The Demigod crouched on the ground.
In the throes of agony, he tried desperately to reattach the parts I had severed. He attempted to staunch the bleeding, but with little success. Blood continued to seep from the raw, open flesh.
His technique is unstable, I thought, judging him by his remaining magic power. He's finally reached his limit.
The reckless strain of the battle had finally taken its toll; his space manipulation was failing. Regardless of his extraordinary aptitude, he could not weave his techniques indefinitely. Being human, he was bound by limits—limits he had surpassed long ago.
It wouldn't have been surprising if he collapsed into unconsciousness then and there. That he clung to his efforts to heal was a testament to his sheer tenacity. He still hadn't relinquished his hope for victory.
I landed near the Demigod and approached, sword in hand. My opponent was a wreck of a man, yet I refused to let down my guard. A cornered hero often manifests an unpredictable strength, and the Demigod would be no different.
He lifted his head to glare at me. One eye had split open, weeping a deep, dark red.
"Are you... saying... I am half-hearted?"
"Indeed. You lack the necessary resolve," I replied coldly.
The way the Demigod lived was, in every sense, irresponsible. He sought to slay those he branded as evil and then perish himself, abandoning the world and foisting the remaining burden onto the survivors. To him, it was an easy out. He could fight for his convictions without a single thought for the aftermath, confronting a Great Evil without the weight of the future on his shoulders.
But that was nothing more than self-gratification. It was miles away from a fundamental solution.
"If peace could be attained merely by defeating evil, the world would be a far kinder place. Unfortunately, reality is not so simple."
"Gah..."
He gnashed his teeth, his gaze sharpening with renewed focus. A spatial distortion began to coalesce within my torso. Sensing the ripple, I shifted my weight and slashed through it. The destructive phenomenon collapsed, and his magic power dispersed into the air.
I lowered my sword. "I have already deciphered your Magic Formula. The same trick will not work twice."
I am a Sage. After witnessing the same magic repeatedly, I develop the means to counter it. I had already devised an efficient method of neutralization; I could now sever the Demigod's space magic without even needing to look at it.
"As your Precursor, I will tell you this: do not place your faith in humanity's capacity for self-purification. What follows your death will be a wretched scramble for profit. There will be no peace in such a world."
"Shut up!"
He swung his remaining arm. Before his technique could trigger, I shredded the limb. The severed arm fell, minced into hundreds of pieces until it lost all form. Reattachment was now an impossibility.
"Kh... ugh..." he groaned as fresh blood surged from the stump.
He had lost both arms. His offensive options were gone, and his ability to weave techniques was crippled. I pressed the edge of my blade against his throat.
"Rest now. One person alone is enough to bear the world's despair—and that person is me."
"..."
He struggled to mold his technique one last time, but his space manipulation sputtered and failed. He was seized by a brief convulsion before collapsing. Black, viscous blood spilled from his lips.
He tried to force himself up, but his strength had abandoned him, and he slumped back down. His body was beginning to rot. Dark spots mottled his skin, which crumbled away wherever they appeared. His eyes widened as the realization hit him.
"What... is this...?"
"It is Miasma Poison," I explained. "It is eating you from the inside out."
I wasn't the one who had administered it, however. This was Grom's work. During their initial clash, he had introduced the miasma into the Demigod's system when he managed to cut his arm. Because the dose was so small, its effects were delayed—but that subtlety was precisely what allowed it to infiltrate his system undetected.
Even knowing he lacked the power to defeat the man, Grom had secured a victory within the scope of his abilities. Our exchange of words had been little more than a stall tactic. Having sensed the miasma taking hold, I had simply waited for it to bear fruit. My plan had worked perfectly.
It was true that I found his ideals somewhat interesting, but that interest was secondary to the need to kill time. Had he noticed the infection, I would have ended the conversation and moved in for the kill immediately.
He had underestimated Grom. In his obsession with our final showdown, he had made a fatal oversight. Had he not looked down on my general, he never would have allowed the miasma to take root.
"I see... It seems... I am indeed... going to die..."
The Demigod's breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. He lay there staring into the void, coughing up black bile. His body went limp, and his eyes half-lidded.
I thought he was finally drawing his last breath, but suddenly he let out a roar with every ounce of strength remaining in his broken lungs.
"—But I'm taking you with me!"
In an instant, the Demigod's torso ruptured. A void opened within him, causing space to warp and buckle violently. The world around us began to creak and peel away as the hole started to consume the Subspace itself.