The battle continued, and the longer the exchanges lasted, the more Isissis showed signs of irritation. Although it was still impossible for Salomé to inflict significant damage on him, she was starting to dominate him in close combat. Every kick, every sword parry, every calculated dodge and riposte to the face forced Isissis to retreat, his brows furrowed, visibly upset.
Salomé leapt backward, a sly smile lighting up her face: "As for magic, I admit you're extraordinary. But when it comes to close combat… it's clear I'm stronger than you!"
Isissis, clearly stung in his ego, replied with a grimace: "You really think so, little one…"
With a precise gesture, he manipulated his Meta-Concepts and granted himself superior physical and martial skills. Instantly, his speed, agility, and spear precision surpassed Salomé's. The change was felt immediately: every movement became smoother, every attack harder to counter.
Salomé felt the difference but showed no sign of fear. A mocking smile appeared on her lips: "It's nice to give yourself my close combat skills, but if you don't have the necessary reflection, it won't amount to anything!"
With a leap, she launched a powerful kick, propelling Isissis backward several meters. Without losing time, she followed up with a series of fast, precise strikes, each hitting with force and leaving a few scratches on her opponent.
Isissis retreated, his yellow eyes shining with contained irritation, while Salomé, in a surge of confidence, leapt behind him with startling agility. "I could do this all day!" she declared defiantly, ready to maintain the relentless pace of the fight.
Every move, every dodge, every attack seemed calculated to test the limits of her opponent. Isissis, having surpassed his physical performance thanks to the Meta-Concepts, began to feel the pressure of Salomé's strategic mastery and ingenuity.
The ground around them vibrated under the intensity of their exchanges. The air crackled, charged with mana and tension, each impact sending sparks of light flying. Far from being dominated by Isissis's conceptual superiority, Salomé continued to prove that close combat, quick wit, and instinctive mastery could hold their own even against an opponent who controlled the very foundations of existence.
Isissis's brows furrowed further, his breathing quickened. Salomé still smiled, focused and determined, ready to test over and over again the patience of this primordial secondary god. Every blow struck and every dodge executed with precision added a nearly palpable tension to the confrontation, making each moment more intense than the last.
Isissis felt a new shock against his guard, and a smile tinged with irritation and pride appeared on his lips: "You… will pay for daring to belittle me in a domain, me a god! Gods are superior to mortals on all levels! How dare you try to humiliate me?!"
Without warning, he stretched out his hand, and a dense shadow, almost tangible, materialized before Salomé. Time seemed to suspend around them, as if the air itself hesitated to move. From his hand emerged a force that was neither physical nor traditional magic, but purely existential: the "Paragraph of the Void."
The pressure of the attack was immediate. Salomé felt her breath freeze as her gaze met Isissis's. What he launched was not a simple assault; it was a rewriting of her being.
The Paragraph of the Void began by identifying Salomé within the universal fabric of Narration. Every thought, every intention, every memory was read, analyzed, and assimilated as a living text. She still believed she moved freely, but her gestures and mind were integrated into a narrative that exceeded her.
Every attempt at counterattack or escape was absorbed before even forming. Her combat movements, her dodges, her counterattacks—all that she believed was freely chosen—transformed into mere variations on a predefined plot. Narration digested her, reshaped her, and reinjected her consciousness with an illusion of rebellion.
Then Isissis applied the ultimate fragmentation. Salomé suddenly felt divided into overlapping layers, each act, emotion, and memory isolated and rewritten as a distinct paragraph. Vertigo assailed her: she perceived her "self" as an impossible puzzle to assemble. The events she had lived repeated in her mind, always slightly shifted, always more painful.
Narrative anguish rose further as Reality itself seemed to cease to exist as she knew it. Everything she did, thought, or desired had already been written. Every plan of retaliation, every instinct to flee, every thought of revenge was predetermined, transformed into silent torture. The Paragraph of the Void sought not to kill her but to bend her, to dissolve her within her own life.
Then Isissis applied partial Narrative Zero. Salomé felt certain parts of her consciousness freeze: a vivid memory of her brother, the intensity of a recent battle, a deep emotion were immobilized in her mind. She could feel them repeat and deform, unable to become what they once were. Each fragment of her memory became a captive echo within the vast narrative imposed by Isissis.
The traumatic loop settled. Salomé relived her own existence as if simultaneously author and prisoner of a story that was not hers. Every decision, every emotion, every breath reminded her of her powerlessness. She understood, with absolute terror, that she had never truly existed outside the Narration. She was an object, a living paragraph in the colossal manuscript of the universe.
Existential vertigo was immediate. She felt her existence simultaneously in several contradictory narratives. The loss of autonomy was total; even her "spontaneous" choices were only variations allowed within the imposed plot. Absolute terror ran through her: Salomé realized she had never left Isissis's control, and that her true self was now captive in a narrative that exceeded her, inexorable and absolute.
She fully felt Isissis's overwhelming power: this was not a battle of strength or magic, but a confrontation on the very plane of existence, of what she was in the world and in Narration.
The Paragraph of the Void continued to expand, engulfing her mind, but the flicker of defiance in her eyes indicated it was not over yet.
Salomé felt completely overwhelmed. Tears began to stream down her cheeks, burning, as every fraction of her being seemed to dissolve under the weight of the "Paragraph of the Void." Her breath was ragged, her hands trembled. She wanted to scream, but her voice died in her throat, swallowed by the Narration imposed by Isissis.
Suddenly, she felt a new, overwhelming presence that made her shiver. Isissis raised his spear, ready to finish his frontal assault, but immediately stepped back, his brows furrowing.
"Another troublemaker!" he growled, his voice filled with rare irritation.
Before Salomé stood a young man, shirtless, his muscles tensed and short brown hair blowing in the wind. His eyes shone with blinding determination.
"What have you dared to do to my little sister, you?!" he shouted, his voice resonating like a hammer upon space itself.
Isissis smirked sarcastically and frowned. "Don't make me laugh, you… you're not even capable of changing anything!"
He stretched out his hand, ready to strike. But as his aura spread, a cataclysmic crack burst forth: the space around them fractured, torn by overwhelming power. The crash shook sky and earth, and an anguish-filled silence followed.
Isissis, a slow, cold smile on his lips, murmured: "Finally… you're here…"
Bakuran turned around, and behind him appeared Sakolomé. Dressed in a black cloak that fluttered in the wind, his hair swept by an invisible force, his eyes intensely fixed on Isissis. Their combined presences made the air vibrate like a cosmic warning.
Sakolomé did not immediately look at Isissis. His eyes turned to Bakuran, and a subtle smile formed on his lips: "You finally woke up, huh…"
Bakuran responded with a smile mixed with relief and determination, casting a worried glance at Salomé, still trembling and covered in tears. Seeing her like that stirred a burning rage in him.
Sakolomé, sensing Salomé's critical state, turned his gaze toward her with palpable concern. His eyes, usually so impassive, darkened.
"What did you do to Salomé?" he asked, in a calm but sharp voice, fixing Isissis.
Isissis sneered, shrugging with an almost childish indifference. "We don't care what happens to her. After my fun… you will all die."
The wind intensified, cracks in space vibrated, and the electricity-charged air seemed to threaten disintegration. Isissis raised his spear again, ready to continue his destruction. But Sakolomé and Bakuran were now positioned, their energy condensed around them like an insurmountable barrier. The confrontation promised to be titanic: Isissis's metaphysical magic against the combined strength of the two newcomers.
Salomé, still trembling, looked up at them, feeling for the first time a glimmer of hope in this nightmare. Her body no longer obeyed as she wished, but her will had not been broken.
Elsewhere, in the world of the Gods…
Isissis's domain had not been able to affect this place. Where Primordial gods dwelled, his laws had no hold. Not that he hadn't tried, but his power was purely denied by the absolute Will of the primordial entities. Yet, despite this immunity, no one had moved yet.
Ñout observed the situation through an ether mirror, arms crossed, a deep sigh escaping her lips. Around her, hundreds of secondary deities whispered, unable to understand why no action was taken.
She raised her eyes to the celestial vault, then called out in a clear voice:
"Protective Goddess."
A silhouette descended, haloed in light, her wings spread like a solar shield, her war helmet gleaming with an indestructible aura.
"You tried to breach this world?" Ñout asked.
The Protective Goddess nodded, her face stern.
"Impossible. Isissis locked all the exits. Those he judged 'out of play' are confined here, unable to join the field where he plays. He even planned to prevent any entity not affected by his Primordial Domain from manifesting."
Ñout buried her face in her hands, exasperated.
"He acts like a child… even his own versions are restricted."
She stepped forward, her voice rumbling with irritation:
"Isissis Two, Three, and Four… neutralized. He even chained his own avatars to retain control over his game."
The Protective Goddess clenched her fist, her armor vibrating with impatience.
"And the Primordials? Why don't they intervene?"
Ñout sighed deeply, staring at the horizon of the Void:
"Because if they break his Domain, it will cause the collapse of several lower planes. Isissis designed it as a trap: any forced attempt by us will implode entire states of existence. He holds us by the chaos he himself sowed."
A heavy silence settled. The whispers of the surrounding gods grew heavier, almost suffocating. Ñout clenched her teeth, a cold gleam crossing her gaze.
If only… you could act now. she thought, her fist trembling slightly.
At that moment, the air vibrated. A childlike silhouette emerged from the shadows like a crack in time. His eyes were two cold abysses, but his smile betrayed biting irony.
"Tss… what a brat, this Isissis the First."
Ñout turned her head, surprised but relieved.
"Goth…" she murmured.
The Primordial God, despite his childlike appearance, exuded an overwhelming presence, saturating the space with silence.
The Protective Goddess squinted, her voice cautious:
"Why… you? You never intervened before. Why now? I had never even seen you manifest."
Goth tilted his head slightly, his smile widening into a grin both playful and unsettling.
"Because, dear goddess, it is good to remind this kid that there are limits… even in a story he thinks he writes alone."
The atmosphere vibrated with cosmic tension.
Goth gave a sly smile, his dark eyes shining with almost cruel irony.
"Before… I could not act. Mü Thanatos would never have tolerated it."
The Protective Goddess's eyes widened, her wings trembling with tension.
"Mü Thanatos…? But then… what will we do? And how could she prevent Isissis the First from manifesting before?"
Ñout took a deep breath, her pupils tinted with icy gravity.
"Because Isissis the First… feared her. By essence. He knew that, facing her, any attempt at narrative manipulation or meta-conceptual distortion would have been useless."
She clenched her fist, gently tapping her knee as if to emphasize each word:
"We, Primordials, he respects, yes. But he knows our limits. He knows we cannot cross certain barriers without destroying cosmic balance. If he forces us to break his Domain by force, it is the entire Order that falters. None of us would dare trigger such a catastrophe."
A heavy silence followed. Then Ñout added, with a note of bitterness:
"Mü Thanatos… she was not bound by those rules. Even her slyest traps would have had no effect on her. Her very nature allowed her to walk beyond restrictions, to crush all conceptual artifice."
She closed her eyes, her face hardening as she almost whispered to herself:
"If only… she could act. Even just for a moment. Just long enough for me to cross the realm of myths… and remind that 'prince' of his place."
But that wish echoed into the void. Mü Thanatos had been gone too long. Exiled. Silent observer, unable to intervene without breaking her own vow.
Or… perhaps she simply refuses.
Ñout felt a shadow of worry creep into her heart.
Mü… have you kept bitterness?
Her gaze lost into the Void, an expression of regret veiled her divine features.
"Perhaps… Zeus and I went too far that day."
She inhaled, jaw clenched, her mind probing possible futures.
"One thing is certain… she was not broken. If she had been… we would no longer be here to talk about it. She could have annihilated everything… or worse… turned into Shad Ruhvaël."
At that mention, the temperature seemed to drop by a cosmic degree. Even Goth, usually impassive, broke into a wider smile, as if amused by the mere idea.
"If she had become that… we would all have ceased to exist."