Darkness enveloped Nova as his body went limp from the cold and the jagged stone floor of the labyrinth. His mind, however, was far from the chaos that had just unravelled.

Unconsciousness had pulled him inward, deeper than sleep, into the Ability Chamber, the vast, infinite realm of chaos and destruction, where chaos forged like forgotten mysteries, and destruction spread like a cosmic wildfire.

He woke up in the chamber as if stepping through the veil that connected life to death. The space was boundless, and it was different than before, as if renovated, and still in construction. It was an infinite expanse filled with chaos and destruction, with death and destruction, with chaotic beings lingering like atoms in a coin.

Then, he saw his duplicate, standing with his arms crossed and an unreadable expression. The duplicate's eyes were sharp, the body filled with more vigor, more refined than the last time Nova had entered, with eyes that held the future version of what Nova could become.

Nova staggered forward, his body aching with phantom pain from the real world's bruises. His ribs ached where the hammer had struck, and his vision blurred with the afterimages of the fight.

"Why... why am I still so weak?" he spoke up beyond the chaos unravelling at a constant pace, that would leave even Father afraid, blaming himself for something so trivial in the grand scheme of things.

He slammed a fist into the non-existent ground, the impact rippling outward like a pebble in a pond, distorting the space around him.

"I trained! I pushed myself beyond limits! And what? Elesch and Adam are out cold because of me. Everyone's down! If I were stronger, that hammer-wielding bastard wouldn't have touched us!"

The duplicate raised an eyebrow, halting the dagger's spin mid-twirl. Confusion flickered across its face, then the duplicate spoke up, answering Nova's question: "Weak? You're throwing a tantrum over that? You just went toe-to-toe with an evolved B-rank Adventurer, one of the strongest in the mortal world, mind you. The Irish leader, with his Hammer of Ruin? That's no small feat. He's refined his power through years of battles, evolutions that most dream of but never achieve. And you, barely accustomed to your own B-rank pillar, held him off long enough for reinforcements. That's not weakness; that's progress."

Nova paced furiously, then said, his tone high, "Progress? Look at me! I'm the Supreme God of Destruction! I used to flick galaxies into oblivion, and now I'm getting uppercutted by some mortal with a fancy mallet? Elesch could barely hold her rifts; Adam's claws didn't even scratch deep enough. And it's my fault, I'm supposed to protect them, lead them! If I can't even do that, what's the point of this experience? I came here to feel struggle, fear, pain... but not at their expense!"

The duplicate sheathed its daggers, stepping closer with a calm and composed gesture, a smile lighting the edges of its lips. "Ah, it seems like your divine ego still lingers, even in mortality. Sit." It gestured, and two simple seats facing each other materialized. Nova hesitated but sat. "Power isn't a switch you flip, Nova. Not even for gods playing at being human. It's a slow, grueling, relentless process. Till now, you have always taken the shortcut, being the strongest in the universe, fighting and bullying anyone and anything that stands against you, but now, as a mortal, you earn your power through sweat, blood, and utter failure. You can't expect something to just be handed to you; you have to wait and be patient."

Nova leaned forward, his fists clenched, then said in a spit of anger: "Then why does it feel so... pointless?" He relaxed, thinking about the recent fight he had just had. "I fought the leade, redirected his swings, cut him, but it wasn't enough, it never is. He adapted, healed, and overwhelmed us. If power is such a slow process, then how do I speed it up? I can't let them get hurt again."

The duplicate chuckled softly, then replied, amused by the Nova's question. "Speed it up? That's the mortal trap, impatience. An individual's power growth is philosophical, you see. It's not just about the pillars stacking or the evolutions crossing your circle. It's about harmony with the self. Your inner self. Think of it like the cosmos you once commanded: stars aren't born in an instant; they coalesce from dust over eons, gravity pulling chaos into order. Your ability, those daggers, they're the dust. The grind is the gravity. Each defeat, each ache, each droplet of blood lost, compresses you tighter, hotter, until you ignite."

Nova's eyes narrowed, trying to comprehend the words. Then he asked: "Philosophical? You're saying I need to, what, meditate on my failures? That sounds like bullshit. I need strength now, not cosmic metaphors."

"Metaphors are the bridge between the divine and the mortal," the duplicate replied. "Consider the river carving a canyon: drop by drop, year by year, it wears down mountains. Power is that erosion; it's persistent, unyielding. You rage because you're used to being the mountain. immovable. But as a mortal, you're the river. Embrace the process: the slow burn of training, the grueling climb of ranks. It's not a weakness; it's evolution in its purest form. The strongest isn't the one that's born on the peak; it's the one that gnaws its way up to the peak, facing all the challenges in its path."

Nova fell silent, staring into the void. The duplicate's words resonated with him, reminding him of the time he first became bored with his divine prowess. "So, this weakness is the point? The struggle makes the power meaningful?"

"Exactly," the duplicate nodded. "In the divine realms, you had no canyon to carve, no resistance to define you. Here, every foe, every bruise, guides your path. That Irish leader? He's a mountain you've begun to erode. Keep flowing, and you'll wear him and others down. But rage blinds you to the current. So channel the rage, not drown in it."

Nova exhaled, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Fine. Slow and grueling it is. But next time, I won't let them fall."

The duplicate smiled. "That's the spirit. Now, wake up."

With a wave of its hand, the chamber dissolved, the void pulling Nova back like a receding tide. Reality rushed in: the cold stone, the scent of blood. His body twitched, consciousness returning in a surge.

Then, Nova's eyes opened wide.

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