The Omnipotent System

Adams stood there, blade resting on his shoulder, his expression frozen mid-smirk. Oblivion's words hung in the air, crawling under his skin like they were meant to provoke something deeper.

"Flawed?" Adams repeated slowly, his voice low and edged with curiosity. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to decide whether to laugh or take it seriously.

"Yes," Oblivion replied, stepping forward. Each step dissolved the ground beneath it, leaving a trail of nothingness. "For all your power, for all your bravado, you cannot see beyond the limited perfection you believe yourself to embody."

The gods froze. They had never heard anyone speak to Adams like this—not as an opponent, but as if dissecting him, peeling back layers no one dared touch.

Adams's smirk faded, replaced with something far more dangerous—a calmness too measured, too sharp. "You talk like you know me," he said, voice quiet but heavy.

"I know enough," Oblivion replied. "You create, you destroy, you bend existence to your will. But you do so with the arrogance of one who thinks they stand above the cycle. You cannot comprehend that you are a part of it, no different from me."

Adams chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. "You think we're the same?"

"We are opposites," Oblivion said, the void in its eyes narrowing. "But opposites are bound together. Creation cannot exist without destruction. Existence cannot persist without nothingness. You refuse to acknowledge it because you believe yourself above the natural order."

The air shifted. It was subtle at first, like a whisper of wind brushing against the gods' skin. Then it grew, pressing down harder, heavier. The gods could feel it—Adams wasn't just annoyed. He was angry.

"You keep calling me part of some 'order,' but you're wrong," Adams said, voice even. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "I am the order. And you?" He pointed his blade at Oblivion. "You're just a leech, feeding on what I allow to exist."

Oblivion's form rippled violently, the edges of its body distorting like a black flame flaring under pressure. "Arrogance," it said, voice vibrating with intensity. "And yet you call me the leech?"

The space between them collapsed.

Adams moved first, swinging his blade in a wide arc. It wasn't just an attack—it was a wave of raw existence that surged forward, blinding in its brilliance. Oblivion didn't dodge. Instead, it raised an arm, the void around it condensing into a shield that absorbed the attack.

The impact split the ground beneath them, sending cracks spidering out in all directions. The gods were thrown off their feet, tumbling as the shockwave rippled through the battlefield.

Oblivion countered instantly, its other arm shooting forward like a spear. Adams leaned to the side, the attack grazing his shoulder and disintegrating part of his sleeve. He spun, bringing his blade down in a quick, precise strike aimed at Oblivion's core.

The blade connected, but instead of cutting through, it stopped cold. Oblivion's form bent around the weapon, holding it in place.

"You fight like a man desperate to prove something," Oblivion said, its voice eerily calm despite the battle. "But what are you really fighting for?"

Adams's eyes narrowed. He didn't answer. Instead, he yanked the blade free, twisting it in a sharp motion that sent a shockwave of energy rippling outward. Oblivion stumbled back slightly, the first sign of imbalance it had shown.

"Talking's not gonna win you this fight," Adams said, stepping forward again.

"And neither will brute force," Oblivion replied, reforming its stance.

The void around it shifted, gathering into long, jagged spikes that shot toward Adams in rapid succession. Adams swatted them aside with ease, his movements fluid and deliberate. He countered with a series of slashes, each one faster and more precise than the last.

Oblivion adapted quickly, its form twisting and splitting to avoid the strikes. It moved like smoke, impossible to pin down, and every failed strike left Adams more focused, more intent.

Their battle turned into a storm of motion, light and shadow colliding with such ferocity that the battlefield itself began to tear apart. Entire chunks of space blinked in and out of existence as their powers clashed, reality struggling to hold together under the strain.

Amid the chaos, Oblivion's voice cut through again. "You fight as if you can erase me, but you cannot erase what is fundamental. Your power is not infinite, no matter how much you believe it to be."

Adams laughed, though there was a sharp edge to it now. "You really like to hear yourself talk, huh?"

He lunged, his blade glowing brighter than ever. Oblivion met him head-on, its form hardening into a shield of void. The two forces collided, neither giving an inch.

As they pushed against each other, Adams leaned in, his voice low and dangerous. "You think I'm flawed? Fine. But let me tell you something…" He pushed harder, the energy around him flaring. "Flaws make things interesting."

With a surge of power, he broke the stalemate, sending Oblivion skidding backward. But even as it steadied itself, Adams didn't press the advantage.

Instead, he stood there, blade glowing, watching Oblivion with an intensity that made even the gods shiver.

The battle wasn't over, but something had shifted. Both combatants knew it. This wasn't just a fight anymore—it was something deeper, something neither of them fully understood.

And the gods, powerless and awestruck, could only watch as the clash continued, unsure if they were witnessing the end of everything… or the start of something new.

Oblivion straightened, its distorted form rippling like waves on a black sea. The void around it seemed alive, writhing and reaching, pulling fragments of the shattered battlefield into its nothingness. Yet its gaze—empty and unrelenting—was locked on Adams.

"You speak of flaws as if they add meaning," Oblivion said, its voice resonating with the cadence of eternity. "But meaning itself is a construct, a fragile illusion created by those too afraid to face the truth. There is no purpose, no grand design. Only the cycle. Only me."

Adams sheathed his blade, a slow, deliberate motion that caught everyone off guard. He exhaled, a sound that was half sigh, half laugh. "You think you've got it all figured out, don't you?" he asked, his tone a mix of amusement and disdain. "You think you're the big revelation, the ultimate truth. But let me tell you a secret." Stay updated with My Virtual Library Empire

Oblivion tilted its head slightly, the motion unnervingly human. It didn't interrupt, but the void around it pulsed, as if reacting to the tension in Adams's words.

Adams stepped closer, his hands loose at his sides, his eyes gleaming with an unfathomable light. "Truth isn't some universal constant. It's what we make it. What I make it."

Oblivion's form flickered violently, a silent rebuttal to the statement. "Then show me," it said, its voice a challenge and a demand. "Show me how your 'truth' can stand against the void."

Adams's smirk returned, razor-sharp and dangerous. "Careful what you wish for."