The very air around Leornars Servs Avrem, the being known across infinite realities as the White Plague, began to distort. It wasn't a magical distortion, but a rending of the fundamental laws that governed existence itself. A silent command emanated from him, not spoken, but etched into the very fabric of reality, a decree that resonated with the chilling certainty of absolute law.
From beyond the veil of what Rimuru and his allies could even conceive, they began to manifest. Not summoned through incantations or rituals, but drawn into being by the sheer, undeniable authority of Leornars' will. These were not mere soldiers; each one pulsed with a power that mocked the very concept of "strength" as they understood it. Their eyes held the distant, cold light of beings who existed beyond the confines of any single universe, their forms flickering and solidifying with an unsettling, impossible geometry. An endless tide of them poured forth, eight hundred and ninety billion entities, each one capable of warping reality at a whim, bred for a single, terrifying purpose: absolute obedience and utter devastation. The term "omnipotent soldier" wasn't hyperbole; it was a stark, terrifying truth.
Then, they strode forward: the Fifteen Generals. Not mere warriors, but living axioms of Leornars' dominion. Each one radiated a presence that could extinguish entire timelines with a casual thought, their gazes holding the weight of countless erased realities. They were the Unwritten Law given terrifying form, the Fictionless Ones made manifest, their very existence a negation of all opposition. To stand before them was to feel the crushing weight of absolute authority, a silent decree of one's own insignificance.
And the weapons… they became. Not forged in any known realm, but drawn from the raw, unwritten potential of existence itself. Twin blades materialized at Leornars' sides, their edges not sharp, but absent, radiating a void that promised utter annihilation. Agravrem and Azravrem. Their very names whispered the undoing of all things – immortality severed, power negated, time unravelled, fate rewritten, logic shattered. Azravrem pulsed with a proactive malice, a silent vow to obliterate any threat before it could even fully form, denying even the possibility of resurrection or narrative intervention.
A wave of primal, existential dread, colder and more absolute than any fear they had ever known, washed over Rimuru's forces. This wasn't just a display of overwhelming power; it was a fundamental unraveling of the rules of reality, a chilling testament to Leornars' dominion over the very foundations of existence. The shock was absolute, the authority undeniable, the fear a suffocating certainty. To stand against the White Plague and his legions felt not just like a battle, but like a futile defiance against the very laws of being.