Chapter 4800: THE Weaver of Existence I

THE Secretive Eon simply stated how he wasn’t the only one to have killed an Absolute.

Noah reevaluated her again.

He wanted to ask who she collapsed but...he left it alone as her words did catch his interest.

The vacuum where THE Weavers had died, where an incandescent beam of pure Depth had smashed into him, had continued to increase in Immensity. The hemorrhaging authority of a collapsed Absolute was still flowing, still seeking its rightful destination.

And just as she said it was about time...

Something began to form within that vacuum in THE Palaestra!

He looked at Eon calmly.

She smiled back at him, her gaze stretching out across the Stoa of Dogmata as if she could perceive everything occurring in that distant Arena.

"I counted you out and thought you were not ready."

Her voice came measured and wise, holding the weight of someone who had learned to accept when they were wrong.

"Killing an Absolute is a sign as any on whether you are ready or not."

She tilted her head thoughtfully.

"Depending on what you can take from what made them an Absolute... you may even have your answers."

Her smile grew warmer.

"Have fun with THE Absolute Existential Palace of THE Weavers."

She began to drift backward, settling into a comfortable position in the air.

"Rarely do such things form. Rarely... do Absolutes die."

Her eyes held something that might have been nostalgia.

"Only the killer has access to it. If that wasn’t the case, everyone would swarm toward the grave of THE Weavers like vultures to carrion."

She waved her hand dismissively.

"So enjoy it, big guy. You are deserving of it."

Her tone shifted slightly, becoming more serious.

"Just make sure that the chaos you caused doesn’t affect my Disciple. You still have to bring her out."

Her eyes sharpened.

"She comes out, we can get started on our mutual work."

...!

After she said this, she sat down comfortably.

As if absolutely nothing had changed.

As if what had just occurred would not change anything of her plans.

As if the first death of an Absolute since THE Fallout was merely a minor development in whatever grand design she was weaving.

Noah calmly looked at her.

He wondered.

Just what had changed from his actions?

And what... would be the response from THE Living Paradox?

THE Weavers had been his instruments. His weapons. His eyes and ears across Observable Existence. They had served him since before THE Fallout, cutting and weaving fates according to his design.

And now they were gone.

Permanently.

Would THE Living Paradox retaliate immediately?

Would he send more of the forces of THE Loom?

Would he come himself?

Noah held no fear for the future or what would come.

He had killed an Absolute.

Whatever consequences arose from that action, he would face them as he had faced everything else.

With Mana. With The First Tongue. With foundations that exceeded even THE Creature.

He focused on what was finishing forming in THE Palaestra where THE Weavers had died.

And it truly seemed like killing an Absolute was a grand affair.

A mausoleum-looking structure formed before him, visible even from this great distance through his connection to the vacuum that had created it.

---

In THE Agora of Primordial Judgment.

In THE Palaestra.

Glossikos and the other three Strategoi were immeasurably silent.

They watched the structure that formed where THE Weavers had collapsed.

They saw the emergence of THE Absolute Existential Palace!

Something that would now forever exist in the middle of THE Agora of Primordial Judgment.

Because the tomb of an Absolute... did not perish.

It would remain here as a monument to what had occurred. A reminder that in this place, on this day, an Absolute had fallen. Visitors would come from across Observable Existence to see it. Scholars would study it. Legends would be told about it.

And the only one who could enter and raid the tomb of its contents was the killer.

The Palace manifested as an impossible structure that existed in multiple states simultaneously.

It was both ancient and unbuilt.

Both magnificent and ruined.

Both a temple to fate and a tomb for those who tried to control it.

Its walls were woven from golden threads that stretched into infinity. The threads caught light that shouldn’t have existed in this space, refracting it into patterns that spoke of destinies cut and woven across eons.

Three towers rose from the structure, representing the three bodies of THE Weavers. Each one leaned toward the others as if in eternal conversation, their angles defying normal architecture. They would never touch, but they would never separate. Frozen in the moment of reaching for each other forever.

Gates made from massive golden scissors marked the entrance. They were frozen mid-cut, their blades positioned as if about to sever something impossibly important. To enter was to pass between those blades. To accept the symbolism of what THE Weavers had been.

The entire structure floated in a void filled with severed threads drifting like Existential debris. Remnants of fates that THE Weavers had cut. Destinies that had been altered or ended at their whim. Now they floated aimlessly, no longer guided by the hands that had manipulated them.

THE Absolute Existential Palace of THE Weavers!

Osmont had watched it emerge calmly.

The brilliant beam of light being absorbed by him stemmed from it, connecting him to the Palace through bonds that could not be severed. He was its master now. Its only visitor. The sole inheritor of everything THE Weavers had accumulated across their impossibly long existence.

Moments later...

WAP!

He took a step toward it and disappeared!

Swallowed by the Palace that called only to him.

Off to the side, the gaze of Paradoxos was heavy.

Both faces wore identical expressions of cold fury as they watched the killer of their faction’s Absolute vanish into a treasure trove they could never access.

"THE Four continue to do whatever THE Four want to do."

Their voice came bitter and resigned.

"Regardless of the consequences."

...!

The words echoed across the ruined Palaestra.

Glossikos remained silent, her eyes completely still.

Ontikos... the multicolored flames around him had dimmed, as if whoever had been watching through his eyes had seen enough!

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