The words of Enoch were not just words; they carried power that made even the void outside of Existence scream.
Every word he spoke was defining what Existence would be, and this scream was of the fundamental concepts of creation floating across the void like little motes of dust screaming, as they were being torn apart and stitched back together in patterns that were nothing but madness.
Eos sat upon his throne of truth, the Origin Tree rising behind him like a spine made of worlds, and Enoch stood before him was a cathedral of suffering that had begun to bloom with wounds that wept darkness.
If the core of his being was not truth, then the words of Enoch alone would have been enough to corrupt him and whatever he wanted to create.
The screaming void pressed against the shrinking Existence, and they could not enter. To a lesser immortal, what was happening here would resemble a battle of domains, but it was something far deeper than this.
