Chapter 51 – "The War That Shouldn't Exist"
The beginning and the end collapsed into one.
Every universe, every dimension, every forgotten echo of creation folded into a single instant.
At the center of that impossible storm stood Erevan.
His aura no longer roared — it sang.
Golden flames intertwined with black lightning and cosmic storms, weaving together like the melody of reality itself. His armor pulsed with divine light — symbols of existence blinking across its surface like code unraveling.
Across from him, the Author stood in perfect calm. Its face constantly shifted — sometimes a void, sometimes a star, sometimes a reflection of Erevan himself.
> "You were never meant to be," the Author said. "You are a paradox. A character that learned he was more than a story."
Erevan smirked.
> "And yet here I am — rewriting your ending."
The void cracked.
Light burst from every direction, galaxies spinning into swords, time itself splintering into waves of destruction.
Erevan dashed forward — faster than thought, faster than causality. Every punch rewrote creation; every step tore through the code of eternity.
The Author raised a hand, and entire concepts shattered. Fate disintegrated. Cause and effect screamed as they were rewritten mid-motion.
Erevan's fist connected — not with matter, but with the foundation of existence itself.
The Author stumbled back for the first time, its infinite form flickering.
> "Impossible…" the being whispered. "You cannot harm the source."
Erevan's aura flared brighter — gold and black light forming a crown above his head.
> "I don't harm. I rewrite."
He spread his arms wide — and reality obeyed.
The stars reversed their burn. Time reassembled itself from ashes. The laws of physics, fate, and causality bent to his will.
> "You wanted a story," Erevan said, voice echoing across infinite realities. "Then here's your final chapter."
The Author screamed — a sound not of pain but resistance.
It hurled pages of existence like blades. Entire universes, written and rewritten, launched toward Erevan in a storm of creation.
He didn't dodge. He walked through them.
Each universe shattered as he passed, every line of text rewriting itself in golden light.
He reached the Author, grabbed its face — and for a moment, both were still.
> "Who are you really?" the Author asked.
Erevan's eyes flared, galaxies spinning within them.
> "The one who was never meant to end."
Then — BOOM.
A single burst of energy erased everything. No space. No time. No story.
Only Erevan stood in the aftermath, glowing, calm, eternal.
The Author was gone.
The story was his now.
He looked down at his hands — creation bent at a thought, time waited for his command.
> "No endings," he said softly. "Only what I choose next."
And as the void around him filled with light once more, Erevan smiled — the god who killed his own writer, and became the one true pen of existence.