The frozen singularity hung in the air like a cracked obsidian marble, trembling under the sheer weight of Ethan's spiritual pressure. The Patriarch of Celestial, now little more than a pile of scorched nerves and bone, could only stare in paralyzed horror as Ethan's face began to betray the cost of his defiance.
Ethan's amethyst eyes bled into a deep, visceral crimson. Thick drops of blood began to leak from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth, staining his chin. The world itself seemed to groan. High above the clouds, the invisible matrix that governed the laws of the "world" began to hum, exerting a crushing gravitational force downward. It sensed an anomaly—a power that didn't belong in this place and was trying to snuff it out.
"Everything in this universe occupies a place in space," Ethan growled, his voice sounding like grinding metal. "And if it has a place... it can be unmade."
