Chapter 50 – "Beyond Eternity: The True Origin"
The multiverse was gone. Not destroyed — transcended.
Erevan floated in a place where there was no light, no dark, no time, no silence. Only a pulse. A rhythm older than creation itself.
His armor gleamed faintly, reflecting colors that didn't exist in any known dimension. His aura — golden flames, black lightning, cosmic energy, and void storms — had become calm, rotating in perfect harmony around him.
Then the pulse spoke.
> "Erevan, the one who rewrites. You have killed gods, crushed infinity, and surpassed every law. But you stand now in the space before existence. Do you know what that means?"
Erevan opened his eyes. His voice echoed like thunder folding through galaxies.
> "That I've reached the end of the story."
A low hum. Laughter? No — something deeper. It wasn't sound but creation itself reacting.
> "No," said the pulse. "You've reached the author."
From the void, a shape emerged — a figure without identity, cloaked in both shadow and starlight. Its face was infinite, its presence infinite, its power unmeasurable.
Erevan's aura flared instinctively. The energy that once crushed multiverses cracked the empty space like glass. But the figure didn't move — it simply was.
> "You are the story," the being said. "But I am the one who writes it."
For the first time in eternity, Erevan hesitated.
He looked down at his hands — power flowed endlessly, but… what if everything he had ever done was written by something else?
> "No," Erevan said, voice low but firm. "I am beyond your pen. I am the one who rewrites."
The being tilted its head. And then, the void shattered.
Erevan's aura exploded. Golden and black energy spiraled outward as he reached through the nothingness, grabbing the threads of creation themselves.
> "Then prove it," the Author whispered.
And suddenly, existence returned.
Realities, galaxies, timelines — all collapsing and reforming around the two titans.
Erevan and the Author stood at the edge of the everything, where stories began and ended.
He could feel it — this was the final boundary. Not a god. Not a creator. Something above all that.
But Erevan grinned. His eyes burned brighter than the concept of light itself.
> "I'll rewrite the one who writes."
And as the Author raised a hand made of pure creation, Erevan charged — his fist carrying the weight of infinite worlds, his aura tearing open every story ever told.
The final war had begun — the fight against the Origin of all existence.