“Too vague.”
“Hm?”
“If you want to reach [Z]—”
The black [Demon King]. The swordsman’s [Demon King].
Each was the strongest of their era. Under [It]’s direction, they crossed time and space, comets on colliding paths, to meet, face off, and kill.
They drifted through the twined vistas of two interlaced [World]s. Their bodies flickered like mirages that breathe then fade across desert heat.
Far off in rain-mist, the Scribe couldn’t move a hair. They wanted to cover their ears, but feared a twitch of a finger would detonate this “peace”—the collision of [World] and [World] could grind them to dust.
Despair thickened in their skull like storm clouds. Frozen still, they could only wait to hear the words that kill on hearing—[It]’s violet domain hadn’t walled them out.
Cold crept up their spine like frost on bark. Gooseflesh rose in waves. In that instant they seemed to see [It]’s blank face—expressionless, yet brimming with malice.
On purpose! [It] meant it! [It] wants me dead! It wants to watch my despair before my last breath.
“No…” Their mouth tasted bitter. “It’s for—everyone—to see.”
“I just don’t get it—” Teeth clenched, their voice bled through in slivers. Terror and rage broke their reins. “I’ve done this much and it’s not enough? I only record—what will make [It] let me go?!”
No one answered.
“You still don’t get it.” The swordsman stood with his back to them, voice light as a blade’s hum. “[It] doesn’t want neutrality or distance. [It] wants obedience.”
“Obedience—doesn’t this count?!”
The swordsman ignored them and looked at Ye Weibai.
His gaze sharpened, steady as a drawn line. “Tell me.”
“Watch.” Ye Weibai didn’t reply. He showed.
His right hand slid from his sleeve, palm up, fingers unfurling slow. Each digit opened like a flower lifting to the wind, petal by petal. At the same time, a bloom of gray particles condensed in his palm, phasing from mist to solid, vines unfurling, swaying with quiet grace.
It truly was a fragile flower. In a [World] on the brink, it flickered like a candle in a gale, always a breath from being snuffed.
Breath caught in the Scribe’s throat. The swordsman too—his eyes locked, still as ice.
As if they’d seen the impossible. In that heartbeat, their eyes shone with shock, bewilderment, and a joy so hungry it bordered on greed.
It felt like a miracle—the most unthinkable beauty in this [World]—descending onto one’s own palm. Wild joy tangled with the dread that it might be only a trick of light.
Caution threaded in, delicate as cobwebs. They feared a glance or a breath could bruise the flower in his hand.
Such contradictory feelings bloomed in both of them—only because they both saw that bloom.
Purple lightning dust cast light across his face. Ye Weibai lowered his lashes; black pupils held the flower like a moon in a well. His voice was soft, yet steady. “This is how you reach [Z].”
The Scribe murmured. Their body began to tremble—not with fear, but with unspeakable thrill. “Th-this… this is… the [World]—”
“Yes.” The black [Demon King] smiled. “Outside the [World].”
“Because of [It], the inside of the [World] is sealed tight.” The swordsman’s [Demon King] found his breath again. “So you use what lies beyond the [World]—”
He paused, gaze steady on Ye Weibai, the light of realization rising. “You are the true [Demon King]!”
Ye Weibai bent slightly at the waist, a bow elegant and old-world.
The Scribe jolted like struck by thunder. Death forgotten, pen in hand, they scribbled wild across the book, muttering quick and low, “The true [Demon King]—the [Demon King] who destroys the [World]—has appeared!”
“No—rather than [Demon King], call him—[Heavenly Demon].” Shaking head to toe, the Scribe whispered, “An Outer [Heavenly Demon]—a guest from beyond the [World]—this term fits better! Precision—records must be precise!”
As they wrote, their mouth tugged upward. Fear and dread powdered away. First a smile, then wider, then lavish delight. They sprang up, clutching the book, spinning in place as if stepping into another realm. That face, that grin—pure, from the marrow.
Joy overflowed. “I held on this long to witness this!”
They were ancient as the first page of the tale, born for a single purpose—record.
They had chronicled a thousand wars of [Demon King] and [Hero King]. From simple brawls at the start to dark, twisted duels later—[It] pulling the strings all through. They were sick of it. Nothing new left to write. Every beginning, every ending, a mirror of the last—an endless dead [Cycle].
[Demon King], [Hero King], [Demon King], [Hero King]—life and death, never outrunning fate.
At last—
“At last, I—finally, I waited it out—” Their robe turned into a storm. They danced, arms wild, feet kicking, giddy. The wind surged, tearing open their black robe—
The robe swung, and beneath it—nothing at all.
They spoke again, but now the voice came not from under the robe, but—from the book.
The robe blew away, shredded by the [World]’s gears into grit. The heavy black book cackled, its voice warm where the robed figure’s had been cold. “—At last, I waited it out!”
“Since when—?” Joy cracked into mania. “All those records before—what kind of crap were they! Cookie-cutter, repeating, worthless trash! This—this is what deserves ink!”
“Stability! [Cycle]! Fate! [It]—all crap!” On that last word, it almost screamed, a high soprano. And in that shriek, its gender slipped. The voice cut off. “Uh? Did I just change sex?”
“No—right, I was a woman all along! I’ve played at being a man so long I forgot my setting! Who cares!” She laughed loud, arrogant as lightning. “Enough! I’ve had it! What matters is—I can finally open a new chapter!”
She whirled across the sky like a mad star. Pages spilled from her belly, whirling into the wind, then vanished into the Void.
“Ptoo, ptoo! Crap! Better spat out!” Suddenly, she stopped spinning, breath blazing. “[Demon King]—”
She was speaking to Ye Weibai.
“Thank me, will you—hm? Aren’t I a woman?—Whatever, not important.” She crowed. “Anyway, [Demon King], thank me. You’re lucky—you’ll be the only role left recorded on me!”
“Only?” Ye Weibai asked. “Who are the others?”
“The one with the sword in front of you.” She clicked her tongue. “The former [Hero King], and some old man centuries back—decent roles. And… right, most important—The First [Demon King] and his wom—”
Boom—
Thunder swallowed the woman’s voice.
A vast violet bolt speared the black book and blasted it to powder.
…
…
