It was lonely.
Well, loneliness was indeed the constant companion of the so-called genius of the century, Caliburn Soulnon Pendragon.
He was the bonus child of Soulnaught Kingdom's royal line, a little extra curtsy in the family waltz.
Illegitimate bastard.
Yet, he was doted upon more than the official heir. Why, you ask? Well, the lad had a knack for tyranny and ruthlessness that made Machiavelli look like a boy scout. He didn't suffer from bullying; he was the bully.
You'd think an extra kid in a royal family would be treated like an unsightly stain on the royal tapestry, but Caliburn? Oh, he was the designer's favorite.
From the get-go, he swept through life's obstacles like a tornado on a mission. He wielded his power like a sledgehammer at a piñata party, smashing anyone foolhardy enough to cross him. But, let's not forget, it was a lonely gig.
Sure, he was a kid navigating a shark tank, a lamb in a lion's den, but by some cosmic joke, he was tougher than a two-coin steak.
How did he become so formidable? Oh, the usual way. He disassembled and reconstructed his body more times than an overzealous mechanic. He smashed his own limits into oblivion and then danced on their graves.
He outwitted, outplayed, and outlasted anyone who dared to challenge him. And then one day, the challengers stopped coming.
By his tenth birthday, he was hailed as the prodigy Prince of Soulnaught. His father started to shower him with affection, the nobility fawned over him, and his legitimate brother? Well, he was relegated to the shadows, a forgotten echo of what could have been.
It was a shadow puppet show, really, with Caliburn pulling all the strings. And all the while, loneliness stood by, the silent audience in his one-man show.
Being on the very top could get pretty lonely. So, when the extraterrestrial riff-raff decided to drop by for a visit invasion, Caliburn hoped he had finally found some worthy adversaries.
Aliens, the final frontier, a chance to flex his muscles and push his limits. But alas, it was like squashing bugs. Had the intergalactic invaders sent their junior varsity team? It seemed they were less "War of the Worlds" and more "Mars Attacks!"
And then they tried to play dirty. How adorable—and convenient!
This provided the perfect excuse for a good old-fashioned war. Before the outsiders could stick a flag in his turf, Caliburn planned to unite the realm under his iron fist.
And then, oh boy, he'd have a surprise for them. He'd be like an angry landlord, evicting them through that celestial crack they snuck in from… and with the excuse of paying them back, he would go after them and invade their realms too!
Until Morgan Le Fay strutted onto the scene.
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It was the first time for Burn, not being able to destroy his way into things. A curveball Burn wasn't expecting. She utterly defeated him with her absolute time magic. And she claimed it wasn't even her A-game.
“The spell wasn’t perfect,” she said.
For the first time, Caliburn found himself on the backfoot. Suddenly, the top of the hill didn't feel so lonely anymore.
Thus…
BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSST!
He couldn’t sit on his limit anymore. He needed to find a taller hill. A much steeper and much slipperier than before.
After that, a cliff, and a mighty mountain.
“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!”
Staring down the business end of the White Dwarf's power output, a mere 2% of its fury being unleashed by the user and his cheerleading squad of warriors, Burn stood.
He used his Force to shield and soak up as much of the blast as possible, like a sponge, then recycled it into an energy smoothie for his defense mechanism.
His arms felt like they were auditioning for a candle's role, melting under the heat, and his sword's tip started to crack and dull like an overused pencil.
But with a little help from his Force, he kept bouncing back like a determined rubber ball. Regeneration, the power that kept on giving, again, and again, and again.
The heat was like an open invitation to a hellish barbecue, the kind of heat that makes you believe in those stories about hell being a living, breathing beast. And there Burn was, having a face-to-face meet and greet with the beast.
Why didn't he dodge or deflect? Simple. The realm of Nethermere might have been a magical powerhouse, but it was still as vulnerable as a sandcastle against a tidal wave named the White Dwarf.
So, Burn played the sacrificial lamb, trying to absorb every bit of the blast, making sure not even a whiff of it escaped to punch a hole in the sky.
But it was pure heat he was up against, and even Burn wasn't a bottomless pit. In the midst of this cosmic chaos, time had a funny way of stretching itself out. A split second felt like a lifetime, and Burn was getting a crash course in pain management.
His flesh was ripped apart, revealing bone blackened and exposed. Quite a day at the office, wouldn't you say?
This was nothing compared to what he had been through.
Like always, he just had to stay firm.
2%? One day, he would go and take on a 100%, or even a 1000%!
Wait.
He clearly heard them using 2%, but wasn’t this a bit…
Had his Force enhanced hearing failed him earlier?
“GODDAMNIT, IT’S 3%, ISN’T IT!?”
“No way, is he also good at math?” the White Dwarf’s user muttered as he heard Burn’s scream in the middle of the blast. Even in that situation, his Force enhanced voice rang in his and his subordinates’ ears.
“Commander, our ship has—!”
“Wait, if we can hear his voice, does it means he can also hear our—”
Burn’s Force spread around the vicinity—and nothing could escape his surveillance.
And in that second, Burn deflected a portion of the blast to a certain direction.
BLAAAAAAAAAAST!!!
Out of nowhere, an invisible spaceship that had been creeping closer got a rude awakening. A stray blast, courtesy of Burn's deflection, caught it square in the crosshairs.
Imagine a pile of leaves, meticulously gathered by a gardener after a diligent lawn cleanup, being caught in a hurricane. That's how quickly the spaceship crumbled into cosmic dust.
It didn't stand a chance, not even a fighting one. And then, as if the universe hadn't had its fill of fireworks, a massive explosion erupted.
The spaceship's cloak of invisibility shattered like a broken mirror, scattering shards of unseen energy.
And the gardener, who had meticulously gathered the leaves in the perfect spot, now turned to face the hurricane. They hadn't realized that each of their arms had been severed. Not to mention, the White Dwarf had been swept up by the same hurricane.
Burn stood before their faces of horror, his body slowly regenerating after facing the deadly blast. His face was still hollow, with only his eyeballs staring at them in absolute disdain.
Sadly, the man had lost his cheek to grin and snarkily announce his victory—or so they thought.
Using his Force, he manipulated the sound coming out of his throat to form words, even though his throat was left with only chunks of flesh and matter.
"Don't worry. Our physicians can reattach your limbs."
Burn pointed his intact sword forward, towards the commander's throat. "I like you. We should have a talk."