Chapter 247: The Severing Of A God. (1) (Kofi Donation Bonus)

Light did not exist here in any way mortal eyes could understand.

In a forgotten star system on the frayed, uncharted edges of the Milky Way, three burned-out stellar corpses spun in a dead gravitational waltz around an obsidian planet designated in no human star chart.

There was no atmosphere, no water, no grass, and no soil—only an endless expanse of cracked, iron-rich bedrock that stretched over thousands of leagues of pitch-black silence.

The temperature on the surface hovered near absolute zero. Cosmic radiation washed over the barren crust like silent acid, washing out every trace of warmth.

Until the ground beneath the dark hemisphere of the world began to blister.

Hiss.

A hairline fissure, three thousand miles long, opened across the planetary tectonic plate.

It did not tear open like an earthquake; the rock simply dissolved, evaporating into an eerie, dark-violet haze that smelled faintly of scorched iron and burnt soul-matter.

From the depths of that abyss, something stirred.

It was not a beast. To call it an animal, or a monster, or even a calamity was an insult born of human frailty.

Humans feared Beast Lords. They gathered entire divisions of Silver and Gold Awakened to hold off a single Beast King, counting it a miracle when their Bastion’s void-shields didn’t crack like eggshells under the shockwave of a vocal flex.

Above the Beast King sat the Beast Emperor—a mythical existence said to rule entire continents, creatures that could swallow mountains whole.

And above that?

Above the emperors sat the Beast Sovereign.

The creature that dragged itself out of the planetary fissure did not possess a singular, physical anatomy.

It was an apocalyptic, biomechanical nightmare that spanned over seventy kilometers in length.

Its torso was an amalgamation of black chitin, calcified skeletal plates, and rotating rings of jagged bone spikes that rotated like tectonic gears.

Its skin was not flesh; it was a writhing layer of compressed dimensional fault lines. Where its feet stomped down, the rock didn’t crush—it erased itself from the cosmic timeline, leaving behind rectangular voids where matter simply ceased to have ever been.

Seven serpentine heads, each the size of a mountain range, rose into the vacuum. Their eyes burned not with fire, but with the cold, hungry void of miniature collapsed singularities.

The Void-Ruin Sovereign.

A cosmic parasite that had devoured four barren stellar systems over its three-hundred-thousand-year life cycle, burrowing into the cores of dormant planets to feed upon their planetary marrow.

The seven heads snapped upward, their jaws unhinging in unison.

There was no sound in the vacuum of space, but the mental shockwave tore through the planet’s crust like an atomic sledgehammer. An invisible scream of pure, concentrated Law of Destruction rippled outward!

A Law!

Not an Intent. Not a Path!

A Law was the absolute, cosmic authority of the universe—the evolutionary apex of a Path that had achieved total embodiment.

While young awakened like Creed Walden spent months in agonizing meditation just to scrape together the faint comprehension of a Path, a Beast Sovereign was the living, breathing manifestation of the Law itself.

The creature’s Stage 1 Law of Destruction washed over the surrounding mountain ranges.

Instantly, stone did not break; its molecular bonds decayed in a microsecond, the stone turning into gray, lifeless ash that floated into the void.

The Sovereign was not screaming in triumph.

It was screaming in terror.

Its seven singular eyes were fixed on a small, floating silhouette hovering sixty feet above the jagged bedrock.

The figure was wearing a white monk’s robe.

The cloth was cheap, fraying at the sleeves, and carried the faint, suspicious scent of dried tea leaves and old plums. His bare, wrinkly toes were poked through straw sandals that looked like they had been purchased at a roadside flea market in a third-tier bastion.

His bald head was framed by a single, scraggly wisp of gray beard, and beneath his eyes hung two dark, bruised circles so profound they looked as though they had been painted on with ink five centuries ago.

The old monk yawned.

He raised a bony right hand, scratched the side of his nose, and blinked at the seventy-kilometer nightmare towering over him.

"You really made me jog through three solar systems for this?" the monk muttered, his voice carrying clearly through the empty vacuum, ignoring the laws of acoustics as easily as an adult ignores a toddler’s tantrum.

"I had a fresh pot of green moss tea brewing on my porch. My yarn was sitting in the basket. And here I am, sniffing iron dust on a dead rock because a big lizard decided to skip its annual nap."

The Void-Ruin Sovereign did not negotiate.

Recognizing the terrifying aura of the old man, the beast’s survival instincts ignited with apocalyptic fury. The seven serpentine heads coiled backward, their throat sacs expanding until they glowed with blinding, chaotic black light.

The creature’s core detonated.

Stage 1 Law of Destruction — Extinction Cascade!

SHUUUUUUUUUUU!

Seven continuous beams of pure, unadulterated annihilation erupted from the Sovereign’s mouths, fusing in mid-air into a single, three-kilometer-wide pillar of anti-matter and cosmic rot.

The beam was so dense, so violently destructive, that the planet’s crust beneath it instantly vaporized down to the liquid mantle.

The path of the beam warped the light from the three dead suns overhead, dragging the stars themselves toward its black horizon.

If this strike hit Earth, an entire continent—from the Atlantic coast to the Ural mountains—would cease to exist in five seconds.

The beam closed the distance in a fraction of a microsecond.

The old monk didn’t summon an armor. He didn’t summon a mountain. He didn’t even drop his casual, slouching posture.

He simply reached into his loose white sleeve, pulled out a single, thin wooden knitting needle, and held it horizontally before his chest.

"Too noisy," the monk sighed softly.

Flick.

He lightly tapped the wooden needle against the empty air.

A soundless ripple, no thicker than a silk thread, rolled outward.

When the apocalyptic beam of the Law of Destruction collided with that microscopic thread of white light, there was no explosion. No cataclysmic clash of energies. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

The three-kilometer-wide pillar of cosmic annihilation... simply stopped.