The battlefield floated silent in the void. Shattered ships drifted like broken teeth, their fires glowing faintly against the endless night. Corpses of celestial soldiers spun weightless among the debris, their lifeless eyes reflecting the cold light of distant suns.
And at the center of it all, sitting as though he were perched on a throne, was the Cursed One Under Heaven.
He leaned back lazily against the fractured ribcage of a slain celestial beast, one leg crossed over the other. In his right hand, he twirled his cracked spoon, humming a cheerful tune that did not belong in a graveyard. To him, this was not war. This was leisure.
The void trembled.
From the darkness, they came. A fleet stretched across the horizon, thousands upon thousands of ships powered by divine fire, banners of starlight flaring as choirs of priests chanted judgment. The sound rolled through the cosmos like thunder.
He looked up, squinting at the lights. "Ah… more toys." He yawned. "Good. I was afraid the stars were getting too quiet."
The lead vessel broadcast its command, a booming voice woven from a hundred throats:
"Cursed One! Your blasphemy ends here. In the name of Heaven, we bring judgment!"
He tilted his head, unimpressed. "Judgment? You mean more screaming and dying? Tch. At least make it interesting."
And then, with a flick of his wrist—barely more effort than brushing dust from his sleeve—he swung his spoon.
Light tore through the void.
No sound, no warning. Half the fleet simply vanished. Ships folded in on themselves like paper, crews reduced to ash before they could even scream. Stars themselves flickered, shying away from the force that rippled outwards.
When the light faded, silence swallowed the survivors.
He sighed, twirling the spoon again. "Really? That was all it took? I barely moved my wrist. If Heaven calls this a war, then I call it a lullaby. Boring. Utterly, painfully boring."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Why struggle? You were already beneath me the moment you stood in my shadow."
The words carried across the void, striking harder than any weapon. Soldiers trembled. Priests clutched their charms. For the first time, they realized they were not fighting a cursed mortal. They were gnats clawing at a storm.
Then, the stars shifted.
The void itself seemed to bend as a new presence emerged. A shadow fell across him, vast enough to blot out the moons.
The figure that appeared was clad in armor forged from dying suns, each plate etched with divine runes that pulsed with the heartbeat of galaxies. He was colossal—thirty times the size of a moon, his very steps making the fabric of space groan. His helm shone with a crown of burning halos, and in his hand he carried a blade longer than mountains.
The fleet cheered in desperate relief. "The Heavenly Colossus! A General of the Divine Host!"
The armored titan looked down upon the boy seated casually on bones and wreckage. His voice rolled like thunder across eternity.
"Cursed One Under Heaven. You mock the will of the cosmos. You slay Heaven's chosen. You twist fate itself with your laughable defiance. I am the hand of divine order, and I—"
The spoon flicked.
The titan froze. For an instant, his massive form trembled, as if the words had caught in his throat. Then, with a sound like glass shattering, his armor cracked. A jagged line split him from crown to heel.
Before his boast could finish, his body came apart.
The blade slipped from his hand, vanishing into the void. His torso split open, halves drifting apart like broken continents. A moment later, his entire form disintegrated into stardust, swallowed by the silence.
The boy lowered his spoon, bored expression never changing. "You were saying?"
The fleet was silent. Thousands of eyes watched in disbelief as their savior dissolved without so much as a struggle.
He stretched, groaning as though waking from a nap. "Honestly, I was hoping for at least a minute of entertainment. But no… not even a warm-up. Heaven really is getting desperate."
He stood now, floating above the corpses, every movement effortless, regal in its arrogance. The void itself seemed to bow under the weight of his presence. His laughter rang out, sharp and mocking, echoing across stars and ships alike.
"You send fleets, you send giants, you send priests who choke on their own prayers… and still, you think you hold the threads of fate." His grin widened, manic and cruel. "Pathetic. I am no thread. I am the knife that severs them."
The survivors of the fleet trembled. Some tried to flee, engines roaring. Others fell to their knees, praying to gods who no longer dared to answer.
The boy spun his spoon one last time, then pointed it lazily at the broken armada.
"Run. Pray. Scream. Do whatever pleases you. In the end, it won't matter." His laughter spilled into the silence, endless and terrifying. "You've already lost."
And with that, the void itself seemed to laugh with him.