Chapter 16: Fractures of Fiction and Flesh
Far across the ever-shifting fabric of the cosmos, beyond the boundaries of known timelines and layered multiverses, a war-scarred landscape unfolded in violent silence. Infinite timelines and parallel cosmologies coiled together into a living storm, pulsing with narrative energy, all of them nested within the first layer of reality of the Tournament World. Despite the grandeur, this layer remained but an echo—a lower frequency in the ever-climbing scale of infinite existence.
Alice, bloodied and bruised, spun helplessly through the fractured strata of layered narratives. Her body tore through layer after layer of unstable realities: places that viewed the ones beneath as fiction, and were themselves considered falsehoods by those above. Even in this descent, each piece of shattered space she passed began reconstructing itself—instantly reforming its plotlines, laws, metaphysical frameworks, and history.
The infinite planets she careened past were each the size of universes, endlessly expanding every Planck second. The timelines birthed within them originated from stray thoughts, dreams, and all possible and impossible musings. And every single one mirrored the same infinite cosmology—a recursion of narrative duplicates.
Alice finally slammed into a floating mass of nothingness, caught gently by the girl with the chained dual katanas. The mysterious cultivator stood within a silent realm above the fragmented chaos, a domain stabilized by her mere presence. She placed a gentle hand atop Alice's head, eyes closed, as if acknowledging both Alice's weakness and defiance.
Their battle had cracked open the invisible sub-dimensional doors within the Tournament World's universal space—rifts in the unseen walls between sub-realities. These doorways spiraled out endlessly, every layer acting as a mirrored reflection of the entire Tournament structure, expanding outward without end. Held by a primal reality veil and governed by unspeakable structures, these cracks grew infinitely, one after another, every Planck moment.
Despite the Tournament World's rule of 0-dimensional reduction—forcing all participants to fight with severely suppressed presence—these two warriors had launched attacks that broke through these restrictions by sheer technique alone. Each blow, each clash, shook not only their current battlefield but spiraled into untold layers of dimensional fragments.
Meanwhile, below, in the Lower World—
The grand arena stood abuzz with chaos and awe. On the floating holographic screens above the stadium, the camera panned over the aftermath of the fight.
ANNOUNCER (Voice booming, breathless): "Twenty-eight casualties and counting! That's right, folks! Cultivators and Hunters alike are being eliminated at an alarming rate! Remember, our fighters are locked at 0-Dimensional existence—no higher narrative access, no scaling structures, and limited to three base abilities!"
The crowd roars, divided between awe and fear.
"These fights were supposed to test their wit, not tear through sub-dimensional glass like candy! And yet here we are, witnessing reality-bending destruction despite the limiters!"
The camera swept across rows of viewers: Nobles, Demi-Gods, dimensional governors, and curious spectators from fractured branches of meta-fictional multiverses. Some whispered in excitement. Others watched in silent reverence.
"I told you Misugaraki would dominate from the start," said a smug spectator, arms folded. "He's one of the grand elder's offsprings, born into divine cultivation. No one else stood a chance."
"Don't be so sure," another interjected, betting slips in hand. "That hybrid girl Aisha… she's holding her ground. There's fire in her eyes."
Others muttered, looking concerned.
"What happened to Lady Sumi?" "Is she okay?" "She's a prodigy, she'll bounce back. She always does."
Amidst the tension, Saito sat stiffly in his seat, eyes trained on the battle. Then suddenly— a sharp, stabbing pain lanced through his skull.
"Agh…!" he clutched his head, eyes wide.
A voice, feminine and distant, like a song through a broken speaker, whispered through the folds of his mind:
"Wake up… Saito… wake up…"
"W-What is happening?" he gasped.
Jin-Young Zheng turned, her lemon-yellow eyes sharp with sudden concern.
"Saito? What's wrong?"
She reached for his arm. The moment she touched him, the pain dissolved like mist.
"You were shouting," she said. "Are you alright?"
"I… I think so. I don't know. It's gone now," he replied, still shaken.
"Maybe you should rest."
"I'm fine. I promise."
But the whisper haunted the edges of his memory—already fading. As if it had never happened.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Saito spotted something.
A figure.
Cloaked in black, slipping through the crowd and making for the exit.
"Sensei," he said, turning to point. "Did you see that guy in the cloak again?"
Jin-Young Zheng looked.
"See what?"
The figure was gone.
"this is the second time tomorrow, are you sure you are not under the weather?
"...No. Nothing," Saito muttered, sitting down again.
Not believing Saito's respond she stood up, bending to pin his nose (teasing him)..
"Okay get up, I'm taking you in for a check up now" she pins his cloth with her fingers.
"But i---"
"No buts, now come along"
Saito stood up to follow her lead as she dragged him to the exit
At the hall to the stadium of the HCD Household Gate
The cloaked figure moved swiftly, unaware of the sharp eyes that had spotted him. But just as he reached the outermost steps, he collided with someone.
He stumbled backward. A hand caught his arm.
The man looked up—a boy.
Unassuming.
No facial details could be made out. His presence seemed to shift with the surrounding air. He wore a pristine black suit, jacket flared over his shoulders like a ceremonial cape. In his right hand, he held a sleek staff, topped with a golden ring.
His hair—a soft pearl white, glimmering faintly.
"outta my way!", the cloaked man snapped, pulling away and hurrying off.
The boy said nothing. He watched silently, a soft, polite smile lingering on his lips.
"The second time today, interesting"
He walked forward and turned, seeing as Saito and Jin-Young Zheng were exiting from another end in the stadium dome—he looked at them as though seeing far beyond what can be seen, into every layer of fiction and possibilities.
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To be continued
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