At the boundary of the universe, the edge of reality.
That amber giant, vaster than any galaxy Qlipoth continued to bring down its hammer in silence, just as it had for countless Amber Eras past.
Each hammer's ring was not a sound in the physical sense, but the roar of the universe's foundations being reinforced once more.
Two beings, representing the ultimate expression of the Path of Destruction, gazed from afar at this colossal wall standing before the end.
The Lord Ravager of Destruction and Preservation, Archforger, its very body seemed forcibly forged from countless shattered planetary remnants and molten stellar cores, radiating a terrifying fluctuation that caused space to continuously collapse and recast itself.
Standing silently alongside it was the Lord Ravager of Destruction and Voracity, Luxbane, its form shrouded in an absolute mist that seemed capable of devouring all light and hope.
Its very existence was like an insatiable, cosmic-scale void.
Time flowed, congealed, and flowed again meaninglessly before them.
Finally, Archforger's low hum, a mixture of countless metals grinding together, broke the near-eternal silence:
"That 'gathering' of the Lord Ravagers convened by the Aeons of Destruction's wrath... Luxbane, will you attend?"
"..."
Deep within the mist, Luxbane gave no response.
The fog didn't even stir the faintest ripple, as if Archforger's words themselves had been devoured and digested.
Archforger seemed to have anticipated this silence. Its massive head, forged from magma and steel, turned slightly toward Amphoreus, and finally whispered:
"Heh... an Emanator of Preservation, personally granted the amber authority by Qlipoth, the Aeon of Preservation itself..." The whisper was like icy spider silk, winding around the foundation of the colossal wall.
"If I could capture him, cast him into my Furnace for the most thorough tempering and twisting, stripping away his protective essence... he might... become a great hammer to help me shatter this amber bulwark..."
The next moment, its colossal form began to blur, departing directly from this boundary of the universe, leaving behind only the still-unsettled spatial structures twisted by its presence.
Long after Archforger had left, when the space had almost been smoothed again by the aftershocks of Qlipoth's hammering, an extremely faint whisper, as if from the place where all things return to nothing, seeped out from the deepest part of the mist shrouding Luxbane:
"Qlipoth..." Its whisper carried an ancient bewilderment. "The madly proliferating divine body of the Swarm King, Tayzzyronth, is quietly reviving within your walls... Are you truly powerless to continue suppressing the wills of two Aeons simultaneously..."
The mist churned slightly.
"Or... are you deliberately easing the suppression on Tayzzyronth? In your eternal vigil, what... have you seen, that you would indulge the cancer of Propagation to fester once more?"
...
The Xianzhou Yuque, deep within its remote prison.
This place should have been an isolation chamber of utter silence.
Yet, Jingliu, sitting quietly within, suddenly raised her head!
In her eyes, once eroded by Mara and now forcibly restrained, it seemed as if frozen star rivers had abruptly shattered.
Cerulean ice-flames uncontrollably seeped from deep within her, silently spreading and burning across her pale skin, illuminating the dim cell with an eerie clarity.
A bone-chilling cold permeated the air, and even the walls began to frost over with fine crystalline patterns.
"The golden blood of destruction..." she murmured, her voice calm and icy. "Has resolved to temper its blade for Destruction..."
"Then what of my ascension, and Abundance..."
Her thoughts instantly snapped back to the Xianzhou's endless war against the abominations of Abundance.
The sacrifice of countless comrades, the fall of the High-cloud Quintet, the agony of her own descent into Mara... All of it stemmed from that Aeon who granted "long life" Yaoshi.
"Could it be that the hope of slaying Abundance, the flames to burn away all abominations..." She closed her eyes, as if she could see the afterglow of the light arrows that streaked across the star sea, her tone carrying a weariness that cut to the bone, yet also an unwavering persistence. "Must once again... rely entirely on the Reignbow Arbiter itself?"
Must the Xianzhou's survival, civilization's struggle, forever await a single glance of pity from an Aeon, forever be entrusted to that single beam of starlight piercing the darkness?
Besides following the Arbiter's path, was there truly no other way for mortals to sever an Aeon's head with their own hands?
Cerulean ice-flames burned silently around her, reflecting in her eyes the flicker of an unyielding, stubborn fire.
...
Amphoreus, on the scorched earth of Aedes Elysiae.
Phaethon, supporting Phainon, stumbled along through this land once filled with wheat fields, now reduced to barren ruins.
He didn't know how many surging undercurrents and predestined calamities were brewing at the other end of the star sea, waiting for his steps within the scroll of the future that had already unfolded.
But at this moment, his heart echoed with a nearly luxurious sense of relief.
Phaethon certainly should feel relieved.
In Phaethon's view, Amphoreus's path forward had become clear. The only obstacle remaining, barring Amphoreus from reaching that real starry sky, was a single Lord Ravager Irontomb.
This was the closest Amphoreus had ever been to the "tomorrow" spoken of in prophecy.
What's more... Phaethon tilted his head slightly, his gaze falling on Phainon beside him, whose breath was faint but who still stood tenaciously.
Looking at that chest, weak but indeed still rising and falling, the corner of Phaethon's mouth unconsciously curved into a barely perceptible arc.
Phainon was alive.
Not to mention, that heavy burden which had once clung to him like an incurable disease, nearly crushing his soul.
The vast memories accumulated over more than three million cycles, memories that didn't belong to him, were undergoing a fundamental transformation in their nature.
He no longer needed to use himself as a vessel, to forcibly seal that weight enough to annihilate any consciousness with cold "amber."
In its place came a wonderful sublimation: he could clearly "feel" those fragments of memory the painful, the joyful, the despairing, the warm slowly breaking free of their bonds, rising lightly, ultimately suspended in the night sky of his conscious universe, transformed into an eternal and gentle constellation.
He no longer needed to bear it all. He only needed, when necessary, to look up, and he could feel that starlight, born from the memories and wills of countless companions, quietly casting its radiance down upon him, granting him guidance and strength.