The Overseer's form towered, a mountain of fractal flesh and geometrical void, each movement of its body rewriting the meaning of distance. Red lightning boomed across the sky, cutting through the still air as if the universe itself was screaming in pain.
And then, Radahn stood, still as a statue, floating just beyond reach. His shadow carved against the crimson heavens.
Tom and Elior were silent.
Tom's eyes fixed on the Lea Infra in his hand. The doll, dull and quiet, as if nothing inside it ever lived.
He thought why didn't it work? He did felt something happen when the nail pierced through, as though the world was different now but nothing changed.
Beside him, Elior was thinking the same. His expression tight, analyzing, calculating. The Lea Infra responds to a mirrored act.… maybe it's waiting for something still unperformed.
However, two beings from beyond their comprehension exchanged words that were not made for mortal tongues.
Radahn tilted his head, his scythe glinting faintly as he spoke not loud, but his voice resonated through every bone and soul in the world.
"So this is what passes for an Overseer now? A child of equations pretending to be infinite."
The Overseer's presence darkened. The very concept of sound bent away from it.
"I AM THE ROOT OF EXISTENCE. YOUR WORDS HAVE NO MEASURE AGAINST ME."
Radahn smirked. "You say that like a poet who's never read a verse. Tell me how long have you been screaming that same line into your own word chamber?"
The Overseer's eyes flared, lightning in cubes.
"YOU MOCK CREATION ITSELF."
Radahn twirled his starlight scythe lazily, stepping through air as though gravity bowed for him. "No. I mock you because you're boring. All this power, and yet here you are throwing tantrums at creatures who still bleed. You've forgotten what it means to struggle. That's why you'll always be less than what made you."
The Overseer's geometry pulsed erratically, growing denser. Its fangs rattled and extended like galaxies splitting apart.
"I SHALL UNMAKE THIS LAYER. EVERY THREAD OF YOU WILL BE ERASED. I WILL WRITE A REALITY WITHOUT YOUR KIND."
The ground began to shake again. Space folded inward. The horizon burst like a dying man.
Tom and the others felt their bodies lighten like being pulled out of existence itself.
But then.... something changed.
The Overseer's attention was carried away.
Its awareness, vast beyond comprehension, suddenly felt pressure. A presence surrounding it, compressing it, like the universe had quietly grown teeth and bit down.
It turned its gaze upward.
Radahn hadn't moved but beside him, in the same impossible space, now stood another figure.
A Warrior.
Clad in red armor, its surface etched with golden filigree and inlaid charms that glowed faintly like captured dawns. The armor's design was regal, ancient, built for kings who waged war against gods. The helm was shaped like a roaring beast; across the breastplate, a sigil pulsed—a burning sun devouring itself.
The figure said nothing. It only stood, silent, its aura shook the color of reality like a water drop falling in bucket full of water.
The Overseer faltered for the first time. It did not understand what this was but it felt it. It took it some seconds, he understood, that he is a "Facebearer".
Radahn looked above with dead expression.
"You wanted to destroy everything? Then let's make it interesting."
The Overseer twitched.
"WHAT DO YOU SPEAK OF, FRACTION?"
"You'll make a new plane. You and me. We'll finish this where your arrogance doesn't bleed on others."
The Overseer laughed and a sound like thunder growled through infinite dimensions.
"YOU THINK YOU CAN COMMAND ME?"
"Command?" Radahn's grin widened. "No, I'm inviting you."
The space between them tore like fabric. A concept, an idea, a realm began to form, a dimension that didn't exist before this sentence was spoken. In that paradox of creation, Radahn and the Overseer vanished.
The clouds hung, frozen and trembling. The survivors looked up, breathless.
Elior's jaw tightened.
"....They're gone."
Rosario muttered, "Gone where?"
No one answered.
A sound like tearing curtains broke the silence. From those rifts, things emerged.
Their bodies were made of half-rotted meat stretched over bone, each one twitching as if remembering what life felt like. Their chests were open cavities, pulsing with darkness.
Within those holes slithered long, serrated tongues dripping a venom so thick it steamed as it hit the ground.
Their eyes were sewn shut, but mouths covered their necks, their arms, even their legs. Some crawled, some floated upside down, limbs twitching like puppets yanked by invisible strings.
Tom clenched his fists.
"....They're already spreading."
The first one screeched. Its voice was like burning metal and crying wind.
Vera swung his trident, cutting it in half but its torso kept crawling.
Elior drew his blade, Rosario charged his palm with static, and Arlong reinforced the walls with his quantum barrier as much wide possible.
The battle began beneath a bleeding sky.
Each monster moved like corrupted memories given flesh, a nightmare leaking through every fold of reality.
Tom stepped forward, eyes reflecting those monsters that were once, alive...?
If the gods were gone, then the mortals had no choice.
They would stand against the chaos until even the stars stopped watching.
....
The new realm unfolded like the inside of a star, light bled sideways and space curved into itself until there was no direction left to fall. It was the same place, same atmosphere but none, inverted emptiness painted in tones of bruised violet and molten gold.
Radahn stood on what felt like nothing, scythes hanging loosely in his grip, his quilt flew in invisible winds. Across from him, the Overseer hovered, an unending mass of geometries and flesh.
Radahn broke the emptiness.
"So this is what you made. A false plain of reality."
The Overseer's voice came like a thousand mouths reciting in harmony.
"I HAVE SEALED US IN A LAYER UNTOUCHED BY AUTHORS. THEIR PENS CANNOT REACH THIS PLACE. THEIR WORDS CANNOT WRITE HERE."
Radahn's eyes narrowed. "A cage for gods, then. How fitting you'd need one to feel safe."
The Overseer's body pulsed with hollow laughter, its cubes rearranging into newer, crueler shapes.
"NOT SAFETY, PRECISION. THIS IS A DOMAIN WITHOUT CONSEQUENCE. NOTHING THAT HAPPENS HERE REACHES THE TRUE REALITY. THERE IS NO STORY, NO OBSERVER, NO MEMORY. YOU CANNOT BE SAVED BY YOUR WRITER'S MERCY."
Radahn chuckled, quiet and low. "So, you made a sandbox where your failure won't matter." He twirled one scythe in his hand, the edge cutting lines of light through the void. "Tell me, Overseer, does it not bother you that even now, someone watches? "They" may not write, but "they" observe everything. And what's seen…. always finds a way to exist."
The Overseer's countless eyes flickered toward the little ant sized guy, toward where reality ended and the Narrator observed from beyond.
"THEY ARE BOUND TO SILENCE HERE. OBSERVATION WITHOUT INTERVENTION. THIS IS MY COURT!"
Radahn tilted his head, smirking. "Laws are brittle things. Especially when forged by fear."
The Overseer's laughter shattered again, echoing until the realm bent around it.
"THEN LET US SEE WHICH OF US ENDS FIRST."
A silent stage, beyond story and consequences.
Where only will decided what remains.
Existence convulsed.
The entire plain of false reality split like a pane of tea tray dropped from the hands of a god. Every fragment reflected a thousand versions of the same battle, each one happening simultaneously, each one aware of the others.
The Overseer made its turn.
Its body disassembled into equations, shifting between shapes in cube, spiral, star, then a pulse of impossible mass. Every fragment of its being devoured light, law, and logic alike. Where it looked, physics broke.
Radahn didn't move.
He simply willed his presence elsewhere.
The Overseer's blow—no, its concept of a blow which landed across seven layers of reality, every one of them torn open, unstitched. Universes folded into themselves like paper catching fire. Stars melted into symbols. Galaxies turned into dust trails of forgotten dreams.
But not even a grain of dust reached Radahn.
He had already inverted gravity around himself, not by manipulating force, but by denying mass as a truth. His body rejected attraction. His existence floated free of concept. The attack swept through, and Radahn remained untouched, his outline flickering between forms.
"Clever," the Overseer's voice thundered, shrouding through every copy of the void.
"YOU UNMADE THE LAW THAT DEFINES FALLING."
"Not unmade," Radahn replied, tone calm as a dead sun. "I asked the universe to stop believing in it, and I made it."
The Overseer raised its countless fangs. Each was a colossal pillar of chaos stretching beyond continents. Every arm struck downward, and every strike landed on another version of Radahn in another reflection of this same false plain. Every death was instantaneous, yet meaningless.
Radahn twisted probability into a spiral and pulled all his possible selves back into one. When he reappeared, the void behind him shattered like a mirror suddenly remembering it had weight.
He clenched his fist and gravity inverted.
The Overseer's vast frame buckled, its own body dragged toward a singularity Radahn birthed with thought alone. The singularity wasn't black or dense—it was stillness, a point where everything stopped trying to exist.
The Overseer countered it with ease.
"IF YOU WISH TO DEFINE STILLNESS, THEN I SHALL DEFINE CONTINUATION."
Its body rewove from around the singularity, each cube of its flesh rewriting the laws Radahn had stripped away. Then came the pulse.
The Overseer unleashed its consciousness, and with it came a storm of conceptual infection where memories that weren't Radahn's flooded his mind; his messed up memories, the first breath of fiction, the history about the empires and mystery of cosmos. Infinite amount of knowledge was running in his head all at once.
Radahn staggered. He saw the infinite scripts where he had never existed, where he was just a myth inside someone's dream.
He smiled through the chaos. "You forget, Overseer," he whispered, "a story doesn't need to be written to be real."
Then came his counterstrike.
Radahn opened his palm. Not to summon energy but to narrate.
"All force must return to its origin."
And suddenly, every explosion, every conceptual burst, every ripple of reality the Overseer had unleashed began collapsing inward returning to it. The cosmos reversed. Entropy recoiled like a frightened beast.
The Overseer's eyes dimmed. Its fangs withdrew. It faltered but barely.
"I AM OLDER THAN NARRATION. EVEN YOUR LAW OBEYS ME."
It dissolved again, and the false realm became a library of blood-red geometry with each symbol representing a version of truth. It chose one, a cube of existential recursion, and cast it into Radahn.
Instantly, Radahn's reality inverted. He became both attacker and target. His blows hurt himself, his moves looped. The Overseer had made his existence symmetrical.
Radahn was trapped in his own cause-and-effect.
Then, he laughed. "You're trying to teach me how give myself PTSD in mirror?" he said, voice soft. "But I am already a reflection of something greater than words."
He stepped forward, tearing symmetry apart, shattering the mirror of logic by existing as contradiction. His left hand gripped the impossible, and his right struck the intangible.
The Overseer's entire body shook, its form glitching in fury and awe.
"IMPOSSIBLE."
"I am mortal, but my purpose burns brighter than your eternity. Your existence is an anomaly. I am here to correct it." Radahn whispered, his eyes glowing with starlight.
"Just unwritten."