The sky split in colors impossible to name, as if reality itself had been painted over in streaks of energy and shadow. The Outer God's steps struck the earth like planetary impacts, each one sending shockwaves across continents. Even mountains trembled and rivers shifted course from the force alone.
Lucien stood at the forefront, White Void surging through him, threads of energy linking him to all twelve. Each breath he drew rippled across the battlefield, a pulse that strengthened his allies and synchronized their voids.
Seliora's light threads wove a lattice of protection, shimmering across the twelve as if reality itself bent to their presence. Kairo's temporal shifts created afterimages that moved in perfect formation, predicting the Outer God's strikes before they were made.
Ashveil's shadows lashed out, slicing through the Outer God's aura with a precision that seemed impossible. Zarynth's chaos void erupted in controlled bursts, disrupting the god's form in small, calculated distortions.
Veythar bent the battlefield itself, warping space to allow coordinated strikes from impossible angles. Caelthorn and Morwyn's gravitational mastery pulled, slammed, and flung debris and energy alike, amplifying the force of every movement.
Iralith's psychic resonance synced all twelve, reading the god's intent, predicting reactions, and allowing each to move as though they shared one mind. Vaeltherion turned wind, fire, and earth into living void constructs that moved in tandem with the others.
And Lucien… he became the axis around which the twelve revolved. Each void flowed through him, harmonized by the White, resonating with its mysterious source.
The Outer God raised a hand, massive enough to blot out the horizon. Energy cascaded from it like a black sun, distorting the land, freezing rivers, and igniting forests.
The twelve moved as one. Time slowed where Kairo and Eryndra shifted, gravity crushed and flung as Caelthorn and Morwyn guided, shadows and chaos collided as Ashveil and Zarynth struck unpredictably, and Vaeltherion's elements tore through reality like knives. Seliora anchored their flow, and Iralith's psychic resonance fine-tuned every strike.
Lucien's White spread outward, threads lashing and intertwining, connecting their voids into one perfectly synchronized assault.
The Outer God staggered. For the first time, a being older than time itself felt resistance.
Even as they pressed their assault, Lucien sensed the truth—there was something greater, a current beneath the White that pulsed with raw, unimaginable energy. It whispered of eras before creation, of cycles that erased and rewrote entire universes.
The White is the root. Its source is the seed of everything. Only a fragment of it responds now—but the full current waits, watching, judging, and deciding. If the twelve can withstand the Outer God, they may glimpse what lies beyond creation itself.
The Outer God roared, not with sound, but with a force that warped reality. Its body, massive and shifting, stretched and distorted as if trying to adapt. The twelve surged forward, voids clashing against divine power, and then…
A flash brighter than a thousand suns erupted from the Outer God's chest. In that instant, the battlefield vanished. Cities, rivers, mountains, the twelve—all swallowed by a vortex of impossibility.
The next heartbeat of the universe will decide who survives… and who is rewritten.