"I am having so much fucking fun!" Xeras Timpleson reached his hands out, tentacles constructing from his forearms as he grabbed Miles' leg and slammed his body up against the ceiling before flinging it across the cathedral.
Miles grunted in agony as he bounced on air, redirecting the throw back at Xeras as he sent himself flying alongside his blade in a position to pierce his face.
Xeras stared at Amarze, the Angel sitting in the throne—amused—before snickering. "People often state I am the God of Mutation, but honestly, I see my powers as more adaptable." He flicked his flowing blonde hair as it formed into flying rabid squirrels that tackled Miles in the air. "You aren't slow, you are quite fast—but I'm just faster."
Xeras grabbed the air and contorted it into a ball of kinetic energy, hurling it at Miles who was on the floor attempting to swat the squirrels off.
Miles stared at the ball before performing a somersault, avoiding it and flicking the squirrels off his body. He muttered, "I am Miles Phillips—the incarnation of luck," before flinging his sword at a window, shattering the glass.
"You'll pay for that," Xeras grinned, using one hand to touch the ground. Veiny longitudinal tentacles emerged, aiming to grab Miles who was still hovering in the air.
"Bless my luck." Miles closed his eyes and positioned himself in a superman stance as wind from the shattered window propelled him forward, sucker-punching Xeras in the face.
The God of Mutation did not budge. He grabbed Miles' arm, dislocated it, dropped him to the floor, and kicked him in the face—sending him hurling toward the throne.
Miles bumped his arm on one of the statues' pieces, relocating it before readily getting back up. His pompadour messy, he exclaimed, "Is this the height of your speed, God? For I am beyond speed."
Xeras rubbed both hands together, sparks crackling before mutating into lightning bolts.
Miles chuckled, grabbed both bolts, and shoved them into the ground. The room shone brighter, fueled by their power. "I enjoy this!" he shouted, stomping his foot.
Amarze laughed, "Here it comes."
Miles punched Xeras.
Miles punched Xeras again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Over and over—beyond Xeras' comprehension. He couldn't sense, couldn't see, couldn't understand—only feel each punch rippling against his skin. As he regenerated, he morphed his head into a lizard and screamed.
"SLOW DOWN!"
Time froze.
The punches did not.
Amarze laughed, staring down at Xeras, who stopped time but still suffered the barrage. "This is called speed, Xeras! What can you do to stop it?"
The God morphed his head back into Thidos, his back transforming into a throne as he sat on it, legs crossed. "He is fast—yes, he is fast. But I know what to do about fast people." He flicked his fingers.
"AARGH!" Miles grunted, collapsing onto the ground, clutching his head—screaming in pain.
Amarze's laughter subsided as he stared at Thidos—no longer gaping white holes, but bloodshot, beady eyes. "You wouldn't be so evil."
"He didn't do the first challenge," Thidos coldly spoke—no longer cheerful or combative but distant. "So I'll make him suffer and do it simultaneously."
Miles clutched his head, screaming, his eyes bleeding—then stopped.
"What did you do?" Amarze scorned, his eyes morphing into fire.
"Scorched earth, as people say." Thidos grinned. "Now you have an option: get the fuck off my throne—or suffer worse than your accomplice."
Amarze giggled. "If you think he's dead, you need to know more about speed."
Miles stood up—in inhuman fashion. He didn't rise from his knees, but as if a puppet string had yanked him upright.
He's strong of course, but Godly level? He would've been an Angel then.
"Thidos, your problem is that you only think of combatants as if they were playing cards. Speed is weaker than Gravity in your eyes. Of course, it depends on mastery—and you made the master of dimensions itself… a Saint." Amarze laughed as he dropped down onto the battlefield. He walked over to Miles, unconscious but standing, and spoke words, mumbling. "Now, rough him up—we don't want to kill him. I got something to tell everyone else." He flicked his hand. "That must've released the veil—make the Saints and Angels view this spectacle."
The Sack of Blood walked away as Miles disappeared.
"Miles Phillips of Asaldom." The man stated his name, sitting at an interviewer's desk—dressed in a suit and tie, hair buzzed, staring into a camera. "My qualifications? Everything. The time it took? No time. How'd I do it? I break through stuff." He was relaxed, feet crossed on the desk, thumb pointing toward a door. "You want to see something really cool?"
Thud. Thud. Thud.
"Any seco—"
Miles of the Future ran into real-world Miles, splattering his corpse across the camera as blood and guts painted the room like a Halloween dressing.
A punch from beyond fiction landed on Thidos' head, shattering it. Miles stood behind his decapitated body, victorious.
Amarze sighed, starting toward him. "You are so strong!" he exclaimed, flinging his arms around as Miles panted.
"Oh, but that's how you'd like it to go." The corpse mumbled as it turned, pointing at Miles' chest and flicking it apart. The pure head reformed on Thidos' body. "That was a good fight—you couldn't have won. I'm sorry to lead you on."
He breathed in, then out.
"Shidoshi."
"So you see, the real problem is that…" A man in a suit and tie hollered at another interviewer's desk. "I'm fast, but I don't know, man. It's up to your interpretation, I guess. Because can speed really defeat anything? I don't know. Losses are hard, because you don't understand it. Now I'm gonna be lost…"
The participants were eating in the cafeteria—all of them except Jonah. Quiet. No words. No friendship remained. Alliances broken. Armies forming. War brewing.
On the television: the boy who murdered in daylight was paraded, then drafted into an army program. Teysu, now a subject of experimentation, using telekinesis to terrorise Ostra and Floria.
"This truly is the end times…" Jeremiah muttered, staring at the screen. "This is our fault…"
"Is it?" Saraline grumbled. "I guess it is… I'm sorry, Lichness."
The lich only nodded.
"This is boring." Felix yawned. "No challenges, nothing… it's been a week now."
"We don't agree with your absurd takes. Why would we." Dara smacked him, making him chuckle.
Zap.
A ripple shook the room. Tables slid sideways, endlessly.
"What is that?" Gabriel exclaimed, eyes darting.
An invisible explosion erupted, releasing the Saints and Angels trapped within Amarze's veil.
"Damn it, Amarze! We gotta get to Thidos!" Rosamire yelled as the divine host bolted out.
The others followed.
The throne room doors burst open.
"Lord! Are you safe?" Merlin cried, kneeling.
Thidos turned slowly, a pure white smile etched on his face. Spiral pupils swirled in his eyes.
Then came the laughter. Endless. Spiraling. Grotesque. A howl that filled the cathedral and spilled out into the world.
Medea entered, caught in it. His eyes spiraled. He laughed too.
Two Gods, laughing.
Madness? No—worse.
Silence. They stopped. Thidos reclined back on his golden throne, legs crossed. "You won't see Amarze and Miles again. They've gone to a place one of you already has." His gaze locked on Zero. The Imp cracked a grin.
"This time, nobody can get out. I won't let them. Never."
With a flick of his fingers, everyone was expelled from the room.
"Teysuo!" Kanae shouted across the desert of Invalia. "What have you done!" His tone—somber, rageful.
"Kanae! I've lived in your shadow my whole life! You had the cool bike—I had a scooter! You need me now, need my power!" He wore a ragged blue cape, white asylum shirt, ripped jeans, mangled shoes.
Kanae leveled a massive crimson mechanical laser gun, grim.
"Teysuo!"
"Kanae!"
The two former friends charged…