Page 97 of Chaos Carnival

“The lines,” I whispered, panic rising, cold dread prickling at me. “They're not—“

A tear opened in the universe beside me, the air splitting apart with the sound of breaking glass. Baphomet stepped through, his presence sending jolts through the already unstable currents. His eyes, usually filled with ancient amusement, were hard as stone.

The hunters drew closer, their footsteps echoing like thunder.

This was the moment, the culmination of all my choices and changes.

Chapter 46: The Void

Tess

Iwatchedourdefensiveformation snap into place, a dance we'd practiced until it burrowed in our bones. Maverick's shadows, Stone's barriers, Lux's glamours.

Perfect. Precise. Everything according to plan.

“Go!” The command tore from my throat as the first wave of hunters crashed our outer wards. But something shifted—seven hunters breaking from the main force, moving with unnatural synchronization. My strands hummed a warning as they formed a perfect circle in the heart of our carnival grounds. Their wings carved sigils in the air, voices rising in a harsh arcane language.

“Something's wrong.” Discordant energy set my teeth on edge.

Beside me, Baphomet went rigid. His wings snapped open. “No—STOP THEM!”

Too late. The ritual circle blazed, and my webs began to unravel.

Not breaking—dissolving.

Each strand screaming as it disappeared into nothing.

“What is it?” I tried to gather the fraying edges, but they slipped through my fingers over and over.

“A summoning pattern.” Baphomet's voice ruptured with ancient terror. “From before the first wars—” Golden light erupted from the fracturing ground, molten metal burning through the fabric of existence. The hunters' chanting peaked, their wings blazing with celestial fire. But it was wrong—everything was wrong. My senses reeled as futures collapsed, presents shattered, pasts vanished.

“The patterns,” I choked out, “they're not just breaking, they're...”

Darkness emerged from the tear. But darkness wasn't the right word. Darkness was something.

This was nothing.

Absolute nothing.

Where it touched, reality didn't break or change—it ceased to exist.

Even between spaces had substance, had pattern, had meaning.

This entity was an absence, a cancellation of everything that was or could be.

“Whatisthis?” I demanded.

Baphomet's wings unfurled, casting a tide of black that seemed to devour light itself. “Something older than both demons and seraphim has returned. Something that hungers for the power and magic you've gathered here.”

Beside me, Baphomet—ancient, powerful Baphomet—fell to his knees. His immortal force flickered like a candle in a storm. “The Null God,” he whispered, fear stripping away his arrogance. “They've awakened what should have stayed sleeping...”

The hunters' chanting faltered and the Null God's presence expanded, methodically devouring the universe thread by thread, leaving perfect emptiness in its wake.

Baphomet's claws dug into my arm, drawing blood. “We can't fight this. Even at the height of our power, the demons could only seal it away.”

Our circus—my carefully crafted sanctuary—began to disappear. Not destroyed.

Erased.

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