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“When Light Meets the Void Again”

A dead starfield between realms—void of time, matter, and sound. Here, no mortal dares step, and even Lords feel unease. Only Overlords can exist in this forsaken crossroad, where creation and unmaking briefly touch. The stillness was broken by a quiet shimmer. Not sound—presence. A golden gleam lit the empty dark, as Celestial stepped forward from nothing, robes flowing like liquid dawn. His bare feet touched no ground, for there was none. His golden eyes scanned the silence, unreadable A jagged ripple tore the space opposite him, leaking crimson smoke and whispers of ruin. Abyssal stepped through, short black hair tousled, eyes blazing like twin embers of rebellion. He smirked, not in greeting—but in recognition.

“Twice now,” Abyssal said, voice low and echoing. He remain silent for a moment before speaking again. “Once is chance. Twice is fate. Should I be concerned?” hearing that, Celestial didn’t blink. His gaze remained calm, though it carried a weight no universe could hold “You have thinned the barriers again, Abyssal. Even your own Lords struggle to hold the chaos back. Is this your intent—to watch your realm bleed into ruin?” Abyssal laughed at Celestial's words, stepping closer. Shadows curled from his heels like smoke. “Better ruin by truth than survival by illusion. Your Lords cling to meaning like infants to myths. I simply free mine.” Abyssal's words make Celestial’s glow pulsed subtly—not brighter, but sharper. “Freedom is not found in destruction. You teach them to burn, not to rise.” said Celestial, possibly trying to defend himself. “And you,” Abyssal hissed, speaking once again.* “teach them to kneel.”

Silence

The void between them trembled, not from violence—but from possibility. A single clash here would tear through dimensions. And they both knew it. They stood, gods in form and power, yet utterly opposed. Abyssal’s previous smirk, faded into something colder. “You still think you can preserve your universe forever. You can’t hold the tide.”

A pause. A tension. Not hatred—something older. A truth that neither could deny. How will Celestial react to the Abyssal's words, now?