"Impressive."
The Writer praised, its voice glitching between tones, like overlapping echoes of itself.
Its featureless form shimmered faintly, the countless digits of 1s and 0s rippling like liquid light. "You've surprised me once again, Hades. I had thought your mind would collapse under the weight of revelation. Yet here you stand."
Hades said nothing. His heart still felt heavy, but his expression was calm, cold even.
He did not make a move, he simply observed—the way the Writer's form bent reality, the way even the light around it seemed uncertain whether to exist.
He knew, instinctively, that attacking such a being was pointless. If the Writer desired, it could erase him completely, rewrite him into dust, or perhaps never let him exist in the first place.
So he stayed still, watching, calculating, waiting.
Just then, a movement caught his eye.
Out of the corner of his vision, at the far edge of the white expanse, a small shadow slithered across the floor like smoke.
