Chapter 68 — The Writer's Realm
The sky bled ink.
Erevan stood at the edge of eternity, his feet resting on pages that stretched into forever. Each page shimmered with moving words stories, universes, destinies.
The Writer's Realm was alive. Every breath of Erevan rippled through countless realities written into the air.
> "So this is where everything begins… and ends," he said quietly.
The air answered with voices.
Each voice belonged to a different version of him.
Erevan, the mortal.
Erevan, the god.
Erevan, the destroyer of multiverses.
All speaking at once.
All real.
All fragments of his existence, written and rewritten.
He raised a hand the aura of infinite divinity exploding outward. The words beneath his feet shuddered, breaking the Writer's code. The world around him warped stories twisted, fates rewritten.
A figure stepped from the horizon tall, robed in galaxies, with eyes that burned like twin suns.
In one hand, he held a pen that bled stars.
In the other, a book that could erase anything with a single word.
> "Erevan," the Writer said. "You were born from imagination. You were my creation."
Erevan smirked.
> "Then you should've written me weaker."
Lightning cracked across the ink sky. Every letter and law of reality screamed as the two beings faced one another.
The Writer's pen moved a stroke across nothingness and a billion worlds exploded instantly.
Erevan didn't dodge. He simply overwrote the destruction.
His aura flared golden and black, divine and void, perfect balance.
The power of Dual Infinity.
Every attack against him was unwritten.
> "You're trying to end me with your words," Erevan said, his voice deep and steady. "But I've become the silence between them."
He vanished.
The Writer looked up and Erevan was everywhere. Above him. Within him. Around him.
Each copy held a different universe's version of Erevan's power.
A million omnipotent forms attacking as one.
The Writer's laughter echoed like thunder.
> "Even infinity can be rewritten!"
He wrote faster, creating gods, monsters, armies of narrative itself.
Erevan absorbed them rewriting their essence into himself.
His body became a fusion of all power, all potential.
The sky broke open.
The Multiverse quaked.
The Writer stumbled, for the first time, as Erevan's presence began to infect the story itself.
> "You don't get it," Erevan said softly. "You wrote the multiverse… but I became it."
The pages beneath him ignited in divine fire the fire of free will.
Erevan stepped forward, his hand gripping the Writer's pen.
> "This ends now."
For a heartbeat, silence ruled creation.
Then the universe blinked and every word in the Writer's book rearranged itself into one phrase:
> "Erevan rewrites everything."
The Writer looked down shocked, almost human as his own hand began to dissolve into ink.
Erevan turned away, stepping through the unraveling cosmos, his voice echoing through all creation:
> "No story controls me. Not anymore."