Chapter 110 - Within the wall, a part of the wall.

Not sure any one of you could have guessed this was where Raven was sent to.

Also, is the new novel cover clean though🤗?

The universe is infinite, but its silence is not empty—rather, it is saturated with the endless, restless thoughts of those who drift between the stars. In the gulf between galaxies, even light moves with patience, crossing years, even eons to find a single pair of intelligent eyes. It's one of the reasons one would measure the speed at which light takes to traverse the farthest point of A to point B, in light years.

 Diana, Starfire, Kyla-el—all of them, out there, chasing hope or vengeance, thinking themselves alone. But true solitude, Raven discovered and is experiencing, is a thing that echoes within eternity.

Raven floated in this place beyond time and memory, caught in a vastness that dwarfed even her goddess heart. There is a coldness to the void, a silence so profound that it roars in the mind. And in that quiet, her thoughts became poetry—dark, longing, and almost resigned:

There once was a soul, soft and bright,

Who painted her dreams in shades of midnight.

She lost her warmth, her laughter, her voice—

For power or love? Was it ever a choice?

Now only silence, endless and vast,

And memories faded, erased by the past.

Raven's eyelids fluttered, her lashes casting faint shadows across her cheeks as she finally woke. Her body felt… weightless, but also exhausted, as if she'd been swimming through heavy syrup in a dream that refused to end. She stifled a yawn, mind still foggy, before the flood came—a deluge of memories: her rise to power, her lovers, her enemies, her own demise. But here she is, existing.

She sat up—or thought she did, until she realized she was still floating. Her hand moved instinctively to her left breast, fingers brushing against a hole in her garment. The wound was gone, the pain a memory, but the evidence remained, a ragged tear in the fabric—a reminder of betrayal, of loss, of endings. There was supposed to be a heart, but only darkness remained.

"Where am I?" Raven whispered into the abyss. No answer, only her own voice dissolving into the distance.

A spike of danger flared behind her, primal and cold. It had been a long, long time since she felt that way. In fact, she hadn't felt that way in this world only when she was once human.

She spun, shielding herself with numerous grades of spellwork she had memorized that were so complex the air itself seemed to shiver. Her eyes widened as she scanned her surroundings—only to find the void resisting all her attempts to teleport or even phase out of reality.

Something was pulling her backward—an invisible force, irresistible, total. She thrashed, shifting into a shadowy raven, wings flaring, talons scraping for purchase, but the drag only grew stronger. Her resistance was swallowed, her magic dampened, her body T-posed without her consent and her will, helpless. For a heartbeat, her grey cock and balls bobbed comically in the slipstream, an absurd detail amid her defeat. She had never felt so undignified, nor so powerless.

But logic, even here, was her ally. "No use fighting what can't be fought," she muttered, letting the force claim her. She surrendered, muscles relaxing, her mind expanding into the endless now.

Time here was a myth. She was secured in place still maintaining the T-pose form, unmoving, but her mind could wander forever. She realized—she was part of something much bigger. She was embedded in some sort of wall, a mural of the defeated and the damned.

The Source Wall.

Her eyes, now able to move, scanned her neighbours on the wall. She gasped, recognition flaring as she spotted the faces of legends—some from stories, some from half-remembered comics. Thanos, chin cleft deep as a canyon, staring out into infinity. Galactus, the world-eater, his gaze just as empty. "What are they doing here?" Raven thought. "Shouldn't they be in another universe? No, multiverse?"

The Source Wall, then, was not picky with its prisoners. It cared nothing for canon, or continuity. It simply held those whose ambitions had grown too great, whose sins had become too heavy.

She tried to reach out, to project her will beyond her own mind—nothing. Her thoughts rebounded, trapped. She could not connect to her worshippers, could not summon herself back into the cosmos. Her partial omnipotence was a joke here, her goddesshood a shadow on stone.

A sudden intrusion—flashes of light, a spaceship appearing from nowhere, its engines screaming. Instantly, the wall reacted. Cosmic rays—unbearably hot, blinding—shot from the eyes of every imprisoned soul. Raven felt the energy well up, leave her, strike out. The ship was obliterated, vaporized before it could even scream. Raven grimaced; it felt like a violation, like someone had forced her to pull a trigger she didn't even know she was holding.

She looked down, at her own body melded with the wall, and saw someone below her. An ancient, powerful figure, withered but still emanating strength. His skin was stone, eyes dull, but there was life in them—a soul not yet surrendered.

"Just forget it, kiddo," he grumbled, voice rough with the grind of eons.

Raven blinked, then snorted. "You speak, old man?"

He managed a dry chuckle. "Of course I do. If you can talk, you've still got some cosmic energy left in you. Not all of us do. So, who'd you piss off to wind up here?"

Raven, resigned, floated her own name like a sigh: "I'm Raven. The futa goddess."

The old man managed a crooked grin. "That explains a lot. I'm Yuga Khan—once king of Apokolips. Now? Just another wallflower that spits death beams at intruders, whether I want to or not." He craned his neck as best he could, glancing at her with something like approval. "Not many get to meet me twice—especially not from the outside."

Raven's mind ticked through possibilities, but exhaustion won out. "If you have advice, give it. If not, let me brood in peace."

He laughed, the sound echoing off the wall and into infinity. "You got spirit. Good. You'll need it. This place is for those who have reached too high. Searched for the truth behind the truth, or pissed off the wrong cosmic custodian. Some came here by accident. Others—like me—got thrown in for daring to rewrite fate. I only wanted to seek the origin of it all, and this is what I got."

Raven watched as her thoughts swam, her focus drifting to poetry again. In her mind, she recited softly, almost silently:

Emotion lost,

In silent space—

It's like I am trapped in a cage,

In silent halls,

I reach, I fail,

I brace for falls.

Power claimed,

Then power spent—

What's left but dust,

And time unbent?

As if the Source Wall itself heard her lament, more newcomers arrived—a party of seven, looking like characters from a cheap D&D campaign: a mage, a barbarian, a thief, a bard, a paladin, a priest, and an archer. Wide-eyed, hopeful. They barely had time to gasp before the wall's prisoners, Raven included, unleashed death from their eyes. They were annihilated in an instant, lives erased like chalk from a board.

Years—decades, centuries—might have passed. Raven lost count. She tried everything: focusing her will, whispering to the aether, bargaining with the wall, even singing in her mind. Nothing worked. The wall was unbreakable, the silence absolute.

"You know," Yuga Khan muttered, "they say a few have gotten out. Maybe one or two in all of time. But they didn't do it alone."

Raven's eyes narrowed. "What are you suggesting?"

He shrugged, as best he could. "Just… don't give up. Or if you do, at least do it with style."

"Do it with style? What the--"

She almost smiled at that. The idea of giving up was foreign to her, but the wall's power was overwhelming. She thought of Diana, of Starfire, of Kyla-el—of her own lost self. Would they search for her? Would they even find her if they tried?

But Raven was not just any goddess. Even in defeat, her mind kept working, cataloging every detail, every vibration of the wall, every anomaly in the flow of time. If the Source Wall could be breached—even once—then so could she.

She waited. She dreamed. She schemed. She whispered poems into the silence, hoping, perhaps, that somewhere out there, someone would hear her call.

And the twists just keep on coming. 

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