Kael'thir's claws dug into the fractured stone as he stared at the figure seated upon the throne of obsidian.
The citadel around them was silent, suspended within the endless void, fragments of ruined structures drifting like shattered memories.
The figure's presence was overwhelming—not because of raw power, but because of something deeper.
A familiarity that gnawed at Kael'thir's mind.
Like staring into a reflection, not of what he was, but of what he could become.
The figure slowly rose from the throne, each movement fluid and deliberate, as though bound by no laws of gravity or time.
Dark armor clung to their form, etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with the same violet light that had bled from the sky's fractures.
Their face was hidden behind a mask of shadowed metal, its surface cracked down the center like it had been split once—and then forced back together.
The crimson glow behind the mask's eye slits matched Kael'thir's own.
The figure spoke, their voice low, smooth, and layered with echoes that sounded like overlapping versions of themselves.
"I've waited for you."
Kael'thir's tail flicked sharply, a growl rumbling from deep within his chest.
"Then die waiting."
And without hesitation, he launched forward.
The space between them collapsed.
Kael'thir's claws were a blur, slashing through distorted air, aiming straight for the figure's throat.
But the figure didn't flinch.
Didn't move.
Until the very last moment.
Then—
They vanished.
Not through speed.
Not through agility.
Through space itself.
One moment they were there.
The next, they stood behind Kael'thir, as if reality had simply decided they belonged somewhere else.
Kael'thir spun, his tail whipping out with enough force to carve mountains—
But the figure was gone again.
Appearing to the side.
Then above.
Then below.
A blur of impossibility, flickering through space like a shadow refusing to be caught.
Kael'thir's snarl turned into a roar.
He didn't just rely on sight now.
He felt the shifts in space—the minute distortions, the slight pull of mana whenever the figure moved.
He adapted.
His claws lashed out not at the figure's image, but at the very space they were about to occupy.
Strike.
The claws met resistance—armor.
The impact sent shockwaves through the void, cracks spider-webbing across the air itself.
The figure stumbled back, sliding across nothing, stabilizing effortlessly mid-hover.
Kael'thir didn't let them recover.
He surged forward, relentless, his wings creating bursts of compressed mana with every beat, propelling him faster than natural laws should allow.
The figure blocked with a single, jagged blade—a weapon that wasn't forged from metal but from pure void, its edge distorting light like a tear in reality.
Kael'thir's claws met the blade, sparks of mana and fractured space exploding with every clash.
The battle was chaos.
They fought across the citadel, their strikes shattering ancient structures, ripping through what remained of the floating ruins.
Kael'thir's attacks were wild but precise, fueled by both instinct and the strategic mind that had grown sharper with every battle.
The figure fought with calculated precision, each movement minimal yet devastating, as if they knew exactly how much effort to expend.
Kael'thir took hits—wounds carved into his scales, blood flickering into the void like burning embers.
But with every injury, he grew more focused.
More aware.
Because this wasn't just about strength.
It was about mastery.
Not just over mana.
Not just over space.
But over himself.
The figure vanished again—
But this time, Kael'thir was ready.
He didn't wait for them to reappear.
He reached out with his mind, feeling the distortion, and willed the space around them to collapse inward.
A pulse of power erupted from him, a ripple that folded the void like crumpling paper.
The figure was caught mid-transition, their form flickering erratically as the space they tried to step into no longer existed.
Kael'thir struck.
His claws ripped through the distortion, tearing into the figure's chest with a roar of triumph.
The armor cracked, splintering like fragile glass under immense pressure.
The figure was thrown backward, crashing into the remnants of the throne, the structure crumbling beneath them.
Kael'thir didn't pause.
Didn't gloat.
He dove after them, ready to finish it—
But the figure's hand shot out, not to block—
To grasp.
Not at Kael'thir's body—
At the space around him.
Suddenly, Kael'thir couldn't move.
Not because he was restrained.
But because the very space he occupied had been locked.
Frozen.
His body hovered mid-strike, muscles tense, wings flared, claws inches from the killing blow—but immovable.
The figure stood slowly, pieces of shattered armor falling away to reveal glimpses of dark, scarred skin underneath.
They tilted their head slightly, as if studying him.
Then spoke again.
"You're strong… stronger than I expected."
Kael'thir's rage burned, his mind screaming to move, to break free, to tear this thing apart.
And beneath that rage—
The power answered.
Crack.
A thin fissure appeared in the space around him.
Then another.
And another.
Until the invisible prison shattered like brittle glass.
Kael'thir's roar erupted, filled with both fury and triumph, as he broke free, his claws glowing with violent energy.
He lunged again, faster than before, his body now a blur of motion and distorted light.
The figure tried to vanish—
But Kael'thir didn't aim at the figure.
He aimed at the space they would move through.
His claws sliced into the distortion itself, catching the figure mid-transition, ripping them out of the void with a snarl.
They screamed—not in fear, but in surprise—as Kael'thir slammed them into the broken remains of the throne.
His claws didn't stop.
Tearing.
Rending.
Devouring.
Until there was nothing left but fragments of armor, flickering traces of mana—
And a mask, cracked and broken, tumbling into the void.
Kael'thir hovered there, breathing heavily, his body marked with wounds that hissed faintly where the void had touched him.
But he was alive.
Victorious.
And as the remnants of the figure's mana drifted toward him, he did what he always did.
He devoured.
The moment the mana entered his core, Kael'thir's mind exploded with visions.
Not fragmented echoes like before—
But clear memories.
Battles fought across shattered worlds.
Realms consumed by void.
And a face—
Not the masked figure's face.
His own.
But older.
Colder.
A version of himself twisted by time, power, and something darker.
Kael'thir staggered, the weight of the revelation crashing over him.
That wasn't a rival.
It was a reflection.
A piece of what he could become if he followed this path to its end.
Not a dragon.
Not a god.
But a void.
An emptiness that devoured everything, leaving nothing behind.
Kael'thir's breath slowed.
His heart steadied.
And he smiled.
Good.
Because if that was his future—
Then he'd devour that too.
And whatever came after.
Because he was Kael'thir.
And nothing would stand in his way.
Not gods.
Not fate.
Not even himself.
The void around him trembled.
Not with fear.
But with recognition.
Because something greater had awakened.
And the world would never be the same again.