2026-03-22 11:00:00"...yellowed subpoena papers smelling of intergalactic incense."
The old man coughed slightly, dust flying from his long, thinning beard. He placed his old suitcase on the cracked concrete roof of Wisma Nusantara, right in front of the polished shoes of the woman in the black suit.
"Holy crap, Gramps! Who are you now? Don't tell me you're selling old newspapers in the middle of a carrier strike group siege like this!" shouted Qoriski while brandishing his gavel, which was now sm
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The Ancient Eyes Of The Chronicle
Freza felt the cold vibration pierce deeper, no longer just along his spine, but through the very core of the fingers gripping the violet pen. The violet light flickered, as though the pen itself sensed the horrifying gaze now fixed upon it with indescribable intensity. This was not the coldness of the Arbiter of Nothingness, which now merely observed from afar, but the coldness of absolute ownership.Qoriski jolted, clutching Freza’s arm. He saw his friend’s hardened expression, his eyes widened not in fear, but in recognition of an undeniable existence.“Freza! What is it now?” Qoriski shouted, his voice carrying a fresh note of despair.Every threat seemed greater than the last.Freza did not answer. His gaze remained locked forward. He could feel the presence, not like a physical entity claiming space, but like an essence that had always existed there, long before “existence” or “nonexistence” had ever been defined. The aura carried the weight of the first truth, the very foundati
The Fracture of Eternal Nothingness
The pen in Freza’s hand, now radiating a faint dark violet glow, pulsed softly, feeling like far more than a mere tool. Before him, the Veiled Chronicle of Nothingness lay open, revealing a new blank chapter. Yet within it, Freza could sense the resonance of doubt from the Arbiter of Nothingness.Not loud doubt, but microscopic tremors within its absolute logic, a fracture far subtler than any crack left by Malakor’s hammer.Qoriski stared at Freza, confusion mixed with relief shining in his eyes.He saw the pen, saw the open Chronicle, and felt the shift in the atmosphere, still cold, yet no longer as suffocating.“Freza... what is that?” Qoriski asked, pointing at the Chronicle’s blank page. “A new chapter? For what?”Freza drew a deep breath, feeling his primordial core pulsing in harmony now, though echoes of the division that had nearly consumed him still lingered.“This is a chapter for ‘meaningful emptiness,’” Freza answered, his voice calm, though every word now carried a new
The Ink Of Nothingness Creeps
The pitch-black ink flowed, not from the tip of the pen, but from within the body of the now half-transparent instrument, like an eternal wound gaping open. It pooled in Freza’s palm, cold enough to burn, a coldness that drained away all light and sensation. It was liquid nothingness, promising not creation, but absolute emptiness.Freza gasped, his breath catching in his throat. His fingers tightened, not to release the pen, but to stop the invading darkness from spreading. The cold pierced him, not with pain, but with the absence of pain itself, a far more terrifying threat.Qoriski shouted, his voice cracking with pure terror. He watched the black liquid creep forward, watched Freza’s hand tremble violently, his eyes widened with a horror he had rarely witnessed. Instinctively, he reached out, then hesitated, afraid his touch would only accelerate the corruption.The Arbiter of Nothingness remained silent and unmoving. Yet its presence weighed heavily upon them, a silence screaming
The Eyes of Nothingness Pass Judgment
Freza felt it.Not merely surveillance, but a cold penetration, stabbing directly into the core of his newly fused existence.The pen in his hand suddenly felt frozen, as though it was no longer made of matter, but of pure nothingness that devoured all warmth.The air around them thinned, not physically, but existentially.Qoriski flinched and turned toward Freza, deep concern radiating across his face.He felt the drastic shift in the atmosphere, a pressure far older and less definable than Malakor’s aura of the 'Death Penalty.'"Freza? What is it now?" Qoriski shouted, a faint note of panic in his voice.Freza’s eyes remained fixed on the open pages of the 'Treatise of Veiled Nothingness' before him, yet all he could see now was the reflection of those eyes.Eyes with no eyelids, no irises, no pupils.Only primordial emptiness staring back at him, reflecting limitless nothingness."This... isn't Malakor," Freza whispered hoarsely, his eyes widening as a horrifying realization crept
The Pen That Writes Fate
Freza’s fingers, still cold from touching the ancient energy of the book, now held a pen. It was no longer merely a writing instrument, but an extension of his renewed resolve. Its weight settled in his grasp, a burden unlike any hammer, yet no less deadly.Qoriski stared at him, his eyes filled with unspoken questions and concern. He had witnessed too much in such a short time, destruction and rebirth that had torn apart his understanding of existence.“Freza… what just happened?” Qoriski asked, his voice trembling slightly.“What… what will happen to Malakor?”Freza exhaled, a breath that felt heavy, carrying the weight of billions of destinies. The air around them felt lighter, yes, but the calm was deceptive. It was only a pause before a greater storm.“Malakor will repay his debt,” Freza replied, his voice calm, though a trace of weariness lingered within it, a fatigue far beyond the physical.“He will be forced to recreate every ‘potential’ he ever rejected. Every ‘existence’ he
The Inverted Debt of Doomsday
Malakor recoiled, his breath caught in his throat. The image was not merely an illustration, it was projected destiny. The endless wheel of existence, a cycle of creation and destruction he believed he had mastered, now spun around him, a punishment of his own making.“No… that’s not possible!” Malakor shouted, trying to tear himself away from the image clinging to his mind, as if he were bound to the wheel itself. His silver hammer trembled, no longer with the aura of the “Penalty of Death,” but with the raw vibration of fear.Freza, now reassembled into a more coherent form yet carrying a new light of understanding, regarded Malakor with an unreadable gaze. He was no longer merely the True Arbiter, he was a keeper of records, an entity who understood the weight of every choice, every rejected potential.“You want to repay your debt, Malakor?” Freza’s voice echoed, deeper than before, carrying the resonance of thousands of potentials he had once denied. “You want to recreate what you
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