NOVEL NEXT Chapter 54: Collapse - 2
"First Art - Ethereal Rend... Collapse."
The words hung in the impossible space like a death sentence delivered with divine authority. Before Fenix could process their meaning, before his enhanced senses could even begin cataloging the threat, the world around him exploded into chaos that transcended normal understanding of destructive force.
Mana pressure crashed over him like a tsunami of raw power, pressing against his consciousness with weight that made breathing feel like lifting mountains. The very air became thick as molasses while reality itself seemed to buckle under forces that belonged in cosmic events rather than individual techniques. His knees buckled as pressure that dwarfed anything he had ever encountered threatened to crush him into the black water that served as this realm's foundation.
Then came the draw.
The divine being's movement was so fast it seemed to exist in multiple moments simultaneously - the katana sliding from its white sheath with liquid grace that made light itself appear sluggish by comparison. Azure radiance blazed along the weapon's edge as it cleared its resting place, transforming steel into something that cut through more than mere matter.
The downward slash that followed transcended technique and entered the realm of natural law. Not a sword strike but an expression of fundamental force given physical form, the blade's arc creating a tear in reality that revealed glimpses of void beyond. Azure light poured from the cut like blood from a mortal wound, following a trajectory that seemed to bend space itself around its inexorable path toward Fenix's position.
He tried to move, tried to activate the Willstep that had saved his life countless times before, tried to do anything except stand motionless as death approached with mathematical certainty. But his body refused to respond to commands that his mind screamed with desperate intensity. The mana pressure had locked his muscles into paralysis that made resistance impossible while his consciousness remained perfectly aware of approaching annihilation.
The azure energy struck him like divine judgment made manifest.
Pain beyond description flooded his nervous system as the technique tore through defenses that might as well have been tissue paper. He felt his soul being severed from his body, consciousness fragmenting into pieces that scattered like leaves in a hurricane. Darkness claimed him with the finality of absolute ending.
---
Consciousness returned with jarring suddenness.
Fenix gasped, his lungs drawing air that tasted of ancient stone and preserved time. Sweat drenched his features as his enhanced senses struggled to process what had just occurred, mapping surroundings that matched the throne room's familiar architecture with desperate precision. The skeleton still sat in regal stillness, its empty sockets seeming to hold depths of knowledge that transcended mortal understanding.
He was alive. Impossibly, incomprehensibly alive.
His hands trembled as he raised them before his face, studying flesh that showed no signs of the destruction he remembered experiencing. No wounds marked his skin, no damage suggested he had been touched by forces capable of unmaking reality itself. Yet the memory remained perfectly clear - the divine being's impossible speed, the azure technique that had severed his existence, the darkness that had claimed everything he was.
"I died," he whispered, his voice echoing strangely in the vast chamber. "That being killed me."
The words carried certainty that logical analysis couldn't dismiss. He remembered every detail with crystalline clarity - the way mana pressure had frozen his body into helplessness, the lightning-fast draw that had moved beyond perception, the downward slash that had created tears in space itself. Most vividly, he recalled the being's words: "First Art - Ethereal Rend... Collapse."
A technique name. A martial art that operated according to principles he couldn't begin to comprehend, wielded by someone whose capabilities approached the divine rather than merely exceptional.
The katana beside the throne pulsed with renewed insistence, its white sheath gleaming with radiance that seemed to call directly to his soul. The weapon's presence felt even stronger now, as if his experience in that impossible realm had created some form of connection between his consciousness and whatever power the blade contained.
Fenix stared at the weapon for long minutes, internal debate raging between curiosity that demanded answers and survival instinct that screamed warnings about forces beyond his ability to comprehend safely. He had just experienced death at the hands of something that might have been the katana's original owner, yet here he stood unharmed while the blade continued its silent invitation.
Logic suggested that approaching the weapon again represented the height of foolishness. But necessity demanded otherwise - he needed to understand what had occurred, needed to discover whether the experience could provide insights that might help him survive whatever other trials the labyrinth had prepared.
More importantly, he needed a weapon. Black Soul lay in fragments somewhere above, its destruction leaving him defenseless against opponents that wouldn't show the mysterious restraint that had allowed his consciousness to survive divine judgment.
Against every rational consideration, Fenix reached out and touched the katana's hilt once more.
---
Reality dissolved into familiar chaos as the throne room vanished and the infinite black plane reasserted its existence around him. The divine being stood exactly where it had before, its piercing blue eyes holding depths of knowledge that seemed to encompass everything that had ever been or could ever be. The same katana rested in its grip, while an identical weapon materialized in his own hands as if summoned by the realm's fundamental laws.
"First Art - Ethereal Rend... Collapse."
The same words. The same devastating technique. The same impossible speed that made the being's draw seem like natural law rather than individual capability. Mana pressure crushed down on him with familiar weight while azure energy carved reality into fragments that revealed glimpses of absolute void.
And once again, he could do nothing except wait for destruction that came with mathematical certainty.
The azure slash struck him with identical force, severing consciousness from existence with the casual efficiency of someone swatting an insect. Darkness claimed everything he was, only to release him back into the throne room where sweat and confusion marked his return to waking awareness.
Three times. Four times. Five times.
Each attempt followed the same pattern - the katana's call, the impossible realm, the divine being's perfect technique, death that felt completely real followed by resurrection that defied explanation. With each iteration, Fenix's understanding grew fractionally while his frustration mounted exponentially.
By the twelfth repetition, subtle changes began manifesting in his perception. The being's movements, which had seemed like instantaneous teleportation during earlier attempts, began revealing hints of actual technique. He could see the preliminary shift of weight that preceded the draw, catch glimpses of the blade's path as it cleared its sheath, detect the moment when azure energy began condensing along the weapon's edge.
Still, seeing and responding remained completely different capabilities. His body continued refusing commands that his mind delivered with increasing desperation, paralyzed by mana pressure that seemed designed to prevent any form of resistance or evasion.
The fifteenth iteration brought the first moment of hope.
As the divine being's technique reached its crescendo, as azure energy carved through space toward his helpless form, Fenix managed to activate his Willstep for a single, precious instant. The spatial displacement carried him perhaps two feet to the left - insignificant movement that accomplished nothing except proving that resistance was theoretically possible.
The azure slash simply adjusted its trajectory with casual precision, striking him down as easily as every previous attempt.
But he had moved. Finally, impossibly, he had overcome the paralysis that had rendered him helpless through fourteen repetitions of divine judgment.
The twentieth attempt saw him managing three feet of displacement. The twenty-fifth allowed him to maintain Willstep for nearly two seconds before the technique's adjusted trajectory found him regardless. Each small victory was immediately negated by the being's apparent ability to modify its attack in real-time, but progress remained progress even when it proved ultimately insufficient.
By the thirtieth repetition, Fenix collapsed to his knees in the throne room, his body drenched in sweat that spoke of exertion that transcended mere physical effort. The katana pulsed beside him with patient insistence, its radiance undiminished by his repeated failures to comprehend whatever lesson it was attempting to impart.
His mind churned through possibilities with analytical precision that bordered on obsessive. Was this some form of training program designed to teach him the divine being's technique through repetition? A test of persistence that would eventually reward determination with genuine instruction? Or simply cosmic cruelty that would continue until he abandoned his attempts to understand forces beyond mortal comprehension?
Perhaps the being was evaluating his worthiness to inherit the katana, measuring his commitment through willingness to experience repeated death without surrender. Maybe the technique itself was the reward, knowledge that could only be transmitted through direct experience rather than conventional instruction.
Or it could be that the entire experience was designed to break his spirit, to demonstrate the futility of mortal ambition when confronted with divine capability.
Fenix pushed himself to his feet with movements that felt heavy with accumulated exhaustion. His enhanced physique remained unmarked by the deaths he had experienced, but something deeper than flesh and bone carried the weight of thirty executions at the hands of impossible perfection.
Yet as he stared at the katana's gleaming form, a new resolve crystallized in his chest like ice forming around a core of absolute determination.
The next attempt would be different. Not because he expected to succeed where thirty previous iterations had failed, but because he would observe everything. Every micro-movement, every shift in mana flow, every subtle detail that comprised the divine being's perfect technique would be catalogued and analyzed with the desperate precision of someone whose survival depended on understanding what should have been incomprehensible.
If this was a lesson, he would learn it completely. If it was a test, he would pass it through absolute refusal to surrender. If it was simply cruelty, he would endure it until the labyrinth grew bored with his persistence and moved on to whatever genuine trial awaited beyond this chamber of impossible choices.
His hand moved toward the katana's hilt with steady purpose, carrying none of the hesitation that had marked earlier approaches. Whatever the divine being intended to teach him, he would master it down to the smallest detail.
Even if mastery required experiencing death a hundred times more.
The throne room's silence stretched around him like a held breath as his fingers approached the weapon that had already killed him more times than any mortal should have survived. But beneath the fear and confusion, anticipation stirred with possibilities that transcended his current understanding.
Something was waiting beyond these repeated deaths, some revelation that could only be earned through absolute commitment to learning what perfection looked like when wielded by divine hands.
He would discover what that something was, regardless of the price in pain and repeated annihilation.
The katana pulsed with radiance that seemed to approve of his resolve.