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Orobas, the All-Seeing Deceiver, who cataloged forbidden truths and peered into every possible outcome, was struck with terror, cloaked in awe.

This was not a twist he had foreseen.

Because it was never written to happen.

When Taufik chose Manifest Concept: Rewrite, the silence that followed was absolute.

Even the mirror dimensions seemed to hold their breath if such things could breathe at all.

Orobas's form begins distorting. Not melting, but becoming multiple, as if reality itself is trying to remember which version of him is true.

His thousand eyes close, not to rest, but because they now see nothing.

Then…

Orobas stumbles. Not physically. Concepts like him don't stumble. But the archive that is his body flickers and glitches, like corrupted code remembering a different language.

His voice, usually smooth and serpentine, now becomes jagged, as if he's trying to speak in a world that no longer agrees with the meaning of words.

"Impossible… There is no branch. No divergence. This choice was not among the thousand threads. I saw the weave. I wrote its map"

He reaches for his book, his eternal tome, the Codex of All Outcomes, bound in paradox and inked in timelines.

But when his trembling fingers graze its surface, the pages flutter open... Empty. Not torn. Not erased.

Unwritten.

A silence falls. Heavy. Final.

The kind of silence that lives between heartbeats, where the universe forgets how to breathe.

"The Worldline… Forgot"

He whispers, his voice cracking like shattering glass across a void.

"The script is unspooling…"

And for the first time in all his immortal calculations, the Demon Lord of Knowledge feels something ancient... Something buried so deep within his concept that even he, the All-Seeing, never knew it was there.

Not ignorance. Not even confusion.

Obsolescence.

A rusting of the soul. A crumbling of the mind's foundation.

Like a forgotten god realizing its worshippers have moved on.

He staggers, glitching again, his image briefly replaced by conflicting echoes of himself: the scholar, the prophet, the deceiver, the child of lies.

All unraveling into static.

His eyes, once luminous with endless foresight, are now hollow stars dimming into extinction.

He looks at Taufik.

Not as an enemy. Not even as a rival.

But the way something old looks at the future.

Knowing it no longer has a place there.

With reverence.

And fear.

"You are not a player…"

"You are not the Anchor…"

A long pause. The universe seems to brace itself.

"You are…"

"The Rewrite"

The word echoes, not in sound, but in meaning. Reality recoils, reconsiders, reshapes.

"If the Will chose you…"

"Then even Fate… Must look away"

--------

A suspended space between realities. Not shadow, not light.

It looks like an infinite library, but every book bleeds pages.

Some rearrange themselves mid-sentence.

Some scream in forgotten tongues.

In the center of it all stands Taufik, unchanged. Or perhaps… Rewritten.

Suddenly...

Orobas arrives.

Not through a portal, but as a question, whispered by the air, like a thought no one dares to speak.

"What are you?"

Then he appears.

Not walking, but taking shape, as if pulled out from an ancient, forgotten story.

His form is both noble and terrifying.

He first appears as a large, powerful black horse, wrapped in flowing shadows like a cloak.

Strange symbols glow across his body, as if burning beneath the surface.

On his back is a golden saddle, covered in markings that shouldn't exist. Above his head floats a broken crown, made of spinning rings that move in different directions.

When he speaks again, it feels like the world bends around his voice.

The horse form opens like pages in a book, revealing a tall human-like figure inside, dressed in robes made from layers of ancient scrolls and living words that move on their own.

A dozen floating eyes, shaped like hourglasses and filled with tiny stars, spin slowly around him. They all focus on Taufik, silent but intense like they already know something he doesn't.

He is part prophet, part beast, part end of the world.

"I saw a thousand endings"

Orobas says, his voice echoing like a hymn spoken at the edge of time.

"I saw the stars burn backward, folding into themselves like dying memories. I saw gods lie and die, their thrones crumbling into dust. I saw demons rise, crowned in ruin... Then vanish, unmade by their own hubris"

His many eyes swirl faster, like galaxies collapsing in fast-forward.

"But I never saw you choose that"

He tilts his head, not in curiosity, but in silent reverence, as if trying to make sense of something that cannot be defined by logic or prophecy.

"You are the error in the grand recursion," he continues. "... The paradox that teaches me"

The air around him warps gently, as though the world itself leans in to hear this truth.

He does not kneel, Demon Lords do not kneel. But his head lowers slightly, with the weight of a thousand unwritten futures pressing down on his spine. A subtle, quiet gesture that speaks louder than any bow.

A Demon Lord humbling himself.

The glow of his crown dims for a moment.

His form flickers between prophet and beast, as if uncertain which truth to wear.

"Tell me…" He says, softer now. "Do you understand what you've become?"

The question hangs in the air like a riddle spoken to creation itself. Not just to Taufik, but to the world watching from behind the veil.

"…No. But I know this power isn't just mine, not yet"

Taufik finally said, his voice quiet, but steady like a candle burning in a void.

The air around him trembled, not from fear, but from acknowledgment.

Reality itself seemed to listen.

"The Rewrite… Is not creation... It is the unmaking of certainty"

A pause. A breath drawn not from lungs, but from something deeper... An understanding slowly taking shape.

"I was certainty. And now… I kneel before the unknown"

Around them, the sky of that place, wherever it was... Dimmed.

The light folded in on itself, shadows bending, not away from Taufik, but toward him, like pilgrims seeking answers.

Orobas stood in silence, the hourglass eyes around him slowing as if time itself held its breath.

Then his voice returned... Lower, more ancient, touched with something that might have once been awe, or warning.

"Be warned, Taufik…"

His form flickered like torn parchment caught in the wind.

"Even the gods… Even Fate… were not rewritten lightly... The World remembers those who tamper with its weave"

His body began to dissolve, not in smoke or flame, but as a sentence reaching its final period.

A story ending itself.

"And something older than even I…"

His voice was distant now, like the last echo in an empty library.

"... Has opened its eyes"

Then he was gone.

No fanfare.

No roar of power.

Just absence, like a book that was never written.

Only his final words remained, hanging in the air like prophecy:

"…We will meet again, when even Truth forgets its name"

--------

A vast, inverted palace floats above the endless abyss, untouched by time, unmarred by decay.

It hangs suspended at the edge of all things, where Heaven once brushed against Hell, and both recoiled in silence.

Above it, the sky is not sky, but fractured light... Shards of a fallen star frozen in eternal motion, shifting with every remembered rebellion, every defied order.

At the pinnacle, where gravity forgets its purpose, stands a single, radiant stairway woven from light and judgment.

Each step burns away falsehood, pride, doubt, until only the truth remains.

Only those who survive themselves may ascend.

And at its peak, upon a throne carved from celestial ruin and crowned with echoes of a name the stars no longer speak sits Lucifer.

The First Sin.

Pride incarnate.

The one who rose not to destroy the throne, but to surpass it.

--------

When word reaches him... That Orobas, the All-Seeing Deceiver, the one who catalogued a thousand futures, went personally to confront a boy named Taufik…

And returned without bloodshed,

not defeated, but humbled.

Lucifer does not rage.

He does not question.

He smiles.

A slow, knowing curve of lips like the folding of prophecy.

Not a surprise, but... Recognition.

"Ah… So the Weave has learned to blink"

His voice carries across the abyss, and somewhere, fate flinches.

"How delightful"

And in that moment, the Throne of the First Sin grows a little quieter as if even silence waited for what comes next.

A lesser demon kneels before him, trembling.

"My Lord… Orobas confirms it. The boy, Once The Dafient, Taufik... He rewrote his Concept"

Lucifer doesn't answer right away. He places his finger into the ever-shifting flame. It takes the shape of Taufik for just a moment before changing again.

"Do you know what the first thing I ever said to The Fate after The Creators vanished?"

The demon shakes its head.

"I said… 'You're wrong'... And now, someone else dares say it too"

He laughs, not loudly, but like a secret the world isn't ready for.

"Taufik. The Dafient, now... The Rewrite. The child who didn't just reject the story… But dared to write a better one"

Lucifer gazes into the distance.

What he sees, no one knows... Perhaps a future, perhaps a memory that hasn't happened yet.

He is not afraid of Taufik.

Not like the others.

He is curious.

In Taufik, he sees a reflection, a reflection of himself.

someone who defied the path written for him, who didn't just break the rules,

but questioned why they were ever written.

Lucifer does not wish to destroy him.

He wants to watch.

Perhaps even… Test him.

'Will you become a new "Author"? Or just another liar with a pen?'

A faint smile tugs at his lips, not mockery, but anticipation.

'Rewrite the world, Taufik... And when the ink runs dry… I'll be there to read the final page'

....

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