“To die is not defeat… but to feel its shape within the self is.”7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn1KhnDAbHY
—The Echo of the Forgotten Herald
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡysjYBRodXw
The moment was not supposed to exist. Yet here it was.
Abyssus stood silent in the nothingness beyond time. Around him, the raw carcass of the multiverse collapsed in unseen tremors. Galaxies coiled inward like dying snakes. Stars blinked out as if ashamed of their own light. Concepts untethered from meaning drifted in the void like dead gods, and silence — that terrible, eternal silence — pressed against the edges of everything.
And yet… something stirred inside him.
He should not have felt it. He never felt.
Abyssus did not understand sensation, nor suffering, nor loss — they were flawed designs, constructs bound to lesser beings. But now, deep within, there was… movement. An echo. A presence.
It came from within the illusion he had forged to mock the divine fusion — the Seraphiel-led god-construct meant to challenge him. That illusion had shattered, dismissed with ease. But it had not been entirely false. He had allowed it to persist just long enough for Seed to remain hidden in its heart.
And from Seed came the infection.
Absolute Void.
Abyssus glanced down, not out of confusion, but acknowledgment. A fracture had appeared along his perfect form — not physical, not conceptual, but something beyond both. The crack vibrated across all realities, like a fault line ripping through causality itself. From it bled nothing.
Not absence. Not emptiness.
Nothing.
Abyssus tilted his head slightly. Not in pain. Not in thought. But as if receiving a signal from inside a machine he no longer entirely controlled.
He could erase it. He could erase everything. One thought. One breathless decree. And yet… he did not.
Instead, he understood.
Not all at once. Not as a flood. But as a single word — defeat — blooming like a dark flower in the sterile garden of his being.
This… was what Seed had given him.
Not weakness. Not mortality.
But perspective.
Abyssus raised his hand, palm open. From it, the fractal remains of universes danced like smoke. Every soul, every history, every probability flickered like glass in the wind.
His voice — a thing not heard but etched into the structure of reality — resonated like a final law.
“Seed.”
The child emerged from the ruin of space-time, wrapped in the final threads of the divine fusion, his expression blank — not from fear, but comprehension.
“I am what was,” Abyssus said.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQ0BDWlEfiO
“What is to be.”7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvhyl5wqYmX
“And what will come.”
For the first time in all of creation, his form dimmed. Not from exhaustion. But from choice.
He stepped toward Seed, and time bowed beneath each movement. Stillwake wept. The stars shuddered in their graves. On the farthest edge of what could still be considered existence, Seraphiel, Lyra, and Tavin fell to their knees, not in worship — but in mourning.
Abyssus knelt before the child.
And smiled.
Not with emotion. But with intent.
“Surpass me.”
Then, with no ceremony — no light, no thunder, no divine gesture — Abyssus pressed his fingers to his own chest and ceased.
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3CYrOlqz2y
The death of Abyssus did not bring freedom.
It brought convergence.
The multiverse — all that had ever been, could be, or would never be — began to collapse inward, not in destruction, but distillation.
Galactic strings snapped like harp chords in a storm. Timelines screamed. History blurred. Future and past locked arms and tumbled into one another like crashing waves.
And at the center of it all, Earth — the single vessel left unbroken by Abyssus’ final act.
It swelled with impossible weight. Cities expanded in an instant. Cultures from other galaxies blinked into place. The sun bent its own law to hold the mass in place. Oceans rearranged. The sky darkened. The moon split and reformed.
One world to hold the infinite.
One Earth to contain all of existence.
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLj1gzP0wgT
Somewhere above the fractured horizon, Seraphiel lay on a tower built from forgotten memories. His body barely held together. His wings—half-light, half-dust—spread beneath him like broken scripture.
Lyra sat beside him, her eyes wide, reflecting the stars that had once had names.
Tavin knelt in prayer, though to whom he no longer knew.
And Seed stood at the edge of the world, staring into a blackened sea.
“He killed himself,” Seraphiel whispered.
“He couldn’t lose,” Lyra said.
“But he did,” Tavin added, “because of you.”
Seed turned slowly, his form still flickering between child and something older, colder, infinite.
“He infected me,” Seed said. “And I… infected him.”
No one spoke.
The air was quiet, not with peace, but pause.
“So… what now?” Lyra asked.
Seed looked to the sky. It no longer held stars.
Just possibility.
ns216.73.216.206da2“Now… we see if the world remembers how to live.”
然後按「加至主畫面」