Chapter 603
And now, it's time for gratitude.
I am incredibly grateful for your existence.
The sea of Sea of Blood covering the earth seemed to echo his inner voice, transforming completely into a scorching Hell.
That was no longer a flame of matter, but an absolute heat that elevated the concept of "temperature" to its limit, enough to melt spacetime itself.
The divine fire, reaching hundreds of millions of degrees, scorched reality into nothingness.
In this vividly real scene, created by Demiurge himself and surpassing even Hell itself, Demiurge opened his arms, in an almost prayerful gesture, and cried out to the figure standing silently in the eye of the storm:
You are the realm I've been pursuing!
This might be a feeling called "longing".
Yes, aspirations.
Demiurge, the Ultimate Great Satan, this usurper of God's name, actually harbored a longing for another being.
The excitement that surpasses even the Primordial war lies here.
The joy of victory in that war, started out of rebellion and to prove oneself, is insignificant compared to the sense of fulfillment I feel now.
Novia gives herself this sense of fulfillment.
It's so good it makes you tremble.
It's so scary it makes you tremble.
For the first time, I clearly recognized, and sincerely blessed, the existence of this "other" that I should be the one to overcome.
It is precisely because it was acknowledged.
It's precisely because he acknowledges that this guy is higher than him, closer to the Root than him, and more "real" than him...
Therefore, Demiurge had no choice but to take on the challenge.
There is no way back, nor is there any need to retreat.
This is not for victory, nor for survival.
This is solely for the purpose of fulfilling the very existence of the "Demiurge".
I'm going to catch up with you.
I will surpass you.
I will incorporate your "unchanging" truth into my "ever-changing" torrent!
All other thinking is unnecessary.
Discard all other concerns.
Demiurge's consciousness has never been so pure, so sharp.
It compressed and condensed its own existential meaning, its usurped divinity, and its endless power of change, merging them into the sweeping conceptual storm.
At the eye of the storm, Novia remained still.
The destructive torrent formed by billions of "violence" and "poverty" vanished silently, like spring snow melting, the moment it touched a meter in front of him.
It wasn't resisted, nor neutralized, but rather... "corrected".
It's like a poorly written equation that's automatically corrected to "nothing" in the face of absolute axioms.
Demiurge was not surprised at all.
If it cannot even withstand an attack of this magnitude, then it does not deserve to be called "unchanging".
As the storm subsided, the scorching flames of the hell gradually dimmed.
Between the two, only the scorched, crystallized void remained.
Demiurge's body has begun to show cracks.
That was the backlash caused by forcibly driving conceptual power beyond its limits, but he didn't care at all. He just stared at the other person with his eyes that burned with a completely different light.
"Tell me," he began, his voice eerily calm, "How will you kill me?"
This is a question.
It's also a request.
It's also a... challenge.
Please use your unchanging truth to put an end to my ever-changing hypocrisy.
Novia's face finally showed a very subtle change in expression.
It was an expression that mixed confusion with... contemplation.
"Well," he replied in a tone as if discussing the weather, "What do you think?"
Demiurge was stunned.
I had considered countless possible answers.
Whether it's a disdainful silence, a solemn declaration, or a pitying sigh, no one ever imagined that the other party would throw this question back at them.
It was as if they were asking a passerby what they wanted for dinner.
But then Demiurge laughed again.
Yes, that's exactly it.
This is the Novia.
For him, killing himself might truly be a matter of "anything goes," with the process, method, and meaning all being irrelevant.
Because the outcome was predetermined from the very beginning.
"Whatever you choose, it's fine."
Demiurge answered frankly.
As long as I can be ended by your hands, no matter how, it will be the Supreme Being honor for me.
Novia seemed to genuinely consider it for a moment, then gently shook her head.
How would I know?
He said.
This is not a rhetorical question, nor is it a perfunctory statement; it is a statement of fact.
I have no idea.
Because the act of "killing you" doesn't require any "method" for me.
When "unchanging" and "ever-changing" meet, when "truth" and "falsehood" clash head-on, the demise of the existence known as "The Demiurge" is an inevitable "phenomenon."
Just as the Sun inevitably rises in the east and sets in the west.
I don't need to "know" how to rise; I only need to "exist," and rising will be inevitable.
Grind into powder.
The first wall of common sense shattered in Demiurge's mind; his understanding of "battle" and "life and death" was completely Overturning by the other party's words.
Grind into powder.
The second wall collapsed, and the "will" that was once so proud of, the "awareness" that wanted to surpass the opponent, seemed so wishful thinking in the face of Novia's almost "nothing" will.
Grind into powder.
The third, the fourth... countless walls used to build Demiurge's self-awareness collapsed and shattered one after another.
The escalating conflict between "violence" and "ferocity" has finally reached its climax.
The Demiurge no longer speaks.
Novia remained silent.
The space between them began to distort and collapse.
It's not because of energy, but because two diametrically opposed "principles" repel each other, causing a logical error in reality itself.
All things awaiting their time of change --
The decisive moment is approaching.
The song has stopped.
The wind has stopped.
Even the void, which was constantly collapsing due to the conflict of "reason," fell into absolute "nothingness" in this instant.
Time has lost its meaning.
Or rather, they are waiting.
We await that one, absolutely "unchanging" being to deliver the final judgment.
Demiurge looked up at Novia, whose body was covered in cracks, from which flowed not blood, but fragments of the usurped and imitated laws of the universe, which shimmered dimly like dying stardust.
He smiled.
I laughed for the last time, from the bottom of my heart.
He saw the ultimate realm he had longed for.
Novia made no opening move, and attacked without warning.
He simply raised his right hand slowly.
It was as if it was supporting an invisible Sun.
Light was born at that moment.
It did not come from the outside world, but was "generated" from the palm of the hand.
That was not light in the ordinary sense.
The light was so ancient that it seemed to have existed before the birth of the Universe.
The light was so majestic that it seemed eternal even after the end of all things.
That light contained an absolute... fierce rage.
It is the fierce wrath of the Father.
It is the Primordial Wrath that created everything and can destroy everything.
Just as recorded in "The Second Treatise of the Great Seth":
I (Christ) held in my hand the Spear of Light forged from the wrath of the Father, and pierced his left eye—the prison that stole the light of Sophia. As he cried out, black blood gushed from his right eye, staining the stars.
Novia was not imitating; he himself was the god who judged False God.
Standing here is to correct a mistake that has been usurped.
The light continuously condensed and purified, eventually forming the shape of a spear.
The spear flows with the laws of cause and effect, the Order of time, and the principles of space; the spearhead points to truth itself.
Demiurge did not dodge, nor could he dodge.
The moment that Spear of Light appeared, his presence was "locked in".
All "change" and "possibility" are completely sealed off by this absolute principle of "immutability".
He could only, and only wished to, accept the End Times that had come for him.
Novia extended her hand forward.
An incredibly slow, yet so fast that even light cannot capture the movement.
An absolute "one" that spans the past, present, and Future.
The Spear of Light thrusts out.
There was no sound.
There was no impact.
The Spear of Light, forged from the wrath of the Father God, silently pierced Demiurge's left eye.
--That was the cage that stole the light from "Shekinah".