Chapter 81
While Valthura's Sa Formulative Synthesis performed the opposite, binding those reduced forms into concrete shapes that seemed eager to be reborn.
The two opposing yet complementary forces created a new layer of reality, one that existed precisely between order and emptiness, waiting for the other Administrators' energies to solidify.
From this point, a cosmic structure began to form, as if the thin layer of the world had become a stage for the clash of concepts and the intensity of resolve.
Ziesma was the first to respond to this escalation, releasing Sa Chrono-Narrative Editing that bent the past like the forcibly revised pages of a manuscript.
The flow of time within the field vibrated, creating overlapping and confusing versions of events, as if moments that had never occurred were celebrated as definite history.
Thurash followed, unleashing the Symphony of Sorrow that produced chimes so beautiful the very air wept, scraping the souls of all who heard them.
Those notes filled the gaps within the narrative scrambled by Ziesma, making the world tremble with grief that could not be restrained.
Frashko channeled Weapon Empathy into every inanimate object around them, granting each shard of stone, every strand of dust, and every small object a destructive intent like tiny soldiers ready to harm anyone who threatened the order.
Uorkash raised all six of his hands without a sound, activating Sa Sanction of Reality, establishing a boundary through which only attacks, phenomena, or miracles he approved could truly affect the world.
Belareth then joined in with the Feast of Moments, consuming key events from the ongoing timeline, creating narrative voids that filled the witnesses with terrifying inner discord.
Beside them, Iosh released the Principle of Impossible Phenomena, bringing impossibility into existence, allowing the world to accept paradoxes without collapsing.
In the chaos, triangular circles, silent footsteps, and soundless noises became new forms of reality that defied all logic.
Among the merging forces, Sareah added the final layer with Sa Collective Hallucination, a soft mist enveloping the field and giving rise to a collective illusion accepted as reality by every conscious being.
In an instant, the line between true and false, real and imagined, history and fantasy dissolved without a trace.
All the Sa released by the seven Administrators surged into a single synchronized current, like nine colossal stars forming a constellation to hold back Theo's unrestrained wave of strikes.
Within that vortex, the momentum gathered from the power of nine Administrators created a massive pull, shifting air, time, narrative, logic, and illusion into a unified wall of resistance.
In a world nearly torn apart by the meeting of a writer's TKNA and cosmic Authority, reality itself held its breath, waiting to see whether Theo's strike would shatter under their consensus or pierce through the limit no one had ever reached before.
'Everything is truly in ruins.
Cause and effect no longer align, time is in chaos, even my memories nearly collapse.I can feel it from within—that the technique I'm using defies every law, including rejecting the laws of Flo Viva Mythology itself.'
Hsssssh!!
'All my strikes—eight hundred eighty-eight thousand eight hundred eighty-four—have grown wild and collided with one another in a darkness void of color.
Their clashes are silent, yet their echoes are stronger than every sound that has ever existed.As if reality itself were screaming.'
Baaaam!
"Agh—!"
Tcuik – tcuik!
'I won't—I refuse to retreat now!'
"My resolve will never fade!
My Will shall stand tall as long as breath remains in my body!
My Intent will not disappear even if you torture me endlessly!
And my Ambition to conquer anyone who tries to erase existence—
Whether as Erusha Birtash or Theo Vkytor, the writer of Last Prayer—WILL NEVER BE EXTINGUISHED!!!"
Wuaaaaahh!
Dust and nameless light whirled violently as the collision between millions of strikes and the plasma of the Nine Sa cracked the body of reality itself.
The vibrations born from the impact crawled across every fiber of the world, making the land tighten like wounded skin forced to close.
The sky lost its color, then reflected a silver-white sheen unknown to any eye, as though the world struggled to recall its shape.
In the chaos, Theo stood with ragged breath, his body torn as he endured winds carrying the remnants of causal explosions.
Even the slightest movement felt like challenging the threshold of life, yet his gaze remained fixed on the center of destruction continuously blooming like a dark flower born from the fractures of natural law.
The plasma of the nine Sa had not fully faded.
Its remnants screamed without sound, forcing the surrounding space to twist like the reflection of shattered glass.
Fragments of displaced time fell like shards, revealing pasts that never occurred and futures that could never come.
There, fire appeared frozen in an unmoving curve, while shadows sharpened enough to cut stone.
The structure of cause and effect that normally bound the world was torn out by its roots, making every step taken by anyone capable of erasing an event mere seconds earlier.
The Administrators stood across the vortex, their bodies illuminated by spiraling colors of gold, green, red, and blue—each drawn from their respective Sa.
They observed the destruction they helped cause without expression, without hesitation, as if the collapse of a world were nothing more than a change in wind temperature.
Theo felt his blood flowing faster, leaving a hot trail on his cold skin battered by leaping temporal fragments.
There was a long wound torn open beneath his arm and across his neck, a red line splitting his abdomen, fine cracks along his hair and nape as if his body were being pulled by two different eras.
Yet the pain only hardened the determination he condensed within the core of his soul.
He focused every last trace of his Resolve, Intent, Will, and Ambition into the blade still resting in its sheath.
No light shone from that sword.
No sound emerged from it.
There was only the voice of a writer who refused to fall silent.
He delivered his fury through a story that pulsed—sometimes roaring, sometimes screaming with all its might—as if the blade were rewriting the world's imagination.
At the moment when the plasma of the nine Sa reached its peak vibration, Theo's technique, One Point, Nine Acupuncture Completions, transformed into an ancient echo untouched by boundaries or logic.
That will reignited the final collision, piercing through the vortex that had devoured hundreds of layers of reality.
The explosion erupted in darkness so bright it became light.
All movement collapsed.All sound vanished.Every prayer ever uttered by any being dissolved in the rolling silence that swept everything away.
The plasma of the nine Sa shattered completely, Theo's technique vanished with its source of power, and the final tremor of the collision spread to every corner of the cardinal realm like a black wave without sound.
The cardinal realm of Berkeley recorded the event as the first collapse born not from a god, not from an Administrator, but from the resolve of a writer whose body nearly broke yet whose soul refused to kneel.
As a result, Theo was thrown dozens of meters before he finally managed to stop himself and stand once more.
'Thankfully… this technique could still withstand all nine Sa at once—even with my body in this state.'
To be continued…