"Let them come."
Babasaheb's faint smile lingered in the abyss, a light undimmed by the howling silence around them. The void did not collapse, nor did it roar. Instead, it trembled, as if holding its breath, waiting for the first strike in a battle that was no longer just of shadows and chains—but of will.
Rick staggered to his feet, his body weak but no longer bound. Each breath was a knife against his ribs, yet within that pain was something unrecognizable—strength not borrowed, but his own.
The abyss shifted, ripples of black shuddering outward like a sea disturbed by an unseen storm. The faceless figure, fractured and incomplete, hissed with a thousand voices overlapping. "You have broken what should never break. Chains unmade, hope rekindled… do you think the Maw will allow such defiance?"
Rick's eyes narrowed. For the first time, he did not bow his head. His chest still burned, his body still threatened to collapse, but his voice carried something raw—resolve.
"I don't care what the Maw allows," Rick said, steadying his breath. "It doesn't get to choose for me anymore."
Babasaheb stepped forward, his presence like a stone dropped into a storm. Waves of shadow recoiled at his approach, shattering into mist that dissolved before touching him. He did not raise a weapon. He did not shout. His very calm was the rebellion.
The faceless figure flinched back, its forms splintering and reforming like broken glass trying to hold its shape. "You call this rebellion? Silence against the endless roar? Stillness against hunger eternal?"
Babasaheb's eyes shone with silver flame. "Yes. Because silence carries weight when all else is noise. Stillness endures when chaos devours itself."
The abyss stirred violently, as though the Maw itself had heard the defiance. From the farthest reaches of the void, a deep rumble echoed—a sound older than creation, hungrier than death.
Rick gritted his teeth. The rumble shook him to his marrow, threatened to unravel the fragile spark he had found. For a heartbeat, despair surged again. But Babasaheb's hand on his shoulder steadied him.
"Remember," Babasaheb whispered, "rebellion begins not with swords, but with a refusal to bow."
Rick clenched his fists, the chains that once bound him now gone, but their memory etched into his skin like scars of fire.
The faceless figure screeched, its forms dissolving into a tide of shadows that rushed forward. They came not as one but as thousands, clawing, writhing, each whisper a scream meant to suffocate hope.
Rick staggered back, his instinct to flee overwhelming. But Babasaheb did not move.
He closed his eyes.
And the shadows broke against him.
Where they touched his form, they unraveled, dissolving into motes of harmless dust. Where they screamed, his silence answered louder than sound.
Rick watched in awe, his chest tight with both fear and wonder. "How… how are you doing this?"
Babasaheb opened his eyes, silver flames steady. "Because I am not fighting them. I am refusing them."
Rick's heart pounded, the ember inside him flaring with recognition. It was not strength alone that fought the abyss—it was refusal, defiance, the unyielding core that would not be consumed.
The faceless figure shrieked, rage boiling in its fractured chorus. "Then face more than whispers! Face the Maw itself!"
The abyss tore open.
From the endless dark, a colossal form emerged—vast jaws rimmed with fangs sharper than stars, its presence a weight that crushed the void itself. The Maw.
Rick's knees buckled, breath stolen by sheer terror. This was not shadow. This was not whisper. This was hunger incarnate, the very abyss given form.
The Maw roared, and the void shook like glass about to shatter.
Babasaheb did not flinch. His silver hair rippled in the force of the roar, but his stance remained calm, his voice quiet.
"This is not the Maw's hour," Babasaheb said. "Not yet."
The Maw lunged, jaws opening wide enough to swallow galaxies.
Rick screamed—
But at the last moment, Babasaheb raised his hand, not as a weapon, but as a shield of stillness. Light erupted, not blinding, but steady—like a lighthouse in an endless storm.
The Maw recoiled, its roar turning to a howl of frustration, shadows shattering away from its form. The abyss itself trembled, the faceless figure dissolving into panicked fragments.
Rick gasped, struggling to comprehend. "You… stopped it."
"No," Babasaheb replied softly. "I delayed it. Even stillness cannot end hunger forever."
The Maw withdrew, its form retreating into the darkness, but its voice echoed, rumbling through every corner of the void.
"This rebellion will starve. This vessel will fall. The silence you wield will break beneath my hunger."
Rick trembled, but Babasaheb's hand remained steady on his shoulder. "The Maw fears not weapons, but the silence it cannot consume. That is why we stand."
For the first time, Rick's fear gave way to something else—resolve, fragile but growing. He straightened, his eyes no longer entirely clouded by despair.
The abyss stilled again, as though waiting.
Rick turned to Babasaheb, voice low. "Then what now? If we can't kill it, how do we win?"
Babasaheb's gaze grew heavy, as if carrying truths too vast for words. "We do not win in one battle. We win in many refusals. The abyss feeds on surrender. So long as we do not yield, the rebellion lives."
Rick's chest burned—not with hunger, not with despair, but with light straining to break free. He clenched his fists tighter. "Then I'll fight. Even if I fall, I'll fight."
Babasaheb gave the faintest smile. "Then you have already begun the rebellion."
The silence that followed was no longer empty—it pulsed with the echo of a heartbeat, strong and steady.
But then—
The void itself cracked.
A fissure split across the darkness, light seeping through—not Babasaheb's silver calm, but something else. Golden, radiant, but twisted, burning too brightly, like a sun gone mad.
Rick staggered, shielding his eyes. "What—what is that?"
Babasaheb's calm expression darkened, for the first time touched by shadow.
"That," he said, voice grave, "is not the Maw."
From the fissure, a hand of golden fire reached through, fingers curled like talons. A voice followed—one Rick knew.
"Rick…" it called, twisted with pain and fury. "Did you think you could leave us behind?"
Rick's eyes widened in horror.
It was Sun's voice.
The abyss howled as the fissure widened, the golden fire spilling out, burning and devouring even the shadows.
Babasaheb's hand tightened on Rick's shoulder, his silver light bracing against the coming storm.
"The rebellion has begun," Babasaheb whispered. "But so has the cost."
The fissure split wide—
And the voice of Sun roared through the void, no longer warm, but monstrous.
---
To be continued…