What was it? Nothingness.
Around him, there was truly nothing. And the concept of the void was, to his eyes, far different from what he had expected. The point was that nothing existed—not a single atom remained, not a trace of energy lingered. One might say he was in a space of abyssal black, but it also felt as though he stood in a realm of immaculate white. The truth was that the very concept of color had vanished, and his mind struggled to make sense of it all.
No voices, no songs, no… nothing.
A deafening, strange, and alien silence resounded in his mind.
Nothing existed anymore.
For the first time in who-knows-how-many centuries or millennia, he was alone in his head.
And so, the realization hit him with even greater force: he was dead.
The fact brought him no joy—quite the opposite.
It was true that he had wished to disappear, that the mere act of existing was a most painful burden, constantly destroying him without ever killing him. But that burden, he wanted to carry it to the end, to give it meaning for all those who had fallen before him. And at the dawn of this end, he would have liked to find meaning in all those battles.
But he found nothing at the end of a near-eternal path, nothing but another fight at the twilight of worlds. No conclusion…
He had died without a smile on his lips.
The warrior opened his mouth to apologize to all the souls that, in the end, had followed him in this long quest. Those souls that no longer existed in essence or substance. But, of course, no sound escaped. After all, there was no space for it to travel.
The fact that he could say nothing saddened him immensely. He would have at least liked to do things properly.
And as he sank into melancholy, he felt a presence on his cheek, like a physical touch that shouldn't have existed in this reality. At that moment, he recalled a detail from his final battle.
Something had urged him not to rise again. An entity that had stayed by his side throughout his existence, as far back as he could remember.
The only thing that occupied his thoughts, never leaving them.
Like a whisper in his ear, a breeze on his neck…
Death.
It, too, was preparing to fade, now that its purpose was gone. There were no more living beings. There were no beings at all. And in these final moments, Death seemed to feel the urge to remain close to its last victim.
And the man felt a surge of affection for the entity. He didn't resent it for ending the meaning of his existence. He felt indebted, for it had been his eternal companion in his battles, and until the very end, it had stayed by his side, proof of a forgotten oath.
He would have liked to speak to it too. But, of course, nothing would work, so he would simply vanish with his unspoken words.
He would have loved that so much…
"I will grant that wish."
A deep voice resounded in the void, illogical. And in that same moment, reality warped.
The void around the man materialized, his body took form again, and space came into being. An illogical point of existence was being created.
"You wanted to speak your final words?" the voice continued, now traceable to a point in space—right in front of him. "Then I'll give you that chance."
The empty essence was pushed back all around them. The man regained his full physical integrity, his senses, and his thoughts. He was as if lying on the ground, his head slightly elevated by something. Something dark and cold… and strangely comforting.
He was lying on the lap of Death.
Yes, now that his logic had fully returned, the man realized how utterly nonsensical this story was. But he was at the end of the end of the world, and he had lived and fought through so many things. Common sense had no place here anymore.
And also… he found himself genuinely at peace lying there, the weight of his reformed armor barely felt on his body.
His cape had vanished, along with the rage of the souls that inhabited it.
The man sat up slightly to better see his surroundings, to make the most of these eyes that could finally serve him. The essence of the void had been pushed back into a perfect circle he couldn't reach. It was as if a barrier held it at bay, but it was merely the aura of the figure that had appeared in this reality, keeping it at a distance. The one who, the man was certain, was the source of the voice that had transcended logic.
Nothing could be seen of this mysterious figure. He wore a long, tattered black hooded cloak that covered his entire body. Above his head, formed of raw energy, a crown of light hovered like circling needles. His proportions were those of a man, and his identity was unmistakable to the warrior lying beside Death.
There was only one being who could defy the very concept of the void and create something within it…
No…
He didn't create, quite the opposite. His mere presence was enough to destroy the void, thus crafting an illogical space.
A being who shouldn't exist, who disrupted all laws.
The Mbour, the king bearer of the Musiba, the supreme chaos.
The warrior gazed at the monarch manifesting in all his splendor and power, and felt his heart swell within him. There wasn't an ounce of hatred in him for the living calamity before him. No, there was only a profound and unbearable sadness.
He would have liked to draw closer to the entity of chaos, but he knew it was impossible.
For if the warrior's burden was to win, the king's was to be alone in his destruction.
So, he could only say one thing.
"Your Majesty…"
The king made a strange sound, like a mocking laugh tinged with a certain sadness, and approached the warrior and the presence of Death. Immediately, Death gently but firmly grasped the warrior's face with its cold palms, in a gesture both protective and threatening. The king paused for a moment before bursting into heartfelt laughter this time.
"To witness such a spectacle at the end of times, that brings joy to me, who is devoid of a heart! What luck that you two are the last to exist."
Death did not loosen its grip, which tightened on the warrior's cheeks. The latter gave a faint smile and gently placed his hands on the entity's, in a reassuring gesture. It felt almost natural to do so.
"Don't worry," the warrior said softly. "He won't harm me."
The entity seemed to hesitate slightly before letting its hands fall. The king stepped forward and knelt before the warrior, extending his palm above his face. Even up close, only the monarch's smile was visible beneath the hood of his cloak. The warrior couldn't help but ask.
"Your Majesty."
The king sighed with a slightly annoyed tone.
"Will you stop calling me that? Tell me what you want."
"I only ask that you not take my burden from me," the warrior pleaded.
The monarch seemed at a loss for words.
"To the very end… you insist on keeping it? Even at the edge of the end."
The warrior slowly shook his head in negation.
"I've forgotten many things. But if there's one thing I know, it's that this burden is mine and mine alone."
The king looked at the warrior for a long moment before smiling.
"Then I will let you keep your weight, no matter the world, reality, or dimension. You are free, as free as you will suffer from your burden. But…"
The king exhaled, and instantly, the intent of a sembou that shouldn't exist filled the space around them.
"Listen to my voice. I am the conclusion of humanity's story, the end of the tale, the fear that mankind flees but never escapes. So, submit, and you shall have rest. Accept the end, and you will be relieved. Take your joys with you and leave me your regrets. For only I deserve the suffering and the hatred; I, oh Musiba, swear upon the sembou."
The warrior looked at the king and could only gaze in awe. As the sembou glowed with a radiant light, he saw the beauty in the end of all things, the poetry woven into every note of the world, at the moment when men turned their eyes away.
And now? Everything was stopping. It was the end. And sadness gripped the warrior, who, for the first time in centuries, felt tears well up.
Cruel… and yet so beautiful.
"You are Georges Badji, and it is as Georges Badji that you will vanish."
Thus, the memories returned—memories of love, joy, and sorrow flooded him. Regrets and remorse, mingled with tenderness and relief. The memories of all that was dear to him, along with the grief that accompanied them.
For now, he truly felt the weight of being the last of existence.
Georges stifled a sob, and those tears of horror and intoxicating freedom streamed down his cheeks, bitter and warm.
The last tears of existence.
The entity gently caressed his face, and he grasped its hands a second time, seeking comfort.
The king said nothing more. He smiled and began to walk in the opposite direction, passing Georges and the entity, turning his back to them. The warrior couldn't stand, for a reason now painfully clear as his memories returned. But he called out:
"Where are you going?"
The king stopped and spoke in a mocking tone.
"No more 'Your Majesty'?"
"Oh, stop it, I'm embarrassed enough as it is," Georges replied.
The king burst into laughter and stepped toward the barrier of the void, which parted instantly, as if fearing his touch.
"Don't worry about me," the monarch said. "Enjoy your final moments in peace. As for me… there are many realities that have yet to know the Musiba. If this one is destroyed, another must be."
Georges could say nothing. He was beginning to understand now, at the very end, what the king sought and what the Musiba was. So, he could only say one thing.
"Goodbye."
The king, still with his back turned, replied:
"We'll meet again soon, Jojo. I leave you this moment outside of reality, but without me, it won't last long. Talk with the lady. You have much to say to each other. And, as promised, this crown will not be taken from you—it was freely given, and it will be freely taken back."
And with those beautiful words, the king vanished. Georges smiled and looked at the entity that bore Death, still on its lap. Its appearance was blurred, shrouded in shadows that spread over it like a veil. But Georges knew what lay beneath.
"Are you really going to keep hiding like that? Or is showing your face beyond the contract?"
His voice was sarcastic and teasing. The entity remained silent for a moment, then a soft laugh escaped it, growing louder. And Georges followed suit, laughing heartily.
There, at the end of all things, two exceptional beings reveled in the little they had.
They laughed at the end of a shared nightmare, at the end of all things, and at the regrets that no longer held meaning.
And it was only at the end that he knew how to laugh.
This is how Georges Badji ended, the existence of the one they called the Invincible.