Chapter 181: Ena Falls Once More
Lord Ravager Celenova was an Emanator of Destruction, personally elevated by Nanook from the burning ashes of a Centurion after she single-handedly ignited a world belonging to the Harmony.
When a civilization found itself utterly powerless to save its own skin and chose to desperately pray to the stars, their agonizing cries would inevitably reach the ears of the Family. Then, Celenova would descend, bringing absolute and equal destruction to both the invoker's enemies and the invokers themselves.
Although she offered no verbal confirmation, Celenova faithfully executed Rekka's outrageous request to the letter.
Destroy only the dream. Defend, but never attack.
Had any other Lord Ravager been summoned to this stage, they might not have been nearly as obedient. But Celenova was the supreme commander of the Antimatter Legion's vanguard fleet, a tactician who understood the precise weight of her orders.
Rekka clutched his temples. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed behind his eyes, though the sheer agonizing weight of the power was still barely within his threshold of endurance.
Following Rekka's careful arrangements, Sparkle had safely escorted Robin back to the Twelve Moments. Yet, before Sunday could even process the overwhelming ecstasy of his sister's safe return, the suffocating reality of Celenova's descent immediately crushed the breath from his lungs.
As far as the Family was concerned, Celenova was a taboo name, a nightmare that must never be spoken aloud in their pristine halls. She had not only walked away from the Harmony to embrace Destruction, but she had been personally plucked from the masses by Nanook Himself.
The dreamscape began to forcibly collapse from the outside in, plunging The Dreammaster into a frantic, unmanageable crisis. The Swarm materialized within the golden streets of the dream, yet under Little Blue Light's absolute command, the terrifying insects merely hovered in a state of pure intimidation, baring their mandibles without harming a single soul.
Even with The Dreammaster teetering on the verge of a total mental collapse and the dreamscape fracturing into jagged shards of memory, this apocalyptic pressure created the absolute perfect catalyst for Order's resurrection.
Only in the face of total annihilation would people truly long for Order. Only in the shadow of Destruction would they finally understand its value.
Suppose you were Gopher Wood, or perhaps Sunday. Right now, a catastrophic problem had erupted within Penacony. The Antimatter Legion and a Lord Ravager were knocking on the front door, while a localized Swarm Disaster loomed inside. At this exact moment, the cosmic conditions for the resurrection of the Aeon of Order were flawlessly met.
So, which of the following options do you think is the reality?
A. The resurrection of the Aeon of Order is a desperate, final opportunity.
B. The resurrection of the Aeon of Order is an absolute inevitability.
C. The resurrection of the Aeon of Order is a godsend.
D. Actually, the Lord Ravager and The Swarm aren't hurting anyone; they are purely acting.
Naturally, any sane mastermind would immediately rule out option D.
The Antimatter Legion warships blotted out the artificial sky like a dense, suffocating swarm of metallic locusts. They stationed themselves coldly at the very edge of the dream, their weapon batteries glowing with a lethal hum, looking as though they would pour down a rainstorm of plasma in the next second to crush this never-ending resort into true, irreversible ruins.
At the opposite end of the collapsing dream, accompanied by a low, ear-piercing buzz that rattled the teeth of every guest, the insect tide surged like a biological tsunami from torn gaps in the imaginary space.
They crawled over buildings and swarmed the skies. Yet, they did not devour a single screaming passerby, nor did they turn any fleeing guest into a mid-afternoon snack. The vicious bugs even politely detoured around paralyzed Dreamseekers. This bizarre pacifism was entirely thanks to Little Blue Light's absolute, high-level suppression over the hive mind.
But a lack of casualties did absolutely nothing to stop raw, unfiltered panic from spreading through the dreamscape like a virulent plague.
In this peak moment of orchestrated chaos, Ena's Dream finally activated, enveloping the entire Asdana star system.
The world was forcibly dragged into a stagnant utopia, a flawless paradise completely devoid of variables, accidents, or free will.
Just milliseconds before Ena's Dream fully locked down the system, the fleet led by Celenova executed a flawless tactical retreat, slipping outside the borders of Asdana with zero casualties. This was Celenova's most terrifying strength; she could flawlessly execute absurd, theoretical tactics that defied the very laws of military logic.
The Harmonious Choir finally descended.
Amidst the blinding chaos and suffocating fear, the masses fell to their knees and prayed for the descent of Order.
The colossal figure enveloping the star system resembled a magnificent, multi-armed puppet, yet its towering face radiated an oppressive, obvious divinity.
[Those who disturb the world shall not remain; the greedy shall not live in vain; the ever-changing chaos of deceit is but cosmic filth and dross.]
Far removed from the physical panic, Rekka and Sunday sat directly opposite each other within the Interstice of the Paths. The surrounding scenery was a bizarre, swirling chaos of conceptual weight. There was no clear distinction of up, down, left, or right. Only massive, glowing halos of imaginary energy, representing the different Paths, flowed sluggishly through the endless darkness like rivers in a miniature universe.
"What exactly are you?"
Sunday stared at the steaming cup of hot tea resting on the small table between them, slowly raising his piercing gaze to meet the chaotic variable sitting across from him.
"What am I... Honestly, I don't even know myself." Rekka leaned back, shaking his head with a faint, dry smirk. "But for the next eight system hours, I am Nanook."
Here, within the Interstice of the Paths, Rekka could temporarily suppress the corrosive, maddening influence of Destruction that threatened to consume his mind.
"Rather than dwelling on my identity, let's discuss this little issue of Order." Rekka tapped his finger against the teacup. "What do you think Order truly is?"
"...There is always a paradise that desperately needs someone to build it." Sunday's voice was soft, yet heavy with unyielding resolve. "That vow is like the sun hanging in the sky. Perhaps I will melt and fall long before I ever reach it. But some suffering must be endured for the greater good."
"Pure idealism."
"But within Ena's Dream, everything can be realized. Every tragedy erased." Sunday looked at him, his expression devoid of malice. "I am not criticizing your chaotic nature; this is simply an objective truth."
Rekka pondered the words for a moment, letting the silence stretch. He really wasn't in the right headspace for a prolonged philosophical debate today. The burning urge to smash something was still clawing at the back of his skull.
"I think you're right." Rekka finally nodded, slowly rising to his feet. The casual demeanor vanished, replaced by a suffocating, oppressive gravity. "In that case, then..."
He looked down at the Halovian.
"Defeat me to prove your ideal. Otherwise, your perfect paradise is nothing but empty talk."
Sunday blinked, genuinely stunned. He had fully prepared himself for a grueling battle of wits and philosophy.
"You..."
"If you cannot transcend me, your paradise will ultimately crumble." Rekka's voice echoed through the Interstice, vibrating with raw power. "Therefore, you must fly higher than me. You must snatch your ideal back from my hands by force. This is the logic of an adult after crossing the threshold of childhood."
In Rekka's eyes, the violent, burning gold of Destruction was no longer concealed. It flared to life, illuminating the dark void.
"If you want to do something that only you can do, you must first bear the price that only you can bear."
Without another word of warning, a divine war erupted.
Even though neither of them was a complete, true Aeon, the sheer magnitude of their clash was apocalyptic.
"Ena's Dream is not my personal delusion!" Sunday's voice boomed as imaginary energy flared around him. "It is the ultimate answer to the suffering of all Asdana, and even the entire galaxy! Your attempt to negate it in such a savage, primitive way is the greatest desecration of those exhausted souls who only long for peace in their sleep!"
"I am not negating your ideal!" Rekka roared back, his fist wreathed in the annihilating light of Destruction. "I said, I think you are right! Now, show me your ideal! Show me your absolutely everything!"
Piercing meltdowns of reality, blinding golden explosions, and massive tides of imaginary energy poured back and forth across the void.
The sea of stars trembled violently. This was no exaggerated rhetorical device; the very fabric of the surrounding space was fracturing under the weight of their divine war.
Nanook's phantom eventually dissipated, but Ena did not claim victory either.
The reason was brutally simple.
Rekka actively severed his connection, deliberately withdrawing the overwhelming power of Destruction at the last possible second. He made it look exactly as if he had been violently repelled by Ena's overwhelming light.
But in that exact moment of triumph, while Sunday's focus was entirely fixed forward, a crushing hammer strike of Preservation slammed into his back.
Jade's foundation had always remained within Penacony.
The apocalyptic clash with Destruction was not what finally broke Sunday. What truly crushed his spirit was the strike from behind... delivered by the very people he had just tried so desperately to protect from the Antimatter Legion and The Swarm Disaster.
"Why..."
Sunday fell to his knees, his wings trembling. At this moment, he looked like a suffering martyr, bearing the sins of a world that violently rejected his salvation.
But he was not God.
"Humans..." Rekka murmured, his golden eyes fading back to their normal hue as he looked down at the defeated man. "...can never truly understand each other. From the past, to the present, and forever into the future."
Sunday did not offer a rebuttal. He only gazed quietly up at Rekka, his eyes hollow with a deep, unutterable grief.
The Interstice began to vibrate violently. The abstract surroundings peeled away rapidly, shattering like shards of a broken mirror. The independent space they had isolated for their divine war was fully collapsing, violently dragging them both back into the harsh, unforgiving light of the real world.
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