangible, the sheer emptiness of the abyss itself.
And in that moment...
A voice.
Smooth.
Amused.
"Why don’t you use your exoskeleton bio-armor?"
The words were unhurried.
Leisurely.
Almost… intrigued.
"I’d love to see it."
The Darkness Angel watched him.
Smiling.
Hovering above, his form shifting between darkness and shape, his ashen-glowing eyes alight with a sick curiosity.
That ring above his head pulsed.
Not radiating power.. consuming it.
His tattered wings twitched, shedding motes of void that dissipated before they could even fall.
Agon didn’t answer.
His chest rose.
Fell.
He could have.
Could have snapped.
Could have let the irritation slip, let the frustration crack through his restraint, let his mind scream outward at the absurdity, the sheer mockery of it all..
But he did not.
He kept himself still.
Kept himself calm.
Because emotion was a distraction.
And distraction was death.
The next wave arrived.
This time.. worse.
Blades, countless and spiraling, converging from all angles... and with them, arrows.
Not ordinary projectiles.
Not mere weapons.
Darker-than-void constructs, their very presence gnawing at reality, twisting its shape, denying existence itself.
There was no escape.
He saw it.
Understood it.
Accepted it.
And in that instant.. he dissolved into a mist...
Fleeting.
Unchained.
Flowing into the air, a vapor of non-existence, slipping through the gaps, passing through the inescapable, avoiding what could not be avoided..
And then.
A whisper.
Not spoken.
Not heard.
But declared.
"Mist dissolving is prohibited here."
A bullet to the skull.
A spike through the chest.
An absolute, crushing command that stripped him of what he no longer possessed.
Agon felt it instantly.
Like his very essence had been seized and bound.
No mist.
No escape.
He had known it would happen.
Had prepared for it.
Had already begun to shape the next move, to think beyond the inevitable, to find the path forward..
Because if he did not.
He was already dead.
And then.. Another shift.
A flicker in the abyss.
The Darkness Angel’s gaze changed.
Not in amusement.
Not in curiosity.
But in realization.
As if something had only just occurred to him.
"Ah…"
His lips parted slightly, as though tasting the word itself.
A memory surfacing.
His smile widened.
"I think you used a power to control my avatar before."
His voice curled with something deeper than malice.
Something colder.
Something that did not even resemble hate.. because hate implied effort.
And he was merely playing.
"So, anyway…"
His fingers shifted.
Not a snap.
Not a gesture.
A mere motion.
"Parasiting is prohibited here."