(Meanwhile within the Dimensional Tunnel, Leo’s POV)
While Soron fought Helmuth tooth and nail on The Pit, Leo moved forward through the Dimensional Tunnel step by step, or at least that was what he believed he was doing, because somewhere along the way, as the pressure compounded and the ancient aura continued to crush down on him without mercy, the certainty of motion itself began to slip from his grasp.
The closer he felt himself drawing to the exit vector, the more his body seemed to betray him, not all at once, but in fragments, as muscles stopped responding in proper sequence, as joints moved a fraction too late or too early, and as the steady rhythm he had forced upon his breathing slowly unraveled into something shallow and unreliable, each breath feeling less like a conscious act and more like a reflex struggling to survive.
His vision was no longer a trustworthy thing.
The tunnel stretched and folded in impossible ways, distances warping without warning as space appeared to ripple ahead of him like heat haze over scorched ground, while shadows flickered at the edges of his perception, sometimes resolving into shapes, sometimes into memories, and sometimes into nothing at all, leaving him blinking hard as he tried to remember whether the distortion he had just seen was real or something his mind had conjured to distract itself from the pain.
’Am I still moving...?’
The thought surfaced uninvited, slow and heavy, as Leo realized that he could no longer clearly feel his own legs, the sensation of stepping forward reduced to a dull impression rather than a certainty, as though the idea of walking had become detached from the act itself.
He raised his arm.
Or at least, he believed he did.
The aura dagger cut through the air at the familiar angle, twenty-four point two four degrees burned so deeply into his muscle memory that it happened even as his conscious awareness lagged behind, the tunnel responding sluggishly as it widened just enough to accommodate the pressure of the fleet following behind him, while the backlash slammed inward again, compressing his chest until stars burst behind his eyes.
*Wobble*
The world tilted.
No—he tilted.
Or perhaps neither.
For a fleeting moment, Leo could not tell whether his body had stumbled or whether the tunnel itself had shifted beneath him, the distinction blurring until it no longer mattered, because either way, he remained upright, and upright was all that counted.
’Just... a little more...’
The thought repeated itself automatically, a mantra born not of confidence but of desperation, as though his mind had latched onto the phrase because it was simple enough to survive the erosion of his thoughts.
But almost immediately, doubt crept in behind it.
’Little... how much is little?’
The question lingered, heavy and unanswered, as Leo tried to grasp at time and found nothing solid to hold onto, seconds and minutes dissolving into one another until the concept of duration lost meaning entirely.
How long had it been since he entered the tunnel?
Five minutes?
Ten?
Had fifteen already passed?
Or had he been trapped here for far longer than he realized?
There were no markers.
No sun.
No horizon.
No change in scenery to suggest progress.
Only the endless distortion of the fourth dimension and the crushing weight of Moltherak’s aura, pressing down on his body and mind with equal cruelty, eroding his sense of self until even his thoughts felt borrowed.
*Slash*
Another slash.
Another widening of space.
Another surge of pain.
Leo could no longer be certain whether the resistance he felt was decreasing because he was nearing the exit vector, or whether his nerves were simply failing, numbing him to the agony that had once screamed through every fiber of his being.
’Am I actually getting closer...’
Or was this what his mind was doing to protect him?
Constructing the feeling of progress so that his will would not collapse under the weight of uncertainty?
The possibility chilled him more than the pain ever could.
If he could not trust his senses...
If he could not trust his perception of movement, of time, of distance...
Then how would he know if he was succeeding?
Or worse—
How would he know if he had already failed?
The tunnel pulsed again, reality shuddering violently as pressure rebounded inward, forcing Leo to slash once more even as his vision fractured into overlapping layers that refused to align, the edges of his awareness bleeding into one another until memory, imagination, and sensation became indistinguishable.
Blood dripped from his nose.
Or maybe it didn’t.
He felt the warmth, but could no longer tell if it was real or imagined.
’Does it matter?’ he thought dimly.
As long as he didn’t stop.
As long as the tunnel stayed open.
As long as the fleet behind him remained untouched.
Whether he was truly moving forward or only believing that he was no longer mattered, because belief was all he had left, and surrendering that would mean admitting that the doubt was right.
Another step.
Another slash.
Another wave of pressure.
He continued to move, no longer sure whether there was a destination to arrive at anymore or not.
—---------
(Meanwhile, behind him in the tunnel, Dumpy’s POV)
From the forward helm of the lead destroyer, Dumpy watched his Lord Father’s back framed against the distorted expanse of the Dimensional Tunnel, his massive form standing impossibly steady at the very tip of the passage, while reality itself buckled and twisted around him like a living thing trying—and failing—to force him to kneel.
Dumpy’s hands tightened slowly around the railing.
He could feel it.
Even through the ship’s reinforced hull and mana shield, the pressure rolling off Lord Father’s body bled backward in faint tremors, enough that lesser beings would have collapsed long ago, enough that the instruments around him screamed in protest while the pilots fought to keep the destroyer aligned.
And yet... none of that pressure touched them.
Not truly.
Because all of it was being taken.
By him.
’Once again...’
Dumpy thought, his throat tightening as his gaze remained fixed on that familiar silhouette ahead, broad shoulders squared, arm lifting again and again with mechanical precision even as the space around him screamed in refusal.
’Once again, Lord Father is carrying a burden that should have crushed any other Monarch.’
The tunnel warped violently, the fleet shuddering as a new surge rippled through the corridor, and Dumpy felt his heart twist as he saw the brief hitch in Leo’s stance, so subtle it would have been invisible to anyone else, yet impossible for Dumpy to miss.
’Lord Father is the strongest...’
The thought rose instinctively, not as blind faith, but as something carved into him through countless moments just like this, moments where Leo stood at the center of impossible odds and chose to shoulder them alone.
’Nobody is like Lord Father.’
Dumpy straightened at the helm, jaw setting as something fierce and protective burned behind his eyes, because even as admiration filled him, it was laced with an ache he could never quite silence.
Why was it always him?
Why was it always his Lord Father standing at the front, bleeding silently so that others could move forward unscathed?
The fleet lurched again, alarms flickering before stabilizing, and Dumpy leaned forward slightly, voice low as if Leo could somehow hear him through space, pressure, and distortion.
"Don’t worry, Lord Father..."
He muttered, claws digging faintly into metal.
"Once we reach the other side... once this tunnel releases you... you can rest."
His gaze hardened, resolve settling like stone.
"You can finally sit back and catch your breath."
Because when that moment came, when Leo finally stepped aside, exhausted and drained, it would be Dumpy’s turn.
"For it will be me," he promised silently, eyes burning as the destroyer surged forward behind its master.
"I, Dumpy, will carry your burden until you recover..... that much I swear."