Creation Of All Things-Chapter 199: Tournament

The Spiral screamed.

The Void trembled.

His wail wasn't sound—it was reality tearing at the seams, as if the very concept of frustration had taken shape and decided to implode. The black space twisted in on itself, and the broken stars around him flickered like dying insects, trying to escape the weight of his rage.

"You dare—!" ƒгeewebnovёl.com

His voice echoed through the timeless dark, splitting in layers—one calm, one hysterical, one trembling with fury that bordered on madness. The fabric of the void rippled like disturbed water. Planes cracked. Whole memories shattered just by proximity to his voice.

"I gave you power!" he shrieked. "I handed you a path! You were nothing, Lyrix! Nothing! And now? Broken! Shamed! Beaten into dust in front of a cheering crowd like a cheap storybook villain?!"

A thousand mirrors shattered in the dark, their shards floating like dust around him. Inside each fragment: a scene, a prophecy, a possible future where Lyrix won. Where Joshua bled. Where Adam knelt. All of them now—lies.

A distorted scream came from the Spiral again, louder this time, not from a throat—but from everywhere. His thoughts poured like poison across the void.

"Zayriel was supposed to be gone!"

Another pulse of unstable reality tore out from him, warping space like wax under flame.

"He was history! A whisper! A relic that belonged to tombs and old fools!"

And then—

"…And that thing…"

A sudden silence.

Cold. Sharp.

The Spiral's voice dropped to a whisper that cut sharper than screams.

"…That thing… Adam…"

Even the darkness around him seemed to hesitate.

"I don't know what you are… but I see you now."

The silence stretched. Held.

Then snapped.

A vortex spun into existence—a spiraling gateway of time, memory, and anti-light, forming in front of the Spiral like a living eye. In it: Adam's face. Calm. Smirking. Unbothered.

The Spiral's voice broke again.

"You don't belong here! You're not part of this design! I didn't draw you!"

He hurled a wave of raw distortion at the vortex—space itself bending as the scream followed it, like a god throwing a tantrum that bent galaxies. The vortex cracked… but didn't break. Adam's image blinked out of it with a smirk still resting on his face.

Gone.

Erased.

But not broken.

The Spiral staggered, chest heaving in a body he didn't need.

He tore a memory from the void—a crystalized image of Lyrix kneeling in defeat—and crushed it in his hand. Black ichor poured from the fragments, dripping into the nothing below.

"Do you understand what you've done?" he snarled, to no one. Or perhaps… to everyone. "This city was the key. This tournament—the first chord in a new song. The pitch was perfect. The choir assembled. And now?"

He spat the next words like venom.

"They ruined it. Him. Zayriel. That cursed light."

And then quieter:

"And that other thing. That… outsider."

He began to pace.

The void followed.

"I saw everything. I predicted wars. I bent futures. I whispered truths into broken minds and guided chaos into form."

He stopped.

"But him? That one?"

A long pause.

"He wasn't supposed to exist."

The Spiral turned toward the remnants of a broken timeline—one he'd started sculpting years ago. It had cracks now. Flaws. Pieces erasing themselves before they were ever lived.

"The Pale Choir failed. My mark shattered. Lyrix is finished."

He stood still in the center of it all, trembling with fury too large for any one realm to carry.

"But this isn't over."

He clenched invisible fists.

"I won't be forgotten. I won't be denied."

The void pulsed again, a slow heartbeat of wrath.

"I'll twist the next piece deeper. Make it smarter. Unseen. Unheard. I'll dig under the surface of their world until their own people break them from the inside."

He tilted his head, as if listening to something that no one else could hear.

"Yes. A different hand. A quieter touch. No more puppets. No more brats chasing validation."

The Spiral laughed now, cold and thin.

"Let the world see Zayriel walk again. Let them cheer. Let them pretend their king is back."

He extended a hand—and another mirror rose. This one didn't show the past or the present.

It showed a ruined coliseum.

A broken sky.

Alice weeping.

Joshua on his knees.

Kaiden shouting into smoke.

Adam nowhere.

And standing in the center—cloaked in shadows—was a figure even the Spiral hadn't named yet.

"Let them cheer," the Spiral whispered, leaning in, breath like a storm sliding under skin. "Because when they fall…"

He closed the mirror with a snap of his fingers.

"…it'll be louder than anything I've written before."

And the Spiral laughed again.

And again.

And again.

Until even the void itself wanted to run.

Krayon Sol

The Zenith Arena hovered like a throne above the middle district of Krayon Sol, chains of crystal and light anchoring it to the sky. The energy of the crowd inside roared like thunder wrapped in song. Every seat was full. The balconies overflowed. Representatives of every major house, guild, faction, and species lined the upper terraces in ornate robes and enchanted armor.

In the center, under a dome of translucent magic, the combatants waited.

But everything stopped when the main gates of the arena opened.

And he walked in.

Joshua.

Or rather—

Zayriel.

He didn't wear the golden armor from the stories. No wings of fire or blade of prophecy. Just dark robes, a scarlet-lined coat brushing his heels, and the weight of presence so heavy it bent the light around him. Behind him: Alice, radiant and silent; Kaiden, serious and alert; and Adam, relaxed, arms folded, walking like the world itself owed him nothing.

The crowd murmured, then hushed, then fell into silence as Joshua reached the arena floor.

Vael stood near the center, dressed in ceremonial robes for once, holding a staff of officiation. He didn't speak. Didn't need to. He stepped aside.

Joshua turned slowly, taking in the entire coliseum—from the lowest seats to the glowing towers at the top. He saw them all. The nobles. The generals. The spies pretending not to be spies. He saw Duke Gorrim, jaw tight with recognition. Lady Vireen, unreadable behind her silver mask.

He took one step forward.

The ground echoed.

And then—his voice.

Calm. Unshaken. But somehow louder than the storm.

"To those of you who remember the old name… I greet you as Zayriel."

A collective gasp rippled across the seats. A thousand murmurs, heads turning, lips mouthing the word like a forgotten prayer.

He kept going.

"To those of you who only know the chaos that replaced me… I welcome you as Joshua. The one who returns. Not to reclaim what was lost—but to purge what should never have been."

Gasps again. Cries. A few voices calling his name.

"Krayon Sol has rotted," he continued. "Not from war… but from comfort. From shadows wearing titles. From smiles lined with poison."

He turned slowly, letting his voice carry.

"This city was once sacred. Balanced. A crown of realms. It will be that again. The Spiral, and every curse it whispered into our streets, will be erased. Every monster it molded—purged."

He raised his hand.

"The age of fear ends here."

Cheers began. Small at first. Then louder. Louder. Until it was an uproar.

Joshua dropped his hand and stepped back.

Adam moved forward.

The crowd quieted again. They didn't know him.

Not yet.

But they would.

He raised a hand, voice casual, but carried by some unseen force.

"Name's Adam," he said. "No long history. No banners. I'm not from your tales. I'm not a king."

He looked around.

"But I have people. And if you come for them—"

He pointed up at the nobles.

"—if you harm them, curse them, lie to them, or even look at them wrong…"

The arena trembled.

"…you don't face politics. You don't face tribunals. You face me. And I don't do second chances."

A stillness settled over the arena. The kind that didn't come from awe, but fear.

Duke Gorrim stood, red-faced. "Is that a threat, outsider?!"

Adam met his gaze.

"No," he said. "That was a promise."

Lady Vireen said nothing. But her hand moved to her side, activating a silent rune that whispered her thoughts to her agents: Investigate immediately.

Joshua stepped beside Adam. And together, they looked up at the highest seat—where the Celestial King himself had just risen, expression unreadable.

Joshua raised his chin.

"You brought us together for spectacle. For a tournament. For show. But we're not here to dance. We're here to rebuild."

The crowd stood.

Not all. But many.

And the air turned electric.

The Spiral—wherever it watched from—heard it all.

And the war had begun.

A few minutes later

Trumpets made of wind echoed from the towers.

A floating steward, veiled in gold chains and wrapped in translucent silks, descended from the air.

"Honored champions," the steward announced, voice carried through amplification glyphs across the arena. "The Celestial King welcomes you. Today, you stand before the eyes of the Origin Realm. Let your strength be judged not by brute force, but by the harmony of power, purpose, and will."

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Lady Vireen sat in her sky box, flanked by spellguards, her expression unreadable as she observed Zayriel—Joshua. Her fingers twitched with restrained curiosity.

Duke Gorrim growled under his breath, arms folded across his broad chest. He eyed Adam like one might stare at a storm without understanding it.

Below, the match-ups began appearing in glowing script across the air.

The first was ceremonial.

A warrior from the Dwarin mountain clans versus a winged duel-savant from the Avien high flocks.

Steel met feathers.

Roars met silence.

It was a show of speed, precision, and raw magic.

But it wasn't until Kaiden's name appeared next that the audience leaned forward.

Kaiden Dhark vs. Champion Rel of the Iron Guild.

Kaiden blinked. "Already?"

Joshua smirked. "Good. Stretch your legs."