"Hmm… someone's here," Vastoth murmured, his voice carrying an air of inevitability. He had always known this place would be discovered; it was only a matter of time.
Rising from his seated position, he strolled to the edge of the mountain peak. His gaze swept downward, and he caught sight of Vyrinox struggling at the mountain's base.
Vyrinox was in rough shape, his movements clumsy and hindered by the absence of one hand.
The mere thought of how he had lost it made his blood boil. Despite his caution, it hadn't mattered. The small shard of fragmented space he had mistakenly touched had sliced through his hand with such precision that he still dreaded the memory.
Worse still was the agonizing slowness of his regeneration, which was a rare and maddening ordeal for someone of his stature.
Wounds inflicted by natural law phenomena were vastly different from those caused by opponents with mastery over the laws.
Space law, in particular, was far beyond Vyrinox's expertise, making the injury all the more severe. His slow regeneration diminished his overall performance, an unacceptable setback for someone as prideful as him.
He specialized in Deception Law, a law governing illusions, manipulation of perception, and subtle distortions of reality. It was a domain vastly different from the rigid, cutting precision of space laws.
Deception Law allowed him to twist truth into lies, and lies into tangible reality, distorting not only perception, but the very fabric of existence.
His strength lay in deception and control, but here, against the natural space phenomena, he was painfully out of his element.
Vastoth watched Vyrinox flail his way up with mild amusement. A smirk tugged at his lips. After one last look at the struggling figure, he turned back to the monolith. "Let's see how far he gets," he murmured, resuming his seat.
"This cursed place… Why is it always space?" Vyrinox muttered, glaring at the shards floating in the air. Each shard reflected broken images of his injured body, the stump of his missing arm mocking him.
Realizing that he couldn't move forward in his current state, he activated one of his innate abilities: "Echoed Presence." With a quiet whisper and a simple gesture, an illusory copy of himself appeared beside him.
The clone looked exactly like him, even down to his missing arm and battle scars.
It stood still for a moment before Vyrinox commanded, "Go."
Without hesitation, the clone marched straight into the danger ahead. Meanwhile, Vyrinox staggered back to safer ground.
He dropped to his knees first, then folded into a lotus position. He began the agonizing process of regenerating his hand.
His Space-shard wounds resisted healing, but grain by painful grain, his new arm began to form.
Every muscle trembled as he wrenched energy from the surroundings, jaw locked against the torment. Frustration burned through him, but he'd be damned if he let this stop him.
The clone moved forward carefully, taking its time to study every danger in its path. Shards of space floated like broken mirrors, sharp and deadly, ready to cut through anything.
Chaotic space storms spun, creating flashes of light and strange ripples in the air.
Each obstacle seemed alive, as if guarding the mountaintop.
The clone paused frequently to observe the movement of the space shards and storms. At one point, it floated and waited for one hour, not ascending at all, until the time was right.
When the storm briefly weakened, the clone quickly slipped through, narrowly avoiding being caught in a vortex. It made its way up minute by minute, flying cautiously the entire time.
Far below, Vyrinox sat cross-legged with a calm but focused expression on his face. His arm was slowly regenerating.
He maintained his connection to the clone, using it to track its progress. "Almost there," he muttered, feeling both relief and frustration.
Losing his arm had been humiliating, and he was determined to reach the top on his own once he had fully recovered.
At the peak of the mountain, Vastoth sat cross-legged silently, his hand hovering just inches from the monolith. The air around him was strangely quiet, as though space itself had grown still in the monolith's presence.
His eyes were fixed on the glowing lines on its surface, and his breathing slowed as he focused entirely on the moment.
"The final step," he whispered, his voice tinged with tension. He could feel the monolith's power testing him, clashing against his mastery of the laws of space.
After what felt like an endless journey, the clone finally arrived at the peak of the mountain. It stopped just before the monolith's Still Zone, where chaotic space phenomena suddenly vanished.
The clone then cautiously stepped into the still zone.
The silence in the Still Zone was unnerving, making every step forward feel weighty.
Vyrinox grinned slightly as he stood up at the base of the mountain, now fully healed.
He watched through the clone's eyes. "It's within reach," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "Time to claim what's mine."
Vastoth noticed the clone's arrival, turned slightly, and sneered. "So, you've made it this far," his voice confident, laced with amusement.
The clone hesitated for a moment, its body flickered, showing its illusionary nature.
Vastoth rose to his feet, eyes locked on the figure advancing toward the monolith. Mistaking it for Vyrinox, he spoke with cold arrogance, "Vyrinox, this territory is mine. You tread where you do not belong."
The clone paused, its gaze razor-sharp. "And so what?" Only the strong deserve this Blessed Land. Let's see if you can back up your words with power."
Vyrinox showed no surprise at Vastoth's presence. If he—the living incarnation of deception—could sense spatial disturbances from leagues away, then surely the Embodiment of Space could not have missed them.
Initially, Vastoth dismissed the challenge, uninterested. But the words "Blessed Land" caught his attention. His brow furrowed, and confusion flickered across his face. "Blessed Land? What is that?"
The clone tilted its head, a hint of doubt flickering across its face. "You don't know?" it asked, looking at Vastoth as if he had been living under a rock.
"Doesn't matter. You'll understand soon enough—after I claim this land for myself."
Vastoth's frown deepened. He scanned the terrain, unease prickling at the edges of his awareness. Something was wrong. Extending his senses, he looked down at the mountain's base.
There, plain as day, stood the real Vyrinox: fully healed, very much alive, and clearly not the one he had seen struggling before.
Realization dawned on Vastoth. "A clone…" he muttered, eyes narrowing. His gaze flicked back to the illusion before him. "But how does he plan to reach here again? Will he traverse the spatial trials a second time?" he thought.
Before he could ponder further, Vyrinox's voice echoed from the clone.
"Shift."
A ripple of distortion shattered the air. For an instant, Vastoth's senses bent—sight, sound, space itself folding inward. When the moment passed, the clone stood at the base… and Vyrinox stood atop the peak.
Vyrinox barely spared Vastoth a glance as he strode toward the monolith, taking deliberate steps.
His disinterest was clear; he saw Vastoth as nothing more than scenery and the monolith as the sole object of his intent.
Crossing his arms, Vastoth stepped aside to let him pass. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he thought,
"Let's see how you embarrass yourself this time."
Vyrinox closely observed Vastoth's reaction as a gnawing sense of unease crept into his mind. "Something isn't right," he thought. The faint ridicule in Vastoth's eyes, coupled with his calm demeanor, unsettled him.
However, when Vyrinox's gaze returned to the monolith, his caution dissolved and was replaced by greed. The monolith's allure clouded his judgment.
Without hesitation, he continued moving toward it, each step filled with mad resolve.
After taking several steps, he realized that he could no longer move forward. This realization hit him like a blow.
No matter how far he moved, he remained rooted in place. Space itself defied him, twisting and looping to mock his every step.
He paused, frustration growing within him. Glancing to his left, he saw Vastoth standing calmly with thinly veiled ridicule and disdain in his eyes.
The sight sent a jolt of something unfamiliar through Vyrinox: shame. For the first time, he felt humiliation creep into his heart.
Vastoth let out a faint chuckle and shook his head. To him, Vyrinox wasn't worth considering a threat.
"He doesn't even understand the stretching of space, and yet he wants to compete with me for it. What a fool," Vastoth muttered under his breath.
Ignoring Vyrinox, he turned his attention back to the monolith. He moved forward effortlessly, taking precise, measured steps.
The air around him seemed to bend subtly, acknowledging his mastery of space.
Vastoth stood in front of the monolith and exhaled slowly. A glimmer of determination flashed in his eyes. "Just a little more," he thought.
His understanding of the space laws within the monolith was nearly complete. Soon, he would stake his claim on this blessed land—a prize worthy of his ambition.
Vyrinox, left behind, was seething with frustration. He clenched his fists. His pride wouldn't allow him to give up, yet the gap between him and Vastoth felt insurmountable.
For now, all he could do was watch.
Seeing the expression on Vyrinox's face, Vastoth completely let his guard down and returned to his comprehension.