Multiple layers of solid metal compose the walls, as the wooden aesthetic in truth is merely that: a skin. Both the ceiling and floor carry that same wooden aesthetic throughout, as while this vehicle is technologically incredible with materials that are perhaps among the strongest that can be utilized for this device, it carries the appearance of an antique wooden ship. While this vacant lounge does have hovering sofa chairs and tables, their designs are not aligned with the sleek profile associated with many other worlds, as the leather of the chairs have unnecessary swirls and the tables have embedded designs along the edges.

Thus it’s ironic how that metal wall bursts in as though it has the strength of wood, even though the separated chunks of debris are clearly metallic given that they don’t snap the way wood would. Among the burst of debris, which completely smash up the sofa chair sitting on the wall right behind the breach, are the two final combatants tightly held together as countless right hands grab onto the azure suit of the Spirit along with the lengthy tongue, that tongue coming from inside the mouth of the King whose left arm is stretched all the way to the breach leading into the cosmic outdoors.

The passive yellow lighting of the room is replaced with flashing red as a voice sirens through the walls: “BREACH IN HULL DETECTED, SEALING PASSAGES PROMPTLY,” as the aforementioned sofa chair is picked up and flies into the hole from the vacuum. Neither of the two fighters are being pulled however, as the force of their collision overpowers the vacuum, for they instead slam into one of the longer couches while the King’s hand is pulled out of the breach, the arm retracting concurrent with the regression of the right hands which shrink and collapse back into their fingers in an attempt to make much needed separation. The two crash into the table which snaps and folds inwards, though the two bounce up before then smashing into the top rim of another couch, and it’s when that happens that the tongue retracts back into the King’s mouth, finally disconnecting the two which the King exploits by kicking the Spirit’s abdomen with both legs, that move repelling them in opposite directions as the Spirit is flung back towards the vacuum whereas the King moves further away.

Not much further ahead is an open doorway which the King slips into just as brown particles start to populate the opening, signifying the closing action of the door to which the Spirit projects a cable from each hand and yanks simultaneous with a propulsive streak from his back, rocketing him straight across the room feet forward through the doorway the microsecond before the nanite cloud completes its hardening of the seal. That great speed to make the escape accumulates kinetic energy that is transferred to the King’s abdomen as the Spirit’s soles make impact, blasting the King backwards into a corridor, his yellow hat nearly flying off his head yet he grabs onto it as his black coat waves similar to the Spirit’s cape as the two touch ground and begin sprinting. The King runs facing the opposite way, but his legs begin to move at superhuman speed so much they become a blur, accelerating him to a car’s pace while he takes a deep breath and begins rapidly spitting physical bullets, constructs made from hardened metallic saliva which the Spirit dodges which direction dashes and wall leaps. He doesn’t slow his pace though, instead this motivates him to begin using cables which he projects from his hips to move quicker, keeping up with the King’s running and gradually bridging the gap. The King then stops his spitfire as he starts huffing seemingly uncontrollably, bringing his right hand under his nose as though he’s about to sneeze, leaning back before finally unleashing his sneeze forward which launches a huge white web out of his nose that automatically grips onto the surfaces to create a wall. The Spirit in fact nearly swings straight into it, needing to dash backwards just to negate his own momentum to then raise his hands which burst azure flames that construct an opaque glass bottle which is open to reveal an open orange flame, and throwing that bottle at the web wall causes it to explode in a blaze that swiftly consumes the wall, letting the Spirit pass through in no more than three seconds. That wall did definitely create more space between the two though, making the Spirit more inclined to speed up, making more rapid zips, requiring quicker reaction to evade the hard shell grenades being tossed his way, which explode though with minor impact as just dashing to the opposite edge of the wall is sufficient for the Spirit to keep moving. More grenades are tossed, every grenade in fact being a transformed hand that the King throws by swinging his arm before then regenerating said hand and repeating. While none of the explosions consume the Spirit, they do break through the corridor itself, opening holes all over the King’s own ship though it’s as if the intensity of the battle has given the King a thrill that lets him ignore those collaterals.

Nonetheless, the Spirit manages to dodge each grenade to which the King instead raises only his right arm forward, supporting his forearm with his left hand. His right fist enlarges and sharpens to reshape into a cone head resembling a rocket as the entire arm transforms by becoming more cylindrical and skinnier, generally resembling a rocket launcher. He fires the rocket with recoil that tilts his arm up, ejecting the rocket fist which is propelled with its own fiery fuel straight for the Spirit who raises his own arm forward but instead in a cross over his chest to wrap his forearm with a flaming band that attaches to a large translucent riot shield. The riot shield is struck with the rocket that explodes greater than the other grenades, blowing out an entire chunk of the hallway as debris falls from the ceiling and the wall falls over into the neighboring rooms.

Though just as the King approaches a door out of the hall at an intersection with another hallway, the Spirit emerges out of the fireball with the shield still in front, and with that shield he backhand slaps the King straight out of that doorway before grabbing onto his collar with the free hand right as the two fly together straight through, breaking through that door, straight into a station with a row of red velvet chairs with folded seats one of which they crash through before then flying over the golden balcony, one that wraps around the large theater, the top balcony of several with every balcony having a row of seats that wrap around too. At the bottom level is an inclined surface that has many more seats condensed together in curved rows with one central clear aisle from the back of the room to the front row. Ahead of that front row is an elevated stage box with the curtains open, the stage itself lit with its own white lights around the upper rim, the other walls of the box’s curtains closed. The whole theater has a royal aesthetic as all of the chairs are red velvet, and both the railings around the balconies as well as a banner above the stage is gold. There are also unique patterns in the railings and banners, curves more synonymous with older times, with the center of the banner having an emblem of a golden hat sitting in the center of a small stage.

Similar to the stage box, lighting in the theater isn’t balanced as the yellow light in the audience specifically comes from a huge circle in the ceiling, like a window with stained glass art depicting sieges of people dressed in rags raising clubs and swords while charging at another siege of people in vaguely familiar navy blue uniforms with white shield epaulets on the shoulder, the circular shape of the light making for the visual of the navy blue people being sandwiched between the siege that wraps around.

Beneath that light, the two opponents begin their descent towards the floor as the Spirit relinquishes his riot shield while flames seep out of his left hand to form three long wires that wrap around the King, binding his arms and legs together before materializing solid. As the King stares stupefied with a gaping jaw, the Spirit raises his newly freed right hand which is equipped with a hilt that emits a short black Anti-Exmatter energy blade. Holding the energy knife up with the blade facing down, his stance in one to prime for a stabbing, the Spirit keeps his grip on the collar as he seeks out a swift victory.

Blade between his eyes, the King’s stumped mouth curves into a bombastic smile, and as Spirit brings his arm down with the knife blade aimed for the forehead, from that forehead abruptly bursts an active chainsaw, the jagged metal chains rotating inside the head itself freakishly, rising straight for the Spirit’s throat.

Instinctively the Spirit leaps backwards to evade the chainsaw, launching himself off the King’s body to make distance as the forehead weapon reaches its full length.

No longer being held down, the King leans his head back as a field of short spikes grows out of his body all at once like a spike trap, the emergence so quick that it cuts the wires up into many short strands that all fall off as the spikes are pulled back underneath the skin.

His body free again as the chainsaw melts into a strange goo that drips off his head– leaving his forehead closed again–, he raises his left arm up which then stretches about thirty feet long, and upon completing its stretch the fist then suddenly puffs out in a huge metal block with a curved spike in the back orthogonal to the arm, making the whole left arm resemble a huge warhammer, the weight of the head causing the whole arm to slightly bend back.

To support his own warhammer arm, the King grabs his arm with his right hand, and as he releases a bellow with all his might he swings his hammer down. While this move initially appears absurd thus senseless, the length of the arm was precisely determined to have the center of the head be right over the Spirit’s current position, and the width of the head provides further certainty as it approaches the azure combatant who raises his head in shock, firing an azure blaze up at it but somehow missing.

Down the hammer slams into the ground with a boom, covering a field of red seats that are crushed instantly, an explosion of dust spreading out, though that dust cloud explodes again from the end of the head facing the ceiling that being the curved spike as the Spirit pounces from it, having tightly maneuvered to the other side of the head and now dashes up the arm, pushed by a dense blue trail with his right fist already extended forward, the frosty knuckles bright.

In half a second the Spirit reaches up the arm, but the King swiftly leans his head back, his neck bending nearly ninety degrees such that not even a hair of his black beard is grazed from the fist, fully evading it and leaving the Spirit to fly past. The King smirks proudly as his left arm reverts from the warhammer, though upon the leaning of his head his gaze catches what seems to be a huge long metal beam like a tungsten rod flying straight for him, plummeting at great speeds such that it reaches the King’s face, slamming straight into him with the thickness of a fist, causing his cheeks to vibrate as his entire body is slammed straight into the ground with another boom that swells another explosion of dust, right in the center of the aisle.

Still in the air, the Spirit dashes in a wheel to change his direction to an immediate dive, his trail left behind resembling a cane as he keeps his right hand extended again, aiming for a rebounding hit now that his opponent’s been landed.

In a straight dive, the Spirit approaches the King who is caught lying on the ground with his eyes closed.

Just then the King’s eyes open with a smile beneath them before he grabs the ground behind him with both hands, arms up, and curls his body back which his knees bent. He then launches himself off, pushing himself with his hands and extending his feet out, the sole of his sandal colliding straight into the Spirit’s masked face as he successfully times his counterattack which doubles as a fancy move to stand back on the ground, gaining his footing while offsetting his opponent’s in one move, as that opponent is flung back along the aisle before suspending his movement with an oppositional dash, stopping him as his feet slide onto the red carpet a few feet back before coming to a full stop where he promptly begins charging forward, both hands equipping themselves with hilts that both ignite Anti-Exmatter black blades.

In the aisle the two combatants face each other, the King grabbing the top of his hat to fix it in place as the Spirit dashes for him and swings the right blade in a wide sweep for the neck which the King smoothly dodges with an extended right leg that pulls him back further, better separated to combat a vertical swing with the left blade as the King swings his own left hand as his arm elongates and his hand morphs into a saber blade that materializes to a dark metal, clashing against the Anti-Exmatter energy and surprisingly resisting its effects, as just the simple collision alone isn’t sufficient in infecting the opponent. Taking his hand off the hat, the King reshapes his hand into a rapier that he begins to swing rapidly at the Spirit, forcing him to use his energy blades now to parry, the two clashing at an equal speed but with every clash the King’s blade slightly morphs from a messer to a shortsword to a falchion before the King reshapes his right hand into a Longsword whose greater sudden weight staggers the Spirit which the King follows with his right hand that becomes a glaive that he swings for the neck this time which the Spirit knocks back with both blades to counter the additional weight, widening the King to then be slashed with both black blades, though as the King reshapes his glaive into a scythe and swings for a sweep it forces the Spirit to abandon that attack and dodge back instead.

After that first contact with the Anti-Exmatter blade, it becomes clear that the King indeed has a natural resilience likely born out of his ability that allows control over his body, meaning that as long as he has the strength to actively engage with his abilities, he’d likely not be subdued. This isn’t the first Exhuman to exhibit this trait, in fact it’s one among many, as one of the flaws in Anti-Exmatter weaponry is the inconsistency of strength required to subdue each Exhuman given that each has a different resilience, though at the same time attempting to simply subdue all Exhumans with an obscene intensity of Anti-Exmatter could cause unwanted fatalities from overload to the brain.

What is unique about this Exhuman however is how difficult it is to engage his strength from how everchanging he is, as he dashes forward while morphing and swinging a swordstaff, keeping the Spirit busy from longer distance so upon the dash he can continue the pressure with a bardiche swing for the shoulder before then trying to poke with a pike and then replace it with a guisarme whose two blades further weigh the Spirit back. With different weapons being shaped so quickly, trying to adapt to each becomes a challenge, and as the Spirit focuses on trying to determine a plan around his opponent’s Anti-Exmatter resilience, a thought process he’s never had to apply in the field, he locks on using his same dual blades, causing him to be stuck majorly on defense as he has to keep taking steps back to take on each of the heavier weapons being swung at him, a halberd to the left, a lucerne hammer to the right, a prod with a man catcher for the center to throw him off even more.

Anti-Exmatter itself is a deterrent to Exhumans, a poison. At small doses it can thin out the natural Exmatter inside an Exhuman’s brain, effectively severing their connection to their abilities, but at large doses it can cause more significant damage to their brain, damage that an Exhuman cannot live past. Unable to properly determine a perfect intensity to properly subdue the King, as he lacked the experience with making these judgements given he’s only truly begun using this technology today, the only safe solution would be to naturally drain the King of his stamina until a default dose could neutralize him.

This entire plan finally being determined, the Spirit relinquishes both of his hilts and replaces it with a single longer hilt that has a disk attached to both sides, and from both ends a blue energy blade ignites. Gripping this hilt in his right hand, the Spirit brings it in front of him as the two blades begin to slide along the disk, spinning like a traditional ceiling fan, garnering speed quickly until, similar to a ceiling fan, all that can be seen is a glowing blur.

With this pressuring weapon the Spirit swings again at the King who begins to take more defensive action, taking steps back as his voulge hand reverts and his other hand detaches off his wrist, though connected to his arm by a chain, that hand forming into a metal ball that is first swung at the Spirit, clashing against the energy fan though doing little to stop the Spirit’s advance as even with growing spikes on the ball hand to better resemble a mace, the following swing also has little effect.

Noticing the ball offers insufficient resistance as the Spirit continues to swing his spinning blade from left to right, the King decides to transform his mace again, though this time in an entirely different shape, a blade about the length of a dagger. He begins to start spinning it first, letting the dagger wind up as his chain connected to his wrist whirs up faster, his dagger slicing through the seats around him, cutting them up several times over as his dagger starts moving with blurs, creating his own dust storm around him until he’s confident enough to directly engage, clashing his blade against the fan.

Immediately the Spirit takes a step back, cautious about the erratic movements of the dagger on the chain given that unlike his motions, which more or less are regular blade swings with the only difference being that that blade is spinning constantly, the King’s motions are in strange figure 8s that constantly collide with the floor, seats, and back with the blade in a pattern that’s difficult to track and anticipate.

In fact the Spirit takes another step back as the King continues his spinning dagger, and then another step, and slowly the King grows confidence as he advances the other way up the aisle, slicing down all the neighboring seats. More ground is being lost every second as the King makes his swings wider and more ambitious, smiling with pride. In a pinch, the Spirit steps back but follows up with a pronounced step forward with a heavy swing of his own directly at the dagger, making a calculated risk but managing to strike the dagger in such a way that for a split second, its motion is slowed substantially from being canceled out, and that is then when he takes a far riskier move which is using his free hand to grab the middle of the chain, yanking it towards himself thereby pulling the King close, so he can then knee him in the stomach, the frosty crystal integrated in the shin of his boot flashing before the impact blows the King backwards just as he fires a single finger forward straight into the disk of the fan blade given that it’s just subtly exposed, causing both blades to flicker and vanish.

Still, that one shin to the face is enough to throw the King all the way up to the edge of the stage, making him stumble back from the sudden force of the crystal, but he quickly shakes it off with a smile as a show of just how profound his durability is. Furthermore, he raises both arms before dropping a knee and digging them into the wooden stage floor as each finger transforms into a squid-like tentacle.

All ten of the tentacles begin burrowing under the floor, their presence sound with rumbling but furthermore they just subtly surface in slithering movements, ripping through the carpet on their path to the Spirit who faces down upon perceiving the next action.

He instinctively leaps off the ground right as the floor beneath him caves in from a huge tentacle the width of his own body reaching for him which he dashes back to avoid, though two more tentacles pop out of the ground to target his new position, forcing him to keep making dashes while also moving higher up to get further distance from the ground as more continue to rise. Projecting a cable to the second tentacle and zipping to the side lets the Spirit dodge the fourth tentacle, landing on that second tentacle before then needing to lean against it closely to evade the fifth that soars just in front, nearly sandwiching him to which he rolls around to the other side and leaps off, needing to strafe once to the right to dodge the sixth, then again right after to the left for the seventh, but finally the eighth strikes him as his body is forced up more, as they don’t move straight like spikes but instead twist and curve in the air thus making them more difficult to predict.

Higher up in the air that eighth tentacle tries again to reach for him though with a quickly timed cable swing the Spirit instead lands on that very tentacle, standing on it while it still surfaces, and during its surface the last two tentacles burst out of the ground and chase for him.

The Spirit begins to start running down the tentacle, straight for those last two’s direction, engaging directly as he narrowly strafes to avoid the ninth, and after flaming his right hand which leaves behind strange glowing blue pads on his palm and fingers he grabs onto that tentacle, attaching himself on it and sliding down as if it’s a railing. Building up more speed with this movement, he faces the final tentacle as it slithers in the air, its course of travel covering the air before it then chases straight for the Spirit who strafes to the side, making a full rotation around the tentacle and detaching himself to be thrown over to the final one, landing on his feet which ignites flames that form a long flat board subtly hovering which he slides down on. He bends his knees, surfing down the tentacle and picking up speed before leaping off in a barrel roll to evade the changing directions of the tentacle, diving with his cape blowing back as the board is erased. Two hands forward, he projects cables onto one of the tentacles and pulls himself in an overhead arch, increasing downward speed, and after a few dashes and zips he finally steers into the open, having a perfect sight to the stage where he fires another cable, this one directly to the collar of the King which yanks him off the ground, causing the tentacles to be ripped out of the stage before being severed off his body automatically to free himself.

The King smiles fanatically as he’s helplessly pulled up in the air, straight towards the Spirit who pulls his arm back, his frosty crystal knuckles flaring in priming for another hit which he then throws straight at the chest in the center of the cross scar, or rather the scar present a moment ago as the entire chest abruptly hollows out, the body somehow reeling back in all directions to create an opening though without exposing any vital organs as it nearly calls into question the true biology of this man. Such scientific questions come second, as what matters more is that the Spirit’s arm flies through the body, leaning too far deep, and that’s when that King’s grin makes sense as along the top and bottom rim of the hole are rows of what looks like abnormally large sharp teeth, and now it’s noticeable that the hole actually has the relative dimensions of a mouth.

Hastily the Spirit jerks his arm back through the hole, bringing it to his side just as both rows of teeth close down abruptly with the power that could’ve easily severed an arm had it been pulled back just a thought too late.

There isn’t enough time for a direct followup before landing as the King drops back onto the stage before taking steps back for the Spirit to reach down, still intent on that followup even if delayed as he lunges forward at the King now in the center, ready to throw a punch as the King arches his own arm back.

At once, the two opponents throw their fist, their knuckles colliding into each other, and as both arms recoil back they both throw their other fists, both of which also collide into each other just as the first fists are thrown, then the second, and slowly their rate of punches grows faster with every exchange, the King bordering human capacity as his arms start moving so fast they blur, setting a pace that the Spirit attempts to maintain by boosting his arms with propulsions, which does help for a few moments but the King continues to accelerate to the point of the Spirit’s capacity, exploiting the Spirit’s ultimately limited body capabilities who realizes this with a irritated tsk.

Limited by the capability of his own body, the Spirit instead reinforces it as azure flames arch out of his shoulders, each of them with the shape of an arm which animate in a curl, materializing to be an arm made of shiny black metal, which moves autonomously in its single function to extend its arm in a punch, and after completion it erases away just as another azure flame arches out to replace it.

At first only two of these metal arms are sufficient, though that changes as the King continues accelerating to the point where his arms seem to move at such speed they leave afterimages, mirages that create the visual that he is punching with a growing number of arms from two to four to eight and more. Though at this rate it’s not even certain if these are truly mirages created from speed, or if this is a trick and he’s actually employing a similar tactic, but regardless the fact is that the punches thrown in a given second rise exponentially with every new image appearing, and to counter that another arm being created at a time by the Spirit.

Climbing with no end, the two fighters punch with such speed and yet the fists seeming to come from their real arms are merely in the eye of the great storm of countless arms punching each other, arms either appearing like mirages off the King’s shoulders or arms being manifested from azure flames from the Spirit’s.

The surrounding curtains boxing in the stage begin to sway back and forth, first subtly but they begin waving more violently quickly, the shockwaves of the punches accumulating into creating a true storm of wind as dust is picked off the floor and spun around like a tornado. All three walls of curtains dance as the two continue to smash fists, trying to surpass the other’s limit, only for that other to match and try surpassing the former’s limit. Soon there’s an army of arms on both sides, each one countering another, unbridled chaos that could only end explosively.

Among the flurry of fists from both sides clashing at the line of no man’s land along the center, one of the metal fists subtly carries a small cylinder in its grip, a metal can that has a single red dot light that flashes with an audible beep.

That can is in fact a bomb that explodes right as it collides with the King’s fist, exploiting the difficulty in keeping track of every fist given their speed and numbers to make a strike that does land, blasting the King off his feet back through the curtain which rips upon collision, sending him over the stage and inside a large open backstage room with a series of metal beams running along the ceiling and walls. Long wires also drape from above, the whole setup reminiscent of older theatrical backstages, so shockingly huge compared to the theater though without the royal aesthetic as the colors are far more graytoned. Even after being blown up in the face, the King is still wide awake and kicking as he holds both of his hands out forward, and each of his fingertips rapidly grow like spikes towards the curtain which is brushed open to reveal the Spirit, though immediately upon emerging he has to dash up to avoid the first nail which grazes his knee, catching him off guard. He spontaneously dashes to evade the many other nails reaching for him, grabbing onto one of the draping wires and swinging over to dodge another, for the individual natural bends of the King’s fingers allows his nails to sweep a great range altogether, as even the huge backstage feels claustrophobic as it fills up with absurdly long nails. The closer the Spirit draws to the King however, the more clumped the nails are given they’re all originating from an approximately same point, so after he barrel roll strafes and zips enough he eventually passes above the nails where he can then swing the tip of his boot straight into the King’s face, again blasting him backwards straight through the wall, breaking a hole through the metal and tossing him into a dressing room with tables along the walls beneath mirror screens beneath long strips of light.

The room is vastly smaller than the theater and backstage, the ceiling far lower and the room generally is narrow, meaning the King quickly slams into the mirror screen above the table just before a ball flies straight into his abdomen, and on collision it opens up to reveal itself as a net that clings onto his body, covering both his legs and his forearms while able to stick to the wall from the material being strangely adhesive, effectively trapping the King for a followup attack as the Spirit charges through the hole.

Without his arms or legs, the King lacks the limbs he traditionally used to fight, but the smirk on his face implies that doesn’t mean he’s helpless. In fact, his entire head begins to transfigure, stretching forward though his mouth doesn’t nearly as much as his head materializes gunmetal and sculpts to resemble the head of a pistol, reminiscent of a Glock’s design with the yellow hat sitting on top. A barrel the size of his forehead hollows out as the mouth transforms into the trigger, the head being reengineered itself as a full firearm. That trigger fires itself, a heavy bang the sound of an explosion being pushed through the barrel along with a great explosion that propels a bullet comically large enough to eviscerate a whole head at once.

Instantly the Spirit strafes with a rotation, aligning his body orthogonal to the bullet’s path, slimming his figure to let the huge bronze bullet fly right past him, the edge nearly touching his glowing chest. He turns his head towards the gunman who fires another two shots, bullets traveling the speed any would yet at such a greater scale, making it far harder for the Spirit to counterattack when his dashes have to be so long. Impatient, he makes an underhand toss with a ball of blue flames that midair manifests into a small ball off what looks like clay, which flies straight into the barrel where just as it splatters, covering the rim of the barrel too, it promptly hardens within a second thereby sealing the opening such that the next gunshot ends up causing the gun to backfire on itself, the clay holding rather strong as the gunhead tilts up from its own recoil.

Upon having the gun fail, the body’s skin starts reddening due to climbing heat, as in a second it starts emitting steam. This quick body heating causes the adhesives of the net along with the net itself to start dissolving quickly, melting away the binding.

Noticing this, the Spirit makes a dash for the King as his hands birth another flame to try countering as quickly as possible, but just as his fist nearly makes contact with the face, the adhesive fully melts and the King bobs and weaves off the table without a touch. He kicks off the wall, and in that one second the two trade places as the Spirit’s fist gets stuck inside the wall as the King is freely in the air behind him.

The Spirit desperately glances back while trying to pull his fist out as the King reverts his gunhead back while stretching his arms to grab onto the walls right next to the Spirit, using them as bands of a slingshot that he lets go of, flinging himself straight into the Spirit through the wall, the two flying into another wooden corridor at uncontrollable speeds where all they can do is grapple against one another primitively as the King’s shoulder spurts out a long slimy tendril with a strange head that only has a mouth about the size of a dog’s, which opens wide and tries to chomp down on the Spirit who quickly pushes his hand into its mouth while manifesting a pacifier to shut it just for a moment to counter the main body by creating a dart gun which he fires point blank for the head just for the King to open his mouth and blow at superhuman strength, or rather reveal that inside his mouth is a three-bladed fan rotating rapidly made from his own gums, which repels the dart back and rids the chance for another neutralization.

Before another attack can be made, the two fly straight into another wall which breaks open like the last, this time throwing them inside a large library room that has several floors full of bookshelves, and in between those bookshelves are long tables and shorter personal desks all accompanied with chairs, all of which float. The library has a vast central aisle that runs along the car that it inhabits, with the bookshelves’ long faces parallel to that aisle, creating two clusters of rows along it as there are several rows with shorter separations on each side. Each of the two open floors have the same grid of bookshelves as though they continue through the floor given their height, though the upper floor doesn’t have the same central aisle, allowing the two levels to be integrated together. There is indeed a third floor that lacks the same bookshelf grid, instead opting to have a greater focus on desks and tables in grids and the bookshelves being along the walls. There is a ceiling right above the central aisle from that floor, though it’s made of a glass-like transparent material thereby allowing view of the tables and chairs.

Entering the room from the base floor, the Spirit kicks the King off him, separating the two as the Spirit waves his flaming hand, secreting a blaze behind him in a wide wheel which then separates into six turbines with the diameter of a knee, all of which flare blue upon materialization before then firing concentrated beams of energy.

Now forced to scatter, the King stretches his arms to zip and swing around the library as the beams seek him out, completely obliterating bookshelves and parts of the upper floor as they all rotate to try honing in, though the King is similarly nimble. He doesn’t exactly dash, but he zips with stretched arms until reaching enough distance that he can counter, aiming his hand forward with his thumb beneath his other fingers all touching each other. The gesture is reminiscent of the skeleton of a sock puppet which he mimics with the touching of his fingers like the closing and opening of a mouth.

Where normalcy diverges though is the arm starts stretching forward and the hand grows larger, and furthermore both the arm and hand begin transfiguring with red scales along the arms and a sharper hand that grows a golden beard with its own eyes on the side. In seconds the arm transfigures into a representation of a chinese dragon with a fully functional jaw full of teeth that open and close, the mouth larger than the ring of turbines. Its body alone completely rampages through the bookshelves, leaving a path of destruction as its open mouth absorbs the combined strength of the turbines as well, leaving only sizzling on the roof of the tongue as it’s clearly able to combat heat easily which the turbines are firing in a sense. Without slowing down, it reaches the turbines where it then chomps down once, consuming all of them in one bite as explosions reverberate inside its mouth. It opens its mouth back up, revealing the metal scrap as it now seeks its next target.

Not backing down though, the Spirit instead dashes back and raises both hands forward as flames manifest off his right hand to produce what initially just resembles an anti-tank rocket launcher, however what at first appears to be the barrel isn’t truly as the launcher continues expanding off the side away from the shoulder, expanding substantially into a huge curved missile launcher system far larger than the handheld device itself, instead the size of what would’ve been mounted on a tank. In fact, that original barrel isn’t anything more than a laser pointer as it hones in on the target ahead, as the huge curved system is what fires the barrage with every rocket being taller than either of the fighters themselves. About ten whole rockets fire in quick succession, all of them flying straight into the dragon’s open mouth, but this time instead of it simply sizzling it explodes on impact and staggers the dragon, prompting it to close the mouth which doesn’t reach the Spirit who dashes upwards and ditches the launcher, instead firing cables onto the head of the dragon to land down and begin running along the dragon arm. While all the missiles hit their target, the explosions themselves consume nearby bookshelves, further destroying yet another room in this bombastic exchange.

Glancing down at the dragon, the Spirit stares at disbelief, perplexed at how an entity that shouldn’t physically be able to exist can just be quickly transformed in and off the spot, as the unrestrained body transfiguration ability allows for some rather mind numbing effects.

Regardless he faces forward and leaps as he feels the body of the dragon wobbling, and as he thought it rapidly shrinks from being reverted, leaving the Spirit out in the open to watch as the King stretches his other arm which does enlarge too, but this time it’s instead used as a whip as he swings it over to the side as huge curved spikes grow off it, and he then swings the whole whip across the entire room in front of him.

The Spirit hastily dashes down and surrounds himself in a bubble shield as while the whip doesn’t hit him, it completely mauls the bookshelves along its path, pulling them in the current of its movement therefore dragging all of them to collide with the sphere like a tornado. The sphere shield bounces to the side from all the wreckages hitting it, though the man inside remains protected, and after the whip completes its first swing the Spirit erases the sphere and immediately counters with his hand extended out which blasts a firestorm forward so wide it nearly covers a vertical slice of the room before him, but that firestorm refines instead into a huge legion of diverse though commercial pods which all drive straight forward with several pods along a lane each.

This traffic barrage crashes through bookshelves as a moving wall, not particularly honing in on the King though it doesn’t need to.

Swiftly the King grabs onto a nearby bookshelf to zip away from the first pod that is sent straight for him, a sedan, though he has to immediately kick off of the pickup truck he nearly flies into, then forced to jump over a minivan, constantly forced to move around as there’s hardly any space between the traffic for him to move.

In fact, he’s put so much focus on evading the traffic that even when he does manage to slip between two pods, he doesn’t account for his true target who dashes straight up from below, uppercutting him in the jaw with an arm wearing a large exoskeleton that has several piston rings connected with rods, and upon impact all of those pistons push which delivers a secondary punch that expels the King up in the air to the second floor, followed closely by the Spirit. Yet even then he still wears a joyous smile on his face, as even though his own ship is being completely trashed, and he’s been constantly kicked around, it’s as though this one battle has helped soothe any call for concern. Despite this battle igniting on his own stern volition and agitation against the overwhelming lack of control he has over his own army, there’s a clear sense of liberation in his gaze, as though he’s so desperately been seeking a battle like this for so long that he can’t help but smile to the carnage.

However, upon flying over the second floor, as he gazes passively around his surroundings, that smile begins to fade as the adventurous glint in his eyes dim, his jaw slowly dropping in dread.

While the King’s body soars above the balconies of the second floor where the other set of bookshelves are, the Spirit emerging from beneath the fissure with his whole arm set ablaze, the King’s gaze isn’t on his opponent but instead on one of those distant bookshelves, or rather a dark figure standing beside it, one facing directly back at him. The figure is like a silhouette, as while most of the room is well lit, the corner of the bookshelf it inhabits has a strange shadow darkening it.

Facing away from the immediate opponent, the King isn’t able to stop the Spirit from grabbing his coat, spinning around in the air and throwing him into the bookshelves on the second floor.

Slamming straight into the first bookshelf, the King breaks through the material and flies into the next behind it, then into the next, breaking a whole path that leaves behind a trail of dust that swells up.

Dust dispersing away to make the King visible from the first broken bookshelf, the man raises his head as his opponent flies straight through the path for a followup punch, to which the man leaps out of the way and stumbles, narrowly avoiding the punch though in a way that lacks any of the previous creative flare.

There doesn’t seem to be focus on that though, as the King’s expression has fully morphed into one of dread with clenched teeth and alert eyes, for his first act is to turn towards the corner he had just caught a glimpse of on his way up.

Gazing between bookshelves, the other side of the floor can be seen including the corner that the figure was at, though not only is said figure absent, but the shadow cloaking him isn’t there either.

In horror the King watches, but his focus shifts to behind him as he hears another crumbling of the bookshelves as the Spirit darts back in the same aisle as him, charging straight while manifesting two batons, one in each hand which both spark, ready to engage in direct combat.

The King technically does, by reaching for the Spirit’s chest and stretching that hand, pushing the Spirit far down the floor all the way until he reaches the edge wall with a boom, a move to maximize distance.

Reeling his arm back to his side, the King turns away with panic on his face, and he begins running in the other direction as if trying to make an escape despite having so much fun in the fight.

Dust particles settling on the floor after the heavy slam, the Spirit raises his head up, caught off guard and shaking his head. He climbs back to his feet and ditches the batons, running forward but immediately stopping as he realizes the library is quite the maze given that the dense grid of bookshelves reach all the way up to the ceiling.

He then fixates on the debris from the destroyed bookshelves, determining that as his most solid lead which he leaps towards, firing cables off his hips to swing down the library as while the turns would be incredibly tight, it’s the fastest method to move. He reaches the debris in seconds, stopping with an air brake but with his cables still attached to the shelves, letting him dangle in the air as he glances around, still unable to locate the opponent as he’s scurried off. He tsks, knowing trying to scout out every possible lane would be utterly pointless, and instead he holds his hand out as flames emerge from his palm, forming another can like the bomb used by his robot arm, but this can differs as it’s slightly larger but furthermore it’s not perfectly cylindrical, instead the two ends have more of a dome shape and the center is like a rounded ball, with a series of rings to connect the three components as well as more along the domes. The domes also emit a blue light between the rings, which flare brighter as a blue dot light flickers on the central ball, prompting the Spirit to toss the can up in the air with an underhand toss.

As the can nearly reaches the ceiling, the blue dot flares brighter as does the blue light between the rings, and the entire can ruptures with a huge horizontal wave of energy that expands in great breadth along with a deafening bang, completely slicing a thick layer of the bookshelves by the top. In fact, the only debris of the bookshelves personally struck are particles of the vaporized material, leaving little rubble to worry about as the Spirit can disengage his cables and boost straight up until reaching the cleared layer, glancing around to find that wave decimated a huge circle that doesn’t entirely consume the floor but still clears a great portion.

In fact, after quick glances back and forth, he catches a glimpse of the man running down the aisle further ahead who he immediately dashes towards, bolting in a straight line for that direction.

Huffing desperately, Gally runs with his arms swinging, constantly checking his sides in panic. He turns his head and raises up upon hearing a familiar whoosh, and that’s when he watches the Spirit soar just over the shelf composing the right wall of the aisle. The two exchange eye contact, followed by the Spirit dashing straight down in an angled divebomb which Gally leaps out of the way for, stretching his arm to grab onto the shelf to swing away hastily. The Spirit recovers and chases behind, the two of them moving with similar swinging mechanisms, though in this case it’s clear that the Spirit has an edge in traversal as he catches up quickly. Gally aims one his hands back and transforms it into a gun reminiscent of a blunderbuss which fires several rounds of pellets with wide spread in quick succession in an attempt to catch the Spirit, who simply zips and dashes for evasion, not even seeming bothered by them.

Grabbing the edge of a bookshelf, Gally wraps around to make a sharp turn, trying to throw off the Spirit only for him to perfectly execute the same turn with a properly placed anchor point. Gally keeps his face ahead to focus on his escape while reverting his gun hand, but he swings his foot back which stretches and enlarges, sweeping not only the aisle behind him but several along the way, forcing the Spirit to dodge back and evade the storm of debris. Gally doesn’t even check to confirm if he made a hit or not, he just shrinks his leg back and keeps swinging, making constant random turns in an effort to try getting away, huffing while glancing both sides in an effort to locate the central gap though he seems lost in his own mobile house.

In fact even a visitor seems to be better at navigation, as right when Gally makes another sharp turn, he’s greeted by the Spirit who dashes straight for his side with a blue energy blade raised and swung, which Gally only blocks by raising his arm which expands into the shape of a shield, but after blocking that blade he doesn’t retaliate but instead uses his other hand to zip away, remaining focused on retreat. The Spirit chases nonetheless, swinging with great strides off his hips to keep his hands free, only drawing closer to which Gally grits his teeth, pulls his arm back, and spins around to throw a punch forward with a fist that inflates more than ten times its size, completely smashing surrounding bookshelves in the desperate attempt to deter his pursuer, who again, was becoming just that. The cat and mouse game again, one he seemed to have put a stop to by instilling his own confidence to fight.

Zipping and swinging around the labyrinth, he again encounters the Spirit only seconds later who still holds his blade that he swings, to which this time Gally, while still pulling himself with his left hand, parries the blade with his right arm that transforms into his own, the two clashing as both reel in the same direction. The Spirit, having both hands free, forms a second blade in his other hand and swings both, forcing Gally to reshape his sword as from his elbow there emerges two different blades in parallel, curving out but slowly angling towards the point with a narrowing gap in between. The blade has the same silver material now with more surface to block against both energy blades, however it’s clear Gally is still operating defensively as while he reaches further to reel himself, he doesn’t make an effort to swing his blade but rather uses it as a shield. Instead he makes a sharp turn, and when he does he reverts his blade arm, spins to face towards the Spirit who follows him in that turn, and swings his right hand in a slapping motion as it scales ten times its size again, but this time for a sweeping attack aimed to swat the Spirit away who dashes back as more bookshelves are completely destroyed, leaving more carnage yet with no body detected in the rubble.

Regardless, Gally spins around again while reverting his hand, and he continues swinging, making another tight turn where his eyes expand in relief, same with his mouth opening, as straight ahead is the central gap where he can then make his escape out of the room. He keeps swinging on his approach, calmed at last, and just as he swings off of the edge of the last bookshelf that’s when he’s tackled to the ground from the blue comet above.

Diving straight into the floor with a boom right next to the balcony, Gally coughs as he’s held down on his back by the Spirit who holds him down with his left arm over the collar, his cape still waving from the divebomb as he raises his right hand which ignites flames that forms the dagger that ignites the short Anti-Exmatter black blade in the same size as the knife.

This time the rebellious energy the King used to deter the blade no longer shows in Gally’s eyes, as instead his face just shows an acceptance of defeat, frowning helplessly as his eyes tell that he’s given up resisting. Without an active resistance being put forward, his susceptibility to Anti-Exmatter greatens, and knowing this, the Spirit finally confirms his window to land his finishing strike, and so he brings down the blade.

Flashes crash into the mind, flashes of moving white caustics over a sky which then flicker to a forest of huge trees with curves and grooves of a fantastic nature which then flicker to a huge stone pyramid floating in a thick gray stormcloud which then flicker to a mountaintop with a distant tower made of gold.

That strangely familiar authoritative voice spoke in echoes that cornered thoughts: “To think you’ve lived a vast portion of a human’s lifespan yet you don’t know anything, nothing about what you are, where you’re from, I do pity you. What is a God without knowledge?”

Memories smeared in distortions made recall difficult, but what can be discerned is that tunnel composed of white rays racing in one direction as the voice continued: “The maintenance of reality hinges on you and your brother, those mutants cannot protect themselves. It is a fragile ecosystem I built that you must protect, it is the only home left that you have.”

Those tunnels split up into multiple branches, which grew further before then splitting into thinner branches, from a stem to a tree while the voice uttered: “You two are the final bastions of the Exforce, the sole remnants of a bygone empire. But you are both stronger than anyone who has come before, you are both the only ones who can be endowed with the burden of reality. You have the capacity for great things, you are only inhibited by the limitations of truth you can accept.” Images flicker of The Cabin In The Woods at night before setting back on the broad white tree.

While the branches of the tree may grow infinitely, they rose in one direction, whereas beneath the stump of the three where the roots should lie was instead a second stump, a black tree that grew in reverse as the voice then omened: “There are those who are unrestrained in knowledge, those who have grand capacity. But they might not seek the sustenance of life the same way you do. You and your brother will be the only guardians who may protect your sacred home when those who seek its annihilation march in. For in this Eternal War, there will always manifest a darkness that seeks to dominate.”

Back to the present Meditat is returned, one arm over Gally’s collar, his other hand gripping the Anti-Exmatter knife whose tip is inches from the opponent’s throat. Yet instead of being pressed in, the knife instead doesn’t move other than with a slight jitter. Gally’s expression still shows defeat, though after the extended pause before the stabbing, it shifts into one of nervous curiosity as his eyes roll over to focus on his apparent executioner.

Pounced over Gally, Meditat’s body is nearly frozen other than jittering, his cape draped over his back, same as his hood in front of his white mask. From that white mask there’s a strange huffing, at first quiet, thus hard to properly discern, but concentration defines it as hyperventilation. He’s all the sudden startled, unable to even move yet nothing had happened, he nearly brought a swift end to the battle and simply stopped.

Widely staring at the parallelogram lenses, as there’s no exposed facial expressions from his opponent, Gally just remains still, clearly anxious to move, all his muscles now tensed up. But seconds pass and there’s still no drastic movement from his opponent, so slowly Gally rolls his eyes down and subtly lowers his head, cautiously sliding his focus over to his right arm which is still down on the ground, though not necessarily being restrained.

In cautious movements that he himself winces in fear of being caught, Gally closes his right hand into a tight fist and rotates his wrist to have his palm facing up.

He then raises his head up subtly same as his eyes, returning his anxious stare back to Meditat, who still hasn’t moved a muscle other than from jittering.

Even now all Meditat does is huff rapidly, not exactly loudly as it’s rather quiet, but it’s clear he’s heavily stressed despite there being no clear reason why. He doesn’t focus on the actions taking place in front of him, as though his mind isn’t even in his own body at the moment.

In fact, he doesn’t even show a reaction when Gally’s fist is driven straight into his gut, being reinforced with a metal shell that amplifies the strength of the hit to such an extent that Meditat’s entire body is lifted far off the floor, launched up in the air so high he crashes into the glassy ceiling before being dropped on the surface beside the hole.

Watching the glass shards fall down from the ceiling, Gally hastily rolls on the ground to dodge the rain, and after doing so he begins panting heavily, his chest raising and lowering as he grabs the yellow hat on his head as affirmation that he hasn’t lost it.

He remains on the floor for several more seconds just panting heavily, but every breath gets softer and slower until one last breath where he can finally gulp and swallow.

Lying on the ground beside the pile of shards, Gally again starts to move frantically, scrambling up to his feet and stumbling around, glancing around himself for safety as his breathing picks back up, though now slower and steadier. He grabs onto the railing before throwing himself off, landing down on the base floor of what used to be the library but now better resembled a scrapyard as a sea of debris was left behind, hardly any remnants of the bookshelves left standing other than their stumps.

Only regarding the environmental damage with a few glances, Gally focuses towards the exit that they came from, hurrying with heavy steps indicative of a limp or at least fatigue. He places his hand on his knee while trying to run, though his movements are hardly even considered a jog.

At the very least he still makes his escape away from the initial danger, as above the balcony and on the glass surface, beside the sharp hole lays Meditat on his back, and yet even after having been pummeled and having lost his opponent all he can do is continue huffing heavily, simply just facing the ceiling, completely locked up.

He just lies there, breathing heavily and rapidly, as the captain he so eagerly sought for runs off away from sight, the only member of the remaining core crew who won their fight.