Villain: Ultimate Mutation System in the Alternate World-Chapter 685: Peak Existence Part 2

Asmon stood amid the ruins, his wings folding slightly as he surveyed the battlefield. Mountains were reduced to rubble, oceans churned into clouds of steam, and continents seemed to have cracked and shifted.

Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face. To him, this level of destruction was nothing more than background noise—a routine occurrence in the life of a being who had shaped entire realities.

The gods who called themselves the highest were also his creations. He had only given them a false sense of power—yet in reality, he could snap his fingers and destroy them all.

Even Reign, whose power far exceeded that of Asmon's creations, registered as little more than a minor inconvenience—a bug, an irregular that could just as easily be deleted.

"Do you understand what you are standing against?" his voice was calm, low, and unshakable. "I do not measure power the way mortals or even gods do. You… are curious. Interesting. But ultimately irrelevant."

Reign's grin faltered for just a moment. He could feel it—the presence pressing down on him, heavier than any storm, brighter than any fire, faster than any blade.

"I am the creator, and you are nothing more than a being that destroys. No matter how much you try, I can undo it with ease."

High above, Asmon descended with the leisure of a king walking through his own garden. His twelve wings didn't even flutter; they simply existed, and the air moved out of their way in terror.

Each footfall repaired the world beneath him as if reality itself bent to accommodate his motion.

Craters healed, shattered rocks reformed, and the very air became filled with vitality.

"You speak of 'taking everything,' little creature," Asmon's voice resonated not through the air, but directly into Reign's marrow. "But how can you take from the one who defined the concept of 'having'?"

Reign planted a hand into the cracked bedrock. The gold-and-crimson aura didn't just flare—it imploded.

Instead of pushing outward to fight the pressure, he drew every stray scrap of energy from the surrounding devastation into his own core.

The ground beneath him didn't just break; it turned to ash as he drained its molecular cohesion.

"If you're the one who defines reality," Reign grinned, the dark bone of his jaw clicking, "then I'll just have to eat the definition."

swooosh!

Reign vanished.

The god narrowed his eyes. He raised a hand, intending to freeze the very subatomic vibrations of Reign's path, but his palm met nothing but a cold, hungry vacuum.

Reign reappeared directly behind the him, his arm transformed into a jagged blade of compressed carnage.

"My turn to see if you bleed gold!" Reign roared.

The strike connected, but no damage was dealt.

Asmon didn't even flinch. With a motion slower than thought yet faster than perception, he wrapped one hand around Reign's throat.

Reign struggled, trying to summon his power, trying to detonate his gold-and-crimson energy—but nothing responded. Every ounce of his power slammed against an invisible barrier, sealed and nullified.

"Impossible," Reign hissed, the words muffled as his throat constricted.

"You can rage. But the power you wield… they bend only as far as I allow. You are strong, little creature—Strength without control is meaningless."

Reign's legs kicked, trying to push against the air itself, trying to tear free.

"You… won't… hold me!" Reign growled, teeth bared, the dark bone along his jaw clicking as he strained.

His grip didn't tighten; it didn't need to. The mere presence of his hand was enough to crush anyone.

But where would be the fun in that?

With a flick of his wrist, he flung Reign through the air. He shot past hundreds of mountains, each one splintering under the force, before smashing into the sea.

The impact incinerated everything in the surrounding area. Waves boiled into steam, jagged rocks vaporized instantly, and a plume of scorching smoke blotted out the sky.

The heat alone bent the atmosphere, turning the air into a molten haze that spread for miles.

One attack, and the battlefield became a hellscape.

Asmon teleported above the now-dried sea, his twelve wings casting long, molten-gold shadows over the desolation.

Reign was still alive. Even after being hurled through mountains and oceans, his body was already regenerating, cracks knitting themselves back together. Smoke and steam curled around him, yet he rose from the inferno like a storm refusing to die.

Asmon's eyes narrowed, a subtle crease forming in his perfect features.

Reign's grin spread wide, bloodless dark bone glinting along his jaw.

"You tossed me around like a toy," he rasped, "but I'm still standing. Guess the game's just getting started."

The gap between them pulse with anticipation, every heartbeat a countdown to the next clash.

Reign's aura erupted violently, crimson and gold intertwining like a storm of carnage.

Tens of thousands of red beams shot from his body, streaking through the sky.

"I'm not done yet!"

From the ground, hundreds of rail guns emerged, each one forged from condensed fragments of Reign's own energy. He slammed his fists down, and they fired in unison, hurling projectiles faster than thought, each one a comet of destruction.

"Useless..."

The countless projectiles quivered, as if caught in an invisible cage, before dissolving into nothingness, scattering like dust in a sudden gust.

Reign's jaw tightened but he didn't give up.

"ARISE!" He roared.

Shadows twisted, angels and demons crawling from the pit of his soul, the corpses of the worlds he had already destroyed rising at his command.

Billions of silhouettes—warriors, monsters, and weeping civilians—poured over.

"Another useless attempt."

A single snap of the god's fingers unleashed torrents of golden flame. They erupted from the sky, burning hotter than stars.

Anything struck by the fire was annihilated instantly, erased so completely it could not be summoned or regenerated

"Petty tricks. An army of shadow creature? At our level, that is meaningless."

Reign opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn't deny it—everything he unleashed were useless, and in the process, it had sapped even more of his strength.

A dangerous thought crept into Reign's mind. Could it be that he wasn't actually strong enough to win this fight?

How… and why? He should already be unstoppable. Every world he destroyed, every strong beings he devoured—shouldn't that have made him invincible?