White fragments scattered across all the empty space...
Small, the size of a palm, a child's palm that's only learning to hold a toy. So fragile that even a glance could shatter them further.
But if you look inside, they become boundless. An interior of infinity enclosed in the form of a child's fist. A paradox. A paradox of size.
As always, everything's much more complex than it seems. And everything's much simpler than complexity.
Don't judge a book by its cover. An old saying, but it seems specially invented for these fragments. For these particles, for these... debris of a destroyed world.
A world destroyed by the witch. And what about this dimension? I wondered. Not because I wanted an answer. But because I couldn't help but wonder.
The answer was obvious. It belongs to her. Her space, her stage.
But my question wasn't about ownership. I wasn't looking for who owns all this. But for whom all this is needed.
Thoughts stretched out. Stretched out like cotton candy in the sweet machine of the mind. And the more I pulled them, the less sense remained. The final answer slipped away, as if this world itself tore it from my hands.
We stood not far. So close you could call it "nearby," but between us... an abyss. So wide that if I ran to her with all my might, I would remain in place.
A paradox of distance.
By the nature of Hierarchies, yes, those old, forgotten, erased ones, they can be viewed as Hilbert space. Extended, infinite, intangible. And it would seem, what business is it now with Hierarchies, long deprived of existence?
Probably none.
I was just trying to... understand. At least something, at least the place itself. To calm curiosity, as if it knows how to calm down.
I'm here again. Again, after the first meeting, I thought that was it. The finale, credits, curtain. But no, a second meeting and the realization that this could continue forever.
Forever.
We'll keep outplaying each other until one of our hearts stops. Or until it explodes from the opponent's logic. Exactly, and both options are possible.
I looked at her, she looked at me. We looked at each other, and both felt only one feeling.
Thirst.
Not for water, not for blood. Thirst for victory. Thirst to break each other. Now or never.
I had one last trump card left. Last means "no more." Of course, there never were any, but if you believe yourself that it exists, it appears.
If she can refute even this... then it's all over. Then the blades, hers, hovering behind her back like predatory birds. They're not waiting for a command, they're waiting for a reason.
I waited for her move. Her answer. Her finishing strike.
And she kept smiling. Green eyes, glowing like a screen in a dark room. This wasn't joy. This was excitement. The game continues, and she likes it.
"Your claim is that I deliberately, after destroying the world, made edits..." she began, and even her voice was full of music. Foolish, mocking music.
"Exactly," Aragi cut off. Quickly, almost painfully. He didn't want to remain in her lair longer than necessary.
The sphere before us already showed everything. Scenes, moments, the door opening... everything was there. To argue with this is like arguing with gravity. Pointless. She understands this, and therefore she has nowhere to go.
"It seems my trap really sank its teeth into you," I said. "Accept it and confess, just confess."
Never had a breath seemed so heavy to me. And yet I inhaled. I believed, I took a step forward.
"Wonderful!" she said. "I didn't even think the game would last so long! And all because of your stubbornness, Aragi!"
My face tensed. Sweat ran down my neck like a thin snake. I understood, her silence didn't mean a dead end. It meant pleasure.
"Enough talk. Give me your answer," I exhaled. "This time I won't leave the game to you."
A smile.
A smirk.
An answer.
Annihilation.
"My answer... NO!"
I almost laughed, truly. Not even from despair, but because I understood. "No" wasn't unexpected. "No" was natural. I simply didn't want to remember this. I didn't want to shatter my imagination in which I'd already won.
But...
"Aragi," she said. "This is what's called imagination!"
That's all, a simple word. A simple truth. A simple exposure. She tore the answer right from my tongue because I knew it myself, but didn't want to admit it.
People close off, withdraw from the world. Hide, build their own worlds inside their heads. Invent, dream. Remake themselves anew. And dreams become reality, sometimes. And sometimes weapons.
Imagination. That's what all this was.
"A dimension over one's imagination!" the witch proclaimed.
Beautiful.
Clever.
Deadly.
The assertion that seemed unbreakable turned out to be cardboard. Her laughter became an echo of my collapse. She approached, just a meter between us. One step, one finale.
Why is she laughing? I know the answer. She's laughing at me.
I lost.
"I lost, you won again. I admit it."
"Yes. And it couldn't be otherwise. These games always end with my victory."
Humble.
Sharp.
Accepted.
Burning.
I stood, waited for the end. Didn't want pain, but there was no choice. All that remained was to accept and hope that this time it would be at least a little easier.
Heat.
Pressure.
Explosion.
Blood stopped. Heart burned. Body... vanished, darkness in the eyes. The last thing I saw was her face. Not evil, not cheerful.
Humble.
Humble? Why?
Too late to think. Body vanished, not even dust remained. Erased, like last time, as if I never existed.
The second game is over. Victory again for the witch.