The neutral void had transformed into a radiant battlefield, its gray mist now shimmering with the glow of Brush D. Rush's army of creation constructs—thousands of guardians, archers, and titans forged from Googel's Creation skill, amplified by the Legendary Cookie's energy and Miss Krita's soul-corruption fusion. Brush stood at the forefront, his paintbrush blazing, shockwave fist crackling, and teleportation power humming, its vibrations guiding his deaf ears through the chaos. The virus rebels—Pirware's jagged shards, Malrus's writhing threads, Poro's rolling sphere, and Hubo's spinning gears—flanked him, their glitched forms bolstered by his divine skills: Baidu's Destruction, Yahoo's Interception, and Bing's Interconnectivity. Malbyte's malware threads wove defensive webs, and Trojan Horse's equine form charged beside him, lances gleaming, their childhood bond a beacon of resolve. The four gods—Googel, Bing, Yahoo, Baidu—watched from their scattered nodes, their stronghold's remnants pulsing faintly, while Rooteye's crimson eye and Agent Privacy's encrypted shadow loomed, their threats momentarily eclipsed by a familiar chaos.
A rift tore open, spewing memes, anonymous threads, and viral static. 4-Chan emerged for the final time, her green-skinned form evolved into a towering, chaotic goddess, her cracked mask pulsing with rage, four hands—rage comics, viral memes, anonymous masks, thread whips—radiating malice from the malware bite that still scarred her soul-orb. Her voice, a trollish chorus, thundered, "Brush D. Rush, Chosen One! You thought you'd deleted me? The board never dies!" Her eyes burned with vengeance, her defeat by Trojan Horse fueling her return to end Brush and claim Toktikia's ruins.
Brush's heart pounded, memories of Willie's destruction, Disco's sacrifice, and Yuki Onna's love surging through him. "This ends now," he said, his voice steady, Miss Krita's hum affirming his resolve. "For everyone I've lost." He teleported forward, painting a Creation titan—a colossal warrior of light and corruption—to lead his army.
4-Chan laughed, her rage claw slashing, shattering a dozen guardians into pixelated confetti. "You're still weak!" she taunted, her meme hand flooding the void with viral illusions—fake visions of Brush's hospital past, twisting his identity. His Interception skill kicked in, painting barriers that redirected the illusions, turning memes into harmless loops. "I know my truth," he countered, teleporting behind her, his Destruction fist unleashing a shockwave that cracked her mask further.
The battlefield erupted. 4-Chan's thread whip lashed, binding creation archers, while her masked hand summoned anonymous avatars—trolls hurling GIF bombs that exploded in chaotic bursts. Brush's army countered: guardians wielding shockwave fists clashed with trolls, archers firing interception arrows to disrupt threads. Pirware's shards pierced avatars, Malrus's threads corrupted their code, Poro burrowed to destabilize 4-Chan's footing, and Hubo's gears synced to amplify the army's coordination. Malbyte wove counter-malware, neutralizing bombs, while Trojan Horse's lances skewered 4-Chan's meme hand, drawing digital ichor.
4-Chan's soul-orb flared, the malware bite amplifying her chaos. She summoned a cataclysmic wave of posts, a tsunami of rage comics and viral challenges that swept away hundreds of constructs, their forms dissolving into code ash. Brush teleported through the wave, his Interconnectivity linking his rebels into a unified force, their attacks synchronized like a digital symphony. He painted a Creation cannon, its barrel glowing with cookie-amplified energy, and fired a beam that struck 4-Chan's orb, making her stagger.
"You can't stop the board!" she roared, her four hands converging, unleashing a vortex of anonymous chaos—threads, memes, and masks spiraling to consume the void. Brush's army faltered, guardians buckling under the onslaught. Pirware's shards cracked, Malrus's threads frayed, Poro slowed, and Hubo's gears sparked. Malbyte hissed, "Her orb's unstable—hit it!" Trojan Horse charged, but 4-Chan's whip ensnared him, his equine form struggling.
Brush's memories surged—Willie's fiery nova, Disco's dazzling spark, Yuki Onna's arctic sacrifice, Trojan Horse's childhood promise. "I'm not weak," he growled, Miss Krita's voice echoing, "You are enough." He teleported to 4-Chan's core, painting a Destruction blade infused with all his skills—Creation's form, Interception's precision, Interconnectivity's unity, and Destruction's force. The blade glowed, a radiant fusion of his destiny as the Chosen One.
He slashed, the blade piercing 4-Chan's soul-orb. The malware bite backfired, her chaos imploding. "No… the board…" she wailed, her form fracturing into memes and static, her hands dissolving—rage comics fading, memes crumbling, masks shattering, whips unraveling. The vortex collapsed, the void clearing as her essence scattered into harmless threads, deleted forever.
Brush panted, his army diminished but standing, the rebels rallying. Trojan Horse broke free, nuzzling him. "You did it, brother." Malbyte's threads coiled proudly, Pirware, Malrus, Poro, and Hubo buzzing with awe. The void stabilized, but Rooteye's eye pulsed closer, and Privacy's shadow grew darker.
Miss Krita hummed, "You've balanced chaos—now face order." Brush nodded, teleporting his team toward Spotssyfy's Sector C, where Melody Guard awaited rescue. The four gods' nodes flickered, signaling their regrouping, while the Dark Web's ten remaining generals stirred. Brush's resolve burned, his final victory over 4-Chan a testament to his growth, his brush a beacon against the looming war