The training facility existed in a pocket dimension specifically designed to withstand omnipotent-level combat. Commander Sarah had commissioned its construction three years ago after a standard sparring session between two Controllers had accidentally erased a small moon. The space was vast—approximately fifty kilometers in diameter—with reality anchors embedded throughout to prevent dimensional collapse and regenerative substrates that repaired damage automatically.
Bradley Proctor stood at the edge of the designated combat zone, watching the other thirty-one Controllers prepare for what Commander Sarah had called "capability assessment exercise." That was diplomatic phrasing for what everyone understood this actually was: a test to see if thirty-two omnipotent beings working together could challenge someone above omnipotent.
Brad had his doubts. He'd seen what Haroon could do. The dimensional repairs. The casual erasure of enemies. The dimension-breaking punch that had saved Brad's life. Taking all that capability and asking if superior numbers could overcome it seemed like asking if adding more candles would let you challenge the sun.
But orders were orders, and Commander Sarah wanted this assessment. So the thirty-two Controllers had assembled, armed with everything their considerable power could manifest. Reality-warping weapons. Temporal displacement devices. Probability manipulation fields. Existence-editing tools that operated on principles most species hadn't discovered. An arsenal that could unmake planets, restructure causality, and rewrite fundamental forces.
And then there was Haroon.
He stood in the center of the combat zone wearing his cyan astronaut suit, hands empty, no weapons visible, no defensive fields active. Just standing there like he was waiting for a maintenance assignment to begin. The contrast was almost comical. Thirty-two beings armed to destroy reality facing one maintenance worker who looked like he'd wandered into the wrong training session.
"Rules are simple," Commander Sarah announced, her voice carrying across the combat zone through reality manipulation rather than sound waves. "This is full-contact assessment. All capabilities authorized except permanent termination. The objective is to demonstrate tactical coordination against superior individual power. Duration is until either the thirty-two achieve decisive victory or Haroon incapacitates all opposing forces."
She paused, looking directly at Haroon. "You're authorized to use any capabilities you deem appropriate. No weapons restrictions on your end either."
Haroon nodded once. "Understood, Commander. I'll proceed with hand-to-hand combat only. Weapons won't be necessary for this assessment."
A ripple of disbelief ran through the assembled Controllers. Hand-to-hand only? Against thirty-two omnipotent beings with full arsenal access? That was either supreme confidence or spectacular arrogance. Brad suspected it was the former but understood why others might interpret it as the latter.
"Combatants, take positions," Sarah ordered. "Assessment begins in thirty seconds."
The thirty-two Controllers spread out, forming a loose encirclement around Haroon. Brad found himself positioned between two Controllers he'd met during the previous meeting—a being manifesting as a tall woman with silver eyes and another appearing as a young man with geometric patterns shifting across his skin. They were preparing probability manipulation fields, he noticed. Smart strategy. Limit Haroon's movement options by controlling which outcomes were possible.
Others were charging temporal weapons, reality-fracture generators, existence-compression devices. The amount of destructive capability being prepared made Brad's earlier fights seem like playground scuffles. If this much power was deployed against a planetary target, that planet would cease to exist across multiple timelines simultaneously.
"Ten seconds," Sarah counted down. "Nine. Eight."
Haroon remained motionless in the center, apparently unconcerned that thirty-two omnipotent beings were preparing to attack him simultaneously. His posture was relaxed. Hands at his sides. No defensive stance. No indication he was prepared for combat at all. Just standing there like he was waiting for maintenance orders.
"Three. Two. One. Begin."
The attack came from all directions simultaneously. Temporal displacement trying to push Haroon out of the present moment. Reality fractures attempting to shatter the space he occupied. Probability collapse forcing him into losing outcomes. Existence compression trying to reduce him to quantum-scale manifestation. Thirty-two different attack vectors, each capable of destroying lesser beings, all converging on a single target.
Haroon dodged.
Not with any dramatic movement or reality-warping technique. He just... stepped aside. Moved with casual precision through gaps in the attack pattern that shouldn't have existed. The temporal displacement missed because he wasn't where it expected him to be. The reality fractures shattered empty space. The probability collapse found no target to force into losing outcomes. Existence compression compressed nothing.
"Adjust fire!" someone shouted—Brad thought it was the Controller with geometric patterns. "Predict his movement and saturate the zone!"
The attacks intensified. Now instead of targeting where Haroon was, they targeted where he could be. Probability fields narrowed his movement options. Reality fractured in expanding patterns that should have caught him regardless of evasion. Time locked down, preventing temporal displacement as escape route.
Haroon kept dodging.
He moved through the bombardment like he was walking through light rain, each step placing him exactly between attacks that should have been unavoidable. His hands stayed at his sides. His expression remained neutral. No strain. No effort. Just methodical movement through what should have been impossible to navigate.
Brad watched in fascination as attack patterns that would have overwhelmed any normal Controller failed to even touch Haroon. The man was reading the combat like he could see every probability simultaneously, selecting the exact path through chaos that let him remain untouched. Not luck. Not even skill exactly. Just perfect awareness of where attacks would be and precise movement to occupy different space.
"He's not even trying," the silver-eyed Controller next to Brad muttered. "He's just... walking. How is he just walking through this?"
Then Haroon stopped dodging and attacked.
Brad didn't see the movement. None of them did. One moment Haroon was standing in the center of the combat zone, surrounded by thirty-two Controllers unleashing omnipotent-level attacks. The next moment fourteen Controllers were on the ground, unconscious or too disoriented to continue fighting.
Fourteen. Nearly half their force. Eliminated in what couldn't have been more than two seconds of actual combat. Hand-to-hand strikes delivered with such speed and precision that Brad's perception—which could track quantum-level events—had completely failed to register the attacks occurring.
"Regroup!" Commander Sarah's voice cut through the shock. "Remaining eighteen, establish defensive formation and reassess!"
The eighteen remaining Controllers pulled back, creating distance from Haroon, establishing overlapping defensive fields that should prevent another blitz attack. Brad found himself breathing hard despite not needing to breathe, adrenaline analogue flooding his system as he processed what had just happened. Fourteen Controllers down. Fourteen beings who could reshape reality, eliminated by someone who'd promised to only use hand-to-hand combat.
And Haroon just stood there, hands at his sides again, apparently finished with that particular demonstration.
Then he looked at them.
Just looked. No attack. No reality manipulation. No temporal displacement or probability collapse. Just direct eye contact with the eighteen remaining Controllers, and Brad felt it immediately. Pressure. Not physical. Not metaphysical exactly. Something else. The weight of being observed by something so vastly more powerful than yourself that observation alone carried force.
Wind pushed them back.
Not wind exactly. Pressure differential created by Haroon's presence, reality itself trying to establish greater distance between above-omnipotent power and merely omnipotent beings who existed too close to it. Brad felt himself sliding backward across the combat zone's surface despite trying to hold position. Saw the others experiencing the same forced displacement. Haroon wasn't attacking. Wasn't doing anything. His presence was just too dense, too powerful, and reality was accommodating that density by pushing everything else away.
They established new positions approximately fifteen meters back from where they'd started, the eighteen Controllers now spread across a wider formation, breathing room forced between them and their target. Haroon remained in the center, apparently satisfied with the distance his presence had created.
"Concentrated assault," the geometric-pattern Controller ordered. "Everyone target center mass simultaneously. Overwhelming force. We can't let him dictate engagement terms."
The remaining Controllers prepared their heaviest attacks. Brad charged his own probability manipulation field to maximum intensity, ready to force Haroon into a losing timeline where continued combat became impossible. Others readied reality fractures that would shatter space across cubic kilometers. Temporal bombs that would age their target millions of years in microseconds. Existence compression at scales that would reduce matter to pure energy.
They were about to unleash enough destructive power to sterilize solar systems.
Then Haroon picked up a broom.
There was a broom. Just... there. In the middle of a pocket dimension training facility designed for omnipotent combat, someone had apparently left a cleaning broom leaning against one of the reality anchors. Standard maintenance equipment. Approximately one-point-five meters long, synthetic bristles, mundane wooden handle. The kind of tool you'd use to sweep floors in any ordinary facility.
Haroon grabbed it, held it in both hands like it was a quarterstaff, and turned to face the eighteen remaining Controllers.
For a moment there was complete silence. Eighteen omnipotent beings, armed with reality-destroying weapons and preparing to unleash concentrated assault, staring at a man holding a broom.
Then someone laughed.
Brad didn't see who started it, but the laughter spread. Nervous at first, then genuine. The absurdity was too much. They'd been preparing for apocalyptic combat, readying attacks that could unmake existence, and their opponent had armed himself with janitorial equipment.
"He's not serious," the silver-eyed Controller said between laughs. "He can't be serious. A broom? He's going to fight us with a broom?"
More laughter. Even Controllers who'd been unconscious were starting to wake up, groaning their way back to awareness and seeing Haroon standing there with cleaning equipment. The tension that had been building through the combat dissolved into incredulity. This had to be a joke. Had to be Haroon making some point about how little they threatened him that he could arm himself with maintenance supplies and still expect to win.
Commander Sarah was not laughing. Brad noticed that immediately. Sarah stood at the edge of the combat zone with an expression that suggested she knew exactly what was about to happen and was not looking forward to filing the incident report afterward.
"Attack formation!" the geometric-pattern Controller tried to reestablish order through the laughter. "He's baiting us! Don't let—"
Haroon charged.
The broom came up in a horizontal sweep that should have been slow, clumsy, completely inadequate for combat against beings who could manipulate time. But the broom moved faster than perception. Faster than light. Faster than causality should have allowed mundane objects to travel. It connected with the three nearest Controllers before they could register movement, and the impact sent them flying backward with enough force that they crashed through reality anchors and embedded themselves in the combat zone's far wall.
Unconscious. Eliminated. Taken out by a broom.
The laughter stopped.
Haroon kept moving. The broom became a blur, striking with precision that suggested he could see exactly where each Controller would try to dodge and was already positioning his attacks to intercept evasion attempts. Four more Controllers went down in the next two seconds. Then three more. Then another pair who tried to coordinate defensive fields and found the broom simply ignored their reality manipulation because Haroon had decided physics didn't apply to his cleaning equipment.
Brad tried to run. Tried to establish distance. Tried to use probability manipulation to force himself into a timeline where he'd already escaped. The broom caught him anyway, a light tap against his shoulder that carried enough force to completely disrupt his manifestation coherence. Brad felt himself losing structural integrity, his Controller nature struggling to maintain existence against impact that shouldn't have been possible from a wooden handle and synthetic bristles.
He collapsed, consciousness fragmenting, and watched through failing perception as Haroon systematically eliminated the remaining Controllers. Each strike was precise. Controlled. Just enough force to incapacitate without causing permanent damage. The broom moved like it was an extension of Haroon's will, ignoring defensive fields and reality manipulation like they were polite suggestions rather than omnipotent-level protection.
Fifteen seconds. That's how long it took for Haroon to defeat the remaining eighteen Controllers. Fifteen seconds of combat with a cleaning broom, and thirty-two omnipotent beings were on the ground, defeated, trying to process what had just happened to them.
Haroon stood in the center of the combat zone, still holding the broom, surveying the results. Thirty-two Controllers scattered across the training facility floor. Some unconscious. Some conscious but too disoriented to stand. All of them comprehensively defeated by someone who'd armed himself with janitorial equipment and treated omnipotent-level combat like routine maintenance work.
"Training complete," Haroon announced, his tone suggesting he'd just finished an unremarkable task. He set the broom down carefully, leaning it back against the reality anchor where he'd found it. "Assessment results indicate that coordinated assault by thirty-two Controllers is insufficient to overcome above-omnipotent defensive and offensive capabilities. Recommend revised tactical approaches for future engagements."
Commander Sarah stepped into the combat zone, moving among the scattered Controllers, checking on their status. Most were already recovering—Controllers healed quickly from non-permanent damage—but the psychological impact would take longer to process. They'd been defeated. Comprehensively. Humiliatingly. By someone using a broom.
"Medical assessment," Sarah ordered, her voice carrying authority that cut through groaning and disorientation. "Anyone with manifestation coherence below fifty percent, report to recovery stations immediately. Everyone else, stand down and prepare for debriefing."
Brad managed to pull himself upright, his shoulder still aching from where the broom had struck. Around him, other Controllers were doing the same, climbing to their feet with expressions ranging from shock to embarrassment to something that might have been respect. They'd known Haroon was powerful. They'd seen evidence of his capabilities. But knowing and experiencing were different things. Now they'd experienced what fighting someone above omnipotent actually felt like.
It felt like getting beaten by cleaning equipment.
"That was..." the geometric-pattern Controller started, then seemed to lose words for what that had been. "He used a broom. An actual broom. And we couldn't stop him."
"He dodged everything we threw at him," the silver-eyed Controller added, her voice carrying disbelief. "Thirty-two omnipotent beings with full arsenal, and he just... walked through our attacks like they weren't there."
"Then knocked out fourteen of us in two seconds," another Controller said. "I didn't even see him move. One moment he was standing there. Next moment half our force was down."
"And then the broom," someone else laughed weakly. "We actually laughed at him for picking up a broom. We thought it was a joke."
"It was a lesson," Commander Sarah's voice cut through the discussion. "A demonstration of the power differential between omnipotent and above omnipotent. You needed to experience that differential directly rather than just accepting it as abstract concept."
She turned to face Haroon, who was standing patiently, apparently waiting for further orders or dismissal. "Thank you for participating in this assessment. Your performance provided exactly the data we needed."
Haroon nodded. "You're welcome, Commander. Should I assist with recovery operations or return to Station Theta-7?"
"Return to your station. I'll handle debriefing here." Sarah's tone carried something that might have been gratitude or might have been resignation. "And Haroon? Next time you decide to demonstrate superiority through improvised weapons, perhaps warn me first. I need to prepare better incident documentation."
"Understood, Commander. I'll provide advance notice for future training assessments involving non-standard equipment." Haroon's response was completely serious, like the idea that he might regularly defeat omnipotent beings with random objects was normal operational procedure requiring proper paperwork.
He departed through dimensional transit, leaving the thirty-two Controllers to process their comprehensive defeat. Brad watched him go, then looked around at his fellow allied forces. Every single one of them showed the same expression. Not quite fear. Not quite respect. Something combining both with healthy dose of reality adjustment.
They'd fought someone above omnipotent. They'd lost. And the method of loss had been so absurd—defeated by a broom wielded by a maintenance astronaut—that conventional tactical analysis seemed inadequate for processing the experience.
"He barely tried," Brad heard himself say. "Hand-to-hand combat only, he said. Like using weapons would have made it unfair."
"It would have been unfair," the geometric-pattern Controller agreed. "To us. We saw what he could do in Chapter Six when he broke four dimensions with a gentle punch. If he'd actually tried here? Used his real capabilities instead of treating this like sparring practice? We wouldn't have lasted two seconds."
"We didn't last much longer than that anyway," someone pointed out. "Fourteen down in the first engagement. Eighteen eliminated in fifteen seconds during the second. Total combat duration was maybe thirty seconds."
"Thirty seconds," the silver-eyed Controller repeated. "Thirty-two omnipotent beings. Full arsenal. Coordinated assault. And we lasted thirty seconds against someone who armed himself with a broom."
Commander Sarah let them process for a few more minutes, then called the group to order. "Debriefing begins in ten minutes. I want everyone's tactical assessment of what went wrong and what could be improved for future engagements. We need to understand our limitations before confronting the Dissolution Compact in actual combat situations."
Brad filed toward the debriefing area along with the others, his mind still spinning through combat analysis. What had gone wrong? Everything. What could be improved? Nothing that would actually matter against someone like Haroon. They could coordinate better, attack more efficiently, prepare superior weapons. It wouldn't change the fundamental equation. Above omnipotent versus omnipotent wasn't a fair fight. It was a category error.
But that was the point, Brad realized. Sarah hadn't organized this assessment to find ways to defeat Haroon. She'd organized it to demonstrate why the allied Controllers needed to maintain their alliance with him. Why having someone that powerful on their side against the Dissolution Compact was strategic necessity rather than convenient arrangement.
The debriefing lasted two hours. Controllers shared their perspectives, analyzed decision points, discussed tactical alternatives. But the conclusion was inevitable and unanimous: conventional combat approaches were insufficient against above-omnipotent opposition. The power differential was too vast. The capability gap too fundamental.
"So what do we do?" someone finally asked the question everyone was thinking. "If the Dissolution Compact has anyone operating at Haroon's level, how do we fight them?"
"We don't," Commander Sarah said bluntly. "We coordinate. We support. We provide tactical assistance and intelligence gathering. But direct confrontation with above-omnipotent forces? That's Haroon's domain. That's why we maintain alliance with him. Because he can engage threats that we can't."
She pulled up data displays showing force distributions and threat assessments. "Intelligence suggests the Dissolution Compact doesn't have above-omnipotent operatives currently deployed. All thirteen known hostiles test at omnipotent levels. Strong omnipotent, some of them, with specialized capabilities that make them dangerous. But still within the category we can fight."
"And if that intelligence is wrong?" the geometric-pattern Controller asked. "If they do have someone at Haroon's level?"
"Then we're very grateful that Haroon is allied with us instead of them," Sarah answered. "And we adjust our strategy to support him rather than expecting to carry combat operations ourselves."
The debriefing concluded with revised tactical doctrines and operational protocols. The thirty-two Controllers departed gradually, returning to their assigned facilities, carrying new understanding of their capabilities and limitations. Brad remained behind, helping Sarah organize the assessment data.
"You did well," Sarah told him as they worked. "Your probability manipulation field was one of the more effective defensive measures. It lasted almost three seconds against Haroon's broom strikes before collapsing."
"Three seconds," Brad said. "That's how long my omnipotent-level defensive field lasted against a wooden stick."
"A wooden stick wielded by someone above omnipotent," Sarah corrected. "Context matters. You weren't defeated by the broom. You were defeated by Haroon using a broom, which is entirely different calculation."
Brad understood the distinction but wasn't sure it made him feel better about the experience. He'd been comprehensively beaten by cleaning equipment. That would take time to process regardless of who'd been wielding it.
"The assessment achieved its objectives," Sarah continued. "Everyone now understands viscerally what we're working alongside. No more abstract concepts about power differentials. They felt it. They'll remember it. And when we face the Dissolution Compact, they'll know why Haroon's presence is strategic advantage rather than just impressive capability."
"What if the Dissolution Compact sees this differently?" Brad asked. "What if they view Haroon as the primary threat and decide eliminating him is worth dedicating all thirteen operatives?"
Sarah was quiet for a moment, organizing data with methodical precision. Then: "That's the scenario that keeps me awake during rest cycles. Thirteen omnipotent beings, ideologically motivated, coordinating assault against one target. Even with Haroon's capabilities, that represents significant threat. He's powerful. Possibly the most powerful entity currently operating in this sector. But he's not invulnerable. Not immortal. Not beyond all possibility of defeat if sufficient force is properly coordinated."
"Should we warn him?" Brad felt obligated to ask. "Let him know we're concerned about coordinated assault?"
"Haroon knows," Sarah said with certainty. "He processes threat assessments constantly. Monitors enemy movements. Calculates probability matrices for potential conflict scenarios. If the Dissolution Compact decides to target him directly, he'll know they're coming before they finish planning the operation."
Brad nodded, accepting that assessment. Haroon had known about the enemy Controller in Chapter Seven before Brad had detected them. Had known Brad was a Controller pretending to be human from minute one. Had probably known about this training assessment before Sarah had finished organizing it. Omniscient awareness, or close enough that distinction didn't matter operationally.
They finished organizing the data and departed the training facility. Brad returned to Station Theta-7 through dimensional transit, emerging in Sector 11 where he'd left what felt like hours ago but had only been ninety minutes by station chronology.
Haroon was there, inspecting coolant lines like nothing unusual had happened. Like he hadn't just defeated thirty-two omnipotent beings with a broom. Like this was just another ordinary shift performing routine maintenance.
"Assessment concluded satisfactorily?" Haroon asked without looking up from his diagnostic scanner.
"You beat us with a broom," Brad said. "All thirty-two of us. You used cleaning equipment and we couldn't stop you."
"Correct." Haroon made a note on his datapad. "Coolant line three shows minor stress indicators. I'm scheduling replacement for next maintenance cycle."
Brad stared at him, trying to reconcile the being who'd just demonstrated combat superiority over an entire coordinated force with the maintenance worker calmly checking coolant lines. Both were Haroon. Both were real. The dissonance was just something Brad would have to learn to accommodate.
"Do you ever actually try?" Brad asked. "Full effort? Maximum capability? Or is everything we see just you operating at minimum necessary output?"
Haroon was quiet for a moment, continuing his inspection. Then: "I operate at levels appropriate for task requirements. Station maintenance doesn't require maximum capability. Training assessments don't require maximum capability. Most situations don't require maximum capability. When situations do require it, you'll know."
"How will we know?"
"Because I'll stop holding back." Haroon's tone didn't change, but Brad felt something shift in the air around them. Pressure. Weight. The sense that reality itself was paying closer attention. "And when that happens, you should establish maximum possible distance and wait for the situation to resolve. What you saw today was restraint. Careful force application. Measured demonstration. What I'm capable of when not restraining myself is... different."
The pressure faded. Haroon returned to his coolant inspection like the conversation had covered mundane topics. Brad stood there processing that information, trying to imagine what Haroon looked like when not holding back and finding his imagination completely inadequate for the task.
"I'm continuing my maintenance schedule," Haroon said. "Sector 14 requires atmospheric recycling system checks. You're welcome to accompany me or pursue other operational priorities."
Brad considered his options, then nodded. "I'll come with you. I need to file my assessment report, but it can wait until after maintenance work."
They moved through the station corridors, two Controllers in a facility full of humans who had no idea that one of them had just defeated thirty-two omnipotent beings with a broom and the other had survived the experience mostly intact. Ordinary work. Routine tasks. The same performance that Haroon maintained constantly, hiding power that could break dimensions behind maintenance schedules and coolant line inspections.
Brad thought about the training assessment. About how easily Haroon had defeated them all. About the broom and the laughter and the comprehensive demonstration that above omnipotent wasn't just higher on the power scale but an entirely different category of existence.
And he thought about what Haroon had said. What you saw today was restraint. When I stop holding back, you'll know.
Brad didn't want to know. Didn't want to see what Haroon looked like when fighting seriously instead of treating combat like maintenance work. But he suspected he would eventually. The Dissolution Compact was preparing for something. Coordinating operations. Building toward confrontation.
And when that confrontation came, when thirteen ideologically motivated omnipotent beings decided that removing Haroon was worth the cost, Brad would see what above omnipotent actually meant when the restraint came off.
He wasn't looking forward to it.
But he was grateful that when it happened, Haroon would be fighting on their side rather than against them. Because after today's assessment, Brad understood one thing with absolute clarity:
You didn't fight someone above omnipotent. You survived them. Or you didn't. There was no third option.
The maintenance work continued. Station Theta-7 operated smoothly. And somewhere in dimensional space, the Dissolution Compact made their plans, unaware that the being they opposed could defeat thirty-two omnipotent Controllers with cleaning equipment.
Ordinary days. Extraordinary guardians. And one maintenance astronaut who treated reality like it was equipment requiring routine inspection.
That was life on Station Theta-7. That was the truth behind routine operations. And now Brad had experienced it directly instead of just observing from distance.
The investigation was definitely over. The real education had just begun.