Final Dirge could not understand.
Logic was the foundation on which gods built worlds and understood all things.
Desire was the primal fuel that drove mortal beings to act.
And the power of Final Dirge, which she wielded, lay in severing the roots of both. On a conceptual level, it declared the end of all logic and the futility of all desire.
She had seen star gods who fought for glory lay down their weapons at the sound of her song and let their Divine Kingdoms collapse.
She had also seen elves who lived for love forget their own names under her gaze and turn to dust.
Existence needed meaning.
And she was the end of meaning.
But what stood before her now possessed a kind of "meaning" she had never encountered—one so unreasonable it defied belief.
The sizzling roast meat conjured by the illusion was rapidly losing the concept of "deliciousness" under the erosion of her law.
Its aroma faded, its color turned ashen, and its tempting steam became a cold mist.
It was becoming a meaningless, two-dimensional picture.
Yet rather than plunge the beast into the Void, her actions lit a far more primal and violent fuse.
Yada Yada's golden slit pupils fixed on the roast meat. A dangerous rumble rose from deep in his throat.
In his world, logic was reduced to its simplest form.
One: I'm hungry.
Two: There's food over there.
Three: Something is making my food taste bad.
Conclusion: kill that thing.
It was killing intent beyond anger or hatred—the purest kind, born of animal instinct.
It was the instinct to protect his food.
Confusion deepened on Final Dirge's indistinct face.
She tried to strengthen her power and completely blanket Yada Yada's senses with the concept of the Void.
"Taste is an illusion. Hunger