Above stars. Beneath stories. Beyond even endings.
The battlefield was stitched into the fabric of space. Planets crumbled in the distance, caught in the aftershock of divine presence. Galaxies curved unnaturally, bent by the arrival of seven beings. The Seven Gods of the Universe.
And one man stood before them—alone.
Author.
His coat flared in the void wind. His golden katana glowed with living script, while the revolver at his hip pulsed with forbidden names.
Author (quietly): "This is long overdue."
From the center, Vel'Sahr, God of Order, stepped forward. His form was a storm of logic and law, every step forming geometry beneath his feet.
Vel'Sahr: "You broke the boundaries of fate. You touched what should not be written. You turned destiny into ink."
Author: "I did what your rules never could—I gave her a choice."
With no warning, the six other gods surged forward. No declarations. No mercy.
The War of Truth had begun.
Author vanished in a blur, reappearing above them, swinging his blade through spacetime. The sword sliced through the void and severed the arm of Gorazuun, God of Strength. The god bellowed, but Author didn't stop. He flipped mid-air and shot his golden revolver at Maelthera, Goddess of Memory.
One shot. Right between her eyes.
Maelthera (fading): "He… rewrote my name…"
She disintegrated into ancient echoes.
Author landed, panting lightly. His coat now torn. Blood dripped—but not red. Gold.
The battlefield trembled.
Vel'Sahr (roaring): "He's severed two!"
Author (smirking): "Make that three."
He hurled his blade like a comet. It soared into the heavens and pierced through Zay'Korr, the God of Collapse. The god exploded into black stardust.
The remaining four gods regrouped. Fear entered their eyes.
God of Fire: "He's… not bound by timeline."
Goddess of Sight: "He walks between rewrites!"
They attacked at once—power of suns, time, war, and elements converging.
Author deflected the storm, barely. He fell to one knee, smoke rising from his wounds.
Just as the four gods prepared their final divine strike—
A shockwave tore through reality.
It froze time. Froze gods.
Only one being moved.
A massive form descended in silence. Wrapped in galaxies, speaking in vibrations of gravity and harmony.
The First God.
The God of the Universe.
First God: "Enough."
The gods instantly dropped their weapons, shaking.
Even Author stood, silent. Respectful—but not afraid.
First God (to Author): "If this war continued for one more breath… we would all be dead."
The battlefield dimmed. The wounded gods looked in horror.
Author tilted his head.
Author: "Then let it end."
He sheathed his sword. The revolver spun into his coat.
Peace fell.
Until—
The sky cracked.
A higher being emerged. Taller than stars, faceless, formless, burning with presence.
The Upper God. The Architect Above All.
The gods knelt. Even the First God bowed.
Only Author stood.
Upper God (to the Seven): "You forget your roots."
Upper God (to all): "This man you call 'Author'... was not born of your time. He was forged from the original script. The prototype timeline. Before realms. Before fate."
Everyone went still.
Upper God: "You fear him because he is not a rewrite… he is the quill that writes. The first and last editor."
Author looked away, silent.
Upper God (to Author): "You abandoned your station."
Author: "I abandoned the cage you called 'truth.'"
The Upper God turned.
Upper God: "Then return. Or your story ends here."
Author smirked.
Author: "This story's barely started."
And with that—he vanished into a golden ripple.
Only silence remained.
The gods, even now, trembled.
Because for the first time in the existence of realms…
The Author had no script. Only purpose.