The sudden clash was vast in scale, rivaling the earlier eruption during the Void civil war.
Yet even though these two had caused such an enormous disturbance in the Void, every other deity in the cosmos acted as though nothing had happened. Not a single one cast so much as a glance in this direction.
That was decidedly abnormal.
And when the two combatants realized this, the Void's disintegration suddenly froze. They ceased hostilities in perfect unison and cautiously surveyed their surroundings.
It was at precisely that mont that a suprely mocking snort echoed through the space. Then ca that familiar, dripping sarcasm, reverberating across the entire Void:
"Oh my, keep going! Why'd you stop?
"I'd love to see if you two can actually tear my Void apart today."
"..."
"..."
Anyone who heard those words knew exactly who had arrived.
Indeed—Deceit was here. Or rather, He had been here all along.
His creation, Mockery and Jeering, threaded through the Void like capillaries, allowing this god—who was constantly on the hunt for entertainnt—to be first on the scene whenever fresh drama unfolded. This ti was no exception.
Only this ti He'd gone further. Not only had He secured front-row seats to the spectacle, He'd imdiately shielded every ripple in this area, cutting off any possibility that others might catch wind of the fun.
It seed He wasn't just here to watch—He intended to watch alone.
Of course, monopolizing entertainnt wasn't truly His purpose. Since He'd appeared here as the Void's "host" and deliberately dampened every spatial fluctuation, well—in a corner unwatched by Order, who could say what disorderly things might occur?
The instant Deceit spoke, Oblivion—sensing a trap—imdiately annihilated His own presence and attempted to flee.
But... He failed.
Because in that sa instant, Deceit had scrambled perceptions, deceiving Himself into believing that He was Oblivion and the fleeing Oblivion was actually Deceit!
So in the mont Oblivion tried to erase His own traces, those still-closed stellar eyes flickered like a teor crashing across the horizon—while the real Oblivion, stalled by the trick for one critical instant, lost the optimal window to escape.
Simultaneously, Death slled opportunity. Brilliant light blazed in His eye sockets as green flas roared to life, coalescing into two enormous arms of tangible fire. They seized the hovering scythe and swung it at the trapped Oblivion.
The scythe—forged from countless fused divinities—scread through the fractured Void, trailing horrifying ripples of warped space-ti!
This strike carried the full weight of Death's will. A direct hit wouldn't kill the target, but it would shatter His authority, reducing Oblivion to a crippled state like Decay—powerless and broken, unable to pose a threat for a long ti to co.
But just as the scythe descended upon Oblivion's head, Oblivion let out a derisive huff, neither dodging nor flinching. He charged straight into the blade!
"!!??"
'When things are this strange, there must be a hidden cause!'
A God War was never a simple contest of raw power. Behind every move the gods made lay depths that mortals could scarcely fathom.
If Oblivion dared to ambush them here, and then—under Deceit's interception—rushed headlong into death, it could only an He had co fully prepared to "fall."
His earlier display of caution and his attempted escape had been nothing but a ruse. Their sole purpose may have been to bait out this exact mont!
A chance to die!
"This is bad—it's a trap!"
"Ha! Well played, Descent!"
Death—unable to pull back His strike—and the re-materialized Deceit cried out simultaneously. They watched as the colossal scythe blade cleaved through the center of those twin eyes—eyes churning with the ash of dying universes, endlessly collapsing inward.
Yet those eyes showed no frustration of defeat. They glead with the triumphant spark of a sche fulfilled.
Because at the very instant Death's scythe split those eyes apart, a force of Decay potent enough to rot the entire universe detonated outward. Countless withered vines and putrid flesh erupted, spreading in every direction, sealing the entire space into a prison of Decay—trapping both the skull upon the Bone Throne and a pair of stellar eyes that were no longer laughing.
One star within those celestial eyes dimd and faded. Braving the raging tide of Decay, Deceit looked toward the epicenter of the explosion, the corner of His eye curling with contempt:
"Trading your own authority for Oblivion's authority—you wretched beggar. You don't actually think this brings you closer to the Origin, do you?
"Now I see why Oblivion agreed to fuse with you. So it was for this.
"He wanted an extra life, and you happened to have a worthless one to spare...
"Ha. A match made in heaven."
Decay couldn't respond to Deceit's mockery, because what had taken the hit here wasn't His true body—it was the surplus divinity He'd accumulated over who knew how many years.
He'd given this stockpiled divinity to Oblivion to craft a perfect replica of Himself. Then Oblivion had annihilated the stray traces of Decay's aura and used the double to launch a surprise attack on Death.
Decay had always intended to rot Himself. So regardless of the outco, once Oblivion's enemies realized they'd gravely wounded Decay, they would never strike at Decay again—because any reduction of Decay's power only accelerated His approach toward the Origin.
Without certainty about what the Origin truly "favored," no god was willing to push another closer to It—especially not the mbers of the Fear Faction.
So Death and Deceit stayed Their hands. They didn't attack Decay's false body. Instead, They let this prison hold Them in place, watching helplessly as Oblivion escaped.
Of course, the "Oblivion" who'd fought here hadn't been the real one either. He'd rely used Decay's false body for a flawless disguise—not only probing the relationship between Void and Death, but also seizing the chance to trap both Death and Deceit.
And the real Oblivion, the mont He sensed opportunity had arrived, opened His eyes at last. He stepped out from countless worlds on the verge of annihilation, chuckled softly, tore through the Void, and descended before a certain unsuspecting target.
The colossal skull, foreseeing this outco, watched His spectral flas flicker. He retrieved His scythe, gathered the scattered divinity, and stared at those stellar eyes with a complicated expression, sighing:
"Your answer, is him... Oblivion, guessed it too.
"Ever since He, lost His, grip, on, 'nothingness,' He, has been, endlessly, performing, acts of, annihilation, to satisfy, Himself.
"Now, He seizes, Void's, discord, to go, annihilate, the answer, you have, chosen.
"Fate, upon learning, that he, has drawn, close to, you, may not, shelter, him, as before.
"Cheng, Shi, is in, danger..."
The spirals within those stellar eyes reversed for a mont, casting off their gravity. Then they suddenly crinkled with an impish grin:
"Old Bones, what are you rattling on about? Answers, schmanswers—I don't understand a word you're saying.
"Could you maybe string together one complete sentence for once?"
"...Have you, already, set the, board in, motion, or do, you truly, not care?"
"Care about what?
"Ha. One little follower—what's there to care about? I've got countless more just like him."
"Not one, of those, countless, followers, has ever, been graced, with a, Container.
"You... are, roasting him, over an, open fla."
"Tch—
"Old Bones, whose follower is he, exactly? How co you care about him more than I do?
"Don't tell
he's your Envoy too?"
"..."
The colossal skull's expression froze. The green flas in His eyes extinguished once more.
'Void... why hasn't it beco void yet?'
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