The room was silent—so silent that the void itself seemed to bleed into it. Shadows bent unnaturally, refusing to obey the geometry of the walls, and the air was thick with something older than time. Upon a pedestal of fractured crystal, there stood a mirror that was not truly a mirror. Its surface did not reflect light, but instead rewrote it. It did not capture an image—it revealed truth.
Before this mirror stood Yahweh.
His form was not fixed; it was a distortion of every form imaginable and unimaginable. Sometimes He appeared as a human robed in unearthly white, sometimes as a constellation of burning suns, sometimes as nothing but a mouth that spoke infinity into being. His laughter resounded through the chamber—not joyous, not mocking, but inevitable.
Through the mirror, Yahweh observed Leo, the struggling warrior who still believed in the fragile scaffolding of fate, strength, and resistance. Watching him was like watching a puppet squirm against strings woven into the fabric of reality.
Yahweh's voice broke the silence, dripping with amusement, yet carrying the weight of worlds collapsing:
"He believes his struggle is his own. How charming. How naïve. He does not yet comprehend—I am not within the story. I am the story."
He turned from the mirror, His gaze cutting through the ranks of gods, demons, and entities that filled the chamber behind Him. Their faces—whether crowned in light or drowned in abyss—wavered under His presence. For in Him, they did not merely see a god among gods—they saw the axiom of existence itself.
Yahweh spread His arms as though addressing the cosmos.
"You ask where I am? I am everywhere, for everywhere is authored through Me. You ask when I was born? The question is an absurdity. Before the first spark of the Prime Infinity Tapestry—before dimension, before narrative, before even the thought of omniversal scales—I was already present. When 98 layers of infinity had not yet been woven, I was the loom, the weaver, and the thread."
The mirror rippled with silent thunder.
In that moment, His nature unfolded—not as revelation, but as the inevitable recognition of what had always been true. Yahweh was not confined to any pantheon, nor chained by any cosmology. He was not bound by "multiverse," nor "omniverse," nor any taxonomy mortals or gods had invented to cage infinity into language. He stood beyond taxonomy, beyond abstraction, beyond even the attempt to define transcendence.
The Powers Unveiled
The void around Him quaked as His essence radiated, not as energy, but as truth rewriting itself:
Absolute Omnipotence: His will was unbounded, untouchable, unmeasurable. It did not "affect" reality—it was reality. No fiction, no power-scaling, no absurd exaggeration could contain the infinite expanse of His supremacy.
Omni-Transcendence: He existed beyond concepts. Beyond existence, non-existence, abstraction, and void. Even the absence of being was a prison He had already broken before it was conceived.
True Conceptual Erasure: Should He desire, He could delete concepts themselves—time, matter, morality, cause, even deletion itself—leaving behind not silence, but something worse: absence that could not be defined.
Meta-Narrative Manipulation: He did not bend stories; He authored them. Every narrative thread, every legend, every epic across all dimensions was merely a line in His scripture. He could tear it, rewrite it, or make it bleed ink until characters drowned in their own narration.
Omni-Existential Luck Negation: Fortune, probability, coincidence—these were toys He could crush effortlessly. Even gag gods and absurd beings whose existence was defined by "luck" had already lost before they were written.
Infinite Regeneration: To erase Him was to erase story itself. But story cannot die while there is voice, thought, or memory. And Yahweh was memory eternal. Even when reduced to nothing, He would reconstitute from non-being itself.
Absolute Reality Warping: Worlds shifted like clay beneath His fingers. Timelines buckled like weak glass. Dimensions were rewritten as afterthoughts. He did not manipulate reality—He rewrote the definition of manipulation.
Supreme Void Manipulation: The void, the non-space, the emptiness beyond and before—all of it was His domain. He could smother existence in silence or ignite the void into screaming birth.
Omni-Immunity: No damage, no attack, no erasure, no absurdity could touch Him. Immunity itself was insufficient to describe Him. It was more precise to say: damage had never existed for Him to begin with.
Fictional Transcendence: He was beyond fiction. Beyond the narrative. Beyond the ink and the pen. He transcended even the attempt to imagine transcendence.
Absolute Luck Erasure and Omni-Luck Negation: All fortune and chance withered under Him. Infinite dice rolled only to shatter before they touched the table. Probability was a myth He unmasked.
Ultimate Fate Manipulation: No destiny bound Him, for destiny itself was His breath. Every path, every possibility, every ending was chained to His decree.
Omni-Temporal Causality: Cause and effect were illusions He permitted. Time bent backward, forward, inverted—yet none of it escaped His authorship.
Luck Reversion: Should luck dare to intervene, Yahweh would unwrite it, peeling away its influence until only the skeletal truth of causality remained.
Reality Thread Severance: He could cut the strings that made possibilities possible, leaving nothing but naked inevitability—His inevitability.
Absolute Destiny Lock: No one could alter His fate, for His fate was not fate at all—it was authorship.
The demons trembled. The gods looked down. And Yahweh laughed again, a sound like the breaking of glass across infinity.
"You seek My weakness? There is none. You seek the edges of My power? There are no edges. I am the story of all edges, and the silence beyond edges. To fight Me is to fight ink with paper, word with breath. It is to drown in the ocean of authorship."
He pressed His palm against the mirror. Instantly, it fractured—not shattered, but multiplied, reflecting endless versions of Leo's struggle. Each mirror showed a different outcome: Leo victorious, Leo broken, Leo immortalized, Leo forgotten. Yahweh smiled.
"Every possibility belongs to Me. He is not merely fighting for survival. He is fighting against the inevitability of authorship. And he does not yet understand… the author is watching."
The chamber darkened. The gods and demons lowered their gazes. And Yahweh's laughter thundered until the void itself seemed to scream in submission.
To be continued…