Someone cornered becomes predictable.
The two remaining Void Sovereigns understood the same truth at the same time. If Saber joined the battle, one of them would be eaten next and the world would be forced to accept it.
So they burned essence.
Cosmic light bled from their skin in thick streams. Their geometric faces sharpened.
Anti-Meridian flared.
This time it did not merely deny routes. It rewrote the idea of route itself.
Space in front of them twisted and folded into branching corridors, then twisted again. Paths layered over paths, overlapping without touching. It looked like a labyrinth made of invisible hallways, where "forward" led to sideways, and sideways led to behind, and behind led to nowhere.
Then it began to move.
A path opened, another snapped shut. A corridor spat one Sovereign out and swallowed him again a breath later. One entered a lane of air that should have been empty, and emerged from a different angle like he had walked through the spine of the world.
