The peak of the Celestial Surface was not a mountaintop, but a Golden Ratio made manifest.
Vane Varkas breached the final cloud layer, his wings of non-existence tearing through the atmospheric "Silk" of the Fifth Ocean. He landed in the center of the Court of Creation, a circular plaza where the floor was a living mosaic of constellations. Here, the air did not carry oxygen; it carried Inspiration. Every breath Vane took felt like a thousand stories trying to write themselves into his lungs, trying to "Civilize" his savage, abyssal heart.
Standing in a semi-circle before the Great Palace were the six remaining masters of the universe.
They did not look like warriors. One was a giant carved from moving marble (The Sculptor); one was a woman whose body was composed of drifting musical notes (The Musician); one was a figure who blurred in and out of reality in a perpetual, haunting waltz (The Dancer). Beside them stood the Master of Poetry, whose breath was a literal ink-mist, the Master of Theatre, who wore a thousand faces at once, and finally, the Master of Architecture, whose very presence forced the walls of reality to align in perfect right angles.
"The smudge has grown quite large," the Sculptor boomed, his voice the sound of grinding tectonic plates. "You have consumed our sister, Vermillion. You have stained the silver island. You are a 'Dissonance' that has lasted far too long."
Vane stood in the center of the plaza, his matte-black shroud absorbing the ambient "Inspiration" and turning it into dead, grey smoke. His violet eyes scanned the six entities.
[SYSTEM ANALYSIS: THE COURT OF THE SIX] [Targets: Rank 13 - Rank 18 Entities.] [Warning: Collective Resonance is at 99.9%.] [Environmental Effect: 'The Perfect Symphony'.] [Description: As long as the six remain in harmony, they are invincible. Any damage dealt to one is distributed among the six and 'Healed' by the ambient Art-Physics.]
"Harmony, huh?" Vane's voice was a low, guttural rasp that caused the constellation-floor to flicker. "I've spent my whole life being the 'Noise' in your perfect world. You think a few fancy Ranks are going to change that?"
"Noise must be resolved into Silence," the Musician sang. Her voice was a chord that made Vane's very cells vibrate with agony.
"[ART-PHYSICS: THE REQUIEM OF THE UNMADE]!"
The battle didn't start with a punch. It started with a Composition.
The Musician struck a chord in the air. The Dancer began to spin, creating a centrifugal force of "Rhythm" that trapped Vane in a localized time-loop. The Sculptor reached out and gripped the space around Vane, "Carving" the air into a solid block of diamond-glass. Simultaneously, the Poet began to chant, his words becoming physical chains of burning gold that wrapped around Vane's throat.
"THOU. ART. NOTHING." the Poet intoned.
Vane felt the "Definition" of the world crushing him. This was the peak of Art-Physics. They weren't just attacking his body; they were rewriting his Biography. They were trying to force him back into the role of a "Static"—a nameless, faceless slave who died in a trench.
[Warning!]
[Host Identity: 30% Erased.] [The Court is 'Editing' your existence.] [Resonance Overload! The System is being 'Rewritten' into a Comedy!]
Vane's black shroud began to turn into colorful silk. His obsidian claws began to soften into theatrical props. He felt his rage being replaced by a terrifying, hollow "Contentment."
They... they are making me happy? Vane's mind roared in the dark. They are erasing my pain... so I have no reason to fight?
"Yes," the Master of Theatre whispered, appearing inches from Vane's face, wearing the mask of Vane's mother. "Why fight, Vane? Why hold onto that cold, dark abyss? Join the masterpiece. Become a happy ending."
Vane looked at the mask. For a second, his violet eyes dimmed. The warmth of the "Fake Reality" was seductive. It was everything he had ever wanted—a world where Mía was safe, where he was loved, where the sun didn't burn.
But then, he felt it.
Deep in his soul, in the place where he had hidden the Void-Cradle, he felt a tiny, sharp prick of Cold.
It was Mía. Even in her sleep, her "Static" nature—the pure, unadulterated "Absence" she shared with Vane—was rejecting the fake warmth. It was a reminder of the grey blood, the broken ribs, and the ten years of slavery.
The light doesn't love us, Vane thought. It just uses us for contrast.
Vane's eyes snapped open, and the violet rings began to spin with a speed that defied physics.
"I don't want a happy ending," Vane hissed, his voice tearing through the Musician's requiem. "I want THE TRUTH!"
"[SOVEREIGN SKILL: THE ABYSSAL REJECTION]!"
Vane didn't use his power to attack the six masters. He used it to attack Himself.
He detonated the "Void-Ink" inside his own heart.
BOOM!
A shockwave of "Absolute Negation" erupted from Vane's body. The theatrical mask of his mother shattered. The golden chains of poetry turned to ash. The diamond-glass cage of the Sculptor evaporated.
Vane stood in the center of the plaza, his body covered in bleeding black ink, his wings expanding until they blotted out the Golden Ratio of the sky.
"You call this a masterpiece?" Vane roared, pointing his claw at the six masters. "It's a graveyard with a fresh coat of paint! And I am the one who brings the Rain!"
"[SOVEREIGN AWAKENING: THE SEVENTH SEAL - THE ERASER]!"
Vane lunged.
He didn't target the Sculptor or the Musician. He targeted the Architect.
The Architect was the one holding the "Right Angles" of the battle together. He was the one providing the "Logic" for the other five.
Vane moved with [Distance-Erasure], appearing directly in front of the Architect. The Architect tried to build a wall of "Infinite Geometry" between them, but Vane simply reached through the math.
"Your logic... has a remainder," Vane said.
He grabbed the Architect's face.
"[PIGMENT DRAIN: CONCEPTUAL CONSUMPTION]!"
The Architect didn't scream. He simply began to "De-Saturate" at an impossible speed. The straight lines of the plaza began to warp. The pillars of the palace began to melt. Without the Architect's Rank 18 stability, the "Harmony" of the six was shattered.
"NO! THE FOUNDATION!" the Sculptor cried out, his marble body cracking.
Vane didn't stop. He pivoted in mid-air, his tail—now a whip of solidified void—striking the Musician.
"[Render: The Silent Symphony]!"
Vane didn't kill the Musician. He Inverted her. He forced his own "Abyssal Silence" into her notes. Suddenly, the music she was playing didn't produce sound; it produced Vacuum. Every note she struck deleted the air in a ten-mile radius.
The Poet tried to chant a counter-spell, but he couldn't speak—there was no air to carry his words.
The Dancer tried to spin, but the friction was gone. She slipped on the "Non-Existence" and fell into the constellation-floor, which was now a swirling vortex of black ink.
[LEVEL UP! LEVEL 105... 120... 150!] [LIMITER: TRASCENDED.] [Host has reached the 'Creator' Tier.]
Vane was no longer a man. He was a Calamity.
He moved through the remaining masters like a wolf through a flock of sheep. He tore the "Faces" off the Master of Theatre. He drank the "Ink-Mist" of the Poet. He shattered the Sculptor into a million pieces of colorless dust.
In less than three minutes, the Court of the Six—the most powerful entities in the Five Oceans—was reduced to a pile of grey debris.
Vane stood in the center of the carnage, his chest heaving. His Level was now so high that the System could no longer display it in numbers. It simply showed a single, pulsing symbol: [∞].
He looked at the Great Palace. The doors, made of "Original White," were slowly opening.
"You've finished the opening act," a voice said.
It wasn't a loud voice. It was the voice of a man who had been watching the universe for ten billion years.
A figure stepped out of the palace. He looked like an old man, dressed in a simple, stained smock. He carried a single, worn-out brush. But his eyes... his eyes were the entire Five Oceans, spinning in a perpetual cycle of birth and death.
This was The First Painter: The Architect of the Heavens.
"Vane Varkas," the old man said, looking at the ruins of his court. "You have done exactly what I hoped you would do."
Vane's eyes narrowed, his claws dripping with the silver blood of the masters. "Hoped? You wanted me to kill your students? You wanted me to burn your world?"
The First Painter chuckled, a dry, papery sound. "My world was becoming stagnant, Vane. The colors were repeating. The stories were getting boring. I needed a New Pigment. I needed a 'Black' so deep that it could provide the contrast for a new era."
He raised his worn-out brush.
"You think you're a rebel, Vane. You think you're the one who is erasing the system. But don't you see? I am the one who gave you the System. I am the one who guided your 'Void' to the Fourth Ocean. I am the one who kept Mía alive just long enough to drive you to the peak."
Vane's world tilted. His rage, which had been his fuel for ten chapters, suddenly felt like a puppet string.
"You... you used us?" Vane's voice was a whisper of pure, cold murder. "You let her suffer... for a 'New Era'?"
"Art requires sacrifice, my boy," the First Painter said, his eyes turning cold. "And now, you are the perfect medium. I am going to dip my brush into your soul, and I am going to paint a universe that will never fade."
"[ART-PHYSICS: THE FINAL STROKE - GENESIS]!"
The old man didn't move. He simply touched his brush to the air.
In an instant, the entire universe—the Five Oceans, the stars, the abyss—everything turned into a Blank Canvas.
Vane felt himself being pulled apart. Not by force, but by Usage. He was being turned into liquid ink, being drawn into the First Painter's brush.
"NO!" Vane roared, his voice echoing in the white nothingness. "I AM NOT YOUR PAINT!"
But he was losing. The First Painter was the source. He was the "Definition." Against the one who created the light, the shadow had no power.
Until...
Thump.
A heartbeat echoed in the white void. It wasn't Vane's heartbeat.
From the space where the Void-Cradle had been, a small, pale hand reached out.
Mía Varkas was awake.
But her eyes weren't brown anymore. They weren't white. They were Clear. They were the color of Nothing.
"Brother," she said, her voice cutting through the First Painter's Genesis like a diamond cutting through paper. "He forgot... that a canvas... needs a Frame."
Mía raised her tiny hands, and the "Blank Canvas" of the universe suddenly grew a border. A border made of Absolute Static.
The First Painter's brush stopped mid-air. His eyes widened in shock. "What?! A second Sovereign? No... she isn't a Sovereign... she is the Boundary!"
Vane felt the "Usage" stop. The "Static" energy of his sister was providing the one thing he couldn't create: Containment.
Vane looked at the First Painter, a terrifying, abyssal smile spreading across his face.
"You wanted to paint a new world, old man?" Vane asked, his body reforming into a titan of absolute shadow.
"Too bad. The gallery is closed."
"[VOLUME 2 FINALE: THE TRUE VOID]!"
Vane and Mía together—the Eraser and the Frame—charged at the Creator of the Heavens.