Chapter 248 — The Moment When Calm Becomes an Insult
Kharas smiled.
— Now that they've taken the bait…
A low laugh, almost satisfied.
— Hahahaha.
— My turn.
He materialized a knife.
Not a normal weapon.
Something too sharp. Too precise.
An object that wasn't supposed to exist here.
A sharpened concept.
His brown hair turned a dark gray.
As if the color fled.
His brown eyes shifted to red.
The sclera remained black.
Because even evil has standards.
Then he entered.
The Royal Palace.
The Infinite Palace of Zarion.
He slowly licked the blade's edge.
— There will be carnage here.
The Hall of Chaos was not in chaos.
It was too calm.
A suspicious calm.
A calm that made you want to strike, just to check.
The primordial attendants were still there.
Aligned.
Impassive.
Perfectly aware something was wrong,
but refusing to give him that pleasure.
And on the throne…
The figure with long white hair, tied back with almost provocative negligence.
Zarion.
He did not move.
He waited.
Sinister laughter echoed.
Not loud.
Not insistent.
Just enough to be irritating.
Then a silhouette appeared.
A terrifying aura unfolded.
Not crushing.
Just… unwelcome.
The primordial attendants opened their eyes.
Ébérus frowned.
— Why is he so sinister — without doing anything?
Nyx observed calmly.
— He is the incarnation of evil itself.
She paused.
— And he knows it.
Astra whispered:
— The Demon Lord…
Kharas advanced slowly.
Knife in hand.
As if he were walking into his own home.
As if the Palace still owed him something.
— Still as majestic, he said.
— Even when you pretend to be calm.
Zarion opened his eyes.
— You're late.
Kharas smiled.
— I took a detour.
— I needed the Creators to look elsewhere.
He shrugged.
— Otherwise they would have interfered.
— And I hate being interfered with.
Nyx tilted her head slightly.
— You really intend to speak here?
— Of course.
Kharas spread his arms.
— It's symbolic.
Thalassa sighed.
— I would have bet on a direct attack.
— I thought about it, admitted Kharas.
He licked the blade again.
— Erase all the infinite layers of the Palace.
— Rewrite the throne.
— Shift two or three fundamental laws.
He smiled.
— But that would be too banal.
He fixed his gaze on Zarion.
— You know why I'm here.
— Because you hate waiting, Zarion replied calmly.
— Wrong.
Kharas stepped closer.
Knife pointed toward the throne.
The attendants were already on alert.
No wasted movement.
No hesitation.
— Because I hate being ignored.
He burst out laughing.
— Hahaha!
He tilted his head slightly.
— You know what's funny?
Zarion did not answer.
— All this power.
— All this surveillance.
— All these eyes fixed on you.
He raised the knife.
Not to strike.
Just to show.
— All it takes is one touch…
— and everything shifts.
Zarion finally spoke.
— You confuse movement — with control.
Kharas laughed.
A real laugh.
Frank. Almost admiring.
— Always so sure of yourself.
Nyx murmured:
— He's looking for a reaction.
Zarion nodded imperceptibly.
— Let him speak.
Kharas leaned forward slightly.
His smile widened.
— Tell me, Zarion…
— When the Creators return…
He slid the knife through the air.
Not to the throne.
Not yet.
— Do you really think…
— they'll see this Palace…
— as it was before?
A shiver ran through the hall.
Not fear.
Not panic.
A cosmic disagreement.
Zarion smiled.
And this time, the Infinite Palace felt it.
Chapter 249 — The First Blow That Really Matters
Kharas's smile did not fade.
It froze.
— Very well.
He did not attack Zarion.
Not yet.
He pivoted sharply
and brought his knife down on the ground.
This time,
it was not symbolic.
The blade entered the Infinite Palace.
Not the marble.
Not the matter.
The structure.
A crack resounded.
Not a sound.
An error.
A layer of the Palace gave way.
The primordial attendants stepped back.
Not out of fear.
Out of calculation.
Astra frowned.
— He touched a foundation.
Kharis corrected, more curtly.
— A real one.
— Not decoration.
A wave spread.
The corridors bent.
Distances began to lie.
Three halls ceased to exist.
Two others overlapped by accident.
— …Ah, breathed Kharas.
— There.
— That's better.
Zarion still did not move.
But the throne itself
creaked.
Nyx raised her hand.
— Permission?
— No, replied Zarion.
— Not yet.
Kharas lifted the knife again.
This time, he slashed the air.
A wall of the Palace was cut clean.
Not destroyed.
Separated.
Behind it,
the Primordial Void.
Bare.
Unfiltered.
— Oops, said Kharas without conviction.
— I slipped.
Ébérus clenched his fists.
— He's tearing internal access.
Aethera observed the fractures.
— He's forcing the Palace to rewrite itself.
Kharas smiled wider.
— Exactly.
Then—
Not an elegant teleportation.
A brutal rupture.
He reappeared behind the throne.
This time,
the attendants moved.
Nyx launched an orb of Void.
Aethera traced a seal.
Thalassa summoned primordial flows.
Kharas parried with his knife
and was hurled backward.
He slid across the floor,
braking with his hands,
laughing.
— Ah!
— There!
— You still exist!
He stood,
wiped a black drop from the corner of his mouth.
— It's been too long
— since this palace pretended to be inviolable.
Zarion finally rose.
The Palace froze.
Even the cracks hesitated.
— You've made your noise, he said calmly.
— You've broken what you could break
— without dying.
He stepped forward.
— Now,
— you will explain.
Kharas drove his knife into the floor between them.
The ground screamed.
A second layer of the Palace gave way.
This time,
deliberately.
— No, replied Kharas.
— Now…
He slowly raised his arms.
The Palace truly trembled.
Fragments of reality fell into the Void.
— …I'm making sure that when the Creators return…
— they understand…
He smiled, predatory.
— …that this throne
— is no longer untouchable.
A heavy silence fell.
Zarion smiled.
But this time,
it was no longer patience.
— Very well.
— You wanted action.
The primordial attendants took position.
The seals activated.
The remaining layers locked.
The Infinite Palace entered a state of true defense.
And this time,
no one
was pretending anymore.
Chapter 250 — When the Palace Decides to Respond
The Infinite Palace locked itself.
Not with walls.
Not with doors.
With rules.
The fractures froze.
Distances stopped lying.
The remaining layers aligned, like tired soldiers… but disciplined.
Kharas looked around.
— …Oh.
He smiled.
— It's offended.
Nyx stepped forward.
Space contracted around Kharas.
Not to crush him.
To stop him from cheating.
— Zone locked, she said calmly.
— Forced displacements forbidden.
— Structural rewriting suspended.
Kharas raised a brow.
— Seriously?
— You activate the rules now?
Aethera completed the seals.
— The Palace has judged
— that you've become…
— statistically irritating.
Thalassa extended her hand.
The flows of the Void froze around Kharas's blade.
— Any unauthorized interaction
— will be compensated.
Kharas sighed.
— Oh no…
— Not compensation…
— That's always painful.
He laughed.
— Hahahaha.
— Very funny.
He lifted his knife.
Nothing.
He frowned.
Shook the blade slightly.
— …Wait.
He looked at it more closely.
— You blocked my edge?
Zarion finally spoke.
Standing.
Motionless.
Before the throne.
— No.
— The Palace simply decided
— that your knife
— had become a minor problem.
Kharas burst out laughing.
— Oh really?
— Interesting.
Then his aura released.
Not explosively.
Not brutally.
Just… enough.
The pressure swept aside the attendants' attacks like misplaced drafts of air.
Nyx was hurled backward,
crashing violently against a layer of the Palace.
Kharas tilted his head slightly.
— I love when you're pathetic enough
— to believe
— you still control the situation.
Zarion descended slowly from the throne.
Each step locked another law.
Each step reminded the Palace
who it was meant to serve.
— You wanted to show this place wasn't untouchable, Zarion said calmly.
— Message received.
He stopped.
— Now…
— it's my turn.
Kharas smiled.
The two figures faced each other.
Their auras collided.
The entire Palace trembled,
not from fear,
but from recognition.
Zarion spoke without breaking his gaze.
— Let me handle him.
The primordial attendants stepped back.
Reluctantly.
But without protest.
Zarion fixed his eyes on Kharas.
Kharas raised his arms and burst out laughing.
— Hahahaha!
— Pathetic, Prince.
His gaze ignited.
— Do you really think you can stand against
— the Demon Lord of the Primordial Void?
He pointed to the dark mark on his side.
— If I have these little wounds,
— it's only
— to let you believe
— you still controlled something.
He stepped closer.
— There's nothing more satisfying
— than breaking that illusion.
Zarion did not move.
— Be silent.
A silence fell.
— You talk far too much.
Kharas smiled.
And this time,
it was no longer a game.
Chapter 251 — The Blow We Weren't Supposed to See
In the Realm of the Primordial Divinities—
The projections of the Creators,
Azarion
and Aetherion,
stood tall.
Facing them:
Yzareth,
wings spread, arms open, smile far too confident,
and the Nameless Ancient, already weary of this story.
Aetherion spoke first.
— We let ourselves get fooled too easily.
He turned his head slightly, already elsewhere.
— I'm going there.
— And I'm going to beat Kharas.
Yzareth spread his arms wide, wings trembling.
— Bad idea, dear Creator.
— Really bad.
He smiled.
— If you leave now…
— …I'll raze this place.
Silence.
The Nameless Ancient sighed.
— We can't let you intervene like that.
— It would ruin Kharas's entire plan.
Azarion observed them calmly.
— So your goal…
— is to keep us here?
Aetherion lifted his eyes toward them.
And the pressure fell.
Not an attack.
Not anger.
A presence.
Yzareth and the Ancient were crushed against the divine ground.
Aetherion spoke coldly:
— I haven't erased you.
— But you're skating dangerously close to my limits.
Yzareth slowly raised his head, still pinned to the ground.
— Do you have no trust…
— in your son, Zarion?
Azarion placed a hand on Aetherion's shoulder.
— Calm yourself.
— He's right.
She smiled faintly.
— Zarion can handle this.
— Without us.
Aetherion stayed silent for a moment.
Then sighed.
— Very well.
— I'll watch.
The Nameless Ancient murmured:
— That was suicidal.
Yzareth sneered.
— Pathetic.
— Proof you're not the Lord of Nothingness.
Meanwhile—
Inside the Infinite Palace.
In the vastness of the Primordial Void,
beyond time,
space,
stories,
probabilities,
rules,
and the rules of rules—
Silence.
Then—
Kharas vanished.
Not a teleportation.
Not a rupture.
An existential leap.
He was already before Zarion
before the Palace even realized
he had moved.
The strike came.
Simple.
Direct.
Without theatrics.
Kharas's knife struck—
And for the first time since the battle began,
Zarion blocked.
No sound.
But the Palace bent.
Not a decorative layer.
Not an illusion.
A major structure fractured.
The Primordial Attendants all felt the same thing.
— …He touched Zarion, murmured Astra.
Kharas leapt back, surprised.
He looked at his blade.
A clean fissure now ran through it.
— …Oh.
His smile widened.
— Alright.
— You can block.
Zarion slowly withdrew his hand.
A cut ran across his palm.
Not fatal.
But real.
Kharas licked the blood from the blade with a delighted grin.
The Palace tensed.
The rules screamed.
Laws tried to rewrite themselves.
Zarion raised his hand slightly.
Everything fell silent.
— One thing only, he said calmly.
— Don't do it again.
Kharas burst out laughing.
— There.
— That's what I wanted to see.
He spread his arms.
— You know what this means, don't you?
— That you've signed your death warrant, replied Zarion.
— No, corrected Kharas.
— That the Creators…
He smiled, predatory.
— …can now feel me through you.
— See you take damage…
— and be unable to act…
He laughed wildly.
— Hahahaha!
The Palace shuddered.
A foreign pressure brushed its foundations.
Not an arrival.
Not yet.
But a connection.
Nyx clenched her teeth.
— He used Zarion as an anchor point…
Kharas tilted his head.
— Thanks for the hospitality, Prince.
— The message is sent.
He reset his stance.
His posture had changed.
Lighter.
More serious.
Zarion stepped forward.
The ground yielded willingly beneath him,
forming a perfect arena.
— You wanted action, said Zarion.
— You'll have it.
His aura finally unfolded.
Just enough
for the Void itself
to hold its breath.
Kharas smiled, red eyes blazing.
— At last.
The Infinite Palace locked the battle.
This time,
there would be
no test,
no illusion,
no restraint.
The first true fight
had begun.