White.
Not light.
Not emptiness.
White.
A boundless, flawless expanse without horizon or depth, where distance meant nothing and direction was a suggestion at best. No sky. No ground. No walls. Only a single throne, carved from the same absolute white as the realm itself—so pristine it seemed unreal.
This place had a name.
Nohr.
The Sub-Creator Realm.
A place that existed between the Creator's dominion and Paraxis. A place where narratives were trimmed, laws rehearsed, and outcomes adjusted before being allowed to become real.
And seated upon the White Throne—
—was a man with a smile that had never known sincerity.
He looked human.
That was the first lie.
Black hair slicked back, eyes a pale, mocking green that reflected futures that never came to pass. He wore white robes trimmed with faint gold lines that shifted constantly, rewriting themselves with symbols that represented authority, law, and permission.
He sat casually—one arm draped over the throne, chin resting on his knuckles—like a king watching a play he'd already spoiled for himself.
"Hmm," the figure said, tilting his head slightly.
"So it really is a Dreamveil."
He smiled wider.
"Interesting."
Lucien stood before him, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed—almost bored.
"So you're Loki," Lucien said calmly.
"The Sub-Creator."
Loki chuckled.
"Titles are such fragile things," he replied smoothly. "But yes. Loki will do."
He leaned forward, eyes sharp.
"You know, I've been watching you for a very long time."
Lucien smiled faintly.
"I know."
That answer made Loki pause—just for a fraction of a second.
Nohr was absolute.
Within it, Loki could:
– Enforce law
– Rewrite rules
– Edit narrative priority
– Grant himself infinite strength, power, and authority
– Overwrite causality on any plane below Paraxis
Entire multiverses had been quietly "corrected" here.
Mistakes erased. Outcomes redirected. Heroes removed. Villains promoted.
But there was one flaw.
One contradiction.
One exception.
Lucien Dreamveil.
The Sole Exception.
Nohr's rules did not recognize him.
Loki knew everything that was happening across creation.
But Lucien?
Lucien was a blind spot.
A moving anomaly.
An uneditable variable.
And that unsettled Loki far more than he would ever admit.
"You know," Loki said lightly, rising from the throne, "most beings freeze the moment they enter Nohr. Their narratives lock. Their options collapse."
He took a step forward.
"But you…"
"…you're still moving."
Lucien tilted his head.
"Disappointing, isn't it?"
Loki laughed.
"Oh, immensely."
The white around them shifted.
Reality folded.
A thousand invisible laws activated at once.
ENFORCEMENT — GRAVITY ABSOLUTE
ENFORCEMENT — MOVEMENT DENIAL
ENFORCEMENT — CAUSAL SEVERANCE
Nothing happened.
Lucien remained exactly where he was.
Hands still in his pockets.
Smile unchanged.
Loki's grin twitched.
"…Of course."
Lucien's eyes darkened.
"Are we doing this," he asked calmly,
"or are you going to keep pretending you're in control?"
Something cold passed through Loki's gaze.
The white realm fractured into windows.
Countless worlds appeared—mortals screaming as laws shifted, civilizations collapsing as gravity inverted, time stuttering and snapping.
"Do you know how easy it is?" Loki said softly.
"To move you… when I move them."
He gestured.
Entire universes buckled.
Lucien's smile vanished.
In its place—
—something ancient, sharp, and profoundly unamused.
"You're destroying them," Lucien said quietly.
Loki shrugged.
"Collateral. Life is flexible. That's what it's for."
Lucien took a step forward.
The pressure changed.
"You touch mortals," Lucien said, voice low,
"to try and control me…"
The white cracked.
"…and you forfeit the right to exist."
Loki's smile returned—wider, crueler.
"Then kill me."
Loki moved first.
Not with law.
Not with narrative.
But with force.
He chose hand-to-hand.
A fist like a collapsing star slammed toward Lucien's face—strength amplified infinitely by Nohr's permission.
Lucien didn't dodge.
He caught it.
The impact sent a shockwave through Nohr, white shattering into fractal explosions that rippled outward endlessly.
Lucien twisted.
Loki flew—his body skipping across infinite white, slamming into nothing, stopping only because Lucien decided it should.
Lucien was already there.
A knee drove into Loki's ribs.
Something cracked.
Not bone.
Authority.
Loki coughed, skidding back, eyes wide with something new.
"…So that's how it feels," he muttered.
Lucien didn't reply.
He was already on him again.
Lucien did not fight beautifully.
He fought decisively.
A punch to the jaw that sent Loki spinning.
A heel to the stomach that folded him in half.
An elbow to the spine that dropped him to his knees.
Loki tried to rise.
Lucien stepped on his shoulder and drove him back down.
"You're slow," Lucien said coldly.
"And sloppy."
Loki snarled, swinging wildly.
Lucien caught both wrists.
Twisted.
Loki screamed as his arms dislocated—not physically, but conceptually.
"You rely too much on rules," Lucien continued.
"And I don't live by any."
Lucien slammed his forehead into Loki's face.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The white floor cracked beneath them.
Loki lay gasping, coughing blood that evaporated into golden dust.
"I can still—" Loki wheezed. "I can still—"
Lucien grabbed him by the throat and lifted him effortlessly.
"You can't," Lucien said flatly.
"And that's what terrifies you."
Loki's eyes burned with fury.
"You think you're better?" he spat. "You're just another tyrant with prettier words!"
Lucien's grip tightened.
"I never said I was good."
He slammed Loki down—hard.
Nohr shook.
"I said I see things for what they are."
Lucien placed one foot on Loki's chest.
The Sub-Creator coughed, golden cracks spreading across his spiritual form.
Lucien looked down at him—expression calm, final.
"You will know agony," Lucien said quietly.
His eyes hardened.
"And true death."
The white realm trembled.
The throne cracked behind them.
And for the first time since Nohr was born—
The Sub-Creator felt his impending death.