The Heavenly Demon of Terror-Chapter 308: Journey to the Null Architects

Samuel's POV

The sky of Oblivion twisted into a spiral of smoke and shadows as Roselle and I stepped onto the Rift Bridge — a narrow path of flickering twilight energy suspended over endless void.

"Last time I was here," I muttered, "I thought the Null Architects were just legends."

Roselle's crimson eyes scanned the horizon, cold and calculating. "Legends born from truth. They shaped Oblivion before it became this... wasteland."

We moved carefully, the bridge humming beneath our feet like a living thing. Every step felt like walking on the edge of reality itself.

"The Null Architects," I said, "they build nothing. They destroy, erase, undo."

"Exactly," Roselle replied. "They're the only ones who can seal the Forgotten Gate, but they demand a price."

I narrowed my eyes. "What price?"

She turned to me with a sly grin. "You'll find out soon enough."

The bridge ended at a colossal door carved from black crystal, reflecting starlight like fractured mirrors.

Roselle whispered an incantation — the air thickened, colors bending as the door slid open silently.

Beyond was a chamber vast and empty, filled only with floating geometric shapes that twisted and reformed endlessly.

Suddenly, figures emerged from the shadows — tall, slender beings draped in cloaks woven from strands of nothingness. Their faces were featureless voids, eyes glowing with soft white light.

One stepped forward — voice like cold metal scraping glass.

"We are the Null Architects. What brings a bloodstained shadow and a queen of darkness to our sanctum?"

Roselle's voice was steady. "A threat beyond oblivion stirs. The Forgotten Gate weakens. We seek your aid."

The Null Architect tilted its head. "Aid comes with a cost. To mend the gate, one must give a fragment of their essence — a piece of their soul to bind the seal."

I exchanged a glance with Roselle.

"Your kind always makes things complicated," I muttered.

Roselle faced them. "We accept your terms."

The Architect's glow intensified. "Prepare then. The price will be paid when the time comes."

I took a deep breath. "So this is the 'price.' Sounds like a bad deal."

Roselle's lips twitched. "In our line of work, bad deals are the norm."

The Null Architects' presence pulsed through the chamber — an unsettling calm before a storm.

As they began their cryptic ritual, I could only wonder: how much of ourselves would we have to lose before Oblivion was safe again?

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Samuel's POV — The Ritual Hall, Beneath the Throne of Twilight

The chamber was vast and wrong.

Not just in shape — but in feeling. The stone beneath our feet pulsed like living flesh, and the air carried a rhythm that didn't belong in this reality. It was as if the space itself recoiled from what was about to happen.

Seven obelisks surrounded us, humming with an ancient script that bled violet and black. Each word etched into the stone writhed under our gaze, as if it resented being seen.

Roselle stood at the center, her black hair whipping in a wind that had no source. Her crimson eyes glowed with focus, fingers drawing sigils into the void.

I stood behind her, gauntlets thrumming with energy, the air around me warping from the raw magic leaking out.

Above us, the Null Architects began to appear — not summoned, not transported... but revealed.

They were towering, impossible to comprehend — a geometry of limbs and thrones, veiled in robes of galaxies collapsing in reverse. Their heads were clocks without time. Their eyes — empty sockets where existence once wept.

"You are late," one spoke. Its voice was conceptual, not heard — understood.

Roselle didn't flinch. "You've watched long enough. It's time to act."

Another turned its gaze — or what felt like its gaze — toward me.

"This one bears the Mark of Ruin. A paradox. A relic. A weapon that walks."

I stepped forward. "Save your riddles. I'm here to do what you couldn't."

There was a pulse — as if the universe itself questioned my audacity.

Then a third Architect lowered its many arms, weaving something into the air. "Then let the Rite of Unweaving begin."

The ground cracked. Reality trembled.

Roselle began chanting — not words, but sounds older than language. Her voice was fury and mourning. Power and surrender.

A circle formed beneath us, symbols burning into the stone. My shadow twisted — and then separated from me, forming a monstrous silhouette of what I used to be.

It spoke. "Do you truly wish to shed what made you strong?"

I didn't look away. "I want what's beyond strength."

The shadow screamed, lunged — and I met it head-on.

Pain exploded through me, but I didn't back down. I let the ritual burn away the limits, tear open the gate to a part of myself I had sealed in every lifetime before this.

Roselle gritted her teeth, blood dripping from her mouth as she held the chant. Her hands shook, but she didn't falter.

The Architects continued to circle above us, their chorus a mix of judgment and awe.

Then —

A silence.

Not emptiness, but finality.

The light dimmed. The shadow was gone.

And I stood there — taller, darker, heavier with power. My gauntlets had changed. Not in shape, but in meaning. They weren't tools anymore.

They were relics of a godkiller.

Roselle collapsed to one knee, breathing hard. I caught her by the arm.

She looked up, smirking despite the blood on her lips. "Well... you didn't explode. That's promising."

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. "What now?"

The central Architect descended slightly.

"Now, you are ready to stand before the Queen of Finality. And die. Or ascend."

Roselle and I exchanged a glance.

"We'll choose the latter," I said.

And the ritual chamber began to dissolve, piece by piece — returning us to the twilight above, where Queen Nerezza waited with unreadable eyes...

And something ancient stirred behind her throne.