Chapter 506: Nyarlathotep

At the edge of vision, that boundless primordial chaos pulsed slowly.

It had no flesh or muscle, no fixed outline—merely a turbid torrent woven from countless chaotic phenomena.

All unborn realms, all collapsed worlds, all heavens still undergoing birth and decay were engulfed within it, becoming part of this ultimate chaos.

Here, order became illusion, reason ceased to exist; only eternal disorder endured forever.

Beyond the ultimate chaos, in the outer void, there was no time, no dimension, no cause or effect—Azathoth eternally slept here.

His single breath of dream gave rise to endless multiverses, layered and all-encompassing; every star, civilization, being, and law was but a fleeting illusion born in His slumber.

When the dream begins, all things arise; when the dream ends, all forms vanish—this is the unchanging, unshakable ultimate fate of the infinite multiverse.

This—

Is Azathoth!

So…

“Nyarlathotep, Itachi went to any lengths to lure me here…”

Hermes’ eyes grew deep; after a brief silence, he asked softly: “What do Itachi truly want?”

Hermes gazed down upon this endless chaos-dream, seeing through the essence of all dimensions:

All celestial splendor was but a bubble, all eternal existence but a moment—every being would vanish into nothingness when Azathoth awoke.

This was both Azathoth’s dream and a true boundless multiverse.

“Welcome back… Boss!!”

The voice echoed faintly through the void; the next instant, Hermes sensed a familiar yet alien presence rushing toward him, brimming with energy.

He instantly recognized the arriving deity, his brow slightly furrowed—this fool still looked the same…

Still planning to play dumb?

In the span of that single frown, the silver-haired, green-eyed, spiky-haired little girl—outwardly energetic, inwardly maliciously cute—had already thrown her arms wide, smiling sweetly like an innocent, romantic maiden, rushing toward her long-lost lover…

Hermes’ expression remained calm; he flicked one palm lightly, and the supreme mystery of creation emerged from nothingness.

In this infinite void, the cosmic truth—something nearly impossible to erase—was now forcibly torn apart by that single palm, shattering this eternal “impossibility” within an utterly unsolvable constraint.

“Aaa~ Nyaa-chan was just joking, Boss! Why are Itachi so easily provoked?!”

Nyaa-chan halted instantly, then laughed nervously: “I called Itachi Boss—how can Itachi still treat me like this?”

Seeing that the palm showed no sign of slowing, Nyaa-chan’s face darkened; she drew a deep breath, clearly struggling within, as if making an impossible choice.

But then she reconsidered: she was herself, they were they, yet they were also all her—so the conclusion was:

The equation holds: if I strike myself, isn’t it still me getting hurt?

No guilt needed at all!

After all, the wound is on Itachi, but the pain is in my heart…

The next instant, a black-skinned figure clad in a radiant patterned robe, crowned with a golden double crown, radiating arrogant majesty like an ancient Egyptian pharaoh, appeared out of nowhere, replacing the silver-haired green-eyed girl, facing directly into the palm capable of erasing an ordinary cosmic truth.

“I XXXXX…”

The Black Pharaoh, master of cosmic truth, snapped his eyes wide open as the terrifying palm descended.

His fury had already boiled over, eyes bloodshot—but his peripheral vision caught the silver-spiked girl waving cheerfully at him, and he completely lost composure, roaring an oath:

“Nyaa-chan, Itachi wait! When this multiversal cycle ends, your [Messenger] rank will be reshuffled—then I’ll see how Itachi handle it!”

The Black Pharaoh’s roar shook the infinite void, yet Nyaa-chan whistled, feigning innocent bewilderment, utterly detached—as if idly waving farewell once more.

Beside them, Hermes ignored it all, his deep gaze fixed on the furious Black Pharaoh; his five fingers lifted slightly, as if about to crush this presumptuous ant.

The black robe woven from cosmic truth flared wildly in the pressure; layer upon layer of truth barriers around the Black Pharaoh shattered in succession, cracks spreading like spiderwebs across his Black Pharaoh Divine Body.

He poured every ounce of the cosmic truth he commanded into resistance; countless twisted runes representing order, eternity, and spacetime surged from his body, weaving into a thick, boundless wall to block Hermes’ casually extended fingers.

Bones and primordial Dao ground together with a piercing roar; the Black Pharaoh’s body was crushed deep into the void, his legs kicking violently in the nothingness, his black pharaoh crown tilting and slipping, golden patterns cracking inch by inch.

His eyes burst with blood, crimson veins crawling across his sockets; the rage he’d directed at Nyaa-chan now turned to utter terror and defiance, his voice twisted and hoarse from his essence being continuously destroyed:

“Impossible! Cosmic truth is immortal and indestructible—how can Itachi forcibly erase my immortality?!!”

He summoned the cosmic truth accumulated over billions of eons; behind him, the true form of the Black Pharaoh erupted—a lion-bodied, faceless deity, the abyss of the underworld manifesting, nearly engulfing the very concept of [Pharaoh] across the infinite void.

Its traces had even been imprinted across the multiverse, including within Azathoth’s dream.

Normally,

Erasing the Black Pharaoh in this state was nearly impossible!

But Hermes watched the dying struggle with indifference; his five fingers curled—and one palm shattered it all.

Those traces, spread across the infinite void and countless boundless multiverses?

In that instant, they vanished as if they had never existed, melting like snow, leaving not a trace.

At that moment, the Black Pharaoh understood—he could not escape.

In Azathoth’s dream, this boundless multiverse, the being known as Nyarlathotep, the Black Pharaoh, would no longer exist.

That blow was too terrifying!

Ordinary cosmic truths had no chance of resistance; only true great transcenders could struggle for survival.

Catching sight of Nyaa-chan, whistling and watching the spectacle with a grin, the Black Pharaoh calmed, sneering as his voice scattered into the void:

“Nyaa-chan! We are both manifestations of cosmic truth—Itachi’ve just buried me completely. Don’t think Itachi can brush this off with some flimsy excuse!”

“I might be finished in this cycle—but Itachi? It won’t be so simple for Itachi!!”

Beings born from Azathoth’s eternal dream are both illusory bubbles and undeniable truths.

When the dream rises, all forms arise; when the primordial dream-breath stills, all heavens return to nothing.

As for the Old Ones who command the foundational truths of the cosmos, their status is even more peculiar—they did not merely emerge from this chaotic dream, but coexist with the dream itself; as long as the dream endures, so do they; when the dream trembles, they tremble with it, intrinsically bound to Azathoth’s illusion, inseparable.

When the next multiversal age arrives, he—the Black Pharaoh—will return once more.

Then, the reckoning will come…