Chapter 129: The Return of Sy666

The creature slowly lowered its hand.

The gigantic red spear, as long as an entire solar system, pivoted silently in space, but its movement tore the fabric of reality. It did not merely cut through the void — it bent reality itself, like a pencil forced through the surface of a sheet of paper.

Around it, the universe groaned. The stars stretched like poorly fixed paint.

The sky was nothing but a wrinkled sheet, and the spear, an impossible anomaly.

Sakolomé, standing upright with arms outstretched, was already concentrating his narrative mana in his fist, ready to strike back.

But suddenly, Rivhiamë's voice exploded inside him:

— Wait, Sakolomé!

— Wait for what?! Don't you see this attack?! Even reality cannot hold against it!!

— Exactly! It's too much. Too much superior mana injected into too low a world… What you see there is the price of this disproportion. If you retaliate with the same intensity, in the same layer of reality… you will blow up the entire universe. Not a metaphor, not an image. The universe, Sakolomé.

A cold shiver ran down the young fighter's spine.

— …You mean if I strike now…

— It's over. Reality, space, time… everything will collapse. You must first stabilize the reality plane. Only then can you strike back. And even then, cautiously. You need an anchor point… a stabilizer.

— But I don't have a stabilizer, Rivhiamë! Am I supposed to invent one right now?!

— Don't worry about that. I'll take care of it.

Suddenly, the narrative mana surged around Sakolomé, denser, more alive than ever.

In an incandescent green flash, a giant Sakolomé, made entirely of narrative mana, appeared behind him.

The colossus stretched out its arms and grabbed the cosmic spear, stopping it cold.

The fabric of reality vibrated but stopped tearing.

— Whoa… stammered Sakolomé. That's… incredible.

— Now. Reality is stabilized. The field is secured. Go. Strike with all your strength!

Without hesitation, Sakolomé stepped back, gathering all his mana in his fist.

Energy rumbled. Luminous lines ran along his arm. His eyes turned white, and his voice deepened:

— KILLER PUNCH SUPRA GOD!!!

He thrust his fist forward.

A ripping breath followed.

Reality cracked in straight lines. Shards like cosmic glass flew in all directions.

The giant Sakolomé propelled the spear toward the creature, and simultaneously, Sakolomé's punch struck the base of the titanic weapon.

The fusion between fist and spear generated a devastating wave, a tsunami of transcendent mana, rushing toward the creature.

Caught off guard, it tried to retreat — too late.

The spear crashed into it, followed by the Killer Punch, and in a titanic explosion, the creature was swept through space, its body passing through multiple layers of void, matter, and energy.

A white light engulfed the scene…

— AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!

The creature's piercing scream mingled with the cosmic crash of the attack.

Its body was engulfed by its own spear turned against it, and by the absolute power of Sakolomé's Killer Punch Supra God.

Its cry faded into the void as its form seemed to dissolve from reality itself, erased, as if swept away by a divine hand outside the narrative.

The attack itself continued its monstrous course.

A titanic light, unbearably white, swallowed space.

Around it, millions of galaxies seemed like grains of dust before this explosion of raw energy.

Rivhiamë inwardly (sharp):

— Restriction!

The narrative mana condensed.

A protective sphere of narrative energy surrounded the catastrophe to limit its impact.

The explosion, which threatened to tear apart the entire fabric of the cosmos, was barely contained, frozen in a fragment of the universe.

DOOOOOOUUUUUUUMMMM!!!

The final detonation echoed with a dull crash, opening a vast nebula of beauty as troubling as it was tragic.

But even contained, the universe was wounded.

Constellations went dark. Lines of gravity wavered.

Entire zones of the cosmos were altered.

Sakolomé fell back into silence, panting.

His body slowly evaporated, like ash carried by the cosmic wind.

— Damn… I thought I wasn't supposed to kill it…

Rivhiamë (dry): — Look ahead.

Sakolomé raised his head.

His eyes widened, incredulous.

— It's… not… possible…

It was still there.

The creature, battered to the bone, floated in the void.

Part of its flesh had melted, revealing its black and golden skeleton.

Streams of unknown blood floated around it.

Its breathing was erratic, distorted by animal rage.

It let out a primal howl:

— AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

In a flash, it lunged at Sakolomé.

Exhausted, drained, he had no time to react.

It grabbed him violently by the throat, lifting him into space.

And then…

They fell.

They pierced Earth's atmosphere, burning the air like meteors.

Clouds exploded in their wake.

BOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!

They crashed to the ground like two furious comets.

The earth groaned, trembled… and cracked again.

The Earth, already dark, already split, cracked further, the faults widening.

Mountains collapsed. Oceans shifted.

In a city half-erased by chaos, Sally, Nairo, and the others felt the apocalyptic breath.

— What was that?!

asked Sally, her throat tight.

Nairo, gaze fixed on the broken sky:

— …Something… that shouldn't even exist…

Salomé suddenly pointed to the shattered horizon:

— It's coming from over there!!!

Everyone turned, eyes locked on the still vibrating energy column in the split sky.

Grafay (clenching fists):

— You think it's… the other thing, there?

Nairo:

— There's only one way to find out.

They all rose into the air, like reversed meteors slicing the skies, rushing straight toward the source of the cataclysm.

On the ground, the creature strangled Sakolomé, fingers digging into his throat like sharp fangs.

Sakolomé could no longer even struggle.

His body was fractured everywhere, glowing green cracks snaking across his skin.

Rivhiamë (in his consciousness, panicked):

— I warned you… Your body has become hypersensitive!

I can't do anything… even a single mana flow risks annihilating you from within!

Sakolomé (panting, eyes half-closed):

— Grrr… Damn… So this is how I die… today?

The creature growled in rage and squeezed even tighter.

Sakolomé began to suffocate.

Then — BAM!!

A fierce impact threw the creature far from him.

Its body rolled on the ground in a cloud of dust.

It rose, furious, eyes blazing with hatred.

Its gaze fell on a figure.

Sally.

Standing. Proud. Her two swords crossed before her, breath heavy but gaze determined.

Sakolomé saw her…

He tried to speak, to shout at her to flee, not to attack the creature…

But no sound came out. His body refused to move.

He knew.

He knew that if Sally attacked, the creature would see her as a threat and would not hesitate to kill her, as it nearly did with him.

Salomé, in tears, finally landed, stunned by her big brother's condition.

— Sakolomé!!!

She ran toward him, frantic.

But before she could reach him, a shadow cut through the air.

The creature.

It appeared before Salomé, threatening, arm raised like a scythe, ready to tear off her head.

But…

SWANG!!!

A spray of black and red cut through the air.

The creature's arm flew off, severed cleanly.

It spun in the air before crashing to the ground.

Everyone was petrified.

Even Sakolomé, at his limit, widened his eyes in astonishment.

Sally was there.

Standing. Surrounded by strange mana, scarlet red veined with black lightning.

Her swords vibrated, pulsing with unusual, ancient energy.

She looked at her enemy with icy sadness.

— I think… I can't turn back anymore.

She leapt.

Her blades tore the air.

The creature retreated, surprised.

It immediately regenerated its arm, but something was wrong…

It could not heal the damage Sakolomé inflicted in space.

The wounds left by the Killer Punch Supra God and the fusion of the cosmic spear were still there, gaping, deep.

However, it could regenerate the new wounds without problem.

Rivhiamë (thoughtfully):

— …It cannot erase what has been engraved… in reality itself.

Sakolomé (weakly, half-conscious):

— …The blows… from before… have become… written truths… in its narrative…

Sakolomé (internally, panting, eyes squinting):

— What is this… mana emanating from Sally?

It almost looks like… dark mana…

Rivhiamë (grave, serious voice):

— You're not mistaken.

It's not infernal mana like mine… or like that of the creature you faced.

What you see there is the malevolent mana of an esoteric demon.

Sakolomé (frowning, surprised):

— An esoteric demon? What kind of nonsense is that now?

Rivhiamë (calm, didactic):

— They represent the weakest fringe of all demons, but also…

the only ones created by humans themselves.

Sakolomé (shocked):

— Wait… You mean… humans can create demons?

Rivhiamë:

— Yes. And it's more common than you think.

When a group of people worships an entity that does not exist,

they pray to it, offer sacrifices,

attribute coincidences as miracles…

then a particular force comes into play.

Sakolomé (listening attentively)

Rivhiamë:

— This phenomenon is linked to the World of Creations:

a world outside the causal webs of other dimensions,

a world shaped by the weight of collective desire.

One person has little impact there.

But a belief shared by dozens, hundreds…

can give birth to a manifestation.

An entity.

A creature that answers prayers…

Not a god. But a demon.

An esoteric demon, born of belief.

And this demon survives by feeding on the souls and fervor of its followers.

Otherwise… it fades away.

Sakolomé (pale, whispering):

— Sounds like… egregores…

Rivhiamë (almost surprised):

— …Exactly. That's the exact term. You're not so dumb after all.

Meanwhile, Sally faced the creature.

Her aura was heavy, oppressive, spiritually suffocating.

She seemed to hold her own against the creature…

But her breath was ragged, and each blow left a mark on her soul.

Sakolomé (internally, worried):

— But then…

Sally is an egregore?

Rivhiamë:

— No. It's not her.

But there is an egregore inside her.

An entity that found refuge in her body.

It is her last home.

The creature in question…

was probably created a very long time ago,

and Sally is the last survivor of those who still believed in it.

Sakolomé's eyes widened abruptly.

A flash of memory.

Melinda, once… telling him an old legend:

A spirit…

Born in her village.

Worshipped.

But who ended up massacring all who had summoned it…

All… except Sally.

Its name: Sy666.

Rivhiamë (alarmed):

— What did you just say?!

Sakolomé (panting):

— Enter my memory… you'll understand…

A moment.

A silence.

Then Rivhiamë murmurs, in a cold voice:

— …Yes.

It's him.

Sy666.

He is the one currently inside Sally.

Sakolomé (horrified):

— I can't believe it… She's… possessed?!

Rivhiamë (dark):

— Yes.

And worse…

She is slowly being devoured.

The more she uses this mana,

the more she values Sy666's existence…

and the more he feeds on her.

Sakolomé (shivering):

— You mean… if this continues…

She will… lose her soul… and die?!

Rivhiamë (coldly):

— I fear it's already too late.

Sakolomé (throat tight):

— No… No!

Don't say that!!!