STRIKE … CLIING….!!
SWOOOSHH….
A sword, two of them, struck forward once more. For an uncountable number, once again, till the very bitter end…
SLASH… SPLURRTTT….
The pair of dual rusty, yet strong durable swords, struck again, with deadly precision, clarity, emotion, vengeance, despair, hope, fear and a myriad of thoughts.
SWOOOSH….!!
Body movements that were ever so blurry, ever so delicate, ever so firm, strong and most importantly impossibly fast to be followed by any mortal, immortal, god or primordial since even then, in this particular moment, there was only one.
One remainder.
One survivor.
SWOOSH… CLIIING!!...
In an ever encompassing darkness, in the deepest of absolutely nothing, a fight like no other was taking place.
Standing on a simple patch of land, a simple patch of grass that remained untainted, unblemished, still fresh and green from any normal grassland that you might ever see, or had ever seen, full of one thing that was missing in the fighter's surroundings: life.
A single man remains.
"Fuck….fuck…. Fuck…. Why? Why!!!!!!" the man roared, letting everything he had been bottling out.
His rage, his hopelessness, his despair, his fear, his longing.
He was the last one left alive, and he'd be damned if his most hated enemy won over him, not like it could since even said enemy, if they could be described was having utter and complete trouble in consuming this last being, this forgotten relic, this futile resistance.
The man's muscles ached with a pain beyond imagining. Every fiber of his being screamed for rest, for an end to this eternal battle. His clothing, once perhaps grand armor or robes, was now nothing but tattered rags clinging to his lean, scarred body. Blood—both fresh and dried—covered him in patterns like war paint, some his own, most from enemies long forgotten.
"Haaaa…. Haaaah…. Haaaahhh" the man panted, tired from the fighting. How many days has it been? How many months, years, centuries….millennia? Eons? At this point, he had stopped counting.
His hair, wild and unkempt, whipped around his face as he spun to face another attack. The strands had grown beyond any normal length, a living testament to the passage of time. His eyes, once perhaps warm or kind, now burned with an intensity that would make demons weep. They held knowledge, pain, and a stubborn refusal to yield that transcended normal understanding.
[It's been a while master….] a female-like synthetic, mechanical yet emotional voice rang in his mind.
"A while?" he laughed, a broken sound that held no humor. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
Around him, the darkness pulsed and writhed. It wasn't just an absence of light—it was an active force, a malevolent entity that consumed everything it touched. Tendrils of pure and simple nothingness reached toward the small island of grass where he stood, only to be repelled by some unseen barrier. The darkness itself seemed to breathe, to hunger, to hate.
Even so, the man picked up his ever trusty yet musty pair of dual single-edged swords, companions he had forged with his very blood, sweat, tears, soul, and flesh. They were extensions of him to release his everything upon this ever present, ever consuming and humongous nothingness. And thus he moved, dodging, executing skills that would have made gods tremble in fear, skills that could kill simply from manifesting ever so slightly, importantly skills that had held him alive till now.
His blades cut through the air with a sound like dying stars. Where they touched the darkness, it screamed—not with a voice, but with the absence of sound that somehow still registered as agony. The man danced, a lethal performance practiced beyond perfection. Each step precise, each slash deliberate, each movement flowing into the next like water.
The darkness retaliated. Tentacles thick as ancient trees and thin as spider silk lashed out simultaneously. Some bore fangs that had never existed in nature; others ended in blades sharper than anything mortal hands could forge. A few sprouted eyes—hundreds of them—all fixed on the man with a hatred that defied comprehension.
He dodged one strike by a hair's breadth, the wind of its passing caressing his cheek like a lover's touch. Another he met with his left blade, the impact sending vibrations up his arm that would have shattered ordinary bones. A third he simply stepped through, his body seeming to phase through solid matter before reforming on the other side.
"Is…. is it time?" he asked in a hoarse voice, completely and utterly tired. And yet…. And yet, he got strength…no he received strength from the most strangest of sources.
That small patch of green grass that existed as his final stand and foothold of completely nothing around him, glowed in resistance, providing him with the stamina and healing to get him back to top shape, a futile resistance, and yet one that forced him to continue nonetheless.
The grass beneath his feet pulsed with a gentle green light. With each beat, energy flowed up through his legs, knitting torn muscles, sealing open wounds, replenishing spent vitality. It was a warm sensation, reminiscent of sunlight he hadn't felt in ages. For a brief, beautiful moment, the pain receded.
[Master, even with my and the others' help in doing the math, there's no other way…] the voice spoke once more and this time it did not only speak but released a window in front of him.
The window materialized from nothing—a glowing blue rectangle filled with symbols and calculations too complex for most minds to comprehend. It hovered just at eye level, translucent enough to see through but clear enough to read.
Any normal person would be distracted, but definitely not this guy. After fighting for so long, learning the moves thrown at him constantly from The Nothingness, his very own body could just auto dodge, attack and counter attack no matter how many times.
As he focused on the black tentacle-like limbs with faces on them that immediately sprung onto him from every angle, having noticed his momentary lapse in focus, wanting to put down this miscreant down for good, the guy split part of his focus onto the window in front of him yet seamlessly, accurately and gracefully counterattacked.
A flurry of dark tentacles of the nothingness surged en masse and in response, an accurate dodge here with his left hand, a counter attack with his right hand, a blast of dragon's roar imbued with soul-injuring laws and concepts to deter the rest, and a cast of spatial rendering with his dual swords in a flurry of attacks froze and sliced everything around him.
His movements seemed impossible—faster than thought, more precise than the highest of computations. Where once there had been darkness, now there was only dissipating mist as his blades carved reality itself. The dragon's roar that burst from his lips was not merely sound but a conceptual attack that struck at the very essence of his enemy. Space itself bent to his will, solidifying around tentacles that had never known constraint.
Blood sprayed where his blades connected, but it wasn't red. It wasn't any color that had a name. It was the blood of something that should never have existed, that defied definition. Where it touched the grass, it sizzled and evaporated, unable to taint this last bastion of life.
Even said nothingness was still impressed every single time it thought it had the upper hand. Nothing worked on this guy, as if he were a cockroach that just refused to die!
The darkness pulled back, regrouping. It had all the time in eternity—it could afford patience. But something had changed. The man could feel it. A new urgency in its attacks, a desperation that hadn't been there before. Somehow, impossibly, it was afraid.
[The Computations of countless possibilities lead to one end: Failure] the window began
[Countermeasure: Use of the Last Regression…] and finished
The man's eyes widened as he read the text. His grip on his swords tightened until his knuckles turned white, the only visible sign of the storm raging within him.
"You can't be fucking serious! I … I can still fight!" The man roared in absolute fury, unwilling to accept his current and only miniscule reality, that he had to use a trump card that left no more chances, no more repetitions and clearly no more hope.
His voice echoed across the endless void, a sound that shouldn't have traveled in nothingness yet somehow did. The darkness paused, as if listening. Then, sensing his distress, it surged forward with renewed vigor. This time, the attacks came not in waves but all at once—a tsunami of nightmares crashing down from every conceivable direction.
[Master…] the voice continued but choked almost as if it wanted to cry itself, understanding and feeling its master's emotions to a T.
The synthetic voice somehow conveyed more emotion than many humans could manage. Regret, sorrow, a deep painful care—all compressed into that single word.
Even said voice did not want to resort to this measure, but still, reality was reality and time moved on regardless even on this small patch of space that held the last embers of said time itself.
[Master…, I'm sorry but there's nothing we have found except this. Time and space have gone into slumber in sacrifice of themselves so that, should we need to, they will be the fuel for one last time] the voice clearly explained.
And at that point, true despair set into the guy causing him to quickly finish off every single attack around him, appearing as if he were preparing a big attack only to buy whatever moment of respite in order to think clearly.
His blades moved in perfect harmony, carving sigils in the air that burned with inner light. Where they touched the darkness, it didn't just part—it ceased to exist entirely. A perfect circle of emptiness surrounded him, a momentary reprieve from the constant onslaught.
The man's breath came in ragged gasps. For the first time in ages, his hands trembled ever so slightly. Not from exhaustion—the grass saw to that—but from the weight of the decision before him.
And the nothingness, as always bought into it knowing how much hurt it's about to experience and thus begun to shore the defenses in front of this meaningless resistance while also working on a counter attack wanting to take it all down in one fell swoop.
The darkness contracted, drawing into itself like a beast gathering for a final pounce. What had been formless began to take shape—a mockery of form that parodied life while representing its antithesis. Eyes appeared within it, not dozens or hundreds now, but millions. Teeth formed and dissolved and reformed in endless cycles. The very fabric of what wasn't threatened to become what shouldn't be.
"Show me the probabilities," the man muttered.
The window before him shifted, the calculations clearing to reveal new text:
===
Primordial Concept: Existential Regression
Skill Usage: 1/9 left
Requirements: Sacrifice of Temporal Continuity, Surrender of Spatial Integrity, Dissolution of Current Reality Matrix…+999999999 more
Probability of success: 100.99...9999%
===
The man read it once, twice, three times. His face, carved from suffering into something beyond mere humanity, showed the first genuine emotion besides rage in eons—surprise.
"Waa…waaait what do you mean by 100.9%? What's with that decimal?!! That…that's absurd!!" he muttered bewildered at what he was seeing, almost doubting in this sea of despair he'd been in for a while.
For just a moment, just the briefest flicker of time, something like hope crossed his features. It looked foreign there, like a flower blooming in a wasteland.
[It's true master…, and that's because in this last stand of ours, I finally evolved….] the voice responded, almost a bit chippy and happy in this dark, deadly and hopeless situation.
There was pride in that voice now, the satisfaction of a problem solved against all odds. A warmth that didn't belong in this place of endings.
"I see, so we finally got there huh…" he said, sighed and just sat down on the patch of grass he was on.
His actions though looking normal, caught the nothingness completely off guard, and in wonder what this miscreant was doing now.
The man's shoulders slumped, not in defeat but in acceptance. He crossed his legs, posture straight despite everything, and placed his palms on his knees. For perhaps the first time since this battle began, he looked almost peaceful.
The darkness hesitated. Throughout their endless combat, the man had never willingly ceased fighting. This new behavior was unprecedented, unpredictable. The nothingness, for all its all-consuming nature, did not like unpredictability.
"Fine… begin the process… I will take this as a last hurrah at this disgusting bug."
[Confirmed, executing skill…] the voice spoke this time with less hopelessness in its voice and acted fast.
From the point of view of everything, only microseconds had passed from when the man had stopped and suddenly sat down on the last patch of land while the dreadful enemy prepared for whatever would be thrown at it.
And in that 1 second where the man sat down, he simply put down everything, his barrier, protection and even his swords that never before had left the palm of his hands, going as far as to disintegrate them.
The swords didn't just fall—they unraveled. Metal became light became energy became memory. They had been part of him for so long that their absence felt like losing limbs. The barrier that had protected him, invisible but ever-present, dissipated like morning mist. For the first time in an eternity, he was truly vulnerable.
To the nothingness however it was in glee at finally having worn down the will of this accursed bastard. And just before it could now whisper it's usually tempting words of comfort in order to consume the being before it, its instinct, if you could even say that such an abomination could have any, screamed…. Screamed that the fight was not over, something was happening, something that should never and not even come close to happening at all.
The darkness surged forward eagerly, but then recoiled as if struck. No physical blow had landed, but something had changed. The air—if such a concept still existed here—felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. Reality itself seemed to bend around the man, distorting like a reflection in troubled water.
And in that moment without even wanting to understand why it attacked with the full force it could muster from everywhere and nowhere.
The attack came not as tentacles or fangs this time, but as obliteration itself. The very concept of destruction made manifest. It wasn't something that would kill the man—it was something that would erase him from existence, that would make it so he had never been at all.
And in the meantime, the man simply glanced at the deadly attacks heading his way, and simply smirked with a smug, raised his right hand and held up his middle finger.
His finger stood defiant against the void, perhaps the last act of rebellion in a reality that had forgotten what rebellion meant. His eyes, clear now of rage and fear, held only determination and a cold satisfaction.
"Fuck you…!!" he said as before him:
[Sufficient energy requirements have been found…]
[Executing primordial concept: Existential Regression… 1%…100%]
[....]
[Goodbye, master… see you on the other side….] the voice didn't forget to speak and went silent.
'Yeah, see you in a few… Synthos' the man thought back, knowing that his trusty companion had acknowledged and disappeared as well, while still facing death straight in the face as it screamed in utter fury at being bested in whatever the man had did… not knowing that their next encounter, it will be the one on its last legs…
Light bloomed where there should be no light. Not the gentle glow of the grass, but a searing brilliance that defied the darkness's very nature. It started at the man's core and expanded outward, engulfing him completely before reaching toward the boundaries of their battlefield.
The nothingness shrieked, a sound that existed outside sound. It threw everything it had at the expanding light—all its hatred, all its power, all its fundamental wrongness. For the first time, it knew fear. For the first time, it faced something it could not consume.
The light touched the darkness and did not yield. Where they met, reality itself tore open, revealing something beyond both—something that had no name, no definition, no place in understanding. The tear expanded, widened, until it seemed that all of existence was nothing but this boundary between what was and what could be.
At the center of it all, the man remained seated, eyes closed now, expression serene. Around him, the last patch of grass began to dissolve, not into nothing but into potential. The final stand was ending, but not in defeat.
As the light engulfed everything, as reality rewrote itself according to parameters beyond comprehension, the man allowed himself one final thought:
Next time, things would be different.
Next time, he wouldn't be alone.
Next time, the nothingness would learn what it meant to truly fear.
And then, there was nothing.
And then, there was everything.