Below—
Zeros’s arms were starting to glow red from overheating.
Exponent’s strikes were landing in dozens—
and Zeros’s patience was dropping fast toward zero.
Phoenix’s calm voice came through the comms:
“ZEROS.
I’ve calibrated Saer’thal to minimum.
0.01%.
Try hitting him.
Good luck…”
On Exponent’s next strike—
Zeros suddenly dropped low, letting the kick pass just over his head.
His eyes ignited with a dull white glow.
Exponent missed—
for the first time.
Zeros stepped forward—
and struck.
The punch broke the sound barrier three times over.
The air around his fist ignited, like oxygen itself tried to dodge—
and failed.
Exponent took the hit straight to the chest—
right into the glowing “e.”
The drone caught it in slow motion—
and the galaxy saw:
- the hill detonating into metallic dust,
- the shockwave slicing across the island like a screaming blade,
- the ocean ahead splitting apart for two miles—
like a celestial knife had drawn a line between before and after.
The water held its shape for one impossible second—
then collapsed back in, forming two opposing mini-tsunamis.
Even Dumsta shook.
The crowd under the DIE WÜÜD stage—
scattered in panic.
The tremor under their feet wasn’t metaphor anymore—
it was real, full-blown oh shit.
Dick’s jaw snapped shut so loud even The androids picked it up:
“AND THAT WAS—WHAT—FUCKING 0.01%?!”
The dust began to settle—slowly.
Through it—
just a few dozen feet from Zeros—
stood Exponent.
On one knee. Head lowered.
One hand pressed against his chest—
right over the glowing “e.”
He exhaled sharply—
ragged, like an old engine tearing itself apart:
“No… I won’t lose…”
Then—
slowly—
he rose.
Straightened his back.
Rolled his shoulders.
Lifted his hand toward the sky—
and screamed:
“LIGHT! OF! INFINITE! GROWTH!”
While Exponent kept posing—
grabbing at the air like he could win by sheer drama—
the island began to sink.
The drone caught it first.
It turned—
the lens widened.
The ocean was pulling away.
The edges of the island stretched outward,
like the water itself had decided to get the fuck out of there—
like an audience walking out of a bad concert.
At first, there was a line. Thin. Smooth. Black—like vacuum sliced open.
The surface of the water trembled—
then collapsed inward,
like something had hooked the ocean and started pulling.
From the depths—
something rose. Too big. Way too big.
A massive wave peeled away to the sides
like the gates of an apocalypse opening—
and in the center of the vortex,
a shape emerged.
A colossus. A titan. A black hole that had grown limbs.
Its body was neither metal nor stone—
but something in between
basalt spine
and the architecture of dead gods.
Dark plates, veined with gold,
locked together at perfect angles—
like it wasn’t built by engineers,
but by mathematicians who had lost their fear.
Water streamed down its shoulders—
like enormous cloaks dragging behind it,
as if it wasn’t rising from the ocean—
but breaking out of compressed cosmic darkness
that had grown too tight to contain it.
Every movement was slow—
not because of weight,
but because of precision.
It became clear:
one wrong shift
could knock the planet out of orbit.
Height—six hundred feet,
like a drowned brother of the Statue of Unity
just risen out of the ocean.
But it felt even taller than the sky,
like the sky itself was undersized.
The air stopped moving around the world.
Now—
it moved around him.
A symbol ignited on his chest—
a circular equation of light,
not an emblem,
not a mark—
a mathematical constant
cut directly into reality.