CHAPTER 142: FYMNHENDYR, THE VOID CASTAWAY

The color sea, once a vibrant maelstrom of sensory overload, began to quiver under the strain of the Genesis Core’s activation.

The fiery gold ink chains, arcane symbols etched from divine essence, tightened around what Kivas could only perceive as Fymnhendyr’s core—a nebulous nexus of crystalline geometries that defied shape and substance.

The entity’s form, once a colossal tapestry of facets and waves, contracted inward, folding upon itself like a star collapsing into a singularity.

The realm responded in kind, the sea of colors churning violently, flavors turning bitter on Kivas’s tongue, melodies distorting into dissonant shrieks.

Kivas watched, her tether to Fathomi thrumming with urgent energy, as the transformation unfolded gradually, almost agonizingly.

The core shimmered, its prismatic form—those void pools ringed with radiant halos—flickering like dying embers.

Layers of conceptual reality peeled away, the bubbles of unborn ideas popping one by one, releasing bursts of abstract sensation that washed over Kivas—a fleeting taste of infinity, a whisper of forgotten theorems, a chill of paradoxical voids.

The colors bled together, reds merging into blues, yellows dissolving into violets, until the entire sea began to fade, leaching vibrancy as if the realm itself was unraveling at the seams.

Fymnhendyr’s voice, once a crystalline resonance that echoed through her bones, grew faint, a distant echo amid the chaos.

"So this is what regression in existence feels like."

The process accelerated, the gold chains glowing brighter, searing lines that etched deeper into the core.

Kivas felt the metaphysical weight of it, her own divine essence resonating with the Core’s

The sea’s currents slowed, colors diluting to pastels, then grays, as if the concept of hue itself was being stripped away.

Directions, once meaningless in this weightless expanse, started to assert themselves—up and down, left and right—emerging from the haze like landmarks in a lifting fog.

The space around her turned white, a blank canvas of pure potential, devoid of the overwhelming sensory assault.

For the first time since her arrival, Kivas could discern a darkened horizon, a subtle gradient where the white void met an inky blackness, grounding her perception in something almost familiar, almost real.

As the colorful fog settled, dissipating like mist under a rising sun, a surge of energy erupted from the remnants of the core.

The gold chains shattered with a resonant crack, fragments dissolving into sparks of divine light that scattered across the white expanse.

In their place, a humanoid entity materialized, standing poised where the core had been.

She—for the figure was unmistakably feminine—possessed a slim, and surprisingly exotic build, standing at approximately 175 centimeters, or about 5 feet 8 inches tall.

Unlike Samael, her beginner regenerative outfit was skimpy, consisting of black fabric strips that barely covered her flat chest and private areas, leaving much of her burnt sienna skin exposed—which is more akin to lingerie.

Her skin tone was a warm, inviting reddish-brown, evoking the earthy quality of sun-baked clay, smooth and unmarred despite the transformation’s violence.

Short white hair framed her face, tousled as if by an unseen wind, and atop her head sprouted two pairs of horns, one pair jutting forward from her forehead like those of an oni, sharp and defiant—the other curving backward from the sides like antlers, elegant and strong.

Kivas blinked, her wry smile faltering as she processed the unexpected form.

It was a far cry from the ineffable colossal entity she had conversed with moments ago—a vessel that seemed almost too ordinary, too grounded in humanoid norms.

But then the figure spoke, her voice a softer echo of the crystalline resonance, now laced with a human timbre, warm and resonant.

"Well, this is... quaint. A vessel of flesh and form, bound by the constraints of lower dimensions." Fymnhendyr chuckled. "I’ve lost it all—my boundless aspects, my conceptual weave. I am now what you call an Exo Human, huh. A reduced mortal, yet a free sailor of my own future~"

Kivas’s halo steadied, her eyes widening in confirmation. "Fymnhendyr... you look so different. But yes, that’s the term—an Exo Human, a human exterior with a non-human core. Samael went through something similar....

"Are you alright?" Kivas asked out of worry, since there was a lot of thing that was not known regarding the process of imbuing a Genesis Core. "Can you escape this realm now?"

Fymnhendyr stretched, testing her new limbs with a graceful fluidity that hinted at her former vastness.

She smiled, a kind expression that softened her horned features, her prismatic eyes—now scaled down but still ringed with faint halos—and now mostly seen in gold color, gleaming with amusement. "Escape? It is possible, but not at the moment." Fymnhendyr pointed up. "The guardian has been alerted. Look to the sky, Celestial Avatar~"

Kivas tilted her head upward, scanning the white expanse.

At first, she saw nothing but the endless void, the darkened horizon stretching infinitely. But then, comprehension dawned, a slow unraveling of perception that made her breath hitch.

The guardian wasn’t a discrete entity descending from above—it was the sky, or rather, an ineffable presence woven into the fabric of the realm itself.

It manifested as a justice-shaped eldritch horror, incomprehensible in scale—fractal scales of judgment, beams of impartial light that pierced through dimensions, an aura of unyielding equity that warped space around it.

Its "descent" was not movement but a realignment, its vastness defying any mindset Kivas possessed.

It was larger than worlds, yet intimate in its oppression, a being of higher existential order that made her divine senses reel.

Overwhelmed, Kivas’s voice trembled as she turned back to Fymnhendyr. "That’s... the guardian? It’s everywhere and nowhere. What do we do? How do we get out unscathed now that such beings are aiming at our asses in high scale definition."

"Most often than not, the most reliable solution is the most simplistic one, Kivas." Fymnhendyr winked, a playful gesture that contrasted the looming threat, her short white hair shifting as she pointed upward. "Attack it—with as much intensity and complexity as possible, not in terms of power and destruction.

"Overwhelm its senses, confuse its higher existential judgment."

As the guardian’s presence intensified, a subtle pressure building like an approaching storm, Fymnhendyr elaborated, her voice steady amid Kivas’s growing sweat.

Kivas nodded, drawing upon her divine essence, her Mana Psyche surging as she began concocting the spell.

"The guardian operates on an uncertain sense of time and space," Fymnhendyr continued, her antler-like horns catching faint glimmers in the white void. "Its sheer size and existence place it in a relatively different dimension and time than us, tailored solely to guard this realm with me in it.

"But that is the thing, I’m no longer the same entity of grand caliber and dimensional existence~

"Thus, if you strike with an attack so layered, so complex, or even so paradoxical, it will force the guardian to comprehend it before acting—to descend fully into our existential plane in an attempt of doing so will put it off the course of its own space and time alignment.

"Overwhelmed by such an event, it will realign with its higher state, unable to sync its time and space with ours for quite a while. That window will let us escape—you via your tether, me unbound at last~"

Kivas wiped sweat from her brow, her halo flaring as she wove the spell’s foundations. "Thanks for the exposition mid-crisis," she quipped humorously, her wry smile returning despite the tension. "Alright, here goes everything I’ve got."

The spell she concocted was her masterpiece yet, a fusion of all Kivas had learned in her time in Fathomi and beyond.

As a Living Deity, she channeled miracles of fertility and protection, but twisted them into offensive paradoxes.

And using her Fate Weaver skill, she infused the attack with probabilistic infinities—Zeno’s paradoxes manifesting as infinite halvings of distance, where the spell’s trajectory divided eternally yet arrived instantaneously, creating a motion that was both impossible and inevitable.

Her Mana Psyche amplified this with quantum entanglements, linking particles across non-Euclidean geometries, where superpositions collapsed into Banach-Tarski duplications—a single divine bolt fracturing into finitely many non-measurable pieces, reassembling into two identical assaults, then four, exponentially cloning without volume loss, defying conservation laws.

Layering in big numbers to it for an extra kick, Kivas scaled the spell’s iterations of its upcoming splits in projectiles to Graham’s number—a tower of exponents so vast that it dwarfed the observable universe’s atom, with each iteration birthing a new paradoxical subset.

She wove in Gödel’s incompleteness theorems, embedding self-referential loops where the spell proved its own unprovability, creating a logical black hole that sucked in comprehension.

Not only that, relativistic twists from Einstein’s theories added time dilation. The attack’s front accelerated to near-light speeds, blueshifting into infinite energy densities while the rear lingered in dilated time, forming a causal paradox where effect preceded cause.

She also then manually affected the probabilities mid-flight, with aggregated trends reversing upon dissection—high success rates in subsets yielding overall failure, confusing predictive judgments of any processing medium.

Kivas also just outright incorporated black hole thermodynamics, Hawking radiation evaporating virtual particles into real ones, scaled by 3—a number from graph theory so immense it outstripped recursive functions, generating chromatic sequences that colored the spell in impossible hues, forcing chromatic number paradoxes where finite graphs required infinite colors.

Quantum field theory’s vacuum fluctuations birthed particle-antiparticle pairs annihilating in loops of Feynman diagrams, each loop embedding the liar paradox: "This spell misses," self-contradicting to hit.

Paradoxes piled on to it like they were toppings on a hot dog—the unexpected hanging, where the guardian’s anticipation of the attack made it unanticipated—Monty Hall doors multiplying infinitely, probabilities skewing to 2/3 infinities—Russell’s set of all sets not containing themselves, manifesting as a recursive containment field that trapped the guardian in its own logic.

Thermodynamic arrows reversed entropy locally, creating Boltzmann brains—spontaneous intelligences questioning the spell’s reality—while string theory’s 10^500 vacua vibrated in Calabi-Yau manifolds, compactifying imaginary dimensions into knot-theoretic Borromean rings.

The guardian, its justice-shaped form—a lattice of impartial scales and beams—descended further, its ineffable vastness pressing down.

But as the very spell was hurtled toward its cosmic form, it began to slow down after sensing its worth and mathematical value.

The guardian attempted to comprehend it, its higher existential mind descending to parse the layers.

Infinite divisions clashed with duplications, paradoxes looping into self-referential voids, big numbers overwhelming computational bounds...

The entity stuttered, its beams flickering as it grappled with the unprovable, the improbable, the infinite made with such bullshit continuity that it shouldn’t exist as one.

Just as Fymnhendyr predicted, the guardian overloaded—its form glitching, scales fracturing into impossible angles, beams retracting as it realigned to its higher dimension. It vanished from sight, no longer synced with their spacetime, leaving only a faint echo of judgment in the white void.

Kivas exhaled, her body trembling from the exertion, her halo dimming. "It worked... somehow."

To be truthful, the spell was nothing but a giant sham.

Kivas didn’t really carefully create a spell that is complex and true to science, she created a spell that supposedly to mimic a hypothetical application of the science of her world and its absurd formula all forged into one amalgamation of imaginary representation.

And since this realm barely had restrictions on what could and could not exist, it succeeded.

If this spell was casted in Vaingall or even Earth, it would simply crumble spectacularly, or even collapse into a black hole of logic of itself.

Anyway, Kivas would probably never ever ever perform this spell ever again.

Not to mention, it basically drained Kivas of everything that she had—her divine reservoir, her Hemo and Mana Psyche, and her mental sanity.

Fymnhendyr shone a kind smile, her burnt sienna skin glowing faintly in the white expanse, her horns casting subtle shadows.

"Well done, my love. Now, lead the way to Vaingall." Fymhendyr gestured her hand in a flirting way. "Your tether calls~"

"You’re really quick to get in the role of a Soulmate."

"It is only appropriate for me to put such effort~"

"Before we go back, do you already know of my relationship with Samael and Oizys?"

"I have, so you don’t need to worry about me not giving the same care and affection as them."

"That is... not what I meant."

With a nod, Kivas grasped the divine thread, pulling them toward the exit, the white realm fading behind as freedom beckoned, bringing along a brand new ally to Fathomi.