Suddenly, silence fell.
Not an ordinary silence. Not the kind you hear after a speech or an announcent. No. A denser, thicker silence. A silence that settles in the throat, that covers the eardrums, that tightens the ribs without warning.
It fell over the coliseum like a leaden blanket, smothering every scream, every movent, every half-begun breath. The stands went quiet in a single breath. Even the air seed to choke. Even the voiceless creatures, even the lifeforms that do not breathe, those we thought indifferent to the world, stopped.
And sothing, deep in my bones, shivered.Not with fear.With a mute warning my body understood before I did.
The shadows reacted too. They thickened, tightened, as if they had started moving without shifting place. The sky, clear just seconds before, darkened without clouds, without rumble, without any identifiable phenonon.
It wasn’t a storm. It was a presence.
An invisible mass had just occupied the space above us, swallowing a bit more light with each second, as if the world itself was holding its breath before what was to co.
And then, in the Vestiges’ gallery, a figure rose.
I hadn’t seen it sit down. I hadn’t even noticed it was there. But the mont it moved, my whole being felt it. There was no sound, no magical flare, no trembling of the air.
Just that silhouette standing, and sothing icy spreading through , slowly, inevitably.
This thing bore no na.
Or perhaps it did. But I refused to think it. Refused to form it with my tongue. I wasn’t ready to summon it. Not yet.
Whatever it was, this being resembled nothing.
Nothing I had ever seen.
Nothing that could belong to a species.
Nothing one could draw, or sculpt, or imagine without getting lost.
It was other. Foreign. Outside.
Its appearance changed every second, like a nightmare unable to settle.
First, black smoke, vibrant, a living fabric, twisted, absorbing light without reflecting it. Then a body. Vaguely humanoid. Tall. Gigantic. Its surface seed to breathe, as if the skin itself were searching for a shape.
But that shape would not hold.
It contracted, folded in on itself, beca deford, disproportionate, torn. Before collapsing suddenly. Into a scrawny silhouette. Almost fragile. An empty puppet.
And it all began again.
It swelled.
It twisted.
It collapsed.
Again. Again. Again.
Like an unbreakable cycle. An eternal refusal to be defined. As if it itself did not want to exist under a single face.
Or maybe... no.
Maybe it wasn’t it that changed.
Maybe it was the world that twisted around it.
That reality bent to its re presence.
That it mimicked him to survive.
And what I saw...
What my mind accepted, despite itself...
Froze .
Not out of fear.
Out of awareness.
Awareness of seeing, for the first ti, sothing we never should have seen.
Its voice...
It wasn’t a voice.
It was an abomination of decomposed harmonies, a continuous dissonance. Each syllable was born different from the last, as if it didn’t rely speak — but reinvented itself with every word. Deep, tallic, sharp as a damp blade. Then childlike. Then hoarse. Then ethereal, broken, lascivious, shattered.
An ordered cacophony.
As if this entity, even in speech, refused to choose a form.
As if it despised the very idea of a single sound.
And yet... it spoke.
And the world listened.
— Welco, all... to Terra Neutralis.
It had not raised its voice. It didn’t need to.
The stands trembled. Literally. Entire sections of the coliseum vibrated under the weight of this whisper. So collapsed to their knees. Others scread as if their tongues had recognized a lord far older than their faith.
And then, it repeated.
— Welco... to my lair.
A smile took shape on what passed for its face.
Not a human smile.
Not even a grimace.
But an impossible curve, a grotesque, slow stretch, as if its jaw widened through space itself, dislocating the laws of flesh. An unnatural, shivering, demonic smile, so vast it seed to tear the air around it.
A smile that didn’t express joy.
But hunger.
— The only place of death in Terra Neutralis.
Its voice was rising now, growing in amplitude. It rumbled, screeched, accelerated like a mad dance between all possible tones.
— The only place where peace — peace built by my magnificence — may be violated.
And it laughed.
A laugh that didn’t co from its throat.But from the sky.
A laugh so vast it seed to fall in cascades above us. As if the entire arena had been built just to hear it resonate.
It raised its arms in an arc, slowly, as if to embrace the scene.
A theatrical gesture, asured, perfect.
The gesture of soone who had seen a thousand civilizations born... and a thousand more burn.
— Welco, beloved children of the gods.
And then, the crowd scread.
Not in joy.
Not in hatred.
They scread because they had no choice. Because their cry had been written into the speech. Because in front of him, all that was left for the living... was to open their mouths and scream.
— Since the Crystal has opened... earlier than expected...
It let the words hang. For a long ti. With the leisurely slowness of monsters who know they are in no hurry. Each syllable a nail driven into the silence. Each breath a provocation. And when it resud, it was almost tender:
— ...we have decided to change the rules.
It turned its head slightly.
Not a sharp motion.
A simple pivot. Slow. Sovereign. asured.
As if the world pivoted with it.
A shiver passed through the stands. Not a human shiver. A crowd’s shiver. A current of animal electricity, running through every seat, every row of frozen spectators. The proudest creatures straightened, arched their spines. Even the Lords imperceptibly lowered their gaze.
And then, that silence.
A hungry silence.
Not an empty silence — a silence of anticipation. A silence leaning forward, mouth half-open, breath suspended. The entire universe had curled inward to listen.
— The tournant will not be fought... four against four...
It took a step.
Not a walk.
A glide.
A precise, choreographed move, almost a dance. Its arms lifted to mid-height, elbows open, as if offering an inverted blessing.
— ...but as a battle royale.
Its arms dropped suddenly, with a dry brutality. And the sentence struck like a guillotine. A murmur of shock spread through the stands. A ripple of doubt. Then...
— The first team to be fully eliminated... will be the last to enter the Magic World.
And then, within that demonic chanism of tension, it straightened further. Everything in it grew, stretched, beca larger than the air around it.
— As long as a single mber of a team survives... it remains in the ga.
And then, the crowd exploded.
Not a simple cry.
A deluge.
A hurricane of voices, applause, hysterical laughter, open-throated screams. Spectators stood, stomping the ground with their weapons. So flapped their wings. Others jumped, shouted, leapt in rhythm.
Flas burst from an entire stand. Bursts of magic scorched the air. Fanatics wept with joy. Nas were shouted. Curses. Death oaths.
And at the center of this sonic orgy, the first being of this world waited.
Peacefully.
Arms crossed.
Head slightly tilted. The posture of a director before his tragedy. He smiled — without lips, without a jaw, without a fixed face. But the smile was there. In the very geotry of his body.
Then he slowly raised a finger.
Just one.
And silence returned. Instantaneous. Obedient.
— And since we have here...
He stretched his voice. Like a thread. Like silk.
— ...certain people capable of bringing back the dead...
A rictus slid through the air.
Not visible. But heard. An inflection. An invisible smile lodged in the limbo of his voice. A cruel caress.
— I authorize...
He paused. Just long enough for breaths to hang from his imaginary lips.
— ...murder on Terra Neutralis.
And this ti, it wasn’t an explosion.
It was a cataclysm.
A sonic quake. A collective roar. The entire crowd rose. They struck the walls. They howled songs of death. Weapons were raised. Flags were torn. The stands vibrated. Shadows danced.
The trance was total.
They no longer wanted to survive.
They wanted to watch death.
And the sovereign without na, without form, in the midst of this raging sea, remained motionless.
Like a god seated at the heart of his creation.
Like a poem written in blood.
I staggered.
It wasn’t a theatrical movent, nor a dramatic reaction. It was a failure. A brutal wave in my temples, an acidic vertigo stretching from the base of my skull to my heels. My legs nearly buckled, and in that near-collapse, I felt the air grow scarce around , heavier, denser, as if the very atmosphere had turned against my lungs.
This world wanted to fall.
This world wanted to yield.
To kill each other with my friends...?
The word, the concept, the simple idea twisted inside . Was that the aning of our reunion? Had we survived, endured, grown... just for this? To be thrown into an arena under the laughter of a formless monster? For our bonds, those last fragile threads of what we had been, to be torn one by one under the eyes of a bloodthirsty crowd?
I felt betrayed.
By the very idea of destiny.
By the myth of reunion. By that naive belief, that hope that had survived in a corner of my heart despite everything: that I would find them again. Together. Alive. Human, in their way. Connected.
But no.
This world wanted to sever the last threads. Those we had never dared let go. It wanted to turn us into enemies. Into beasts. Into spectacle.
And then... the words fell.
The only ones I truly feared.
The ones I had felt coming since the Crystal first trembled.
— Let the gas... begin.
They were not shouted.
They were not announced.
They were spoken with exquisite slowness, with syllabic delight, as if each word had been sculpted by hand, polished with contempt, steeped in irony.
And when the final syllable crashed down, the world tipped over.
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