"The ultimate expression of force can distort space itself."
On a tower at the edge of the outer fortress, Old Man Vernal watched the two increasingly enormous figures at the center of the battlefield. Squinting as though adapting to the hazy, warped view, he muttered as if speaking to himself—or lecturing students in class:
"...Like a taut sheet of thin fabric. Place a heavy lead ball at its center, and the ball will press the fabric into a smooth curve... Space is that sheet of fabric. Gongsun Bing, Behemoth, even those two monkeys—they are all lead balls... The only difference is their size, and thus the degree to which they distort space."
"And those pitiful demons surrounding the lead ball are like a few soybeans dropped onto that sheet, rolling down that smooth curve toward it..."
Crackle! Crackle!
Like raindrops striking stone, the demons "rolling toward" the Bronze Armored Corpse were crushed apart by the crushing pressure around it before they could even reach those fists. They blossomed into sprays of blood in midair.
Only a few faint sounds remained.
The heavy lead ball seemed to roll over a stone mill, grinding those soybeans into dust.
"Sir, if one moved in a spiral around that lead ball—or rather, around Councilor Gongsun, around the center of force—extending the distance of impact, would there be a chance of escaping the fate of crashing to death against those fists?"
A witch sat cross-legged on the bluestone pavement behind the battlements, Old Man May cradled in her arms. As she groomed him, she looked up and curiously asked Old Man Vernal.
"An excellent idea."
The old man stroked his beard and laughed heartily. "But no one can resist the summons of force, just as no one can find a straight path through warped