Absolute Being: I Am Nothing-Chapter 102: "We need you."

The battle had reached its peak.

Kaelen’s shield flickered, cracks spreading across its surface like spiderwebs. He had held against a god for longer than any mortal should, but even five thousand years of preparation had limits. Dagon’s latest assault—a concentrated beam of divine force—slammed into the barrier and sent fractures racing toward its center.

"Hold!" Kaelen shouted, pouring more power into the shield. His arms trembled. Sweat streamed down his scarred face.

Seraphine’s threads wrapped around Dagon’s limbs, slowing his movements, buying time. But each thread that touched him dissolved within seconds, eaten away by the god’s innate power. She spun new ones faster, her hands moving in patterns too quick to follow, but the rate of dissolution was accelerating.

Mira’s flames had dimmed. Not from lack of will—from lack of fuel. She had burned through reserves that would have lasted centuries in any normal battle, and Dagon still stood untouched. Her inferno, hot enough to damage concepts, barely made him flinch now.

Valeria moved like water around stone. Her blade found Dagon’s flesh a dozen times, each cut smaller than the last. He was learning her rhythm, predicting her strikes, moving just enough that killing blows became scratches. Her perfect form, honed over millennia, was being read like a children’s book.

Corin flickered constantly, never solid for more than a heartbeat. His shadow blades struck from impossible angles, but Dagon’s awareness had expanded to include the spaces between visibility. Every attack was anticipated. Every strike was dodged or absorbed.

Theron’s calculations had become desperate. His floating texts glowed with information overload, patterns shifting faster than even his ancient mind could process. Dagon wasn’t fighting linearly anymore—he was fighting in layers, in dimensions, in ways that defied prediction.

Lyra’s mind writhed in agony. She had maintained the link for what felt like hours, holding seven consciousnesses together against a god’s assault. The strain was tearing at her. Blood streamed from her nose, her ears, her eyes.

"We can’t..." she gasped through the mental link. "He’s too... much..."

Dagon heard.

Of course he heard.

"You’ve done well," the god said, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "Five thousand years of preparation. Seven of the most powerful mortals ever to exist. Working together as one." He smiled, and there was no warmth in it. "But I am not mortal. I have never been mortal. And you, for all your power, are still just children playing at war."

He raised his hand.

Kaelen’s shield shattered.

The explosion of force sent the Shield flying backward, his body tumbling through the transformed space until he crashed against a barrier of reality itself. He tried to rise, tried to summon another shield, but his arms wouldn’t obey. Too much power expended. Too much damage taken.

Dagon turned to Seraphine.

Her threads reached for him, desperate, frantic. He caught one between thumb and forefinger and pulled. The thread didn’t break—it unraveled, all the way back to her hands, and she screamed as her own magic turned against her, binding her in place, holding her immobile.

"Mira," Dagon said calmly. "Your fire is impressive. Truly. But fire needs fuel, and you’ve burned through yours."

A wave of his hand. Mira’s flames extinguished completely. She collapsed, her body spent, her power drained to nothing.

"Valeria. Perfect technique. Flawless form. But you’ve never faced someone who could see every move before you made it."

The Blade lunged anyway. Her sword, aimed at Dagon’s heart, passed through empty air where he had been a moment before. She spun, ready for the counter, but he was already behind her, one hand on her shoulder.

"You’re fast," he acknowledged. "But speed without surprise is just exercise."

He pushed. She flew.

Corin appeared, a shadow blade aimed at Dagon’s throat. The god didn’t move. The blade passed through him—not because he dodged, but because he simply wasn’t there anymore. Corin’s eyes widened as he realized he was inside Dagon’s space, surrounded by divine power that pressed against him from all sides.

"You hide in shadows," Dagon said, his voice coming from everywhere. "But I am older than shadows. I remember when light first touched darkness. I remember when hiding was impossible."

Corin screamed as the pressure increased, forcing him out of his ghost form, forcing him solid, forcing him visible. He fell, gasping, his power shattered.

Theron’s calculations finally found something—a pattern, a weakness, a chance. He opened his mouth to shout, to direct the others, to—

Dagon appeared before him.

"Knowledge," the god said softly. "You’ve accumulated so much knowledge. But knowledge without power to act is just... sad."

He touched Theron’s forehead, gently, almost tenderly.

The Scholar’s eyes went blank. His floating texts dissolved into dust. Five thousand years of accumulated wisdom, wiped away in an instant.

Lyra screamed—not in pain, but in loss. She felt Theron’s mind go dark in the link, felt the absence where his consciousness had been. The connection shattered, and she fell to her knees, clutching her head.

Dagon stood among them, untouched.

The Brotherhood of the Seven, five thousand years in the making, lay broken at his feet.

He looked at them—Kaelen unconscious, Seraphine bound, Mira drained, Valeria broken, Corin gasping, Theron empty, Lyra weeping.

"You tried," he said quietly. "That counts for something."

He raised his hand to finish it.

Morgana moved.

She hadn’t planned it. Hadn’t thought about it. One moment she was beside Moore, watching the array near completion. The next, she was between Dagon and the Brotherhood, Merlin’s power blazing through her veins, the book’s knowledge screaming in her mind.

"No," she said.

Dagon looked at her. "You again. Brave. Foolish. Dead."

"We’ll see."

She attacked.

Morgana fought like nothing the young competitors had seen. Spells that shouldn’t exist flowed from her hands—magic from other worlds, other dimensions, other realities. The arrays across the continent fed her power directly, channeling the entire world’s mana into a single point.

For a moment, Dagon was pushed back.

For a moment, the god actually had to defend.

He recovered quickly. Of course he did. He was Dagon, and she was mortal, no matter how much borrowed power she carried. His counterattack came fast and brutal—a spear of divine light that pierced through her defenses, through her shields, through her.

Morgana gasped as the spear entered her chest.

She didn’t fall.

The array behind her flared one final time, then died.

Moore stared at it, his ancient face frozen in disbelief. "No," he whispered. "No, it should have worked. It should have—"

Dagon glanced at the dead array. "You thought you could kill me with magic?" He shook his head slowly. "I invented magic. I gave it to your ancestors. You cannot use my gift to end me."

Morgana sagged, the divine spear still embedded in her chest. Blood ran down her robes, pooling on the transformed ground. She looked at Moore, at the young competitors, at the broken Brotherhood.

"Call him," she whispered.

Moore understood.

His hand moved to his pocket, to the communication stone he’d kept for thirty-five years. The one that could reach across any distance, any dimension, any reality.

He pressed it.

"Merlin," he said quietly. "We need you." 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

The stone pulsed once, sending its message across the void.

"And Adam if you are there with him, you are the one we really need."