Villain: Ultimate Mutation System in the Alternate World-Chapter 686: Peak Existence Part 3

Reign hovered above the ruined sea as water slowly poured back into the empty basin. Steam curled around his body, rising in thin waves.

He stared at his trembling hands. The gold-and-crimson aura flickered, unstable. It did not surge with pride. It sputtered.

All this time, he had believed he stood at the top.

Every planet he consumed strengthened that belief. Every being he crushed confirmed it. He measured worth by ruin. If something collapsed, he was greater. If something burned, he had proven himself.

But now nothing he did mattered.

If he was not the strongest... then what was he?

The question struck harder than any blow.

He searched inside himself for something beyond conquest.

There was nothing. No dream. No purpose.

"I am destruction," he muttered.

The words sounded thin.

If destruction could be denied...

If destruction could be stopped...

Then his entire existence was meaningless.

"No..." he growled, his voice rough and shaking. "I won’t let you deny my very being."

Reign clenched his fists, aura raging brighter, crimson and gold dancing violently across his bones.

"You may be the creator," he sneered, "but you sure don’t control me."

The force he had restrained all this time exploded at once. His aura erupted violently, destroying everything.

Hundreds of miles away, distant gods only saw a single red flash swallow the horizon. There was no time to react. No time to flee. They dissolved before they understood what they were seeing.

Light ceased.

Matter unraveled.

Even space tore open like fragile cloth.

When the eruption ended, so did the entire realm.

Only fractured space remained, warped and bleeding red fissures.

Asmon’s expression hardened, his face finally serious.

"Law... impossible. How did you attain a law yourself?"

Reign grinned wider. "So this is law..."

The power surging through him felt nothing like before. It was not stolen. Not absorbed. Not taken from anyone.

This one stood above everything else.

And he knew what it was the moment it awakened.

"Law of Absolute Destruction."

High above it all, Asmon watched.

Until now, he had treated the battle as correction rather than conflict. A creator disciplining a flawed result. A god restoring balance. But the presence radiating from Reign was no longer below his control.

Asmon understood at once. He had to eliminate his opponent.

His gaze sharpened, and the air around him thickened with golden radiance. This time, he did not descend casually. He raised both hands and clasped them together.

Time paused. Even the returning light from distant stars froze, trapped by an invisible command.

Golden brilliance erupted outward—not as flame, but as structure. The Law of Absolute Creation unfolded behind him like a vast script being written across reality

Symbols of order, and definition stacked over one another until space itself felt reinforced.

Two colossal golden hands formed above Reign, who remained locked in place.

They were vast enough to eclipse planets, their fingers carved from condensed genesis. Within their palms swirled newborn matter, compressed stars, and raw conceptual force.

These hands did not aim to crush physically—they sought to overwrite him.

A single streak of red lightning streaked across Reign’s eye socket.

The golden palms neared—and then began to dissolve.

Where the red lightning touched, they were erased. The concepts holding them together vanished.

Creation tried to reassert itself, but each attempt was devoured before it could stabilize. In seconds, the massive hands thinned into fading embers and vanished entirely.

Asmon’s expression shifted as he watched Reign smiled and talk within the temporal realm.

"It won’t end like last time! Old man. "

The distance between them ceased to exist, eaten by an unseen force.

Asmon reacted. His fist ignited in blinding gold, layered with reinforcing definitions. He strengthened causality around the strike. He authored stability at the point of impact.

With Absolute Creation, he did not throw a punch—he declared that the punch would succeed.

Reign’s arm shifted, dark red energy condensing around his fist until it grew dense and heavy, as if gravity itself bent toward it.

They struck at the same instant.

Gold and red collided.

For a breathless fraction of a second, space tried to hold together.

Creation surged outward, birthing matter to absorb the force. Destruction devoured it faster than it formed.

Their Laws pressed against one another, neither retreating.

Asmon felt resistance.

True resistance.

A thin crack appeared along his forearm where red energy had touched him. The golden reinforcement around his body flickered as Absolute Destruction gnawed at its structure.

Then the red lightning surged.

In the next instant, Asmon’s body disintegrated into drifting particles of gold.

Reign remained suspended where he stood, his dark red form pulsing steadily.

Miles away, however, a single golden head floated untouched. Its eyes opened calmly.

Before the clash had fully consumed him, Asmon had severed and preserved it. A contingency born from instinct older than time.

Golden threads extended outward from the preserved fragment. Muscle rewove itself. Wings unfolded. Light condensed into flesh.

Within moments, his full body stood restored, hovering above the shattered remains of reality.

This time, he did not look detached.

He looked focused.

The exchange had confirmed what he already suspected.

The monster before him now wielded authority equal to his own.

Reign tilted his head, a crooked grin spreading across his dark-red visage.

"Where is that mighty attitude of yours? You bragged about being a creator, but in the end... you’ll still die by my hands, just like everyone else."

Reign’s grin widened, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished.

Asmon’s eyes narrowed. He realized instantly that fighting up close would be suicide.

He clenched his hands, golden light coalescing at his fingertips. From the brilliance, a colossal being began to form—towering, abstract, yet divine.

Its body was an impossible mesh of millions of golden hands, each one moving as if with its own will. The being stretched upward into space, massive and terrifying, a living extension of Absolute Creation.

Then the hands shot outward like elastic strands, stretching, snapping, and twisting, each one aimed to catch any target.

"You can run," Asmon thundered, his voice echoing through fractured space, "but you cannot hide!"

Reign’s cruel laughter rang out. "Hide? I don’t hide, old man—I hunt."