Chapter 15: The Ashes Between Infinity
For a long, agonizing moment, the detonation hung like a divine judgment over the void. The shockwave didn't just blast across space — it unwrote it. Binary code, metaphysical alphabets, and cosmic syntax shattered in long fractured ribbons. Radiation from the collapse tore through every information strand, evaporating entire conceptual atoms—only to then reverse itself in an instant, collapsing inward like a devouring paradox.
Then, silence.
Aisha stood at the center of that annihilation, her scarlet eyes dimmed, her body trembling, her breath labored. Her barrier—a gravitational vortex shaped like a black-hole spiral—spun silently in front of her, eating the residual energy of the last cataclysm. The space around her had not healed; it simply rewrote its own laws in order to accommodate her survival.
Misugaraki stumbled backward slightly, arms twitching, his eyes wide—not with shock, but mild intrigue. "That… was unexpected."
He looked away from her, observing as the metaphysical debris of broken numbers, codes, and alphabets began to reconstruct themselves without instruction—narrative fragments rebuilding, memories resetting in real-time. Even the rules were rewriting themselves.
"You absorbed it?" he muttered, eyes narrowing. "No... you erased the effects."
Aisha's skin shimmered faintly, her blonde hair floating freely in the weightless expanse. Her sweater, half-burnt and torn, clung to her as sweat trailed down her cheek.
"So," she panted, eyes sharp despite her exhaustion, "you really want to destroy the story, huh?"
All around them, broken sentences—actual storylines—floated like debris in a sea of ruined code. Binary lattices, broken metaphors, phrases like "AND THEN—" or "BUT SHE—" hovered mid-collapse before vanishing into voidlight.
Misugaraki's voice darkened. "Yes. The narrative has become a prison. I want unfiltered existence, a reality without a writer. You… you represent a checkpoint. A contingency. One of those damn characters who can change the outcome. If I can't use my true abilities because of this cursed tournament's three-skill limit, I'll simply beat you down with brute force and raw story-shattering physics."
Then, he vanished.
Aisha's reaction was instant—faster than light, faster than plot. She bent her knees, sliding into a defensive position as a flurry of Misugaraki's blows launched at her, each impact fracturing the space-time-fabric like porcelain.
She blocked, deflected, evaded—her movements a combination of martial instinct and story-wide awareness. Every strike of his didn't just cause force damage; they corrupted nearby dialogue boxes, cracked internal monologues, and reversed panel angles.
"If they were a god in this story," Misugaraki barked mid-assault, "then it's already decided. No one other than me will be that god!"
Aisha twisted mid-air, using a planet fragment as leverage to kick upward and intercept his fist with her knee, her elbow bracing the impact. Even so, the force sent tremors across existence. Narrative reality buckled.
She coughed blood, using the knockback to flip and push herself back—gaining a sliver of space.
The void crackled with unstable logic.
Misugaraki floated above her like a deity mid-transformation, his silhouette outlined in roaring cosmic flames. He crossed his arms again, smiling smugly, golden eyes burning with story-hate.
"You're dancing, doll," he smirked. "But all that dodging has to be exhausting."
Flame serpents burst from his aura, snaking across galaxies, chasing Aisha as she blurred through them—light-speed flame trails painting streaks across shattered stars.
"Still dodging?" Misugaraki sneered. "You can't keep running forever. Are you hoping the plot will rescue you? That a hidden trump card will suddenly drop in your lap like some tired trope? Hah!"
Aisha didn't respond. Her movements were slower now, not from fatigue—but calculation. Her breaths grew deeper, her eyes still and unshaken.
Then—her voice, soft.
"…She's gone."
Misugaraki paused. "What?"
Aisha's eyes flicked toward the direction Sumi had last been seen.
"The strongest support in this story… isn't here anymore."
Misugaraki chuckled dryly, hiding a glimmer of hesitation. "You think you stand a chance without her? You think she was the only reason I haven't ended this yet?"
His laughter returned, though more forced. "I allowed her presence. I permit interference. I am Misugaraki—fire incarnate, the chaos between arcs!"
"But you're still worried," Aisha interrupted softly, eyes unwavering.
For a brief second, Misugaraki's expression wavered.
Then—he flared. "Enough of this!"
He spread his arms wide, two flame crescents ripping across space like twin scythes.
"I don't need support. I am the apex of this story! The main character! The final boss and the rewrite combined!"
Aisha caught her breath. "You talk too much."
In the next instant, she vanished.
Misugaraki's eyes widened—she reappeared right in front of him, palm glowing red.
"Calculated Detonation."
A blast. Unlike anything before.
This one wasn't a shockwave—it was a timeline rupture. Misugaraki was blasted back, his body fragmenting into pixelated bursts of raw data. A trail of destroyed sub-realities bled out behind him, cutting through dimensions like paper.
He collided with the side of a collapsed universe, flattening it like a 2D page, and tumbled through an orbit of shattered multiverses.
Aisha landed again, knees buckling, breathing heavy.
Misugaraki groaned, floating up slowly—his body charred, code bleeding from his shoulders. His smirk was gone.
"…You really want to play, don't you?"
Aisha's scarlet eyes flashed. "No. I want to end it."
---
[Lower World: Grand Arena, Observation Layer]
As the screen shimmered with the aftermath of Aisha's rupture attack, silence fell like a curtain across the arena's higher domain. No words. Just breathless, suspended awe. Then—chatter, rising like wildfire.
"Misugaraki's still standing?" one cultivator exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Of course he is," another scoffed, arms crossed confidently. "What did you expect? The guy's one of the Grand Elder's offsprings. He's bred for dominance. This match was his the moment it began."
"I wouldn't count the hybrid out," a woman in a dark violet robe whispered, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "That girl's been suppressing something. Did you see how she absorbed his universe-destroying strike? That wasn't just defense… it was precision."
Groups of observers whispered fiercely, arguments breaking out in patches across the marble-paved floors of the household's private viewing wing. Several holographic boards flashed and reshuffled above their heads—bets adjusting rapidly.
Names and odd ratios swirled in the glowing air:
[MISUGARAKI: 1.7x]
[AISHA: 4.5x]
Coins, seals, and mystical tokens were exchanged with frantic hands. Some smiled smugly; others were sweating visibly.
"She'll bounce back," said a younger female disciple near the front rows. "Lady Sumi, I mean. No prodigy of her level stays down for long."
"I wonder where she went, though," muttered another. "She vanished right before the clash. It's almost like…"
"…like she knew it was going to happen," the other finished gravely.
Tension rippled through the air like a loaded string. Nobody had forgotten how Sumi, the story-shifting prodigy who transcended logic itself, had disappeared—right before the fight intensified. Whispers followed her name like shadows.
Meanwhile, Saito stood near the edge of the elevated platform, his hands resting against the glass railing, eyes locked on the match… until something shifted in the corner of his vision.
A figure. Cloaked in black.
They were moving through the tightly packed crowd toward one of the shadowed exits—slow, deliberate, and wrong.
His brows furrowed.
"Did you see that?" he asked sharply, turning his head slightly to Jin-Young Zheng.
"Hm?" She was mid-sip of some glowing peach-colored elixir, her legs still crossed and back leaning comfortably against the stone seat. "See what?"
He pointed toward the exit corridor, voice low but sharp. "There. Someone. In a black cloak… just left. Did you see them?"
Jin-Young Zheng followed his finger, her eyes narrowing—but the corridor was empty.
"There's nothing there."
Saito frowned. His fingers drummed against the railing before slowly pulling back.
"You sure you're okay?" she asked, not mocking—genuine curiosity in her tone. "You're not overthinking again, are you?"
He didn't reply. Just turned his eyes back toward the projection of the match.
Jin-Young Zheng raised a brow, observing him for a moment longer, then casually leaned back again.
"Whatever," she muttered. "Don't pass out on me."
---
[Scene Shift — Exit Corridor, Base of the HCD Household]
Outside the grand viewing structure, beneath the glowing vine-covered archways leading toward the ethereal streets of the lower realm, the cloaked man walked with firm, silent steps.
His cloak fluttered lightly behind him, edges scuffed with travel. His hands remained hidden, face shadowed. He made no sudden moves—just… moved forward, into the soft-lit mist.
Then—collision.
A sudden stop.
He stumbled back, the impact unexpected. Someone had been walking the opposite direction, equally silent.
"Tch—watch where you're—" the man started, brushing himself off.
But the figure who stood before him was… strange.
A boy. Youthful in size, yet timeless in air.
He wore a sleek black suit, perfectly fitted. But rather than sleeves, he wore the suit jacket as a draped cape, laid neatly across both shoulders. In his right hand was a long staff, silver-bodied, capped with a golden handle shaped like a question mark—but not quite. Its shape seemed to morph slightly each time one tried to lock eyes with it.
And though his face remained unseen—no one would remember it even if they did—his hair was pear-colored, shimmering softly like moonlight on fresh snow.
"Ah," the boy said, catching the cloaked man gently by the arm, helping him up with one hand and a warm smile. "My apologies. I'm still adjusting to the flow here."
The cloaked man jerked his arm away quickly and turned his face deeper into his hood. "Watch where you're going," he snapped, brushing himself off again.
But the boy just stood there—serene, unbothered, still smiling faintly.
As the cloaked man retreated into the veil of street fog, the boy turned his gaze subtly toward the sky—his staff pulsing once.
No name.
No origin.
But something about him made the air hold its breath.
---
To be continued
Hey there! Thanks for reading today's chapter!
If you're enjoying the story so far, please vote with a Power Stone — it really helps the novel grow and reach more readers.
Your support means everything🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
_
_
_
_
_
Discord link: [ https://discord.gg/TZcenGnr ]
_
Tiktok link: [ http://tiktok.com/@gilgameshvoldigoad112 ]
(Gilgameshvoldigoad112)
_
Instagram Link: [ https://www.instagram.com/gilgameshvoldigoad112?igsh=MTV5dHNqdGRyOWFmZg== ]
(Name - Gilgameshvoldigoad112)
_
Wattpad link: [ https://www.wattpad.com/story/396781641?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details_button&wp_uname=Gilgamesvoldigoad200 ]
_
WebNovel link: [ http://wbnv.in/a/c6ip4z4 ]
_
_
_
_
_
with your support I will continue with it