Without another word, he turned around.
His white cloak, laced with golden embroidery, billowed gently even though there was no wind here.
Each of his steps left faint ripples of light across the empty ground — echoes of a divinity that still lingered even in this forsaken realm.
And just like that, he walked away.
He didn't run. He didn't hurry.
He simply left — leaving Lensin, The Creator, and the Spider of Chaos behind in the ruins of silence.
Lensin stood motionless, his gaze fixed on Sentrie's retreating figure.
His expression was completely blank, yet the air around him seemed heavier with each passing second.
When Sentrie's figure finally vanished into the horizon of the void, Lensin exhaled softly — a sound halfway between a sigh and a whisper.
Slowly, he turned to face The Creator.
The Creator hadn't moved.
He stood there with hands folded behind his back, eyes locked upon the Spider of Chaos, studying it as one might study a dangerous but fascinating creation.
There was no fear in his gaze — only an ancient knowing.
But the moment Lensin's cold, unblinking eyes fell upon him, The Creator's expression softened slightly.
He let out a quiet sigh — a sound so faint that it rippled through the air like a passing thought.
Then his body flickered — once, twice — and he vanished, dissolving into countless shards of blue light.
A heartbeat later, those shards reformed behind Sentrie, miles away, in the same motionless emptiness.
Lensin watched him go without a word.
Then he turned back toward the massive creature that loomed before him.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, staring.
The faint echo of the spider's laughter had died, leaving only silence — an oppressive silence that pressed against the soul.
Lensin lowered his head, his silver hair falling over his eyes.
"…Sigh."
He chuckled quietly, though there was no humor in it.
"I never thought I'd have to face you again."
The Spider of Chaos did not move.
Its countless eyes blinked slowly, glimmering with faint, sickly light — like dying stars refusing to fade.
Lensin raised his gaze, meeting those eyes without fear.
His voice was calm now, colder, heavier.
"But in the end," he said, "the result will be the same."
As he spoke, the void trembled — responding to his will.
A faint glow began to form in the air beside him, small at first, like a spark caught between breaths.
That light swirled, stretching, twisting — until it shaped itself into a blade.
A long sword — beautiful, deadly, and ancient.
Its hilt was black as obsidian, absorbing the surrounding light.
The blade shimmered with a dark, reflective sheen, etched with glowing blue sigils that pulsed like veins of living energy.
A single red gemstone rested in the center of the guard, gleaming faintly — like the eye of a sleeping demon.
When Lensin grasped the sword, the air rippled violently.
A twin aura of white and gray burst forth, swirling around him in a silent storm.
It wasn't light, nor was it darkness — it was something between them, a perfect balance of creation and destruction.
The Spider of Chaos recoiled.
Its enormous body trembled, its countless eyes narrowing in dread.
"That sword again…?"
The voice didn't come from its mouth — it came from everywhere.
From the air, from the ground, from within the hearts of those who heard it.
It was a sound of fear — of recognition.
Its tone was like the cry of a thousand voices speaking at once, all layered with agony and ancient memory.
Lensin didn't move.
His cloak fluttered around him, though there was no wind.
He stood tall, his expression impassive, his eyes locked upon the trembling monster.
He spoke softly, but every word struck the silence like thunder.
"You remember this blade, don't you?"
No reply came — only a low, guttural rumble that vibrated through the ground beneath him.
The spider's legs dug into the earth, splitting the void's surface with violent cracks.
But Lensin didn't flinch.
He stepped forward once.
The motion was small — yet it shook the world.
The cracks beneath his feet spread wider, crawling outward like veins of light across the abyss.
The Spider of Chaos flinched back instinctively, the faint echo of its terror filling the void once more.
Lensin raised his sword, letting its point hover before him.
The blade gleamed faintly — its reflection showing not light, but fragments of the past.
Within that reflection, one could almost see a burning city, a storm of blood, and the shadow of this same creature writhing under his blade long ago.
He looked into the spider's countless eyes, and within them, he saw fear — the fear of remembrance.
"You're afraid," he whispered.
"Good. That means you still remember what happened the last time."
The creature's tremor grew violent.
The air thickened with the weight of their shared history — a war that time itself had tried to erase.
Lensin exhaled slowly, his eyes softening for the briefest moment.
"Let's end it the same way," he said.
"Or maybe this time… I'll make sure you never forget again."
His voice cut through the air like the edge of his sword — calm, sharp, absolute.
Light began to gather along the blade, forming a radiant pulse that pushed back the shadows.
The Spider of Chaos screamed.
It wasn't a roar — it was the sound of memory, of something ancient being forced to relive its own destruction.
The sound tore through the void, bending the dimension itself.
Lensin raised his sword higher.
The white-gray aura around him expanded, devouring the darkness like a rising dawn.
For an instant, he looked less like a king of monsters — and more like an executioner of fate.
The spider's many eyes glowed wildly, its legs thrashing against the invisible chains of fear and destiny.
And then — silence.
The void froze once more.
The echoes faded.
All that remained was Lensin — standing alone, his sword lowered, his breath steady.
Before him, the Spider of Chaos loomed, trembling.
Behind him, the emptiness stretched endlessly, untouched and uncaring.
This moment — this fragile stillness — felt like the pause between life and death, between the memory of a war and the beginning of another.
Lensin's shadow stretched across the fractured ground.
His eyes — calm, dark, and resolute — fixed on the creature that should have been long gone.
Once, he had destroyed it.
And yet, here it was again — reborn from the remnants of chaos.
He whispered, almost to himself,
"So it begins… again."
The void held its breath.
And the two ancient forces — bound by history, by hatred, and by the memory of what once was — stood ready to clash once more.