Kael's eyes lingered on the silver script, the pulsing glow reflecting faintly in his irises.
"Fight a god?" he asked slowly. "You're joking."
"I'm not," Thorne said, solemn now. "The Codex tests you. It doesn't teach like a scroll—it awakens a fragment of the god it came from. An echo, a memory. A will. You enter a vision. A realm not quite of this world."
Kael swallowed. "And if I lose?"
Thorne met his eyes, unflinching.
"Soul injury, madness, death—if you're unlucky."
Kael looked back at the glowing script. The silver light now pulsed with urgency, like it sensed his hesitation—or his readiness.
"How do I begin?"
"Just think of learning it. One more thing," Thorne added, his voice dropping. "You're not just there to survive. You're there to learn. And above all—use your will."
Kael furrowed his brow, then focused on the intent to learn.
The scroll flared—blinding. Light surged into his eyes.
Then—
Silence.
He stood in a realm divided. Before him, a world of silver sand and sky; behind, blackness streaked with faint veins of purple. Both halves stretched infinitely in either direction.
No wind. No sound. Only a slow, deep thump.
And then, it appeared.
A figure rose on the silver horizon like a monument—blurred, draped in silver light.
Even up close, its features remained indistinc. Its face was obscured, but its form was tall, lean, dressed in a simple silver tunic. Slender limbs. Quiet menace.
It stopped a few meters away, standing in the silver zone.
No words. Only stillness. Then it moved—graceful, deliberate. Left fist extended. Right hand drawn back. Legs spaced shoulder-width apart. The rear foot slid back.
A stance.
Kael tensed. He mirrored it with a basic stance of his own—but the figure exploded forward, sand blooming behind it like a silver wave.
Too fast.
Kael crossed his arms in front of him by instinct.
But his limbs stopped—something held them back. A force he couldn't see. Then—
Crack!
A punch slammed into his gut. Air fled his lungs. He flew backward, crashing into the dark sand.
Kael coughed, clutching his stomach. What the hell was that?
The figure stood still again, watching.
Kael rose warily and took a stance.
The figure assumed the same stance again.
Kael gritted his teeth and braced, this time reading the motion. It darted forward—he was ready.
But the sand beneath his left foot gave way—softened like liquid.
Shit—
A fist connected with the side of his head. His skull rattled. He spun and skidded across the dark sand.
Groaning, Kael pushed himself up, vision swimming. It's getting stronger, he thought.
He charged. Threw a jab toward the figure's right shoulder—baiting.
The figure leaned back with eerie ease. Then both of its fists cocked.
Kael smirked. He was already following with a left kick to the midsection—
—but something dragged at his leg. It moved like it was underwater.
"What the—"
Boom.
Two fists sank into his stomach. He soared backward and rolled across the black sand, coughing hard.
He lay still, gasping. The silver sky stretched above—but something was wrong.
This should be the dark side, he thought. Why is the sky silver here too?
He stood slowly, glancing back. The black zone had shrunk. The silver had grown.
The realization chilled him. It's not just a fight… it's a takeover.
He looked down—his abdomen was… cracked . Not bleeding. Fractured. Like glass. Two transparent fist marks shimmered on his skin.
He laughed softly. "Makes sense. Soul fight, huh?"
He stood, shakily.
"I can't die here," he whispered.
The figure watched, unmoved. It began walking forward—same stance. Same cold focus.
Kael stood shakily. I need a way to win… but how? This realm's stacked against me.
His body ached with each breath, though there were no wounds. Soul pain… might be worse than the real thing.
He braced himself, taking a defensive stance. "Not that this helps…"
Another blow crashed into his chest—transparent cracks spidered outward.
He tried jabs, kicks, even feints—but the figure read everything. Every block failed. Every hit landed.
Kael collapsed again, breath ragged. His torso was nearly see-through. The black zone was the size of a house now.
"This is a death sentence!" he shouted. "How the hell am I supposed to beat you?"
He rose again, slow and broken. "I don't even know any damn techniques."
The figure walked closer and took its familiar stance.
Kael growled, setting his feet. "This stupid stance again," he muttered. "I've seen it enough times…"
Then he froze.
Thorne's voice echoed back. You are there to learn.
Kael's eyes widened.
That's it!
Another punch cut the thought short, slamming into his chest and sending him sprawling.
He rolled, hissing—but forced himself up.
Then, he shifted into the same stance as the figure.
The figure dashed forward.
Kael rushed in to meet it.
Fists collided—Kael was knocked backward again, but this time, the figure stumbled too. A faint fist mark glowed on its chest.
Kael blinked. Then grinned.
"That's it…"
He laughed and stood tall.
He struck the stance again. "Bring it on, bastard."
The figure dashed.
This time Kael moved with it. He dodged—but not perfectly. A fist grazed his cheek, turning half his face transparent.
He smiled anyway.
The figure hit the ground hard, a shimmering crack on its chest.
Kael's body was nearly see-through now. His torso was a window of pain and fragility. The black zone was barely the size of a room.
He looked at the sky.
Now I just need to deal with the annoying effects. He thought.
Thorne said will matters... but can mine stand against a god's?
He exhaled. It has to.
Kael stood up, assumed the stance, and dashed toward the figure—their fists collided with a jarring crack.
The figure swung at Kael's head, but Kael mirrored the motion, intercepting the blow. Fists met again, force against force.
They clashed repeatedly, Kael just barely cutting off each strike, always a half-step behind. The pressure built, every movement pushing him closer to the edge.
I can't keep this up, Kael thought, his arms burning.
Then something deeper stirred.
But what is will, really? he wondered, even as his body stayed in motion. Is it just desire? Just wanting something to happen?
Another blow. Another intercept. His breath came harder.
No… want is weak. Anyone can want. Will is something else.
The figure's next strike met Kael's fist, and he was thrown back, pain exploding in his hand. He staggered, glancing down—his knuckles were cracked now, just like his abdomen.
"So it decided to attack my hand instead," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Crazy bastard."
He flexed his fingers. That strategy won't work anymore. I'll have to dodge or block—counterattack, not clash.
He took a breath, steadying himself.
Maybe will isn't about force at all. Maybe it's the refusal to break. The choice to keep moving when everything tells you to stop. It's not strength, not magic. It's something else.
The figure launched another punch toward his face. Kael moved to evade, but that strange drag returned—his body resisting, slow, like wading through syrup.
Will is persistence sharpened into defiance, he thought. It's choosing to act again and again, even when nothing changes.
He gritted his teeth and pushed harder.
It's the force that shapes the world, not with power, but with refusal.
His muscles tightened, he roared—then, something shifted. His head moved—clean, sharp, faster than before. The fist passed harmlessly in front of him.
The figure staggered forward, off balance.
Kael turned, smiling. Maybe that's it… Will isn't about waiting for change. It's being the one who changes.
He took the stance again and charged.
He twisted his body, slipping past another strike and landing his own. The sand beneath him trembled, loosening—but he willed it to hold.
And it did.
At first it was hard. But as he pressed on, it became easier. Each moment sharpened his focus. Each breath deepened his control. He moved like water, flowing around the figure's blows, returning strikes of his own.
Then, with a roar, Kael drove both fists into the figure's chest, launching it into the ground.
The black sand darkened further. The silver zone above was nothing but a distant speck.
Kael walked to the fallen figure, now weakened and half-submerged. He grabbed its transparent body and pulled it free.
He stared at it for a long moment, solemn.
Then he chuckled. "Kill a god, huh?" he muttered—and punched.
The figure shattered into silver dust, which drifted down and dissolved into his skin. A faint silver pattern, similar to the text on the scroll appeared on it.
Kael dropped to the ground, breathing hard.
Then he laughed again. "Finally," he said, staring upward. "Now how the hell do I get out of here?"
He lifted his head.
But he was no longer in that realm.
Nor was he back in the room.