The battlefield was gone. The concept of a battlefield itself… erased.
Erevan floated in silence not the quiet of space, but the absence of sound, time, and thought.
Everything had ended. And yet, he remained.
His aura burned slowly now, an endless ocean of golden and black light stretching across what used to be the multiverse. Entire timelines drifted within him like dust. The fight with Kairos had transcended existence and Erevan had won.
But something was wrong.
He couldn't feel reality anymore. Not because it was destroyed but because he was above it.
> "I rewrote the story," he said softly, his voice echoing through infinite emptiness.
"But where does a story go when there's no one left to read it?"
The answer came not as words, but as echoes of creation itself.
Fragments of forgotten gods, broken realms, and erased mortals began orbiting him seeking purpose, seeking order.
Erevan raised a hand, and his divine circuits shimmered glowing symbols of The Rewrite Code pulsed through his armor. He could rebuild it all with one thought.
Yet… his eyes narrowed.
> "No," he whispered. "I've done enough rewriting. Now I'll create."
From the void, a spark emerged small, insignificant. But as Erevan looked upon it, the spark evolved into a newborn star. Then a galaxy. Then an entirely new continuum of existence the First Creation of the Beyond.
Erevan smiled faintly.
He no longer fought for control, or dominance. He had become the canvas itself.
But deep beneath his calm, something stirred a vibration that didn't belong.
Another presence watching him from the shadows of non-existence.
A voice, distant but undeniable, whispered through the void:
> "Even you, Erevan… have someone rewriting you."
For the first time in forever Erevan froze.