The Omnipotent System

Adams' every step seemed to cause the floor to groan under his weight, each movement painstakingly slow, but his posture was straight, his eyes unwavering despite the clear toll his injuries had taken on him.

Lovigary's eyes widened in shock. "What are you doing out of bed?" he exclaimed, rushing to his brother's side. The concern etched on his face was palpable as he reached out, gently but firmly taking Adams' arm to steady him. "You should be resting, brother."

Saryna, who had been standing off to the side, took a step forward instinctively, her hand hovering mid-air as though she wanted to help Adams as well. Her face was a mix of concern and hesitation, her lips parted as she searched for the right words. "Lovigary is right," she finally managed, her voice softer than before.

"You're by no means ready to be up and walking around, Adams." But despite her words, she stopped herself from getting closer, her hand lowering as uncertainty flickered in her eyes.

Adams glanced at Saryna briefly, then back at his younger brother, and smiled—a weak but genuine grin that crinkled the edges of his bruised eyes. He chuckled lightly, though the sound was pained. "It's better I die than watch Father fall off the deep end," he said, his voice carrying a light-heartedness that belied the gravity of the situation.

His grin widened just a fraction as he looked down at Lovigary, who was still holding him up. "And don't worry about me," Adams added, patting Lovigary's arm gently, "a little injury like this can't keep me down."

As Adams spoke, his eyes flicked back toward Laden, a shadow of disappointment and frustration flashing across his usually confident expression. His hand briefly tightened on Lovigary's shoulder before he straightened himself, pulling free from his brother's supportive grip, though his body swayed ever so slightly as he did.

Laden watched this with a blank expression, his lips tight and his eyes narrowing slightly, though no words left his mouth. For a moment, his gaze lingered on Adams' bandaged form, the slight tremble in his limbs as he stood. His son—bloodied and battered—still stood before him, defiant. But Laden's face betrayed nothing, only a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes.

Lovigary, feeling the tension between Adams and their father, stood closer to his brother, his hands still hovering protectively near Adams in case he faltered again. He looked between them, his chest tight with emotion, trying to hold back the overwhelming mix of anger and sadness threatening to spill over.

"Adams," Lovigary said quietly, "You don't have to—"

But Adams cut him off with a raised hand and a soft smile that barely touched his eyes. "I do have to," he replied firmly, but his voice wavered just slightly at the end. His gaze hardened as he turned fully toward Laden, standing as tall as his battered body would allow. "If we don't stop him now, there won't be anything left for us to save."

Saryna, still standing a few steps behind, clenched her fists by her sides, her emotions torn between loyalty to Laden and her bond with the brothers. She bit her lip, her heart aching as she watched Adams struggle to stand, his determination like a flame that refused to be snuffed out, even in the face of overwhelming power.

She wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in her throat, leaving her silent.

Adams held his father's gaze, his breath shallow but steady. Despite the pain coursing through his body, his stance was unwavering, the fire in his eyes burning brightly. There was no fear, no hesitation. Only resolve.

Laden's face hardened as he spoke, his voice cold and resolute. "So be it," he said, his tone carrying the weight of finality. His eyes, once distant and empty, now burned with dark determination. He glanced at both his sons, the air around him crackling with tension. "Since you all choose to stand against me, then don't expect me to hold back."

Without another word, Laden moved—his steps slow but deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. His presence seemed to grow larger, more oppressive, as if the very air around him was bending to his will. He flexed his fingers, the veins in his hands visible, his body poised to strike.

Adams, despite his bruised and battered state, met his father's gaze without flinching. His body trembled slightly under the strain, but his grin remained fixed, though it no longer reached his eyes. He turned to his younger brother, ruffling Lovigary's blonde hair with a tenderness that stood in stark contrast to the violence about to unfold.

"I'll handle the old man," Adams said, forcing a smirk through the pain, his voice both playful and serious. There was a flicker of nostalgia in his eyes as he looked down at Lovigary, remembering the countless times he'd teased his younger brother just like this in more peaceful days.

He stepped back, his hand lingering in Lovigary's hair for just a second longer, a final gesture before everything changed. "You can have the rest for yourself. Make sure to knock some sense into their heads, okay?"

The smirk on his face faltered slightly, the weight of what was to come pressing down on him. But he didn't let it show—not fully. Not now.

Lovigary looked up at his older brother, his lips trembling as he tried to muster a smile. But it wouldn't come. Instead, the tears he'd been holding back finally broke free, streaming down his cheeks. He couldn't stop them, even as he nodded, trying to appear strong. "I will, brother," Lovigary whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

He could feel his heart tightening painfully in his chest, the weight of the moment nearly crushing him. Deep down, he knew—this might be the last time he'd ever see Adams.

Adams noticed the tears, his hand pausing mid-air as if he wanted to wipe them away, but he stopped himself. He simply smiled, a sad, knowing smile that said more than words ever could. And then, without warning, he vanished—disappearing from sight as if the air itself had swallowed him up.

Lovigary stood frozen for a moment, his legs weak beneath him, his breath catching in his throat. His heart pounded in his ears as the reality of what was about to happen hit him. His

Elsewhere

Adams and Laden appeared in a barren, desolate wasteland. The ground beneath them was cracked and dry, with jagged rocks littering the landscape and a cold wind howling through the emptiness. It was a place that mirrored the distance between them now—a father and son, once bound by blood, now standing on opposite sides of a fractured world.

Laden took in his surroundings, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. One moment, he had been in the ruined halls of his family home, and now, in the blink of an eye, he was here. He turned slowly, his face as emotionless as ever, but there was a flicker of something dark in his gaze. His voice, when he spoke, was low and hollow.

"So, you still have the strength for tricks like this," he said, his lips curling into a bitter line. His eyes finally settled on Adams, who stood a few paces away, battered and bloodied but upright.

Laden's expression didn't change as he continued, his voice dripping with cold certainty. "I have to admit, if you weren't injured, if you weren't hanging by a thread, I'd have no chance against you." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, his eyes narrowing with cruel satisfaction. "In fact, you'd wipe the floor with me. But you're not at your best, are you?

You're at your lowest point, barely holding on." He took a slow step forward, his towering presence casting a long shadow over the cracked earth. "Which means I win."

Adams stood silently, his breath shallow and labored, his body screaming in pain with every movement. The damage Ashura had inflicted on him was severe—his bandages stained with fresh blood, the weight of his injuries threatening to crush him with every passing second. He should be resting, recovering, but rest wasn't an option. Not now.

His father was about to cross a line, and if he didn't stop him, there would be no turning back.

Adams met his father's gaze, his own eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and determination. His face remained calm, though the effort it took to stay upright was visible in the slight tremble of his legs, the tension in his jaw as he fought through the pain. He didn't respond to his father's words because there was nothing left to say. Laden was right—Adams wasn't at his full strength.

But this wasn't a fight for victory; it was a fight to save what was left of his family, a fight to prevent Laden from making a choice he could never undo.

His silence seemed to irritate Laden, who scowled, taking another step closer. Adams could feel the weight of his father's aura pressing down on him, cold and suffocating, like a storm waiting to be unleashed. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension, and yet, despite the overwhelming odds, Adams' resolve never wavered.

Even at death's door, he stood tall, determined to do whatever it took to stop the man before him—his father—from becoming something unrecognizable.