White fragments scattered throughout the empty space…
Small. The size of a palm, a child's palm, who is just learning to hold a toy. So fragile that even a glance could split them further.
But if you look inside, they become boundless. The interior of infinity, enclosed in the form of a child's fist. A paradox. A paradox of size.
As always, everything is much more complicated than it seems. And everything is much simpler than complexity.
Don't judge a book by its cover. An old saying, but it seems specially invented for these fragments. For these particles. For these... wreckage of a destroyed world.
A world destroyed by the witch. And what about this dimension?
I wondered. Not because I wanted an answer. But because I couldn't help but wonder.
The answer was obvious. It belongs to her. Her space. Her stage.
But my question wasn't about ownership. I wasn't looking for who owns all this. But for whom all this is needed.
The reflections stretched on. Stretched like cotton candy in the sweet machine of the mind. And the more I pulled them, the less sense remained. The final answer slipped away, as if this world itself was pulling it out of my hands.
We stood not far away. So close that you could call it "near". But between us… an abyss. So wide that if I ran towards it with all my might, I would remain in place.
A paradox of distance.
By their nature, Hierarchies, yes, those old, forgotten, erased ones, can be considered as Hilbert space. Extended, infinite, intangible. And it would seem, what concern are Hierarchies now, long deprived of existence?
Probably none.
I was just trying… to understand. At least something. At least the place itself. To calm the curiosity, as if it knows how to calm down.
I'm here again. Again. After the first meeting, I thought that was it. Finale, credits, curtain. But no. The second meeting and the realization that this could go on forever.
Forever.
We will keep replaying each other until one of our hearts stops. Or until it explodes from the opponent's logic. Exactly. And both options are possible.
I looked at her. She looked at me. We looked at each other. And both felt only one feeling.
Thirst.
Not for water. Not for blood. But thirst for victory.
Thirst to break each other. Now or never.
I had one last trump card left. The last one. Meaning "there are no more". Of course, there never were any, but if you believe yourself that it exists, it appears.
If she can refute even this… then it's over.
Then the blades. Those hovering behind her back like birds of prey. They aren't waiting for a command. They are waiting for a reason.
I was waiting for her move. Her answer. Her finishing blow.
And she kept smiling. Green eyes shining like a screen in a dark room. It wasn't joy. It was excitement. The game continues and she likes it.
— Your assertion is that I intentionally, after destroying the world, made edits… — she began, and even her voice was full of music. Stupid, mocking music.
— Exactly, — Aragi cut off. Quickly, almost painfully. He didn't wish to stay in her lair longer than necessary.
The sphere before us had already shown everything. Everything. Scenes, moments, the door opening… everything was there.
Arguing with that is like arguing with gravity. Useless. She understands that. And therefore she has nowhere to go.
— It seems my trap has truly sunk its teeth into you, — I said. — Accept it and confess. Just confess.
Never had a breath felt so heavy to me. And yet, I breathed in. I believed. I took a step forward.
— Wonderful! — she said. — I didn't even think the game would last this long! And it's all because of your stubbornness, Aragi!
My face tensed. Sweat trickled down my neck like a thin snake. I understood, her silence didn't mean a dead end. It meant pleasure.
— 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… is NO!
I almost laughed. Truly. Not even from despair. But because I understood. "No" wasn't unexpected. "No" was natural.
I just didn't want to remember it. I didn't want to shatter my imagination, in which I had already won.
But...
— Aragi, — she said. — This is what's called imagination!
That was it. A simple word. A simple truth. A simple exposure.
She tore the answer right from my tongue. Because I knew it myself but didn't want to admit it.
People close off. Withdraw from the world. Hide. Build their own worlds inside their heads. Invent. Dream. Remold themselves anew. And dreams become reality. Sometimes. And sometimes a weapon.
Imagination. That's what it all was.
— A dimension above your own imagination! — uttered the witch.
Beautiful. Clever. Deadly.
An assertion that seemed invincible turned out to be cardboard. Her laughter became the echo of my collapse.
She came closer. Just a meter between us. One step, one finale.
Why is she laughing? I know the answer. She's laughing at me.
I lost.
— I lost. You won again. I admit it.
— Yes. It couldn't be otherwise. These games always end with my victory.
Resignation. Sharp. Accepted. Burning.
I stood. Waited for the end. Didn't want the pain. But there was no choice. All that remained was to accept and hope that this time it would be at least a little easier.
Heat. Pressure. An explosion. Blood stopped. Heart burned. Body… disappeared.
Darkness in my eyes. The last thing I saw was her face. Not angry. Not cheerful. Resigned.
Resigned? Why?
Too late to think. The body disappeared. Not even dust remained. Erased. Like last time. As if I never existed.
The second game is over. Victory is again the witch's.