The Strongest Transcendent In History Is The Strongest
Chapter 36: Where Eternity Fractures
The dust behind me has yet to settle, swirling gently like memories that linger long after the storm has passed, but I resolutely turn my back on the devastation of the battlefield. Each step I take resonates softly through the emptiness, a rhythm reverberating like a metronome ticking down to the finality of fate. The air clings to me, heavy with the stench of soot, the acrid scent of violence, and the haunting echoes of memories that threaten to swallow me whole. Even as I move forward, I refuse to look back; the weight of what I've left behind is too great to bear. There's no time for reflection now—not when the clock of destiny is ticking so loudly in my ears. My thoughts are sharp as a razor's edge, each one slicing through the haze of despair, until one name cuts deeper than any weapon I've wielded. Katsume. The syllables escape my lips in a whisper, reverberating as I murmur under my breath, "There's only one place left she could be." As the words spill forth, the fabric of reality begins to shift around me—what once felt tangible now seems to dissolve into something more ethereal. The wind behind me fades into an eerie stillness. Time itself stutters, hiccuping awkwardly, as if caught in a snare of its own making. Ahead of me, caught in the shimmering liminal space between existence and the void, something glimmers like a mirage on the horizon. A portal. Not merely a gate, nor an incantation woven into existence. This is a wound—a gash in the very tapestry of time itself. It doesn't sit quietly within the fabric of space-time; it rends it asunder. This tear, elliptical and pulsating, breathes with a rhythm that feels unnervingly alive. Its edges seem to glisten with veins of molten gold, throbbing like the lifeblood of the cosmos, eternally striving yet forever failing to close. This is no ordinary doorway. It is a rupture in the continuum—a scar that beckons me forward.
If I stare into it for too long, I can already feel myself stepping inside even before my body makes the decision to follow through—shadows of alternate realities converge and collapse, each one a potential thread in the tapestry of my existence. Causality coils about it like a serpentine enigma, blurring the boundaries between past, present, and future. There is neither a clear entry nor an exit. Only... surrender to the unknown. "This isn't a passage through time or space," I mutter to myself. "It's a journey through everything."
With an instinct driven by desperation, I reach deep into my coat, my fingers closing around the cold, rune-etched token I had managed to steal from the hidden vault within the Infinite Archives—a fragment of concept, a shard forged from the very essence of permission itself. I press the token against the edge of the rift, the moment feeling monumental.
The portal hums, its resonance vibrating through my bones. The hum morphs into a pressurized sensation, a vibration that builds and swells until it transforms into a silence so profound that it feels as if the universe itself is screaming. The portal expands wider, accompanied by a soft tearing sound that is felt deep within my chest, as though light itself is folding inward like a piece of paper dipped in ink. And then, from the depths of that swirling chaos—stairs emerge.
They spiral downward but paradoxically lead upward, twisting in ways that defy the very laws of physics, memory, and language. Crafted from the deepest obsidian, the stairway is laced with veins of amber that pulse with a rhythm akin to breath itself. I take a tentative step forward and descend, feeling an exhilarating shiver rush down my spine. But as I lower my foot, I do not merely descend—I fall forward into the very essence of time itself. What I traverse cannot be adequately measured in mere steps. I find myself in a wasteland populated by colossal ticking clocks—each suspended within a skyless void, frozen in time, and shattered into fragments that drift aimlessly. I traverse massive gears that tower like skyscrapers, relentlessly spinning toward futures that never were, their faces contorted in a silent scream. "Wrong layer," I whisper harshly to myself, frustration tightening my chest. With a mental shift, I pull myself through the fabric of reality.
Now I wander through a desolate expanse where the sand is composed of calendar pages, each grain a day that never came to pass. The wind carries the laughter of souls I've never known, echoing all around me. Above, the sky bleeds luminous moonlight, shifting colors with every flicker of my gaze, folding in on itself like a tattered flag. "Still not right," I snarl, anger rising as the landscape shifts around me.
Suddenly, I tear through a layer of raging flames—the anguished cries of every version of myself that has faltered and failed. Their howls rise like a pack of feral wolves, clawing at my mind. One spectral figure almost seizes my wrist in a desperate attempt to pull me back into the abyss of collective regrets.
With a surge of willpower, I rip free and continue on, refusing to be ensnared again. Galaxies undulate beneath my feet, rising and falling like steps carved in the vastness of existence. In one fleeting moment, I tread the surface of a sun that has forgotten how to burn—it is chillingly cold, devoid of life. Statues glimmer in the ice, depicting gods caught in stillness, their mouths open in a silent lament, whispering the words, She's gone. "No," I snarl, a golden aura crackling to life around me, "She's not." The path at last climbs majestically, curling around a dying comet that races toward an unknowable end. My determination surges as I plant one foot firmly on its luminous tail—and with a powerful leap, I vault through the cosmic winds. Finally, I arrive at the edge of the universe. A place where light no longer dares to move forward. Where time… inexorably reaches its terminus. Where existence clings desperately to life, refusing to succumb to the void.
In this surreal expanse, a floating staircase woven from paradoxical matter stretches toward a magnificent door carved into the very fabric of the event horizon. With unwavering resolve, I walk forward without hesitation, propelled by an instinct that compels me onward—this is the only path available, the only route left to take. The door has no discernible handle. It opens to me—not outward, nor inward. It unfolds itself, much like the sky as it exhales a breath long held. I step through.
To be continued...