Let’s Not [Obliterate]

[Obliterate].

In the blink of an eye, Theora gazed into a deep abyss. She grasped at the nature of the being in front of her, saw aspects of what it was, what it wanted, and how it functioned. Through countless layers of instinct and experience, it came to her like a thousand speakers reading out definitions at once. Masses of information flowing through her head as she recognised the feelings and intentions behind the many Skills this monster was launching like a volley into the sky.

In some ways, the Devil of Truth was like an onion. Layer upon layer of defensive Skills outlined his core, and as Theora’s sword slashed through the air, he simply dodged, warping reality to his wishes by declaring a new truth. She could feel his thoughts, or rather, his will, as it dominated the space and came down like an iron hammer.

Theora wondered. What she had in front of her right now, it couldn’t possibly be what he once was. What had he been? She tried to perceive that original person, if only out of a vague feeling of curiosity. A being almost as broken as herself, maybe? One that had lost its way.

Perhaps, a long time ago, the Devil of Truth had been a creature of rationality. Of observation and deduction, using wits to hurt his opponents with cleverly constructed networks of irrefutable fact. That was certainly what his Skills hinted at. It was the story told by their remains, when excavated from past times.

But, much like Theora, once he had hit the ceiling of his powers, he had not stopped. By now, his words created truth instead of searching it, spun it from thin air to wield it as a weapon. 

Now, what he spoke was the truth. Not because he only spoke truth, but because truth was formed by his words. He was warping reality to his wishes.

Once the target was set, [Obliterate] could not be evaded, and yet, his reality defying power, strengthened by the [Realm], blunted the blow.

In the meantime, the volley formed by his offensive Skills edged closer, a storm of arrows where each one could pierce a planet. Some of them, Theora slashed through before they could manifest, and others she let sink into her skin, too tired to dodge or defend herself. Why should she? Was there even a truth that could harm her?

As his onslaught weaved itself into her body and mind, she had yet to graze the essence of his being, so she scraped away at his attacks instead.

In seeing his Skills, Theora sensed that the Devil of Truth had two main affinities; [Mind] and [Illusion]. Though, all of them had a certain spin to them. It wasn’t Skills of the mind to bend someone’s will. Instead, they opened a certain manipulated reality to them, making them believe a thing that the Devil decided to be true. And the illusions, instead of taking away from reality, they attempted to reveal it. To destroy preconceived notions — and the mind that carried them with it.

But Theora was an empty shell. What was there left to reveal? She simply tore all attempts of opening her eyes apart. There was nothing to be seen. No other reality but the one in which Dema hated her, and played along because of a scheme. Especially after how much she’d just gotten hurt by doing Theora’s bidding.

No reality but the one in which her journey would end with Dema dead at her hands.

Theora already knew that truth, and the Devil had no avenue to reveal anything more substantial to her. 

But he didn’t give up. When he realised his attacks were failing, he instead used them to hold her off. From what? It was clear that he was leading her on, distracting her, showing her truths he made up to hide in others. 

Theora saw a room full of people with him just sitting in the middle and talking. His soft voice like running hot oil down any listener’s ear.

And then, one by one, they started murdering each other.

I only revealed the truth to them. Never laid a hand on anyone.

Of course, that was a lie. He had laid hands on Dema. Though, maybe he didn’t consider that right. Maybe there was a law in his head, annotating this as self-defence, which technically might be true. The same was true for all of the attacks he was currently stabbing into Theora, although she couldn’t say she minded the assault.

Or did she? It was hard to tell, with how muted she felt.

All she was here to do was destroy this being that had started an attack on uninvolved people. As more of his truths revealed themselves to her, she realised that he gained power whenever a truth he told resulted in harm. Thus, playing people out against each other had helped him grow stronger. Maybe that had been his scheme with keeping them in the [Realm] without confronting them. Perhaps he had hoped in some warped way that he could manipulate Theora to harm Dema.

And in a way, she had done exactly that. Dema was lying in a pool of her own blood right that moment, and it was all Theora’s fault. Had that empowered him even further? Was he now even stronger?

Maybe Theora had played right into his hand. But then again, it didn’t entirely feel this way.

As all these thoughts circled through Theora’s head, she started wondering. Why try to distract her like this? What did he not want her to notice?

There had to be a reason.

She averted her attention away from the attacks, letting them plunge into her completely unrestrained, and looked at everything else instead. At his defences, his reality, his actions.

Ah. There it was.

Theora couldn’t help but like what she found. The ace he was attempting to play, it had a certain beauty to it. She saw the tendrils of his mind reach outward. Tendrils of immense range, and yet ever so thin, trying to hide beneath the surface of their fight, fumbling at the edges of what constituted the framework of the universe. 

Within the blink of an eye that their fight had been going, he’d immediately known he was losing.

But winning was not the only way out of a fight. No, he was trying to run away. Into a new truth, a new reality he was constructing, without Theora in it. Wasn’t that just such an elegant solution?

Yes, if he were to flee into a world that didn’t feature a blemish such as Theora, then that would solve all of his problems. Weaving the threads that spun the cosmos into something else, warping it in a way that shut her out and would deliver him to safety. He was telling his new tale to convert into fact, splitting reality in two, choosing the one that would allow him to live. Without a doubt, in that small fraction of time, he used all the power of his mind to create a Skill of the highest rank. A Skill to tell the ultimate new truth.

Or, to tell the ultimate lie.

Of course, even such a thing could not be allowed. Theora was meant to defeat him, after all. 

So, she obliterated the threads. A smooth and all-encompassing motion, an instant one that yet felt slow due to the boundless distance travelled. Like a whale devouring a pond full of water, like a wicked child cutting off an insect’s escape with colossal hands.

And then, it was merely an act of encircling the core. Of swallowing the vast sea she had outlined in her throat.

The Devil of Truth was a raging sea of power, and Theora was the world surrounding it.

Time remaining: 1 second.

Without a doubt, the Devil of Truth was the strongest foe Theora had ever fought. That would have been true even outside of his [Realm]. She could feel it — the radiance of his natural strength, already gleaming brighter than anything. And yet, it was just a droplet in the ocean of light — an ocean amassed by that incredible [Realm].

It made sense why people thought that this would make a demon invincible. Normally, the strongest being in the world could be taken down by an alliance of its closest peers. That had always been the strategy, throughout aeons, to deal with an outlier in strength — to band together, into an army if needed, and force a situation the strongest could not persevere through.

But, within a [Realm], this rule changed. The difference was in order of magnitudes; it was a ridiculous boost, it was unreasonable. No amount of joint effort would have any hope of overcoming it.

In here, he was the one and true King of absolute power. 

And yet, his assessment had been correct. Being a King didn’t matter. Splitting reality in two was not enough.

He should have stayed in hell.