Creation Of All Things
Chapter 248 - 248: Because the multiverse needs you

The Endlands

Adam emerged into the Endlands like a tear in silk—one step, and the world around him changed.

He didn't appear with fanfare. No shockwave. No divine chorus. Just a flicker in space, and he was there—standing in the void between existence and unmaking.

The Endlands stretched forever in all directions—no ground, no sky, just twisted remnants of half-formed worlds stitched together like nightmares. Floating islands made of bone and ash. Skies that bled colors that didn't exist. Rivers of frozen time spiraling through torn gravity wells. The laws of reality here were… loose.

Adam exhaled.

The breath came out like steam, even though there was no air.

He took a few steps forward, boots crunching against something that looked like black crystal and sounded like glass. The ground beneath his feet shifted constantly—never settling, never solid. He didn't care. He wasn't here to enjoy the sights.

He could feel it.

The aftertaste of Nullbreed's energy still lingered. Faint. But unmistakable. It was rooted here. Not just birthed here—connected. Anchored. The Endlands had fed it.

Someone had fed it.

Someone was watching.

Adam looked up.

No one was there.

But he felt it. Like a pressure behind his eyes. A gaze that wasn't tied to a face. Cold. Calculated. Detached. It had been watching him since he arrived. Not hiding. Just… gone now. Recently.

He cracked his neck. Rolled his shoulders. Then lifted a single hand.

"Let's flush the place."

[Singularity Command: Exothermic Genesis – Tier 8]

A small sphere of golden fire snapped into existence above his palm. It pulsed once—then dropped.

The moment it touched the shifting ground, the entire plane ignited.

No explosion. No roar. Just light—raw, absolute. The Endlands screamed in silence. Entire zones collapsed, folded, or melted outright. Islands shattered. Time rivers boiled. The black mist tried to resist… then evaporated.

Flames danced across impossible skies, cutting clean through the bones of dead gods and the sinew of ruined dimensions. The rules of reality wailed as Adam rewrote them on the fly.

He walked through the storm.

Step after step.

Every footfall scorched a crater.

He wasn't angry. He wasn't even hunting.

He was… announcing.

Whoever was watching? Whoever had built Nullbreed? They needed to know.

You don't poke Adam Dhark.

Not unless you want to be found.

[Override State: Causal Burn – Active]

His aura shimmered gold. Even the terrain near him tried to escape—reality itself bending to avoid direct contact. He moved like a walking black hole with a golden edge, unraveling the Endlands bit by bit.

He saw broken constructs, half-finished weapons embedded in floating debris—failures left behind. He passed a monument of glass faces, all screaming without sound. He blinked and saw entire civilizations compressed into a teardrop hanging midair. The teardrop shattered as he walked past.

Still no sign of whoever watched him.

But the energy trail from Nullbreed pulsed deeper.

Further in.

He followed.

Half an hour later—though time didn't mean much here—he stopped.

The flames behind him had not gone out. They kept burning across the landscape, reducing the Endlands to cinders. But ahead…

Silence.

A clearing. Natural, in a place that shouldn't have one. A perfectly round crater surrounded by floating shards of memory—frozen moments from broken timelines. They hung like glass photos: a child laughing, a god falling, a sun going black, all stilled mid-frame.

In the center? A single black spike.

It pulsed. Once. Weak. But not dead.

The last fragment of Nullbreed's true anchor.

Adam approached slowly.

He knelt, pressed a hand to the spike.

[Echo Thread Detected – Origin Unknown]

[Would you like to trace?]

"Of course," he muttered.

Golden threads spiderwebbed out from the spike, tracing energy back in impossible directions—curving through non-space, slicing across timelines, looping into themselves. Most broke off. Blocked. Cut.

But one trail remained.

Thin. Recent.

Fresh.

He stared at it.

Then rose.

"So you ran."

His voice echoed across the Endlands like thunder muffled by velvet.

"Smart."

He raised his hand.

No spell this time. No command.

Just fingers.

He snapped.

And the rest of the Endlands burned.

Not with fire.

With absence.

The whole plane folded in on itself, collapsing into a gold-black singularity. Memory, matter, meaning—gone. Wiped clean. Nullbreed's last trace, burned out of the root.

Adam didn't flinch as the destruction swallowed everything behind him.

He turned toward the lingering thread.

"Your energy smells like cheap perfume and arrogance," he said softly.

Then vanished.

Elsewhere

Veylor watched from the edge of a dead system, far from the Endlands now. His shape was thin—just a whisper of black thought hanging in the vacuum between stars.

He had watched.

He had felt it.

The fury. The rewriting. The way Adam had scorched not just the terrain, but the very rules of the Endlands.

He said nothing.

But if he had lips, he might've smiled.

The predator was awake.

Good.

But Veylor had never planned to fight him there.

That was just the first wound.

The first cut to remind Adam he could still bleed.

The others… were coming.

The world would fall in stages.

And the next trap?

Was already being laid.

Back With Adam

He emerged from foldspace in a shattered belt of reality orbiting a black hole. There were ruins here—massive gears the size of cities, once part of a celestial engine now long dead.

The thread led here.

He stood in silence.

There was no enemy. No signature.

But the trail had ended.

He knew the move.

Pull him forward. Test him. Retreat.

Repeat.

Adam exhaled through his nose.

"Still a coward," he muttered.

Then walked across the shattered stars, golden light trailing behind him like wings that didn't need form.

Wherever the next battle waited… he'd find it.

Even if it meant rewriting the universe again to do it.

Adam floated high above the fractured remains of the Endlands.

Nothing here was stable anymore. The sky was a scar, bleeding faint static where the sun should've been. The rivers of time had dried into dead cracks, hanging in the air like broken veins. The once-warped, chaotic terrain was now quiet.

Too quiet.

And that's what bothered him.

Even after he scorched half of it, the scent lingered. Not Nullbreed. Not even Veylor. Just… the echo of intention. A plan with steps. A design.

This place could still be used again.

Adam stared down at the vast fields of warped space. Entire continents of failed realities—twisted, silent, and waiting. He could almost feel them listening. Watching. Not alive… but remembering.

He hated places that remembered.

He pulled his hood back.

Then raised both hands slowly, like stretching before a long job.

"Let's finish it."

He didn't chant. No spell circles. No announcement.

Just two words in a whisper that moved through all layers of reality like a crack splitting a mirror:

"Erase everything."

The universe around him shuddered.

Then the laws broke.

Not shattered—unwritten.

The ground didn't collapse. It stopped existing.

The skies didn't fall. They blinked out, one color at a time.

The Endlands didn't explode.

They were… removed.

Like scratching a name off a list.

A ripple of golden-black light expanded outward from his core. Not flame. Not light. Just raw instruction. Every layer of reality that touched it obeyed.

Erase.

Erase.

Erase.

Islands that had survived for eons were gone in the blink of an eye. Dimensions nested inside half-finished realms folded inward and vanished. Time itself curled like burning paper, trying to escape before it, too, was erased.

And still Adam stood there. Hands at his side. Breathing slow. Focused.

One ripple passed.

Then another.

The third one cracked the last spine of the Endlands.

Entire space-folds began screaming. They twisted inwards like plastic in a microwave, edges curling, ends fusing. Memory pools—liquid fragments of forgotten timelines—boiled, flashed white, and disappeared.

The final scream wasn't sound. It was absence. The last voice of a place that was never meant to be heard again.

Adam lowered his arms.

Below him, nothing remained.

Not a crater.

Not a mark.

Just clean, blank void.

Even the golden glow around his feet dimmed. He hovered there, breathing out slowly as the energy returned to him. His coat settled. The universe stopped screaming.

And then…

A voice.

"…So, I guess you're not dead after all."

Adam turned his head slightly.

From a ripple in the foldspace behind him, a soft gust of chilled wind brushed across the void. It bent around him—then parted to reveal a girl.

Slim. White hair falling over one side of her face. Golden eyes like his. Dressed in a long coat that billowed even though there was no air.

Aria.

His little sister.

She stepped forward, boots touching nothing—and still leaving light footprints in the void.

"You really burned it," she said, crossing her arms. "Like, all of it. The Endlands are just… gone."

Adam looked forward again. "Had to."

Aria walked beside him, standing shoulder to shoulder. They both stared at the blank space where a nightmare had once lived.

"I felt it from three realities away," she muttered. "Aurora did too."

He didn't respond.

"She's looking for you."

Still nothing.

Aria leaned a bit, glancing up at his profile. "You gonna ignore me the whole time or just until the guilt kicks in?"

"I don't feel guilty," Adam said.

"Sure."

"I don't."

"You will," she said quietly. "Eventually."

A pause.

Then she added, "…She's scared."

Adam blinked. "Aurora?"

"Yeah. That Aurora. Seer of a trillion paths, blah blah blah. She's rattled."

"Why?"

"Because the multiverse needs you."