Xingyue, is Xiaokai also considered Kai?

Page 603

And now, it's time to express gratitude.

I am incredibly grateful for your existence.

The sea of blood covering the earth seemed to echo his inner voice, transforming completely into a scorching hell.

That was no longer a flame of matter, but an absolute heat that elevated the concept of "temperature" to its limit, enough to melt spacetime itself.

The divine fire, reaching hundreds of millions of degrees, scorched reality into nothingness.

In this vividly real scene, created by Demogue himself and surpassing even Hell itself, Demogue spread his arms wide, in an almost prayerful gesture, and cried out to the figure standing silently in the eye of the storm:

You are the realm I'm pursuing!

This might be a feeling called "longing".

Yes, aspirations.

Demosisto, the ultimate Satan, this usurper of God's name, actually yearned for another being.

The excitement that surpasses even the original war lies here.

The joy of victory in that war, which was started to rebel and to prove oneself, is insignificant compared to the sense of fulfillment I feel now.

Novia gives herself this sense of fulfillment.

It's so good it makes you tremble.

It's so scary it makes you tremble.

For the first time, I clearly recognized and sincerely blessed the existence of "others"—something that I should be the one to overcome.

It is precisely because it has been acknowledged.

It is precisely because he acknowledges that this guy is higher than him, closer to the root than him, and more "real" than him.

Therefore, Demuse had no choice but to take on the challenge.

There is no way out, nor is there any need to retreat.

This is not for victory, nor for survival.

This is solely for the purpose of fulfilling the very existence of the "Song of Demiéville".

I'm going to catch up with you.

I will surpass you.

I will incorporate your "unchanging" truth into my "ever-changing" torrent!

All other thinking is unnecessary.

Discard all other concerns.

Demosisto’s consciousness has never been so pure, so sharp.

The meaning of its own existence, the divinity it usurped, and the endless power of change were all compressed, condensed, and merged into the sweeping conceptual storm.

At the eye of the storm, Novia remained still.

The destructive torrent formed by billions of "violence" and "poverty" vanished silently, like spring snow melting, the moment it touched a meter in front of him.

It wasn't resisted, nor neutralized, but rather... "corrected".

It's like a wrongly written equation that is automatically corrected to "nothing" in the face of absolute axioms.

Demosisto was not surprised at all.

If it cannot even withstand this level of attack, then it does not deserve to be called "unchanging".

As the storm subsided, the flames of the scorching hell gradually dimmed.

Between the two, only the scorched, crystallized void remained.

Demyogo's body has begun to show cracks.

That was the backlash caused by forcibly driving the power of concepts beyond their limits, but he didn't care. He just stared at the other person with his eyes that burned with a completely different light.

“Tell me,” he began, his voice eerily calm, “how do you intend to kill me?”

This is a question.

It is also a request.

It's also a... challenge.

Please use your unchanging truth to put an end to my ever-changing hypocrisy.

Novia's face finally showed a very subtle change in expression.

It was an expression that mixed confusion with...contemplation.

“Well,” he replied in a tone as if discussing the weather, “what do you think?”

Demogue was stunned.

I had considered countless possible answers.

Whether it's a disdainful silence, a solemn declaration, or a pitying sigh, no one ever imagined that the other party would throw this question back at them.

It was as if they were asking a passerby what they wanted for dinner.

But then Demogue laughed again.

Yeah, that's it.

This is the real Novia.

For him, killing himself might really be a matter of "anything goes," with the process, method, and meaning all being unimportant.

Because the outcome was predetermined from the very beginning.

"Anyway is fine."

Demosisto answered frankly.

As long as I can be ended by your hands, no matter how, it will be the highest honor for me.

Novia seemed to think about it for a moment, then gently shook her head.

"How would I know."

He said.

It's not a rhetorical question, nor is it a perfunctory response; it's a statement of fact.

I do not know.

Because the act of "killing you" doesn't require a "method" for me.

When the "unchanging" and the "ever-changing" meet here, when the "truth" and the "falsehood" clash head-on, the demise of the existence called "De Miu Song" is an inevitable "phenomenon".

Just as the sun inevitably rises in the east and sets in the west.

I don't need to "know" how to rise; I only need to "exist," and rising will be inevitable.

Crushed.

The first wall of common sense shattered in Demogue's mind; his understanding of "battle" and "life and death" was completely overturned by the other party's words.

Crushed.

The second wall collapsed, and the proud "will" and the "awareness" to surpass the opponent seemed so wishful thinking in the face of Novia's almost "nothing" will.

Crushed.

The third, the fourth... countless walls used to build Demosisto's self-awareness collapsed and shattered one after another.

The escalating conflict between violence and ferocity has finally reached its climax.

The Song of Demiurge no longer speaks.

Novia also fell silent.

The space between them began to distort and collapse.

It's not because of energy, but because two completely opposite "principles" are mutually exclusive, causing a logical error in reality itself.

The myriad phenomena awaiting the passage of time—

The decisive moment is approaching.

The song has stopped.

The wind has stopped.

Even the void, which was constantly collapsing due to the conflict of "reason", fell into absolute "nothingness" at this moment.

Time has lost its meaning.

Or rather, they are waiting.

We await that one, absolutely "unchanging" being to deliver the final judgment.

Demogue looked up at Novia, whose body was covered in cracks, from which flowed not blood, but fragments of the usurped and imitated laws of the universe, which shimmered dimly like dying stardust.

He smiled.

I laughed for the last time, from the bottom of my heart.

He saw the ultimate realm he had longed for.

Novia made no opening move, and attacked without warning.

He simply raised his right hand slowly.

It was as if it was supporting an invisible sun.

Light was born at that moment.

It did not come from the outside world, but was "generated" from the palm of the hand.

That was not light in the ordinary sense.

The light was so ancient that it seemed to have existed before the birth of the universe.

The light was so majestic that it seemed eternal even after the end of all things.

That light contained an absolute...fierce rage.

It is the fierce wrath of the Father.

It is the rage of the primordial source that created everything and can also destroy everything.

Just as recorded in "The Second Great Seth":

I (Christ) held in my hand the spear of light forged from the wrath of the Father, and pierced his left eye—the prison that stole the light of Sophia. As he cried out, black blood gushed from his right eye, staining the stars.

Novia was not imitating; he himself was the god who judged false gods.

Standing here is to correct a mistake that has been usurped.

The light continuously condensed and purified, eventually forming the shape of a spear.

The spear flows with the laws of cause and effect, the order of time, and the laws of space; the spearhead points to truth itself.

Demogue did not dodge, nor could he dodge.

The moment the spear of light appeared, his presence was "locked in".

All "change" and "possibility" are completely sealed off by this absolute principle of "unchanging".

He could only, and only wished to, welcome the end that had come for him.

Novia extended her hand forward.

An incredibly slow, yet so fast that even light cannot capture the movement.

An absolute "one" that spans the past, present, and future.

The light spear thrusts out.