White shards scattered across the empty void...
Small. The size of a child's palm — a child just learning to hold a toy. So fragile that even a gaze could shatter them further.
But peer inside — and they become boundless. The infinity within, contained in the shape of a child's fist. A paradox. A paradox of scale.
As always, everything is far more complex than it seems. And far simpler than its complexity.
Don't judge a book by its cover. An old saying, but it feels tailor-made for these shards. For these particles. For these... fragments of a destroyed world.
A world annihilated by the witch.
And what about *this* dimension?
I found myself wondering. Not because I wanted an answer. But because I couldn't help it.
The answer was obvious. It belongs to her. Her space. Her stage.
But my question wasn't about ownership. I wasn't seeking who this all *belongs* to. But who *needs* it all.
The thoughts stretched. Stretched like cotton candy in the sweet machine of the mind. And the more I pulled — the less sense remained. The final answer slipped away, as if this world itself was plucking it from my hands.
We stood close. So close it could be called "side by side." Yet between us... a chasm. So vast that if I ran toward her with all my might, I'd remain in place.
A paradox of distance.
By their very nature, the Hierarchies — yes, those ancient, forgotten, erased ones — could be viewed as Hilbert space. Extended, infinite, intangible. And really, what concern are the Hierarchies now, long stripped of existence?
Perhaps none.
I was just trying... to understand. At least something. At least this place. To soothe my curiosity — as if curiosity could ever be soothed.
I'm here again. Again. After our first encounter, I thought it was over — finale, credits, curtain call. But no. A second meeting — and the realization: this could go on forever.
*Forever*.
We'll keep replaying each other until one of our hearts stops. Or until it *explodes from the opponent's logic*. Exactly so. And both outcomes seem equally possible.
I looked at her. She — at me. We gazed at each other. And both felt only one thing.
Thirst.
Not for water. Not for blood. But for *victory*.
A thirst to break each other. Now — or never.
I had one last card to play. The last. Meaning "there are no others." Of course, there never were any, but if you believe hard enough — they materialize.
If she could refute even this... then it's over.
Then — the blades. Those hovering behind her like birds of prey. They don't await commands. They await *provocation*.
I waited for her move. Her answer. Her finishing blow.
And she kept smiling. Green eyes glowing like a screen in a dark room. Not with joy. With thrill. The game continues — and she's loving it.
— Your claim is that I deliberately, after destroying the world, made edits... — she began, her voice dripping with music. Mocking, taunting music.
— Exactly, — Aragi cut in. Sharp, almost pained. He refused to linger in her den longer than necessary.
The sphere before us had already shown everything. *Everything*. Scenes, moments, the door opening... all of it.
Arguing against this was like arguing against gravity. Pointless. She knew it. And so — she had no escape.
— Seems my trap has truly caught you, — I said. — Admit it. Just confess.
Never had a breath felt so heavy. Yet — I inhaled. I believed. I stepped forward.
— Magnificent! — she exclaimed. — Never thought the game would last this long! All thanks to your stubbornness, Aragi!
My face tensed. Sweat slithered down my neck like a thin snake. I realized: her silence wasn't defeat. It was *delight*.
— Enough talk. Give me your answer, — I exhaled. — This time, I won't leave the game to you.
A smile. A smirk. An answer. Annihilation.
— My answer... NO!
I nearly laughed. Truly. Not from despair. But because I understood. "No" wasn't unexpected. "No" was *inevitable*.
I just didn't want to remember. Didn't want to shatter the fantasy where I'd already won.
But...
— Aragi, — she said, — this is what's called *imagination*!
That was all. A simple word. A simple truth. A simple *exposure*.
She plucked the answer right from my tongue. Because I knew it myself. Just refused to admit it.
People withdraw. Hide from the world. Conceal themselves. Build worlds inside their heads. Imagine. Dream. Remold themselves.
And sometimes dreams become reality. Sometimes — weapons.
*Imagination*. That's what this all was.
— A dimension above your imagination! — the witch declared.
Beautiful. Clever. Lethal.
The argument that seemed invincible — turned out to be cardboard. Her laughter echoed my collapse.
She stepped closer. Just a meter between us. One step. One ending.
Why does she laugh? I know why. She's laughing at me.
I lost.
— I lost. You won again. I admit it.
— Yes. It couldn't have gone otherwise. These games always end with my victory.
Resignation. Sudden. Accepted. Scorching.
I stood. Waited for the end. Didn't want pain. But choices were gone. All that remained — to accept. And hope it'd hurt slightly less this time.
Heat. Pressure. An explosion. Blood stopped. Heart burned. Body... vanished.
Darkness in my eyes. The last thing I saw — her face. Not angry. Not joyful. Serene.
Serene?
Why?
Too late to think. The body's gone. Not even dust remained.
Erased. Like last time. As if I never existed.
The second game concluded. Victory — the witch's again.