Creation Of All Things

The Spiral hovered above the fractured platform, its form twitching like a strobe of broken thoughts. Limbs that weren't always there. A head that spun backward. Eyes that blinked sideways. Voices layered inside its voice.

"Adam," the Spiral sang, tilting at an unnatural angle. "Chaos-born. Not a god. Not a man. Just noise… given lungs."

Adam said nothing.

He stepped forward.

The Spiral pulsed—reality around it bent.

Stone twisted into bone. The stars above reformed into paper, unraveling into scripts that fluttered down like ash. The realm read itself as it changed. Sentences floated in the air:

"Adam faltered."

"The Spiral won."

"Aurora screamed."

"See?" The Spiral laughed, spinning in midair. "I rewrite the outcome. This is my domain. I am the breath of the author. The ink of the end."

Adam rolled his shoulders.

"Then shut the book."

And moved.

He blurred—no, not moved, replaced himself. From one side of the platform to the Spiral's blind spot in a single blink. His fist, wrapped in thin crackles of black flame and silver light, collided with the Spiral's midsection.

BOOOOOM!

The Spiral's entire body bent inward, twisted like a ragdoll of bad animation, flung backward through multiple layers of space. It tore through the realm, bouncing off invisible barriers.

The Spiral righted itself mid-spin, leaking symbols from the tear in its form. It snarled.

"You can't punch your way out of narrative, Adam. You are a character. I am the page."

Reality folded again.

"Adam hesitated."

"His skin split."

"The Spiral grinned."

The words etched themselves across Adam's arms—runes trying to manifest harm. Trying to force his reality into fiction.

Adam stared at them. They glowed. Then dimmed.

He breathed.

The text burned away.

He stepped forward again.

The Spiral screeched. "You are not supposed to ignore me!"

With a snap of its fingers, the Spiral tore open a curtain in the air. Behind it—another world. A timeline where Adam never existed. The Spiral shoved it forward like a flood, trying to overwrite this realm with that one.

The sky flipped. Aurora stumbled back as entire histories screamed into the scene.

Adam didn't flinch.

He punched through the timeline like glass.

The Spiral reeled back, voice fractured. "You don't bend! Everything bends! Everyone breaks! You're just a concept! A disruption!"

Adam walked.

Not ran.

Walked.

Each step unraveled the Spiral's illusions. The script in the sky peeled away like paint. Time stopped folding.

"You're not a god," the Spiral whispered. "You're… anti-pattern."

Adam stopped five feet away. His eyes glowed—not with light, but with pressure. Weight.

He lifted a single finger.

And pointed at the Spiral's heart.

The Spiral screamed. "NO! You don't get to define!"

The realm spiked.

The Spiral reached into itself, and pulled out a quill. A feather made of screams and static. With it, it stabbed the air—writing new law, live.

"Adam turned into glass."

"His thoughts split apart."

"He became silence."

The effects tried to take hold. The atmosphere trembled. Adam's outline flickered.

But then—his mouth opened.

And he spoke.

Not in language.

Not in tone.

Vocifery.

Reality didn't hear him.

It obeyed.

One word.

"Return."

The realm snapped back.

Everything the Spiral wrote was ripped away. Erased. His timeline collapsed inward on itself. Words flew upward, torn from the air like feathers caught in a storm.

The Spiral backed away. Shaking.

"You're using your own narrative. That's—wrong! That's cheating!"

Adam whispered another word. "Mute."

The Spiral's voice cut off. Instantly. Like someone hit a cosmic mute button. It screamed—but no sound came. Not even air. The fabric of communication was gone.

Adam stepped forward again.

The Spiral threw everything now. Worlds. Fragments of gods. Paradoxes wrapped in flames. It opened doors to non-existence and hurled them like spears.

Adam waved a hand.

"Scatter."

They disintegrated midair. Like dust denied meaning.

The Spiral stumbled, breathing heavily. "You can't be this. You shouldn't be this. You're a contradiction. You don't come from story. You come from breakage."

Adam looked up.

"Exactly."

He raised both hands now. Palms open.

Around him, the void spoke. Not in words—but tone. Like a choir inhaling. The platform beneath his feet restructured into a circle. Not summoning. Authoring.

Adam's eyes burned white.

He said—

"Erase."

The Spiral tried to scream.

But reality obeyed the new rule.

The Spiral's arms vanished first. Not torn off—just… forgotten. Like they were never written.

Its body followed. Piece by piece. Not a violent destruction. A removal from narrative.

"No," the Spiral mouthed. "No. I was a voice. I was voice—!"

Adam took one last step forward and crouched slightly, eyes narrowing.

"You were a shadow. In someone else's scene."

The Spiral lunged—its last desperate motion. A flicker of everything it was. Pages. Screams. Memory. All of it thrown into one final spear.

Adam caught it.

Snapped it.

And said—"Stop."

The Spiral shattered.

Not into pieces.

But into silence.

The sky stilled. The madness faded.

All that remained was static drifting like dust.

Silence.

Adam exhaled, brushing his hands together like he'd just finished folding a map.

Aurora stepped forward from behind the broken remains of a reality wall.

"You done?"

Adam looked back at her. "Yeah. He talked too much."

Aurora raised an eyebrow. "And you don't?"

"I write." Adam grinned slightly.

From far off, the battlefield where Joshua fought the Architect lit up in an eruption of force.

Aurora looked that way, serious again.

"It's still happening."

Adam nodded, his eyes sharpening.

"Then let's end it."

Together, they walked toward the other war.

Behind them, nothing remained of the Spiral.

Not a scream.

Not a soul.

Just space—finally quiet.

To Joshua

Joshua stood there, flame curling off his shoulders, blade still humming with heat.

He glanced sideways, sensing the shift in the realm.

"Looks like Adam handled the Spiral," he said, smirking. "Guy doesn't waste time. Guess I need to step it up."

Across from him, the Architect staggered—black ichor dripping from the crack in his porcelain mask. Joshua's blade was still buried in the side of his head, glowing faintly.

The Architect's eyes locked on him, burning with rage.

"Zayriel…" he growled, voice sharp and echoing.

"You're going to pay for that."

And then his body twisted.

Not just growing—solidifying. The ruined robes pulled tight around muscle that hadn't been there. His form expanded, bone grinding over bone, skin hardening like obsidian. He towered now—massive, monstrous. The cracked mask split fully, revealing a jagged face made of ruin and starfire.

The air warped around him.

Joshua cracked his neck, watching it happen.

"Good," he muttered. "Was hoping you'd stop holding back."