Banished to the Abyss After Defying the Author-Chapter 18: The Tyrant in the Mirror

The water closed above him.

Noah stepped forward—

—and the sea of memory shattered.

He fell.

Cold ground met his palm. When he lifted his head, there was nothing but white.

Not light.

Not darkness.

Just absence.

"The Void," he murmured.

He rose slowly.

Footsteps echoed though there was nothing to echo against. Ahead, a throne formed—polished, sovereign, absolute.

Alextruo sat upon it.

Still. Silent.

A second presence manifested beside him—golden wings folding gently, silver horns catching nonexistent light.

Xenovia.

Her voice trembled, though she tried to keep it steady.

"Did he truly have to kill my sister?"

Alextruo didn’t look at her.

"We are his creations," he said quietly. "The Goddess of Time failed her role. He did what was... optimal."

Noah stood behind them, unseen, listening.

"So this is that moment," he whispered. "After I killed the first Goddess of Time."

A ripple passed through the Void.

Another Noah appeared.

Past Noah.

Crowned in authority. Expression unreadable.

He turned slightly—

—and his gaze brushed across the present Noah.

Recognition.

A faint smile.

Then he faced Alextruo.

"When will the Titaine World be completed?"

Alextruo dropped to one knee immediately. "We will begin at once, King of Kings."

Past Noah nodded—and vanished.

Present Noah stood frozen.

"...How did I see myself?" he whispered. "Why don’t I remember that?"

The memory continued.

Alextruo rose slowly. Xenovia took his hand.

"Xenovia," he asked quietly, "you resent him too, don’t you?"

She stiffened. "You cannot speak of him that way."

Alextruo laughed once—short, bitter.

"King of Kings? He crushes our will and calls it balance."

Noah’s jaw tightened.

"I only did what was necessary," he muttered.

Xenovia’s voice softened.

"I don’t hate him... but I lost my sister. He replaced her, yes. But the bond I had... that can’t be rewritten."

She extended her hand.

The white Void split open. Stars bloomed between her fingers. Galaxies spun gently.

"This power is his," she whispered. "But the feelings... are ours."

The Titaine World began forming—vast skies, oceans of light.

Alextruo watched his dragons soar.

He’d spent centuries designing them. Every scale. Every roar. Every instinct.

They were free. Wild. Magnificent.

For the first time since his creation, Alextruo felt... proud.

"This is mine," he whispered. "Truly mine."

Then—

The sky twitched.

A pen tore across the heavens.

The dragons looked up, confused.

Then they began to dissolve.

Not killed. Erased. As if they’d never existed.

Alextruo screamed—but no sound came.

His throat closed. His authority locked.

He could only watch as his children—his first true creation—were rewritten into flowers.

When the pen lifted, paradise remained.

Perfect. Serene. Lifeless.

Alextruo fell to his knees.

"What... what did I do wrong?"

Silence answered.

And in that moment, something in him broke.

"That’s why," he whispered. "That’s why I despise him."

His hands trembled.

"He gives us power to create, then erases what we choose. So what are we? Decorations?"

Xenovia’s gaze dimmed.

"Perhaps he sees further than we do."

Alextruo’s expression hardened.

"If he ever does this again, I will stand against him."

The memory shifted.

Alextruo vanished into his private dimension.

Xenovia lingered.

"We are never equals," she said softly to the empty air. "We are pieces."

She disappeared.

Silence returned.

Noah remained alone in the unfinished paradise.

"...So that’s where it began."

Not hatred.

Disillusionment.

Another fracture in memory.

The Void shifted again.

Now he stood in a dim chamber.

Alextruo.

Mortatis.

Mortatis leaned casually against a pillar.

"Do you know how much he fears us?" Mortatis asked.

Alextruo didn’t look convinced.

Mortatis smirked. "He can’t treat us as equals. If he did... what would separate him from us?"

Alextruo’s voice was quiet but sharp. "He is a coward."

Noah’s fist clenched.

Mortatis laughed softly.

"Exactly. Afraid to share control. Afraid that if we stand beside him, he becomes smaller."

The words lingered.

Then—

"Did you tell Xenovia?" Mortatis asked.

Alextruo exhaled. "Yes."

The scene fractured before more could be heard.

White returned.

Past Noah stood alone now, in endless brightness.

He did not turn this time.

"Why did you erase his dragons?" Present Noah asked.

Past Noah’s expression didn’t change.

"They were apex predators. They would have dominated Titaine. Consumed the ecosystems I needed for balance."

"Did you tell him that?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Past Noah was quiet for a moment.

"Because I didn’t think I needed to explain myself to my creations."

Present Noah stared at him.

"And now?"

Past Noah’s faint smile returned.

"Now you’re asking yourself if arrogance was worth losing their loyalty."

He turned away.

"The answer," he said quietly, "is no."

The white light cracked.

Memory dissolved.

—

Wind.

Morning sunlight.

Noah’s eyes opened.

He was still seated on Nyx.

The grasslands stretched endlessly ahead.

The sun had risen.

Nyx was still running.

Noah lifted his gaze to the sky.

"...So that’s it."

Not betrayal.

Not blind hatred.

They were tired of being rewritten.

The wind shifted.

A familiar voice brushed against his mind.

Noah... are you awake?

He blinked slowly.

"I am," he replied. His voice felt distant even to himself. "How long?"

Nyx’s hooves didn’t slow.

"It is the eleventh day. Tomorrow we will reach Kurugshetra."

Noah straightened slightly.

"Eleven...?"

His fingers tightened against the unicorn’s mane.

"I was asleep that long?"

A small pause.

"I tried to wake you," Nyx admitted. "But you would not respond. So I kept running."

Noah let out a quiet breath.

Inside, the memory of white void and fractured loyalty still lingered like a fading echo.

So a few moments inside the mind can steal eleven days outside.

He lifted his gaze to the horizon.

"Any trouble?"

"No," Nyx replied. "None. The Astrogile did not attack while you slept."

That made Noah’s eyes narrow.

"Not once?"

"Not once."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by wind cutting past at impossible speed.

Noah’s thoughts moved carefully now.

No clairvoyance. No passive awareness.

Yet something had protected him.

Something unseen.

He flexed his fingers, feeling only the bare structure of his strength—immortality, raw force, little else.

"Interesting," he murmured.

The sky above was vast, almost indifferent.

Perhaps his past self had intervened.

Perhaps something deeper.

Or perhaps the world itself hesitated to touch him.

He did not know.

And that irritated him.

"I’ll change it," he said quietly, more to the wind than to Nyx. "Whatever was taken... I’ll take it back."

Nyx didn’t respond this time. He only ran.

Far ahead, the land subtly shifted. The grass thinned. The air felt heavier.

Kurugshetra.

One more day.

Noah’s eyes hardened slightly—not with rage this time, but resolve sharpened by memory.

"Tomorrow," he whispered.

And Nyx ran faster.