His status rose.

  A surge of power, massive, commanding, undeniable, erupted from him, splitting through the fabric of existence, bending the laws of his own narrative to his will.

  He would ascend.

  He would tear through the chains that bound him.

  “I, Gramam, will not allow a mere character to make a fool of me in my own story!”

  His voice.. deep, reverberating, consuming.

  But something was off.

  The more he resisted.

  The more it accelerated.

  The reduction.

  No..

  More than reduction.

  A concept more insidious, more absolute.

  His authority.. shrinking.

  His story.. slipping from his fingers.

  He tried to grasp it, tried to pull it back.

  But the harder he tried, the more his influence unraveled.

  Like a name being forgotten.

  Like a tale being unwritten.

  His voice.. thick with anger, deep beyond measure, trembled.

  “What… is this?”

  Then as if hearing his question..

  The answer came.

  A voice.

  Not his.

  Not Emma’s.

  But something else.

  Something greater.

  Something beyond.

  And when it spoke...

  The world itself trembled.

  The air fractured.

  The sky split.

  "As all things were made…”

  “…so shall they be unmade.”

  “By Her Will..!”

  Gramam’s form twisted.

  And that was when he knew.

  This wasn’t reduction.

  This wasn’t simply the loss of power.

  No..

  It was far greater.

  This was..

  Unmaking.

  The stripping of everything.

  The absolute and irreversible reversion.

  The Negative Layer.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  ****

  The Negative Layer.

  A place beyond the end, before the beginning, beneath all things that could ever be. It was not a realm, nor a space, nor even a void. It was uncreation, unformed and undying, an endless churn of reversal where even the concept of something ceased to hold meaning. No hierarchy, no dimension, no causality.. nothing existed here except the ever-consuming process of reversion.

  And anything trapped within this isolated reality was not just erased. It became fuel. The Negative Layer devoured them, repurposed them to feed the unraveling of all that was. No force could stop it. No will could defy it. No existence could flee from it.

  And yet, amidst this impossible place, she stood.

  Emma.

  Her silver-white hair barely stirred in the stillness, yet it shimmered faintly under the weight of what she embodied. Her pupils.. no longer merely eyes but something far greater, spun, spirals turning ceaselessly, reflecting everything and nothing at once. The vast crimson hue of the world around her pulsed, shifting in slow, measured beats as if the very fabric of reality struggled under her gaze.

  Across from her, Gramam, a colossal entity, his head an open tome of boundless pages.. remained frozen upon his massive throne.

  For the first time in his existence, he did not understand.

  He could not comprehend how she stood there, how she escaped what should have been inescapable. His book pages flipped wildly, rewriting possibilities, constructing new narratives, reaching for logic to hold onto.. but nothing made sense.

  Because Emma was not bound by sense.

  She was it.

  The Living Embodiment of the Negative Layer.

  The one that unmakes all things.

  Gramam’s thoughts surged, desperate for action. He needed to erase her, right now. To delete her name, her very presence, before...

  LOOP!

  A shattering sensation. A rupture in thought.

  It happened again.

  Everything rewound.

  Gramam’s mind recoiled, but too late. He was back at the moment before he even considered erasing her. He had not yet acted, but the process of unmaking had already surged forward, faster this time, deeper, more absolute.

  His authority.. his cosmic omnipotence, his dominion over all written fates, was being torn away, stripped as if it had never been. His very essence was dissolving, reducing, erasing, but this wasn’t just reduction anymore.

  He was shrinking.

  No.

  He was reversing into unmade nothingness...

  Faster.

  Far too fast.

  From the distance, Emma straightened. The movement was slow, fluid, effortless, like someone waking from an ancient slumber. Her expression did not change, but her presence.. her being seemed heavier, as though the entire world bent slightly beneath her existence.

  Upon her wrist, the bracelet shimmered.

  Then, without sound, without flash, it changed.

  The delicate band of metal stretched, expanding, reshaping, until it became something entirely different.. a sword.

  A sword that should not exist in any world.

  It shimmered faintly, not with light, but with something more fundamental, like the raw presence of a concept given form, an eternal weapon that did not belong in any layer of reality.

  The Sword of Fate.

  Emma’s eyes.. those spiraling pupils that saw beyond all reason, focused on Gramam.

  By now, the colossal entity was barely recognizable. His once-vast form was collapsing inward, reversing into uncreation, into something that had never been. No longer a being, no longer an idea. Soon, not even a memory.

  But she knew.

  Even as he unraveled and will soon be unmade soon, Emma didn't care, she wanted to finish this as soon as possible, but the only problem was that he was still outside Fate. He had no strings to sever, no destiny to bind him. No existence that could be written or rewritten.

  But that did not matter.

  Because Emma could make one.

  Her spiraling pupils turned faster.. a contradiction manifesting.

  The Eyes That See All Things As One.

  A rule imposed upon reality itself. No matter what stood before her, no matter how many fates they had or if they had none at all, she would force a single, undeniable thread into existence.

  And when severed, it would not just kill them.

  It would be their finality.

  It would be their end, one that could not be defied, undone, resisted.

  Before her, it happened.

  A single, shimmering string formed from the fading remnants of Gramam’s existence, thin yet unbreakable in its absolute truth.

  Emma raised the Sword of Fate.

  No flourish. No hesitation. Just inevitability.

  Her wrist flicked.. a single, casual motion.

  And the string snapped.

  There was no sound.

  No explosion.

  No scream.

  Just absence.

  Before Gramam could even fully unravel.. he was gone.

  No reversal.

  No record.

  No remembrance.

  Just finality.

  The colossal throne sat empty, its presence meaningless now, as if it had never served a purpose to begin with. The red hue of the world dimmed, the weight pressing against existence slowly lifting. The spiraling sound of unseen mechanisms grinding through time and space faded, reducing into nothingness.

  Emma exhaled softly, her breath almost a whisper in the still air.

  Then, just as easily as it had transformed, the Sword of Fate shimmered, collapsing back into the form of a bracelet, once more encircling her wrist as though it had never changed at all.

  She took a step back.

  Then another.

  Her legs felt strange, as if they had been unmoving for far too long. Her body swayed slightly, a faint instability creeping in.

  And then, slowly, she lowered herself to the floor.

  She sat.

  Then, ever so gently, she laid down.

  Her spiraling pupils slowed.

  Her vision blurred.

  Her breathing grew shallow.

  And finally, for the first time in what felt like eternity...

  She closed her eyes, a drop of tears streamed down her eyes..

  And everything went blank....

  [END OF ARC_6: BROKEN]