The skies above the human domain had been turned into a chaotic mixture of the lawless, untamed wild and a green expanse.

Beasts roared and charged across the wild, while vines erupted violently from the vast grassland that stretched endlessly in all directions, lashing out at the beasts.

Both domains clashed in the sky, fighting for dominance. An endless tide of beasts snarled and surged forward, their bodies colliding against the forest of green whips.

The vines regenerated without wasting a second, multiplying, binding, tearing. But the beasts were no less savage, ripping through the vines with fang and claw, refusing to stop even as more came.

As all of this unfolded, the Gardener hovered still, watching it all with a darkened expression.

He had never expected Whisker, of all people, to be this powerful.

‘I miscalculated.’

He gritted his teeth hard. He hated miscalculating. It meant he wasn’t in control. It meant he was no longer the one shaping the path, it meant he was walking it.

He wasn’t the Gardener, the nurturer, the creator. Not if someone else could disrupt what he’d already laid down.

Others were meant to follow his design, not the other way around.

‘How did he grow so powerful… so fast?’

It had long been established, Will was the principal power of the Middle Plains. Like every other power system, it had a path of progression.

The “Impose” that both of them had just used… it was exactly what the name implied. It was a way to impose one’s will onto the world.

It was way above a Grandmaster’s domain. This wasn’t about bloodlines anymore. No, this was about self.

In the stage of Impose, you didn’t form a domain that echoed your power. You created a world that embodied you, your beliefs, your personality, your very soul. And the world around you would bend and warp until it reflected nothing but you.

But that wasn’t what had shocked him.

No, what had shaken him to the core was the very first move they had both used: Manifest.

It was a level far beyond Impose. Here, one didn’t form a domain. One became the domain.

You manifested your will directly into reality itself, a feat only possible for those who had attained terrifying mastery over their will. At this level, a wound to your will was a wound to your entire existence, your soul.

From what he knew… Whisker hadn’t even reached the level of Impose, much less Manifest.

But what rattled him the most was the fact that when two manifested wills clashed, the weaker one would always be shattered or wounded. There was no middle ground.

And yet… Whisker’s will had withstood his.

Which could only mean one thing: he was just as powerful.

The Gardener’s eyes turned frigid. ‘I miscalculated.’

It bit at his very being. He had believed his only concern was in his other siblings, controlling the Zorvan world. But now, now there was another threat in front of him. One he hadn’t accounted for.

Suddenly, the Gardener’s eyes narrowed. ‘He’s… losing?’

Through his connection to his creations, he had suddenly felt something, Elderish was losing!

It felt like a slow rot spreading through his garden.

‘He exceeded my expectations again?’

The Gardener’s eyes burned a dangerous red. Even after everything… Atticus had still broken through his expectations.

‘I have to kill him now.’

Atticus was becoming too unpredictable. Far too dangerous to be left alive.

‘Not only him. I have to kill him too.’

Whisker was no less of a threat. In fact, his importance appeared to be even more.

The Gardener’s mind raced, thoughts slamming into one another, but within seconds, a plan formed.

His gaze locked onto Whisker, who hovered in the distance, above the endless tide of beasts rampaging below.

“You should have stayed in that hole you crawled out from,” he spat coldly.

Whisker tilted his head, unimpressed. “Solren… You really can’t stop talking, can you? It’s creepy.”

Solren’s expression darkened. He didn’t respond again. Instead, his Will erupted outward, the veins across his body glowing with power.

But Whisker didn’t back down. His Will exploded to meet it, and his beasts grew fiercer, wilder.

Both of them raised their hands. The skies above quaked.

Below, the vines and beasts clashed with renewed power. Every collision of will sent shockwaves through the air, pressing down on the earth like an invisible mountain.

Still, the pressure only kept rising. Solren’s gaze burned with hate, while Whisker’s expression remained focused, cold, matching his fury.

Their wills surged higher. And then higher still.

They were pushing past their limits, each Will striving to crush the other beneath its weight.

And then… the world began to break.

The Gardener’s lush green vines darkened, turning pitch black. Whisker’s beasts began to mutate, transforming into grotesque horrors, their forms warping.

They were reaching their brink, and it felt as though the world itself was beginning to unravel.

Soon, their clash began to radiate with a blinding light. The oppressive aura pressing down on every single being intensified, growing to an unprecedented extent.

In the brief moments since the battle between the brothers began, the Human, Evolari, and Nullite paragons had made significant progress.

Working in sync, Avalon and Magnus tore through the opposition, while the overwhelming force of Jenera and Youn made it nearly impossible for the enemy to rally.

With no one strong enough to contain either of them, the battle had become one-sided.

From within the domes, the humans watched all of this unfold in silence. Despite the clear signs that their side was winning, none of them smiled. There was no celebration. No joy.

Although Atticus had planned ahead and the dome protecting the humans was made from his will, the people inside weren’t paragons.

Even with the dome shielding them, the weight they felt was unimaginable. Many found themselves gasping for breath, sweat dripping from their bodies, hearts pounding violently against their ribs.

They felt an instinctual urge to submit, to fall to their knees, pressed against their minds.

Still, they watched with bated breath as the scene unfolded before them.

In one of the forward-facing domes, Anastasia and the other Ravensteins were trapped together. Besides the paragons, no one else was capable of stepping outside the dome, not even the grandmasters. All they could do was gather, and watch.

But Anastasia couldn’t take her eyes off the distant sky, off the direction Atticus had been hurled toward. Her face was pale, and her eyes filled with worry.

‘Please be safe.’

As she thought this, a hand suddenly settled gently on her shoulder. Lyanna.

She offered a confident smile. “He’s going to be fine. You should be more worried about us.”

The other Ravensteins nodded firmly. Despite the intensity of the battle, none of them doubted Atticus. He had never failed before. He wouldn’t fail now.