War of the Divine Realm

Universe 6's God of Destruction Realm.

This was a vast continent floating in the endless void, as though an invisible giant hand held it aloft in the depths of darkness.

You would not find any soil here, because the ground beneath your feet was entirely forged from some kind of golden ore, hard as divine iron.

Fine patterns of light crawled across its surface, glinting with an eerie, chilling radiance beneath the eternal glow.

There was no sun or moon in the sky here, nor were there any stars.

There was only a heavy, frozen amber hue blanketing everything, staining the entire space like a specimen preserved in ancient resin.

The air was oppressive, deathly still, and majestic.

The aura here was a law unique to the God of Destruction's domain—something mortals and even ordinary gods could not comprehend, much less set foot within.

But now, this sacred domain, which had always remained still, was suddenly thrown into upheaval by a violent force.

"BOOM—RUMBLE—!!!"

It was not a single blast, but a series of overlapping explosions that swept forth like a torrent of destruction.

At the center of the continent, it was as though a star had detonated from within.

The light erupted faster than the sound. Then, a circular shockwave wrapped in golden debris and pitch-black cracks expanded outward with brutal force.

The incomparably sturdy golden ground was as fragile as glass before this power, shattering and heaving before turning into billions of golden dust storms that surged into the sky, churned and gathered, and finally formed a colossal mushroom cloud that slowly rotated, obscuring more than half the amber sky.

From the center of the blast, spiderweb-like cracks spread wildly to the very edge of sight.

Countless house-sized chunks of golden rock were torn from the ground by an invisible force, only to be squeezed, twisted, and pulverized by even more violent energy currents the next instant. In the end, they became fine powder and merged into the storm of destruction.

The air was filled with the burnt stench of highly concentrated ionized energy, along with a pressure so terrifying it seemed capable of freezing one's soul.

The aftershock carried the aura of a God of Destruction-level battle. Even the slightest trace of it was enough to make a galaxy tremble.

Dust and glittering fragments of energy churned about before a tremendous force violently tore open a gap within them.

A purple figure shot backward from the center of the explosion as though hurled by a massive boulder.

He moved so fast that a string of blurry afterimages and piercing sonic booms trailed through the air.

His body was completely out of control as he tumbled awkwardly through the air more than a dozen times. His purple divine robe had long since been torn to shreds, fluttering violently in the wind.

At last, his feet crashed heavily onto the ground with two dull thuds, like a meteor striking earth.

The momentum was too great for him to stop at once.

His feet plowed through the golden ore ground like blades, gouging two hundreds-of-meters-long, bottomless blackened trenches. Rubble and sparks burst forth wildly before he barely managed to halt.

He was Champa—the God of Destruction of Universe 6.

The god famed for his arrogance and gluttony looked truly miserable at this moment.

His huge, bloated body trembled slightly, his purple skin covered in dust and burns. His distinctive large ears flapped violently in the raging currents.

Every bit of flesh on his round face twitched. His eyes were wide, filled with shock, fury, and a touch of incredulous fear.

A streak of pale golden divine blood hung from the corner of his mouth—the result of the violent energy shock.

"B-Bastard..."

Champa gritted his teeth and forced out a hoarse voice, every word trembling with rage.

He stared fixedly at the dust-filled expanse ahead. "You brat who doesn't know his own limits... are you seriously going all out?! Are you trying to destroy this place?!"

His furious roar echoed across the trembling earth and sky, but there was no response.

Only the wind—the wind carrying the lingering heat of destruction—howled mournfully.

The dust and glowing energy mist obscured the view, yet they began to disperse from within under the pressure of a steady and powerful aura.

It was as though a pair of invisible hands were slowly drawing back the curtain of destruction.

A figure slowly emerged from the heart of the explosion.

His pace was unhurried, carrying a composed rhythm.

Each step he took upon the crack-riddled golden ground produced a deep, steady impact, standing in stark contrast to the still-collapsing surroundings.

His figure was slender and upright, like a spear that would never break.

His face was young, his expression as cold as a frozen lake.

His black hair was not particularly long, drifting slightly backward in the crackling energy currents, the tips seeming to be stained with tiny flashes of golden lightning.

His upper body was bare. His muscles did not possess the exaggerated bulk of a Saiyan's, but rather the streamlined form forged through countless trials.

Every muscle seemed cast from the toughest alloy, defined and fluid, stretching from his broad shoulders down to his taut waist and abdomen, outlining an aesthetic that combined both strength and speed.

Beneath his skin, a dark golden glow seemed to flow faintly with each breath.

But what truly held the eye and shook the heart was the layer of red fur covering his body, as though it possessed a life of its own.

It was not ordinary body hair, but more like a manifestation of power—like burning flames, like flowing lava.

It spread from his sturdy forearms, covering the backs of his hands, climbing up his arms and past his biceps, joining across his chest into a blazing red totem before extending backward to cover his entire broad back.

Under the amber light of the God of Destruction Realm, this red fur did not look soft. Instead, it gleamed with a cold, metallic luster.

With his slightest movements, a sheen rippled across him, as though flames were quietly burning beneath his fur.

This was the mark of Super Saiyan 4—the ultimate form from ancient Saiyan legend, where the Great Ape's savagery and a Super Saiyan's sacred power fused to their utmost limit, achieving the pinnacle of body and ki.

Then his eyes changed.

His pupils became like molten gold—dazzling and cold, yet seemingly concealing the scorching heat of a stellar core.

Wherever his gaze passed, even the air seemed about to ignite or freeze.

What surrounded him was no mere aura, but countless thumb-thick golden bolts of lightning that darted and exploded madly, unleashing an endless barrage of crackling detonations.

Every arc was incomparably solid, easily tearing through the fragile surrounding space as it leaped, leaving fleeting black scars behind.

A terrifying presence—primitive, tyrannical, yet carrying the majesty of a god—radiated from him. Like tangible tidal waves, it washed over the devastated God of Destruction Realm again and again, even faintly contending with Champa's pressure.

Qi Heng.

He was Universe 6's candidate God of Destruction, a transmigrator from another world carrying Saiyan blood. Now, in this form that shook the divine realm, he stood before his mentor and opponent.

Champa's furious figure was reflected in his golden pupils. His expression remained tranquil and undisturbed; only his fighting spirit boiled silently within.

Twenty years ago, he had merely been a helpless Saiyan orphan in Universe 7.

After Planet Vegeta had been completely destroyed by Frieza, he had wandered alone among the shattered rings of his homeland and drifting chunks of rock, like a seed forgotten amid the dust of the universe.

Until that day, Champa, the God of Destruction of Universe 6—a bloated deity with an almost obsessive craving for fine food—had happened to cross the boundary between universes. Amid burning stellar wreckage and twisted metal debris, he saw the boy's lonely yet unyielding figure.

No one knew what Champa had been thinking at the time.

Perhaps it had been a passing whim, or perhaps he had sensed some hidden quality.

This willful God of Destruction had actually painted the boy a picture with his distinctive, casual yet enticing tone: "Kid, how about you follow me?"