MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

From above, a colossal aircraft loomed, its engines humming with ominous intensity as if amassing a cataclysmic charge. Then, without warning, a beam erupted from its muzzle, tearing through the sky with terrifying speed.

Its target; Vega.

Reality itself recoiled as the beam surged forward, its incandescent path warping the very air. Vega, who had been unleashing carnage without restraint, halted abruptly. Her head snapped upward, a glint in her eye catching the streak of annihilation racing toward her.

Yet she did not flinch.

She stood motionless, her expression devoid of concern, as though such a strike were beneath her notice. And just as the beam was about to consume her, time stopped.

The world fell silent. The beam froze mid-air, mere inches from her form.

Vega had halted time itself.

Without so much as a blink, she took a single step forward, her foot landing lightly atop the very beam that had been unleashed to end her. Using it as though it were a bridge forged for her alone, Vega surged forward in a blur, racing along the concentrated stream of energy with effortless grace.

As she neared the aircraft, she leapt.

Her body twisted mid-air, elegant and precise, like a gymnast in slow motion. The world seemed to pause as her form spun through the sky, and with a final pirouette, her feet landed softly atop the aircraft's ceiling.

The instant she made contact, the beam beneath her shimmered, then vanished.

Not dissipated, not destroyed, simply unmade.

Vega had unraveled its existence from the fabric of time itself.

Vega's body phased effortlessly through the aircraft's ceiling, passing through the reinforced metal as though it were no more than mist. Inside, the Forsaken Cult members reacted instantly.

From the right, a katana sliced toward her skull with lethal precision. From the left, a sabre shrieked through the air, aiming for her ribs. More assailants surged in from every direction, their weapons gleaming with murderous intent.

But Vega only smiled.

Not the warm smile she reserved for Anthony. Not the playful grin she offered Veronica and Seraphim. This was different, predatory. Cold. The smile of a hunter poised to eviscerate its prey.

Her hands moved with fluid mastery as her spear spun into motion. The blade deflected the incoming katana in a sharp arc, while the butt of the weapon twisted around to meet the sabre mid-strike. A thunderous clang rang out, sparks exploding across the dim interior of the aircraft like fireflies born from violence.

Yet Vega did not slow.

Her momentum flowed seamlessly into her next movement. One leg rose from the floor beneath her, then snapped forward like a rocket, striking with terrifying speed and force. It connected with the head of a Titan, one famed for his brute strength and nearly unbreakable body.

His skull caved in with a sickening crunch.

Durability meant nothing.

Not against her.

The others staggered back instinctively, fear overtaking discipline. But Vega was already upon them, her form dissolving into a blur, a phantom cutting through their hesitation.

In a blink, her hand clasped the face of a human cultist, fingers digging into bone. Then, with an explosion of force, she slammed him into the wall. The impact was gruesome, his skull reduced to pulp, his body crumpling like a discarded rag.

A dragon roared in fury, its jaws opening wide as it prepared to unleash a torrent of fire.

It never got the chance.

Vega was already there.

In one clean motion, her spear cleaved upward between its fangs, splitting both upper and lower jaw. Then, with savage strength, she seized the halves and tore them apart. The beast shrieked in agony, thrashing wildly as blood fountained from its ruined maw, before it dropped dead.

Crimson drenched her, painting her in gore. But she didn't flinch.

With a mere thought, the blood peeled from her skin, hovering midair before condensing into a dense, hovering orb beside her.

Then it multiplied.

The orbs burst outward in a flurry of motion, streaking like sentient bullets toward the remaining survivors. One by one, skulls erupted, brains bursting like overfilled fruit. The walls were painted anew, an abstract mural of flesh, bone, and silence.

As the final blood orb struck the pilot, his skull caved in with a wet crunch. The aircraft, now without control, lurched violently and began to plummet.

But Vega was already gone.

Her form blinked out of existence, reappearing high above the falling vessel. She raised a single hand, and the very fabric of mana and space bent beneath her will.

The aircraft halted mid-air, frozen in place, suspended within a cage of spatial stillness. Not a tremor escaped.

With a flick of her wrist, the air groaned. Space itself twisted, and the massive vessel obeyed like a puppet yanked by unseen strings. It rocketed sideways, tearing through the sky, directly toward another Forsaken Cult aircraft hovering in the distance.

The collision was instant. Cataclysmic.

A blinding eruption consumed the skies as both ships detonated, the shockwave splitting clouds and lighting the sky with fire. Within seconds, every soul aboard both vessels was reduced to ash, no screams, no remains.

Vega's eyes swept across the battlefield, locking onto the remaining Forsaken ships still waging war in the sky. Chaos reigned below, but she stood untouched above it all, elegant, divine.

She raised her spear high.

A deep pulse of mana surged from her core, radiating in waves, endless and immense. It was as though her well of reserve knew no limits, an abyss of energy that defied reason.

Above, the sky stirred.

Clouds twisted and coiled, darkening with unnatural urgency, responding to her call. Then came the first streak of lightning, sharp, violet, and wrathful. Then another. And another. Each bolt crackled with growing violence, painting the sky with chaotic brilliance.

Then — impact.

The bolts converged mid-air, fusing with a thunderous cry. From that storm was born a beast: a colossal leviathan forged of living lightning, glowing with a fearsome, violet luminescence. Its eyes burned with unspoken rage. Its maw opened, and it roared, a sound that tore through the clouds like a god's fury made manifest.

Vega lowered her spear, pointing its tip toward the skybound fleet.

That was all it needed.

With a flash that split the air, the leviathan surged forward, its serpentine form cleaving through the clouds as it descended upon the Forsaken aircraft. Metal screamed, then melted under the sheer heat of its touch. Ship after ship exploded in cascades of fire and light, their frames disintegrating before they could even fall.

Panic consumed the Forsaken.

Demons and cultists hurled themselves from their burning vessels, desperate to escape their fate. But Vega, unforgiving and deadly, snapped her fingers.

The sound echoed like a death knell.

Midair, every fleeing body seized. Blood halted in their veins. Screams died in their throats. She held them suspended, their lives gripped in her invisible hand.

And then, the leviathan, its task complete, released one final, world-ending roar.

It detonated.

A purple explosion bloomed across the sky, spanning hundreds of kilometers in every direction. The sky was swallowed whole by her wrath. The land below trembled beneath the weight of it.

No spell shielded them.

No technique spared them.

No relic, no god, no plea for mercy could save them.

There were no bodies. No blood. No fragments of bone. Not even ash remained.

She had unmade them.

The skies slowly returned to calm as Vega relinquished control. The clouds drifted back into place, as though nature itself bowed once more to her will, and was dismissed.

She felt it, something stirring beneath her, a gaze searing into her back from below. Her neck turned slowly, eyes narrowing as they landed on the source: a female Zombie, clad in decay and silence, brandishing a broadsword. Sword Intent coiled around the creature like a veil, its presence draped over Vega's entire frame.

Vega's lips curled into a smile. Her battle intent surged to life, fierce and unrelenting, as she descended from the sky with quiet grace, her feet meeting the ruins beneath her like the fall of judgment itself.

Her gaze locked onto the undead swordswoman. Then, with a mere thought, her spear shifted, morphing seamlessly into a broadsword that mirrored the very design of her opponent's blade.

And then it came — Sword Intent.

It radiated from her being, not as an overwhelming tide, but as a calm ripple, restrained and deliberate. Yet beneath its serenity lay a storm barely held in check, trembling at the edge of eruption.

"Insolent child," the female Zombie rasped, her voice thick with ancient ire as she witnessed Vega copy her weapon in both form and detail. To her, it was a mockery, an unspoken insult. And that was precisely Vega's intention.

Vega offered no reply. Her only answer was a smile, carefree, irreverent, and maddeningly calm.