Arthur moved. He was a grey blur against the silver, pockmarked dust of the lunar surface, accelerating with a smooth, unnatural grace. His new, Divine-rank power made the act of traversing kilometers in the low gravity, airless environment as simple as walking across a room. Around him, high in the black, star-dusted void, the nascent battle was already erupting, a chaotic, silent pandemonium.

The human counter-invasion force, a tidal wave of ships, mages, and high-tech warframes, poured from the massive Grey seams he had torn in reality. They clashed immediately with the swarming demon fleet, a horrifyingly vast armada of bio-mechanical, miasma-weeping vessels. Blinding flashes of light—lance-fire, magical explosions, the catastrophic detonation of lesser ships—began to paint the darkness, a silent, desperate fireworks show over the vulnerable, beautiful Earth hanging in the sky.

His nine companions, a constellation of Peak Radiant power, had already engaged, moving as a single, terrifyingly cohesive unit. Lucifer, a blazing comet of light and shadow, and Ren Kagu, a phantom of impossible, serene motion, spearheaded the assault, aimed directly at the enemy's command structure. His fiancées followed, a perfectly synchronized formation, weaving a net of combined power designed to dismantle, not just defeat.

Arthur's focus was singular. He ignored the lesser Dukes, bypassed the swirling dogfights. His gaze, amplified by his divine perception, was fixed on the two black holes of power at the heart of the enemy fleet: the flagship, where Envy and Wrath awaited, arrogant and untouched. He was the tip of the spear, and his purpose was to decapitate the enemy's divine leadership.

He was intercepted.

The primary Peak Radiant Archduke, the massive, four-armed creature of black-green carapace, had anticipated his move. It saw the singular, overwhelming power of Arthur's divine signature and knew instantly that this was the true threat. Bypassing the larger battle unfolding against the human armies, it used its own powerful, if cruder, spatial manipulation, tearing a jagged rift in the vacuum to appear directly in Arthur's path.

It materialized with a pulse of pure, arrogant malice, a mountain of armored flesh and miasma. Its four burning, intelligent eyes fixed on the single, humanoid figure approaching. It was the vanguard's field commander, a being whose power had crushed worlds, and it intended to snuff out this unexpected, insolent light personally.

"Insolent mortal," its voice echoed in Arthur's mind, a grating, telepathic sneer vibrating with contempt and overwhelming power. "Your insignificant light is the first to be extinguished. To dare gaze upon a Lord, you must first prostrate yourself before me, their champion—"

It lunged. It didn't wait for a reply. Its movement was a blur, closing the remaining distance instantly. All four of its massive arms, each thick as a mature tree, pulled back before striking in a complex, simultaneous, devastating combination. It was a perfect Peak Radiant-level attack, designed to overwhelm any defense. One fist, wreathed in corrosive, unravelling miasma. A second, vibrating with pure, unadulterated kinetic force, shattering the very space before it. A third, trailing tendrils of entropic shadow that seemed to unmake the light they passed through. And a fourth, glowing with a soul-chilling ice, a conceptual cold that sought to freeze not just matter, but energy itself.

The combined attack formed a perfect, inescapable cage of annihilation, a testament to the Archduke's own mastery and power.

Arthur did not stop. He did not slow. He did not raise a hand to shield himself. He simply… pointed his index finger at the charging behemoth as he continued to glide forward.

There was no flare of mana, no gathering of energy. It was not a spell. It was not a beam of light. It was a simple, quiet, Divine assertion. An Edict, written with the absolute, objective ink of his Grey Divinity. He looked at the charging, monstrous being, at the perfect, complex storm of its attack, and he passed a conceptual judgment: 'You are flawed.'

He did not target the creature's body, its armor, or its limbs. That would be a contest of power, a waste of energy. He targeted the conceptual seam he perceived with his new, divine senses – the fragile, unstable connection between the Archduke's chaotic, miasmic energy and the physical, biological form it inhabited. He didn't even use his full power, just a focused, surgical mote of his will.

A minuscule, almost invisible speck of pure Grey light, no larger than a grain of sand, shot from his fingertip. It was not fast; it did not "travel" in any conventional sense. It simply arrived, crossing the kilometers of space instantly, its existence asserted by his will.

The Archduke, in its towering arrogance, saw the tiny, insignificant speck of light. It was less than a firefly, a meaningless mote in the face of its world-ending assault. It didn't even register as a threat. It didn't bother to dodge, its four-pronged attack roaring forward, milliseconds from impact.

The mote of Grey light touched the dead center of the Archduke's massive chest, right on its thickest, most formidable carapace. It did not explode. It did not penetrate. It did not burn. It simply… rested there for a single, infinitesimal, horrifying moment.

And then the Archduke stopped.

Its four-armed, catastrophic attack froze, meters from Arthur's calm, impassive face. Its arrogant, sneering expression contorted, its four burning eyes widening in unison, reflecting a sudden, profound, uncomprehending terror. It tried to move, to complete the strike, but its body no longer obeyed. It looked down at its own chest.

Where the mote of Grey light had touched, a small, clean circle of nothing had appeared, no larger than a silver coin. And from that single point of contact, the Grey conceptual energy, the assertion of objective truth and fundamental law, spread outwards like a virus of pure, unadulterated reality.

Cracks, glowing not with light but with pure negation, spiderwebbed across its formidable carapace. It wasn't just the armor that was breaking; the miasmic energy within it, the very source of its power, was being unwritten, its chaotic, unholy structure collapsing under the weight of objective law. The connection Arthur had targeted, the seam between energy and flesh, had been severed.

The Archduke opened its mouth, but its telepathic sneer was replaced by a silent, psychic scream, a sound of pure, agonizing, existential pain. It felt its own power turning against it, its internal structures failing, the very bonds holding its monstrous form together dissolving, unmaking. A huge chunk of its shoulder and one of its four massive, attacking arms, its energy source conceptually severed, simply crumbled into a cloud of inert, floating dust and shattered, powerless fragments of armor.

A profound, absolute psychic silence fell over the entire demon fleet. The swarming Dukes, the other three Archdukes who had been moving to engage Arthur's companions, all faltered, their chaotic assault momentarily stopping. They had just witnessed their strongest champion, a pinnacle of Peak Radiant power, a being who had conquered worlds, be not just defeated, but unmade and forced to flee by a single, casual, incomprehensible gesture from the enemy commander.

From the bridge of the flagship, the two divine signatures, who had been content to observe, flared with sudden, immense power, their arrogance finally shaken. The cold, insidious presence of Envy erupted with a sharp, calculating, almost hungry interest, his analytical gaze boring into Arthur, attempting to dissect the power he had just used. The raging bonfire of Wrath pulsed with a new, focused fury, its mindless rage, which had been aimed at the planet, now contracting, focusing entirely on the single, grey figure who had just humiliated its forces.

They would not wait for Arthur to come to them. Their champion had failed. The true gods were stepping onto the battlefield.

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