“But now I see an even more terrifying answer.”
She pointed to the screen: “The Ultimate Fear isn’t Death, but ‘undeath’.
Not chaos, but an absolute Order that stifles all possibilities.”
“This Sigismund, he is the living Ultimate Fear.”
“He represents a civilization choosing to self-castrate its soul to combat chaos, ultimately becoming a walking corpse that is forever correct, forever powerful, and forever dead silent.”
“This subverts my Sacred Order.”
For the first time, a hint of wavering appeared in Keisha’s voice.
“My Order is meant to protect every life, allowing them to gain freedom and prosperity under rules.”
“But if, to maintain Order, the form of life eventually moves toward what he is…
then what is the fundamental difference between my Order and Karl’s Void?”
Meanwhile, on the bridge of Demon One, Morgana kicked over the console in front of her and let out a hysterical roar.
“Bitch!
What kind of bullshit victory is this!?”
Her reaction exceeded the expectations of all the demons.
“I appreciate Kharn!
He’s fallen, he’s bloodthirsty, but he lives like a real man!”
“He has anger, he has pain, he fought to the last moment for that bastard father of his!
His soul is burning!”
“This is what fucking life is!
This is the aesthetics of corruption and freedom!”
She pointed at the motionless Sigismund on the screen, her eyes full of disdain and disgust:
“Look at that thing!
A program in human skin!
A eunuch who can’t even have an orgasm!
So what if he won?”
“He can’t taste the flavor of victory, nor feel the pain of defeat!
He’s just a tool!”
“That bitch Keisha screams about Order every day; I bet she dreams of turning her Angels into this ghostly state!
To hell with absolute rationality!
I want freedom!
I want to feel good!
Even if I turn into cosmic dust the next second!”
Styx Galaxy, Death Song Academy.
In front of Karl, the phantom of the Great Clock was calculating at billions of times the speed.
When Sigismund’s image appeared, countless threads composing the cosmic model began to converge and annihilate at his single point.
“Wonderful…
truly…
how wonderful…”
Karl’s voice was filled with the trembling and ecstasy of a scholar discovering the ultimate truth.
“He is not a vessel for the Void; he is the Void itself.
I have always tried to guide life toward nothingness through Death, yet he achieved this ultimate leap while still ‘alive’.”
“He proved that consciousness, emotion, soul…
these things we call ‘life’ are merely redundancies and obstacles on the path to a higher state of existence.”
“He stripped all of this away, turning himself into a pure ‘phenomenon’, a ‘Causal Weapon’.
He no longer ‘thinks’; he simply ‘is’.”
“I have studied Death for billions of years, yet it doesn’t reveal as much truth as this single duel of his.
Perhaps…
I should change my research direction.”
DC Universe · An unknown London bar
John Constantine downed the last gulp of whiskey in his glass, the spicy liquid burning his esophagus.
On the table before him, a magical mirror composed of gin and crow feathers was playing the final scene of that battle.
“Shit,” he cursed hoarsely, lighting another cigarette.
“What’s wrong, Johnny?
What did you see that’s got an old con artist like you talking nonsense?” the bar owner asked casually while wiping a glass.
“I saw the worst deal in history, pops.” Constantine exhaled a smoke ring; through the swirling smoke, his face looked exceptionally grim.
“In my life, I’ve seen people trade their souls to demons for power, women, immortality…
stupid as it is, at least they got some fun out of it.”
“Dammit, I’ve never seen anyone sell their soul and get…
‘overtime’ in exchange.”
He pointed to Sigismund’s figure in the mirror, speaking with a look reserved for idiots:
“Look at him.
He won, right?”
“Then what?”
“No victory feast, no girls, not even a thought like ‘Great, I’m alive’.”
“His prize?
It’s to go fight the next one.
And the next, and the next, until the Universe ends or he’s smashed into spare parts.”
“What the hell is this?
Even the devils in Hell would weep seeing this contract; it’s such a bad deal!”
“This is the ultimate example of bringing your own rations to work like a beast of burden for a capitalist!”
He took a sharp drag of his cigarette, coughing, but a hint of professional gravity flashed in his eyes.
“But seriously…
something’s wrong here.
A soul can’t just vanish into thin air.”
“It either goes to Heaven, or Hell, or becomes a vengeful spirit wandering the spot.
But his soul…
it’s gone.”
“It wasn’t extracted; it’s as if he digested it himself.”
“This makes no sense on a magical level.
It leaves a ‘hole’ in the structure of reality.”
“An absolute, cold ‘hole of nothingness’ that doesn’t react with anything.”
Constantine stubbed out his cigarette and pulled a compass from his trench coat; the needle on it was spinning wildly and pointlessly.
“And the Universe…
hates a vacuum most of all.
Something is going to be attracted to this ‘hole’.
That thing will likely be a lot more trouble than all the Hell Lords I know put together.”