Trascender : The Fourth Gust

Chapter 28 : Fateful Reunion

The planet designated PX-7 in the 7th Universe's 4th Galaxy wasn't just abandoned; it was a cosmic tombstone. Jagged obsidian mountains, sharp as shattered godsbone, clawed at a bruised purple sky veined with dying nebulae like old bloodstains. Geysers of inert dark matter hissed plumes of absolute cold, freezing the thin, metallic-tasting air into glittering, toxic frost that crunched under the Stardust Weaver's landing struts. Silence hung heavier than neutronium, broken only by the mournful groan of tectonic plates settling into their final positions. Merus materialized outside the ship in a bloom of fading cerulean stardust, the usual luminescence of his skin dimmed, almost grey. He leaned heavily against the scarred hull, not from physical fatigue, but from the psychic aftershock still vibrating through his divine core like discordant harp strings plucked by giants.

Across the unimaginable gulf of realities, the battle in Universe 6 raged; a discordant symphony of spiritual detonation and collapsing spacetime that resonated within him. Shinji's signature, a frantic supernova of golden-green rage and Voidheart resilience, clashed violently against Nirvana's corrosive, desperate entropy. He saw flashes: volcanic rock vaporizing, nebulae tearing like rotten fabric, Shinji's body bisected and reforming, Nirvana's monstrous form crumbling under relentless blows. Each psychic tremor was a fresh wound on Merus's soul. He'd failed Shinji's family. Failed to shield him from Monarchs. Failed to be anything but a fugitive guide in a war against annihilation. His knuckles whitened against the cold metal.

"Hold the line, Shinji," he rasped, the sound swallowed instantly by the oppressive silence. "Don't you dare lose now. Not after everything. Not to her." The names echoed silently; Kiyomi's fiery crimson hair, his aunt's gentle smile, Tamago's piercing gold eyes; casualties on the altar of Shinji's destiny. The crushing weight of his own diminished power, his inability to stand against the likes of Amado or Dentetsu or even Nirvana, pressed down like the gravity well of a collapsing star. He was a God of Creation reduced to hiding in cosmic junkyards.

Suddenly, the ambient cold deepened. Not a drop in temperature, but an absence of warmth so profound it felt like the universe itself had taken a final breath. The hissing geysers faltered, their plumes freezing mid-air into grotesque sculptures of absolute zero. The oppressive silence became absolute, a vacuum swallowing even the phantom echo of distant stars. A scent permeated the stillness; ozone, yes, but undercut by something far older, far more terrifying: the sharp tang of primordial hydrogen, the metallic bite of nascent singularity, the cold dust of dead galaxies.

Every divine instinct in Merus, honed over eons, screamed in primal terror. This wasn't concealment like Amado's unnerving stillness. This was a void where spiritual energy should roar. It predated concepts like 'power' or 'deity'. As if was the silence before the Big Bang.

"Well, well," a voice resonated, not through the air, but within the very bedrock of Merus's consciousness. It was the sound of continental plates grinding against the foundations of reality, deep, ancient, and utterly devoid of inflection. "If it isn't the little Creation brat. Hiding in the cosmic scrap-heap? How... diminutive."

Merus couldn't move. Terror, cold and absolute as the void between galaxies, locked his joints. His breath crystallized in his throat. He felt less than an insect; a momentary fluctuation in the cosmic background radiation beneath the gaze of something that had watched universes ignite and die as fleeting sparks.

Footsteps echoed, not on the frozen obsidian, but on the fabric of spacetime itself. Each step caused faint, fractal cracks in reality that healed instantly, leaving trails of impossible geometry. As the Creation God tensed thinking that Saganbo personally came for him he heard words. "Relax, Merus." The voice held no malice, no warmth, only an immeasurable, detached weight. "Your little band of troublesome insects? They hold no interest for me today. Not directly. Take it easy, alright?" A pause, vast as an intergalactic void. "I merely find myself... intrigued. Something of that sort. And thus, I extend a proposal."