(Third Person POV with Nova's internal monologue and Ciel dialogue woven in)
The forest air was warmer than usual. Not from the sun, but from something else—something that pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat hidden beneath the earth.
Nova walked a step behind Rimuru, his tails brushing lazily through the grass. He could sense it clearly now.
Ciel.
<
'So it begins… Shizu Izawa.'
Rimuru tilted her slime head curiously.
"Uh, Nova? You're tense all of a sudden."
He didn't answer right away. His mismatched eyes tracked the trees ahead. The pressure of Ifrit's host brushed faintly against his senses—like a candle flickering in the dark, small but dangerous if left unchecked.
Finally, he spoke.
"Stay alert."
Moments later, the clearing opened up to reveal them. Adventurers—armed, tense, and surrounding a figure in a simple mask. Black hair framed her face, and though her presence was subdued, Nova saw past it instantly. He saw the caged inferno behind her eyes.
Shizu.
Rimuru perked up.
"Oh! New people! Maybe they're friendly—"
Nova cut her off sharply.
"They're not."
The adventurers shifted when they saw the silver fox and the bouncing slime. Swords were drawn, magic crackled faintly in the air. But the masked woman raised her hand gently, halting them.
Her voice was calm, but tinged with something deeper.
"Wait. That aura… he isn't normal."
Her gaze fell directly on Nova. He stared back, unreadable.
'She can feel it. Good. She's sharper than most.'
Ciel's voice hummed softly.
<
'Of course she is. That's what makes her dangerous.'
Rimuru, oblivious as usual, bounced forward cheerfully.
"Hi there! I'm Rimuru Tempest! I'm a slime, but not, like, the weak kind!"
The adventurers blinked in confusion. Some lowered their weapons, others exchanged nervous looks. Shizu, however, tilted her head slightly, watching Rimuru with an expression Nova couldn't quite read.
"You're… strange," she said softly.
Rimuru puffed herself up proudly.
"I get that a lot!"
Nova sighed internally.
'Ciel, remind me why I'm babysitting her again?'
<
'Mistakes were made.'
Shizu's gaze flickered back to him. For a fraction of a second, their eyes locked—and Nova felt the faintest ripple, like recognition. Not of him specifically, but of something deeper.
She spoke quietly.
"You… you don't belong here, do you?"
Nova's tails stilled. Rimuru blinked between them, confused.
"Huh? What do you mean?"
But Nova didn't answer. He simply regarded Shizu in silence, letting the tension grow heavy between them. The adventurers shifted uneasily, clearly sensing something unspoken pass between the masked woman and the fox.
Finally, Nova turned away, his tone flat.
"We'll talk later."
Shizu studied him for another long moment before nodding faintly.
The forest wind carried the scent of ash. The fire within her stirred, restless, as though it too recognized the silver fox.
And Nova, for once, allowed himself the smallest flicker of curiosity.
'So this is the so-called Conqueror of Flames. Interesting.'
Ciel hummed in his mind.
<
'Yes. Prepare for all outcomes. Especially Ifrit.'
His tails curled slowly, like serpents coiling in anticipation.
Because Nova already knew—this encounter was going to change everything.
Nova's tails flicked once, sharp as a blade, before settling. His crimson-and-teal eyes lingered on Shizu's retreating aura, filing every detail away.
Ciel's voice came smoothly, almost amused.
<
'I'm analyzing.'
<
'…You're getting cheeky again.'
Her tone shifted back to calm calculation.
<
Nova's gaze swept the adventurers—sweat clung to their brows though the forest wasn't hot. Their stances were nervous, weapons trembling ever so slightly. Instinct recognized danger, even if reason could not.
'A cage on the verge of cracking.'
Ciel hummed in approval.
<
'Ifrit burns the world.'
Rimuru, of course, was oblivious. The slime bounced forward, engaging the adventurers in cheerful small talk, asking about their weapons, their travels, their guild rank. Their leader, a tall man with a scarred jaw, kept glancing at Nova like someone staring at a wolf among sheep.
Nova ignored them. His focus remained on Shizu. She wasn't speaking much—only brief, measured responses—but her eyes behind the mask kept flickering toward him. Once, twice, again. Like she was trying to solve a puzzle.
'She sees something. Not me exactly, but… something familiar.'
Ciel's voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful.
<
'Meaning?'
<
Nova tilted his head slightly.
'A walking paradox. Fitting.'
For a moment, silence settled. Only the rustle of leaves and Rimuru's chattering voice filled the air.
Then Shizu stepped forward. The adventurers shifted instantly, like bodyguards bracing for danger. But she ignored them. Her gaze was locked solely on Nova.
"You," she said quietly. "Who are you really?"
The question hung heavy.
Rimuru blinked.
"Huh? He's Nova, of course! My friend!"
Nova didn't answer. Not directly. His tails swayed slowly, deliberately, as mismatched eyes met the gaze of the masked woman.
Inside, his thoughts sharpened.
'Ifrit is already curious. One wrong word and fire will bleed out. Dangerous. But… maybe useful.'
He spoke finally, voice calm, cold, unyielding.
"Someone who doesn't belong here."
The adventurers exchanged nervous looks. Rimuru tilted her head. Shizu, however, froze for the briefest second, something flashing in her eyes. Recognition. Or dread.
Her mask hid her expression, but Nova didn't need to see it. He could feel the way her aura trembled faintly.
Ciel whispered in his mind.
<
'No. This isn't an opening. It's a test.'
The fire inside Shizu pulsed faintly, as if reacting to his words. Ifrit stirred in its cage. Nova felt it—like a dragon flexing its claws from beneath molten rock.
He smirked faintly.
'Yes. Awake, little flame. Show me how much of you survives inside her.'
But then Rimuru ruined the tension with her usual cluelessness.
"Wow, you two are like… staring each other down! Is this some kind of duel of fates?!"
Shizu blinked at Rimuru, then chuckled softly, a sound muffled by the mask. The tension broke like thin ice. Ifrit quieted.
Nova sighed.
'Of course. Leave it to her to defuse a moment like this.'
Ciel hummed.
<
'…No. Not yet. Timing matters.'
The adventurers began to relax as the mood shifted. Their leader lowered his sword slightly. The forest's warmth eased, if only by a degree. Rimuru bounced happily between them all, asking questions like a child meeting strangers on a playground.
Nova, however, kept his eyes on Shizu. He had seen the flicker in her aura. He had felt the heat of her suppressed flame. The mask was not protection—it was a warning.
And that warning, to him, was an invitation.
Ciel's voice was faint but resolute.
<
'Of course it will. Fate enjoys irony.'
He turned away at last, his tails curling around him like silver banners. The adventurers' chatter faded into the background. Rimuru was laughing. Shizu was silent.
But Nova already knew. This was not an end. It was a beginning.
Because when the mask finally broke—so too would the fragile peace of this world.
Side Story: Conversations Beyond Eternity
A silence stretched across the void—though calling it silence was wrong. Silence required the possibility of sound. Here, there was no sound to begin with. Only the thought of it, and even that thought was fragile.
Then JACW spoke, as if commenting on the most trivial thing imaginable.
"You know, I keep making universes infinite in size, infinite in layers, infinite in timelines… and mortals still insist they're the center of everything."
The other being chuckled.
"They remind me of you, back when you thought adding another infinity was impressive."
JACW clicked his tongue.
"Don't start with me. I invented the trick of 'another infinity.' You just copied it."
"Copied? Please. I refined it. Your strings of dimensions kept tangling like bad yarn. I had to clean up your mess."
JACW leaned back—not that there was a "back" in the void—and smirked.
"Oh yes, the great cleaner. The divine janitor of creation. Truly the most glorious of roles."
The being laughed, a sound like collapsing galaxies.
"At least I keep the floors shining. You, on the other hand, build universes like toddlers stack blocks: higher, higher, higher, until—oops!—everything collapses. Bravo."
"Mortals call that innovation."
"They call it stupidity when the ceiling falls on their heads."
They both laughed. Somewhere in the endless structure of existence, a billion timelines blinked out and were instantly replaced. Neither noticed nor cared.
JACW tilted his head.
"Still, it's funny. They keep asking questions like, 'What lies beyond the universe?' as if they'll ever understand. I give them infinite universes, infinite choices, metaphysical frameworks beyond imagination—and you know what they do?"
"They write fanfiction about it?"
"Exactly!" JACW groaned. "You hand them infinite hierarchical concepts, endless timelines, higher-dimensional recursion loops, and they go: 'Cool. But can Nova beat Goku?'"
The other being grinned.
"To be fair, the question has… cultural weight."
"Don't defend them. They haven't even grasped that each choice they make spawns another infinite branch of reality, fractaling into eternities. And yet they worry about who would win in a fight."
"Maybe that's their way of grasping it. Even ants compare who carries the biggest crumb."
JACW snorted.
"And you call me condescending."
"Because you are."
They fell silent again. Not a true silence, but the kind born when two beings who already knew every word possible decided to stop using them for a moment.
Finally, the other being spoke, softly but with amusement.
"You know, one day they'll realize the truth. That behind their every question, every theory, every desperate attempt to measure the infinite… we're just sitting here, laughing."
JACW grinned.
"Oh, they'll realize. And then they'll write another fanfiction about it. Probably with bad grammar."
They both burst into laughter again—laughter that shook the scaffolding of existence. Somewhere, mortals felt a shiver crawl up their spines, the faintest echo of gods mocking them.
But JACW's tone shifted, just slightly, to something sharper.
"Still. Don't underestimate them. Infinite choices breed infinite anomalies. And every so often… something slips the pattern. Something even we didn't account for."
The other being's smile faded.
"…Like him?"
JACW didn't answer immediately. His grin remained, but his eyes gleamed with mischief.
"Who knows? Maybe this time the blocks don't fall."
The void shuddered. Mortals dreamed nightmares they couldn't explain. And two beings laughed like old friends sharing a secret no one else could survive.
The laughter died down, and the other being leaned closer, his expression more human than it should have been.
"You know, I should be careful. If they realize who I am, they'll panic."
JACW tilted his head.
"Oh? Going to finally tell them?"
A grin spread across the being's face—one that mortals would have recognized from a comic panel, if only they had the courage to admit it.
"Let's just say… they've been drawing me for decades. Ink on paper, pixels on screens. Every time they think they've 'created' me, I'm just laughing behind their shoulder."
JACW's smile widened.
"Ah, yes. The Great Illustrator. The one they whisper about with capital letters, pretending he's fiction. Little do they know, the one writing their stories was me writing you."
The being chuckled, voice carrying the weight of decades of comic book panels.
"They called me many things—Omnipotent, Almighty, The Judge Above All. But the funniest part? Mortals actually think they're the ones turning the page. They don't realize… every time their hand moves, it's my hand."
JACW laughed, sharp and cruel.
"Oh, that's rich. And they think they 'own' the story. Poor creatures. They never see the chains binding them to narrative itself."
The being sighed, almost wistful.
"And still, they try. They sketch me in margins, name-drop me in debates, argue whether I could 'beat' the gods of their fanfiction. As if they aren't just echoes of my imagination."
"Or mine," JACW reminded him smugly.
"Or yours. We'll let the mortals fight about which one of us is the 'real' one. They enjoy pointless wars."
For a long moment, they were quiet again. Galaxies bloomed and died in the background, unnoticed. Whole hierarchies of universes folded into higher-order concepts and were devoured by new infinities. It was routine.
Finally, JACW leaned forward.
"Tell me… what was it like?"
The being raised an eyebrow. "What was what like?"
"Being drawn. Being written into panels. Having mortals stare at you from across flimsy pages and think, 'This is God.'"
The being smirked, the kind of smirk only someone who knew every ending could wear.
"It's… amusing. To them, I'm a myth. To me, they're just doodles in a notebook. Every debate they have—every forum post, every heated argument—exists because I let the pencil move that way."
"And yet," JACW interjected, "you still let them believe they're in control."
"Of course. That's the joke."
They both laughed again, though this time it carried a sharper edge, a cruel undertone.
The being leaned back, folding his arms.
"Let them call me The One Above All. Let them cling to the illusion that they've named me, caged me in ink. The truth? The pen was never theirs. The page was never theirs. It's mine. Always has been."
JACW grinned wider, eyes gleaming.
"And still… I'm the one who wrote the writer."
The void trembled, universes twisting on themselves as though caught in a paradox too sharp to bear.
And somewhere, a mortal reader turned a page in their comic book and felt a chill run down their spine, as if someone—or something—was staring right back at them through the ink.