Date (Real World): Wednesday, March 1, 2025. 4:23 AM.
Location: The Axiomatic White Room / The Wonder World.
I. The Price of the Silver King
The clash between The Silver King (Null) and the Ascended Satan 666 was a conceptual cataclysm contained within the Axiomatic White Room. It was a duel where every strike was an attempt to rewrite the opponent's existence.
Null's Silver Sword, forged from the perfect equilibrium of Light and Darkness, screamed as it met the solidified obsidian scales of Satan. The sword was the sharpest blade in existence, capable of conceptually piercing, yet Satan's God-hood endurance, boosted by a thousandfold, meant that every conceptual incision was instantly sealed by raw will and infinite kinetic energy.
Satan, his smile fixed, met the Silver Sword with his own two hands, his fingers leaving burning trails of conceptual plasma on the silver edge.
"Beautiful! Beautiful!" Satan roared, his voice a tidal wave of bloodlust. "You are finally a worthy opponent, Null! You finally embraced the necessity of balance!"
The Silver King, silent and grim, pushed the blade harder, aiming for the conceptual heart he knew Satan still possessed beneath the scales.
C R A C K.
Satan twisted, dodging the fatal thrust, and slammed the flat of his palm—infused with pure, accelerated Gravity Code—into Null's left forearm. The sound was not a simple snap; it was the conceptual sound of structural failure.
Null's bone shattered into a billion pieces, the Silver Sword clattering harmlessly away into the white void.
A primal, agonizing scream tore from Null's throat, a sound that violated the silence of the Axiomatic White, instantly followed by the immediate, frantic conceptual command of the Asura Code: Regenerate!
The arm, reduced to a pulp of silver-white light and shattered black cross-matter, instantly began knitting itself back together. But the conceptual damage was too deep, the shock too great. The repair was slow, stuttering.
Satan seized the momentary lapse. With a speed that made the concept of light seem sluggish, he shifted his position, binding Null in a conceptual lock that nullified the Asura Code's regenerative capacity. Satan pinned Null's shoulders, locking his torso in place, his terrifying, cross-pupiled red eyes mere inches from Null's pure grey ones.
Satan's smile widened, twisting into something truly demonic—a triumphant, cruel sneer. He had won the conceptual position.
II. The Crushing Truth and The Black Arm of Despair
Satan leaned in, his breath—now made of conceptual decay—washing over Null's face.
"Struggle, boy! Struggle against the inevitable!" Satan hissed, his voice dropping to a whisper of profound, devastating malice. He was not talking about the fight; he was speaking to Null's very soul.
"You are strong. You are the Silver King. You mastered the blood and tears of the Father," Satan stated, his voice almost pitying. He tightened the lock, the pressure threatening to implode Null's chest.
Then, the final, conceptual blow.
Satan's eyes pulsed crimson, and the grin stretched wider.
"You think I'm the true enemy here? Hehehe, wait 'til you see the real Satan."
The words did not need explanation. Null, the Void King, the chosen holder of the Code, instantly grasped the implication through the collective cosmic knowledge of Umbros and Asura.
The Satan he fought—the being he had poured every ounce of conceptual power, suffering, and resolve into defeating—was not the ultimate adversary.
The true Satan was a name whispered only in the deepest void: Lucifer Morningstar.
The revelation was more agonizing than the shattered arm. Null's conceptual defense—his confidence, his resolve, his belief in his own power—shattered instantly.
The Silver King façade cracked, revealing the desolate despair of the man beneath. His grey eyes dulled. His chest, no longer held by the rigid confidence of balance, deflated.
I've struggled, I've transformed, I've endured the shame of having the Code, I've pushed my body to conceptual failure, and all of it was against a false god.
A wave of crushing despair—of profound, existential weakness—washed over Null. I am weak. I am struggling against an imposter. I am not worthy of the Code.
He felt the remaining regenerative light of Asura fail, suffocated by his own mental void. The snapped arm throbbed, raw and exposed.
Null was utterly depressed, not just physically exhausted, but conceptually broken.
"This weakness... this error... cannot remain," Null rasped, his voice raw, struggling to reclaim a semblance of control over the Code.
He focused the full destructive power of the Umbros Code onto his broken limb. He didn't wait for regeneration; he decided the arm was a flawed component that needed replacement.
With a horrifying, wet conceptual tearing sound, Null ripped his own broken arm from his shoulder socket, shredding the newly formed muscle and tendon. The sheer willpower required was staggering—self-amputation driven by self-loathing.
He discarded the damaged limb into the white void, where it dissolved instantly.
From the gaping wound, the Umbros Code surged. It was not gentle. It was raw, volatile, and absolute shadow. The darkness condensed, hardening into a new, replacement limb—a powerful, flawless, conceptual Black Arm. It was not merely restored; it was structurally reinforced, forged from the purest, densest concept of the Void.
Null moved the arm slowly, testing its response.
"This should do the job, I think..." Null muttered, the voice of the Silver King now tainted with a deep, weary depression. The casual, uncertain phrasing masked the horrific conceptual power he had just wielded against himself. He had chosen unbreakable strength over inherent life.
The near-unbreakable arm met the pressure of Satan's lock, and the lock yielded instantly, unable to contain the structural density of the pure Darkness.
Satan, though temporarily pushed back, simply laughed harder, recognizing the trauma he had inflicted. "Good! Use your pain, boy! It makes you so much more... interesting!"
The fight resumed, but Null was no longer the Silver King of balanced justice. He was a force driven by depressive, focused self-hatred, aiming to prove his worth against an enemy that he now knew was fundamentally beneath him, yet still too powerful to beat easily.
III. The Contractual Reckoning
Location: The Wonder World, under the Eternal Veil.
In the safety of the dimensional sanctuary, Fang maintained the vast conceptual shield—the Eternal Veil—that protected Earth from the war's fallout. He was a titan of dark energy, the 100-million-year-old First Thought, bearing the weight of an entire world.
A sudden, sharp conceptual agony lanced through his mind—a pain far beyond physical injury, striking at the very Axiom of his existence. Fang gasped, his massive dragon head bowing momentarily, sending tremors through the shield.
It was the price of a broken oath.
A millennium ago, upon meeting soren, Fang had entered into a specific, unbreakable conceptual contract: "I, Fang, First Thought and Guardian of the Axiom, shall protect and ensure the salvation of Null, the Void King Code holder, until his purpose is fulfilled."
By choosing to maintain the safety of the many (the world) over the immediate safety of the one (Null), Fang had breached the contractual clause of immediate protection. The penalty was conceptual disintegration, starting with the mind.
The pain intensified, a thousand needles of pure conceptual rejection tearing at his consciousness. He saw flashes of the future: the King of Stone capitalizing on this weakness, the Shield collapsing.
The mission dictates the contract must be superseded by the Law of Axiomatic Survival.
The contract dictates that the chosen one must be saved before all else.
Fang gritted his conceptual teeth. The contract was not just a legal document; it was a bond woven into the fabric of his being, a promise he had carried for Null's sake through countless ages. Ignoring it was tearing him apart.
The last shockwave from Null's battle—the creation of the darkness arm—rocked Fang. He realized Null was broken, not just physically, but spiritually. The False Satan's lie had succeeded.
"He is compromised," Fang muttered, the sound vibrating the air. "His confidence, the foundation of the Silver King Code, has failed. I cannot allow him to face the true enemy in this state, much less continue this battle against the False God alone."
Fang made the most agonizing decision of his 100-million-year existence: He had to breach the greater mission to fulfill the personal oath.
He turned, addressing Kai, Daniel, and the others, his face grim.
"The time for me to hold the shield is over. I must intercept Null and Satan 666."
He relinquished his conceptual hold on the Eternal Veil, trusting the residual energy of his shield to hold for a critical, short duration.
"Kai," Fang commanded, his voice sharp and absolute, "the shield will hold for approximately thirty minutes. You are the structural anchor now. If the veil begins to dissolve, you must stabilize the Wonder World and prepare to move the people. Daniel, you are the tactical lead. Your knowledge of the Code must guide Kai."
Kai, stunned, found his voice. "But... where do we go, Master Fang?"
Fang looked into Kai's eyes, transmitting the conceptual coordinates of a dimensional anchor point far from the conflict. "Go to the Hidden Library of Chronos. It is a nexus point outside the war. You will take the remaining Stone Holders there and wait. Now, go!"
With the leadership transferred and the commands issued, Fang gathered his immense Dark Dragon form, focusing all 100 million years of his conceptual power. He was preparing a journey that was less about travel and more about violating the laws of the universe.
IV. The Law of Infinite Velocity
Fang coiled his conceptual mass, his eyes—deep pools of shadow—fixated on the conceptual rift leading back to Null.
He launched himself from the Wonder World.
Stage 1: Breaking the Atmosphere (0 – 1 Second)
The initial acceleration was instantaneous and violent. Fang's body became a black conceptual needle piercing the Earth's atmosphere. The friction of the air, the wind resistance—the very concept of drag—dissolved before him. He punched through the troposphere, stratosphere, and exosphere in a fraction of a millisecond.
The Earth shrank beneath him, turning from a green and blue sphere to a small, isolated marble. The gravitational pull—the conceptual force binding him to this dimension—was countered not by propulsion, but by Conceptual Authority. Fang decreed: Gravity does not apply to me.
He reached the void of space.
Stage 2: FTL Acceleration (1 – 5 Seconds)
In open space, Fang initiated the true burn. He was not using plasma or kinetic thrust; he was using the Axiom of Spatial Compression.
He began to accelerate toward the theoretical limit of the speed of light (FTL). The stars ahead of him did not twinkle; they shifted conceptually from distinct points of light into a massive, blinding sheet of white.
The speed of light, the foundation of observation, became his anchor.
He felt the resistance of the conceptual barrier—the Law of Physics dictating that mass increases infinitely as velocity approaches c. Fang sneered. He decreed: The mass of my conceptual form is zero.
The constraint dissolved. He surpassed the speed of light.
Stage 3: Beyond the Speed of Light (5 – 30 Seconds)
At this velocity, time and space began to distort around him. He left the solar system instantly. Jupiter, Saturn, and the Kuiper Belt became ghosts in his wake.
The distance between stars, measured in thousands of light-years, compressed into mere miles. Fang experienced the universe as a flat, two-dimensional plane. He saw the Milky Way not as a disc of billions of stars, but as a colossal, rotating, conceptual fractal image.
He was moving so fast that the light photons that left a star one thousand years ago were still traveling toward the Earth when he passed them, yet he saw the conceptual future of that same light before it arrived at its destination.
Stage 4: Velocity of the Axiom (30 Seconds – Arrival)
Fang pushed his conceptual velocity past the boundaries of FTL travel, striving for Infinite Velocity, the speed of an axiomatic thought.
His perception of reality fragmented. Time ceased to be linear; it became cyclical. He could see the beginning of the universe and the end of the universe existing simultaneously, reduced to conceptual streaks of energy.
The stars and galaxies did not streak; they became an absolute, uniform blue blur. He was traveling so fast that the light emitted by distant galaxies was irrelevant. He was surpassing the conceptual velocity of the universe's expansion itself.
Fang was moving faster than the concept of vision.
He was not traveling through space; he was moving across the Conceptual Map that defined space. He flew past the limits of observed reality, reaching the empty, silent regions where the Code merely transitioned to the next volume of creation.
The massive, ancient headache from the contractual breach was a constant, throbbing roar in his consciousness, reminding him of his broken oath. He endured it, knowing that the price was worth it if he could stabilize the Silver King.
He pierced the dimensional boundary, his Black Dragon form blazing with conceptual fire, ready to arrive at the Axiomatic White Room where the broken, depressed Silver King and the raging False Satan were locked in their war to the death. Fang had traversed the observable universe in less than a minute.
End of chapter 70
See you later