Within the true silence, the kind untouched by ti, laws, or even the Void, descended like a falling veil.
The hyperboloid behind Destin Saint shone brighter and brighter until every strand of its geotry sharpened into threads that resembled past destinies resurrecting from extinction.
Immortal Nimrod’s void eye widened, and his avatar spasd in disbelief as, at the mont the words ’The Winter of Past’ left Destin Saint’s lips, the very reality convulsed!
However, it wasn’t an explosion, nor did it seem like a collapse. Still, it was the sensation of all existence being yanked backward by the roots, as though creation suddenly rembered that the present was nothing but a stubborn lie.
The next mont, the space cracked, and ethereal kaleidoscopic threads, thin as spider silk yet thicker than world-rivers, shot out from the hyperboloid.
At first, there were millions, and then billions...before the next mont, they were innurable, so many that even the Void lost count!
Each thread subtly glimred with a different color, emotion, echo, and forgotten intent. So were warm like childhood mories; others were cold like karmic debts abandoned eons ago. So murmured with long-dead possibilities like choices never taken by anyone, anywhere.
At that mont, reality scread as the boundary between Shadow Expanse and Abyssal Void quivered like a dying beast. Immortal Nimrod’s form froze, his purplish flas stiffening, not because he chose stillness but because he was expelled from ti’s right to move.
’W-what is this—!? Why... why can’t I... move...?!’
His thoughts were raging with horror which he can’t express because of that ’silence’, and the Void-eye behind him suddenly shrank violently, as if fate’s threads were throttling it.
At that mont, Destin Saint’s ethereal, fleeting voice sounded like a faint dying whisper, but at the sa ti, it was like an absolute decree...
"Prevernal Past!"
The next mont, a faint wind blew, whispering like the softest echoes of forgotten mories brushing the surface of existence, and images of long-discarded probabilities drifted around Nimrod like harmless dust.
Thereafter, Destin Saint’s voice appeared again...
"Vernal Past!’
The dust turned into blooming visions, and the Void’s own past choices materialized like real scenes, showing the monts he had hidden, monts he had severed from himself. Immortal Nimrod’s flas hissed as his composure fractured.
"Estival Past!"
Suddenly, past mories solidified as they swallowed the present, like a devouring beast, and for an instant, it felt as though the past was more real than the present, and the Void shuddered.
’This...this is impossible! This is not fate! This is not mory! This is...!’
"Serotinal Past!"
But it wasn’t over, as his thoughts were disrupted again by every lost opportunity he never allowed himself to consider, crystallizing around him like mirrors of what he could have beco.
Immortal Nimrod trembled as each reflection was a blade cutting through certainty!
"Autumnal Past"
Old causal threads, the ones he had severed, decayed and fell away before Pieces of his void dominion flaked off like dying leaves in front of Immortal Nimrod.
"Hibernal Past!"
This ti, Destin Saint’s voice was majestic and inevitable like the final mont has arrived...and it does indeed!
The Past froze, beca absolute before it beca the truth, and Immortal Nimrod, despite his power, despite the Void behind him, despite his arrogance, could not negate a truth!
At that mont, the threads of the hyperboloid seed to tighten, and suddenly it began to turn like an hourglass, and with it, the space folded inward as ti coiled like a serpent eating its tail.
"Immortal Nimrod, I hope the inexorable Winter of Past isn’t too cold for you!"
At that mont, Destin Saint’s phantom grew brighter, while the Void-eye dimd and shrank further, like a divine punishnt erasing pride.
The realm shattered backward, from horizon to point, from complexity to simplicity, from consequence to cause, until only primordial silence remained.
At that mont, Immortal Nimrod was struck by a horrifying realization, but alas, it was too late. However, in that singularity, Immortal Nimrod had finally realized that Destin Saint had played him, and extrely badly so, to say the least.
Furthermore, he couldn’t even resist, and according to Destin Saint’s assessnt, Immortal Nimrod couldn’t use his Arcane Law, but he definitely has a Universal Godly Scripture.
However, Destin Saint seed to be extrely confident when he revealed this so-called ’arcane law’ as if even if Immortal Nimrod had it, he wouldn’t have been able to resist it.
As for why, Immortal Nimrod finally realized in his last conscious thought, before even thought was reclaid by the past, was a scream drowned in disbelief...
’T-that’s... a Universal Godly Abil...!!!’
Then everything, Nimrod, Destin Saint, the boundary, the Void’s presence, the hyperboloid...everything collapsed into reversal.
It wasn’t vanished but rewound as if none of it ever happened.
As if the entire conflict was rely a dream the universe decided to forget.
---
In the next instant...
’Boom!’
Jacob witnessed the exact sa scene of the Cosmic Gateway of the Verdantia Life Galaxy being blown into ethereal particles, while his cloak fluttered gently, and the vitality-laden air of the Verdantia Life Galaxy trembled.
Everything was exactly as it had been before everything began... but this ti, an imperceptible layer of frost lay over the mont, a hint of the Winter of Past still clinging like morning dew on the edge of ti.
Furthermore, Jacob’s eyes were unfocused, as if he were in a dream, despite the ripples from the cosmic gateway’s destruction, and his aura was unstable.
At that mont, Immortika’s familiar, eerie voice suddenly echoed within Jacob’s mind, like the rumble of a thousand bells, and the cursed book said sothing familiar.
"How nostalgic...in the silence between choices and chances, destiny weaves its noose..."
However, it wasn’t followed by that familiar laughter; instead, the very next mont, Immortika spoke another unseen part, the part the cursed book hadn’t spoken the first ti...
"...and when the rope snaps and rewinds, a story erased seeks its rightful stage again. For so, threads refuse to forget—even when the past is forced to!
"Hahahahahaha!"
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