"Curse you...!"
Grom whirled, swinging a Miasma Axe in the same motion. The jet-black blade collided with the Demigod’s fist.
A high-pitched metallic ring echoed through the air. The fist remained unscathed; by contrast, the axe twisted and warped at the point of impact.
It was an attack fueled by Space Magic. By catching an object in a spatial distortion, the Demigod could destroy anything he touched. He had likely used this same method to erase every trace of the Underground Magic Workshop.
In practical terms, it was impossible to defend against. While the most effective counter would have been to neutralize it with Space Magic of equal output, that was hardly a realistic solution. Evasion was the only logical choice.
The fist that had buckled the axe continued its trajectory, closing in on Grom. Releasing his weapon, Grom threw his upper body back and retreated.
"Guwaaaaah!"
Grom lashed out with a sword and spear in a singular, flashing strike. The Demigod, who should have been directly in the path of the blades, vanished.
He hadn't been cut down, of course. He had teleported before the blow could land.
The Demigod reappeared directly above Grom’s head. He spun in mid-air, unleashing a plummeting heel drop. Grom crossed his remaining weapons to block the strike. Even as he watched his armaments begin to warp, he drew a deep breath and exhaled a blast of Miasma Flame.
The black fire erupted in a wide arc, threatening to consume the Demigod entirely. Without a moment’s pause, Grom used Flight to soar into the sky.
But his legs were shorn off, left behind on the ground as he ascended.
It was the work of the Demigod, who had manifested behind him. He had used a Spear Hand to execute the cut—likely another application of Space Magic. By treating a Space-time Rift like a blade, he had targeted the legs. It was no wonder physical defenses had proven useless.
Furthermore, the Demigod was completely unharmed. He had evidently bypassed the Miasma Flame using his teleportation as well.
Stationed high in the air, Grom began raining down Miasma Weapons. As they struck the earth one after another, they triggered massive explosions. The Demigod charged directly through the inferno, running upward through the air as if kicking off solid ground. He passed through the weapons and the explosions as if they were nothing more than mist.
As he closed the distance, the Demigod pulled his arm back—the telltale sign of a lunging strike. Seeing this, Grom took a Defensive Stance.
An instant later, a Spear Hand gouged through Grom’s back. Grom pitched forward, letting out a low, guttural groan.
"Gu... guguuuuuh..."
The Demigod was still positioned in front of Grom. He was nowhere near a spot from which he could attack from behind.
However, the Demigod’s extended arm had vanished from the elbow down. That missing section was currently hovering behind Grom, buried deep in the skeletal general's back. It was a surreal sight, but it was no illusion. It was an undeniable reality.
(Has he manipulated a Spatial Connection?)
I sensed the truth from the flow of Magic Power. This was a technique far more sophisticated than simple teleportation. To the Demigod, distance was irrelevant. I had to assume he could strike instantly from any angle or range.
Had I challenged him without this knowledge, I would have been caught completely off guard. Seeing his methods of attack in advance was an immense advantage. Grom’s selfless dedication was already bearing fruit.
"Ga, hah...!?"
Even as I watched, a hole was blown through Grom’s torso. The Demigod's hand had simply erased the matter. No matter how robust the Defense Magic, he could bypass it effortlessly. The moment he made contact, the wound was fatal.
Grom twisted his body, trying to seize the hand that had hollowed out his chest, but the limb retracted and vanished. When I looked back, it had returned to its proper place on the Demigod's body. He had closed the Spatial Connection.
"Such insolent tricks...!"
Enraged, Grom regenerated his Eight Types of Weapons. Wielding them with frantic precision, he set upon the Demigod with the speed of a gale.
However, he came to an abrupt, grinding halt just before reaching his target. Or rather, he hadn't truly stopped; he was still moving forward by the smallest of increments. His velocity had been reduced to a crawl.
"........."
The Demigod simply held out his hand, watching the struggle. Grom swung his weapons with everything he had, but they could not reach.
(Is he... stretching space?)
There was no visible change to the landscape, yet the Demigod appeared to be expanding the distance between them to an astronomical degree. It was a gap that should have been closed in a heartbeat, but the Demigod was forcibly inflating the space between them.
"That is enough. As I thought, this was a futile effort."
The Demigod muttered the words and waved his hand. A Spatial Distortion rippled through the air, and Grom’s torso was severed clean in two. The Demigod continued the assault, his invisible blades repeatedly rending Grom until he was reduced to pulverized fragments.
With his physical form all but destroyed, Grom’s remains began to fall.
(His power is overwhelming. He truly earns the name of Demigod.)
In terms of raw strength, Grom was the superior. This was purely a disparity of abilities. Space Magic was fundamentally unfair. To be able to chain such high-level techniques without exhaustion was beyond the realm of humanity. Throughout the entire exchange, the Demigod had displayed a flawless performance in both offense and defense.
(I am the only one who can bring him down.)
Just as I made that resolve, a sense of incongruity struck me. My gaze shifted toward Grom’s falling remains.
From the tip of one of the falling fingers, miasma was extending like a fine thread. It was hundreds of times thinner than a strand of spider silk. Under normal circumstances, it would be impossible to notice. I had only spotted it by chance, and only because my own affinity for miasma allowed me to recognize its structure. It was a thread so microscopic it defied all perception.
Grom’s finger curled.
The Miasma Thread snapped taut. I followed the line with my eyes to its end point: the Demigod’s arm. The thread was coiled around it multiple times.
Naturally, the Demigod hadn't noticed.
The thread tightened as Grom pulled with the last of his strength. Sensing the pressure at last, the Demigod looked down, his eyes widening in shock.
But it was already too late.
An instant later, his arm was severed, spinning uselessly into the air.