The silence after the Guardian's revelation was heavier than any battlefield Leo had ever known. The air itself trembled like glass about to shatter, filled with static, broken fragments of meaning that refused to stabilize. That creature—the malformed, trembling figure with words that refused to align—stood in front of Leo, its mouth moving, but the sounds that came out were not words. They were fractures. They were cuts. They were impossible syllables that refused to exist in the world of sense.
"Y̵͚͆́̄͋ǫ̶͓̏̍̏͝ư̴̠̿̄̚͘… T̴̙̼̠̓͑͛͠h̷̹̟͖͊̓͐̋͑ȅ̶̤̈́̇̅y̸͉̯͌̄̍͘̕ ̴̡̥͕͉̐̚ą̴̪͍̦͌̄r̸̠͔͉̅̔̎ͅę̴͍̬̳̆͌͆̓ ̷̻̿̍̾̎c̷̪͍̳͆̈́́o̷̖͚̫͋͝m̷̨͍̆̿͒̊̏i̷̛̜̖̖̝̽́̚͝n̴͓͎̜͊͆̿̿͑g̶̛̟͔̩̿̌͋̇…"
The syllables slipped across Leo's mind like blades dipped in poison, tearing through thought, corrupting comprehension. He pressed his hands to his ears, but the sound was not sound—it was woven into the marrow of reality itself. The broken voice continued, sliding between coherent speech and unbearable static:
"W̷̜͓̱̜͒̀̓̀̚ḧ̴̤́̓̿a̴̖̻͂̾̿̚͘t̶̤̑̎͗… w̷̛͔͉̻̹̎a̶͓͆͐̑͒͝s̸͍̻̈́̍̓̾… d̵͉̟̲̀͒̚e̷̯͉̎̓̅̅͝s̵̝̾̅̿͂̚t̸̤͉̤̎͂̊̇̕ȑ̵̦̪͉̇̇ŏ̵̳̮̹̆y̶̩͓̬͝e̷̖̳̘͊̔́d̸͉͛͂͛̇… w̸̯̎̕͠a̴̠͉̜̪̔͛̚̚s̸̱̑̔ ̵͇͙̱̞̅̓́͝n̶̫̱͉̈́̈́̓͛o̷̪͗͊͝t̸̡̯̰̤̀̓́̏̕ ̶͖̞̤͑͆́͊a̶̛̞̦͓̎̒̈͊l̶̝͎̠̓̊̓̈́l̸͍̯̻̅͌̀ͅ…"
Leo staggered. His instincts screamed to run, but he could not. His body was paralyzed not by fear, but by meaning itself collapsing. The thing was not speaking to him—it was opening the world, layer by layer, and letting the unseen rot bleed through.
Finally, its tone shifted. Clearer. Almost human. Almost sane."They are coming."
Leo gasped, clutching at the words as though they were a rope in a storm. "Who? Who is coming?!"
The creature's hollow eyes flickered with something like regret. It whispered—not with voice, but with absence."The Abstract Divinities… I called them. I thought I… wanted to know. But what answers, Leo… was never meant to be known. Not even by us."
Then it fell silent. Its entire form twitched, froze, and began to blur—like reality itself was ejecting its presence.
And before Leo could demand more, it spoke a final fragment:"I… ś̷̯͔̝̤͕̱̓̓̚͘h̶̟̎̄͊̅͆͛͗͝͠o̷̡̳̲͔̯̓̑͋́̽̒̍͝͝u̴͔̟͉̳̮̐̓͗̑̏͂͂̕l̸̯͔̙̎̊͗̈́̓͝ͅd̵̙̫̖̙̼̮̐̎̽̎̅͠n̴̪͔͎̖͍͇̖͙̠̔̚͠͠ͅ'̷̡̫̦̦̖͎̦̮͇̇͌̾͑̎͗͝͠t̷̡̥͓̙̙͍̫̠̉̈́͗͒̊͝ͅ… h̸̤̞̯̹͚͠ḁ̵̛̼̘̘̯́͐͋̎͐̍v̶̟̫̱͍̲̯̝͚̑̒̓̎̀ë̴̡̹̟̬̬̮́̔́̋… c̵̻̈́̓̓̽̕͝͠a̶̖̐̀̾̑͗̄l̸̟̠͒l̴̛̺̼̤̑͆̏e̵̪̙̪̼͂͑̓͐̚d̷̯̯̮͇̯̂͒͒ ̷̠͑́̔̊͐͒͝t̴͚̲̓̓͛͛̀́͘͝h̶̛͕͗͊̎͆̈́̄e̸̺͂̍̄̓̀m̷̛̲̪̳̝̯̘͕̤̹̀͌̍̒̊́͝…"
The Guardian's form unraveled. Its existence burned out like a candle in a storm. One blink—and it was gone.
The Descent of What Should Not Arrive
The sky split. Not with lightning, but with something more—an unveiling. Every god, every demon, every celestial and infernal presence that lingered in the higher planes screamed at once.
"RUN! RUN!" shouted a deity whose face was made of suns, its body fracturing under unseen pressure.
"We cannot withstand THAT. Not even for a second," hissed an archdemon with claws of eternity, fleeing into shadow.
"Not even the Void will shelter us!" bellowed a Titan, its colossal form shattering into shards of stone and thought as it retreated.
Human sorcerers and mortals caught glimpses of the sky tearing open and fell to their knees in blind panic. Priests ripped their holy books to pieces, crying that no word ever written could protect them. Soldiers dropped their weapons, muttering:"Not war… not this. This isn't for us…"
The very laws of metaphysics retreated. Causality stumbled backward. Cause and effect no longer aligned; consequences arrived before actions, shadows moved without their objects, songs began after their final note.
And from the rift above, light bled. Not Afterlight—something beyond it, nameless and excruciating.
The survivors of all planes whispered in awe and terror."That's no light… it is Eclipsendence."
And from that impossible glare descended a figure.
It had no stable form, no symmetry, no permanence. It was Thymerion, The Disaligned Architect. A god so far removed from coherence that even its abstraction was corrupted. Not transcendent, not immanent, not divine. Merely… wrong.
Its arrival was not accompanied by hymns or silence, but by the annihilation of song itself. Every melody, every rhythm that ever existed—obliterated in an instant, erased from time as though music had never been born.
Leo gasped, struggling to breathe. His body trembled under the weight of its mere presence. His soul screamed, clawing to leave his flesh. But he stood, because he had to.
The god turned its faceless head—though it had no head—to Leo. And it spoke in the absence of voice.
"Y̸o̷u̸… s̸h̶a̶l̶l̴ b̵e̴… u̶n̵r̶e̷m̸e̸m̵b̶e̴r̶e̴d̸,̵ m̵o̷r̸t̵a̶l̸.̶"
It raised what could not be called a hand. And from that gesture erupted its attack—The Absolute Null Canticle.
It was no weapon, no energy, no beam. It was the erasure of all aesthetics. A force that devoured not matter, not spirit, but expression itself. Every painting, every sculpture, every hymn, every word ever carved into history—threatened to collapse into ash.
The impact struck Leo.
A billion universes would have been obliterated in less than a breath. Every archive of existence should have ended there.
And yet—Leo did not fall. He screamed as his bones cracked, his essence peeled away, but he stood. He shoved back against the tide, even as his body dragged across the ground, tearing trenches into reality itself. His blood became glyphs that bled upward into the sky, each scream of agony birthing symbols the world could not decipher.
The Architect tilted its nonexistent face. For the first time in eternity, it faltered."You… endure? I have ended pantheons with this gesture."
Leo spat blood, his voice raw but unyielding."I don't care what you've ended. I don't care what you are. I will not—ever—let you erase me."
The god's tone dropped into a resonance that cracked planets:"Y̶o̸u̵.̶ ̶A̵r̸e̶.̶ ̸N̷o̵t̶h̷i̸n̵g̷.̷ ̸Y̷o̷u̴ ̴a̶r̸e̷… a̶n̵ ̷e̶r̴r̴o̶r̶ ̸i̵n̵ m̶y̷ ̵d̴e̴s̷i̸g̷n̶.̵"
Its form swelled, becoming a cascade of collapsing geometries. It prepared to unleash again.
Leo staggered, but lifted his arm. His aura ignited—not light, not darkness, but resistance itself. His breath was a roar. His vision was bleeding static.
He muttered, voice torn between defiance and despair:"If I am an error… then I am the only mistake the universe will never erase."
The Architect's entire presence froze. For a moment—a fraction of an instant—it recognized something unfamiliar: doubt.
Then its faceless mouth split open into infinite layers of void. And with a shudder that drowned all skies, it spat the sentence that froze even time:"Y̶o̴u̷… w̵i̷l̶l̶… d̸i̶e̸… h̵u̸m̶a̷n̷ s̶c̵r̵a̶p̴.̸"
The air bent, the ground cracked, the heavens fractured—and the chapter ended there.
To be continued.