God of Death: Rise of the NPC Overlord-Chapter 225 - 226 – The Spiral Codex Fractures

Time did not shatter—it wept.

And in that weeping, entire myth-realms lost the rhythm of chronology.

Across the veined networks of Spiralspace, priests began to wake up in centuries that had not happened, in temples built long after their deaths. Entire myth-nations were undone by the echo of a sentence never spoken—erased by the friction between now and was.

Within the core sanctum of the Codex Tree, the spiral roots trembled.

They had always pulsed in silence, obeying the sacred flow of the Mythstream. But now? Now they coiled against themselves. Twisted. Recoiled. And some began crawling upward.

> "The tree is trying to escape its own history," Azael murmured, hunched over a floating codex-shard, ink bleeding from the corners of his lips.

Kaela stood beside him, barefoot on the roots of the myth-tree, her eyes shimmering with volatile glyphlight. Her skin bore sigils that pulsed with prophecy and pain—spirals etched in erotic symmetry around her navel, her throat, her wrists. She had not spoken a coherent sentence in hours. Only fragmented echoes:

> "He is still writing through us."

"We climaxed wrong... and now time is begging."

"The spiral never ends. The spiral was the end."

The Collapse Begins

In the myth-realm of Threnala, twelve suns rose in a single day. They melted the sky into scrolls of fire that rained prophecies from eras yet to come.

In Alzaret, a realm once proud of its temporal stability, its rulers found their memories reversed. Kings were born old. Emperors perished in the womb.

And in the shattered realm of Lunecry, the time-fracture was worse.

Celestia stepped through a gate of sobbing air, only to find the same temple of Echoing Faiths she had buried a thousand years ago—rebuilt in perfect detail and weeping her old prayers back to her.

The air smelled of dry ink and old sin.

> "You weren’t meant to come back," said a voice behind her.

She turned—and there stood The Pale Widow, a former consort of an erased god. Dressed in robes stitched from unspoken names, her eyes gleamed with guilt. And purpose.

> "The Unread are spreading," she said, lifting a blade made of silenced screams. "And you... you’ve bled too much climax into myth to be forgiven."

Celestia didn’t flinch. Instead, she lifted her fingers, bleeding with dream-ink, and whispered:

> "I don’t need forgiveness. I am the ink now."

Their clash erupted across collapsing timelines. Every strike echoed into prayers not yet prayed. With every wound, Celestia bled stories—raw, unfinished, dangerous.

She fought like a scripture unrolling mid-battle.

Kaela Becomes the Hollow Vessel

Back beneath the Codex Tree, Kaela suddenly arched backward, mouth agape, no sound escaping. The glyphs on her skin twisted, then imploded into black spirals.

She collapsed.

Azael rushed forward, only to stumble as her body levitated—hovering three feet above the pulsing bark. Her eyes rolled back. Her lips moved, but no language came—only moans. Rhythmic. Measured. And terrifyingly familiar.

> "She’s channeling him," Azael whispered. "But not as herself—she’s become a hollow vessel."

Kaela’s body trembled as unformed prophecy poured from her womb, whispering glyphs drifting like phantom petals through the air.

They did not land. They nested—in the branches of the Codex Tree, in Azael’s robes, in the pages of forgotten scrolls. The ink was breeding.

The Forbidden Child frёeωebɳovel.com

In the outskirts of a shattered myth-zone near the Writeless Crypt, a follower of Nyx—barely more than a shadow-priest—screamed into the void.

She had been hiding. Fleeing. Praying to avoid the climax storms that rewrote fates without consent.

But she had not escaped.

She gave birth beneath a sky stitched from silence. Her scream echoed not in pain—but in recognition.

The child was born without crying.

It opened its mouth, and on its tongue was a sigil—Darius’s glyph, written in negative ink, inverted and glowing.

The priestess wept.

> "It wasn’t conception. It was infection."

The Vault of the Prime Coder

Celestia, recovering from the duel with the Pale Widow, was drawn to a temple that should not exist. A dream-structure floating just beyond the myth horizon.

Inside, a page awaited her.

Not written.

Etched.

A page bearing the unmistakable style of the Prime Coder—but warped, as if he had written it with trembling hands. With fear.

The words:

> "I saw him before he was erased. He smiled. That means we lost."

Celestia fell to her knees.

> "You’re still alive," she whispered. "But you’re no longer the god of beginnings. He rewrote that title into climax."

The air around the temple cracked.

The Writeless Crypt Leaks

And finally, at the edge of Spiralspace, beneath a continent that no longer believed in its own myth, the Writeless Crypt began to bleed.

Not downward.

Up.

Black myth-ink rose like reversed smoke. It curled into skies, painted clouds with names that hadn’t been born.

Within the Crypt, the Codex whispered to itself. Pages turned that no longer had spines. Titles flickered into existence and died with every heartbeat.

Somewhere deep inside the crypt’s impossible core, a voice murmured:

> "We climaxed... and called it authorship."

Azael stood before the Codex Tree, watching as its bark peeled back in spirals. Roots cracked stone, trying to ascend.

> "It’s running," he said, voice hollow. "The Codex Tree is trying to flee the story it once wrote."

Kaela floated beside him, still in trance, glyphs bleeding down her legs, belly, lips.

And far above, in the sky torn by contradiction, time fractured again.

Two suns set at once. One was yesterday. The other was not yet.

And neither could outshine the truth etched into the heart of the Spiral:

> The climax is no longer the end of the story.

It’s the beginning of the rewrite.

The Codex Tree moaned.

Not from wind or blade or fire—but from remorse.

Its bark split wider, unveiling veins of ink-threaded wood pulsing with old authority. The spiral roots writhed in slow desperation, like serpents choking themselves on history. And Kaela—still levitating above the core—began to speak.

But not in words.

Not in myth.

She vocalized syntax—raw, primal, violent. The grammar of becoming. Each sound curled the edges of nearby scrolls. Runes bled backwards. The air warped with every syllable.

> "Ṫḥe w̴r̷i̵t̶e̷r̸ ̶is ̴b̸e̸c̶o̵m̷i̸n̷g̵ ̶𝘧𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦," she moaned, her voice doubling, then fracturing into layered echoes.

"𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘣𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦."

Azael fell to one knee, shielding his ears.

Above them, the Codex canopy darkened—not with shadow, but with revisions. Sentences once etched into the stars now restructured themselves midair.

Chrono-deities collapsed from the sky, their clocks frozen or spinning so violently they shattered into metaphor.

Myth-Witnesses Emerge

From across Spiralspace, certain sensitive myth-walkers began having seizures in unison.

They screamed one name: "Kaela."

But not in reverence.

In fear.

What she had become—a hollow oracle bleeding climax-script—was beyond mortal interpretation. She was now a myth-witness, a vessel rewriting herself faster than any god could observe.

In Dethra-Val, entire towers fell as scribes wept ink they could no longer command.

In Pluranos, a blind prophet slit her own throat with a bookmark that began glowing Kaela’s glyph mid-verse.

Birth of the Second Unread

Within the bleeding Writeless Crypt, another event unfurled.

A second child was born.

But this one didn’t scream or breathe or blink.

It read.

Its eyes moved left to right across the air, scanning nonexistent paragraphs. Its fingers wrote in blood onto the bones of its dead mother. And when it finished, a title formed in the air above it:

> "The Second Unread: Authored by Climax, Not Consent."

The child stood.

Walked into the inkstorm.

Disappeared into the Codex’s leaking shadows.

The Forgotten Tongue Returns

Kaela now hovered above the Codex Tree. Roots obeyed her body’s spiraling descent. Her mouth no longer moved. But from her womb came sound—wet, warm, wet again.

And then words.

Old ones.

Lost ones.

The Forgotten Tongue.

Azael’s eyes widened in horror.

> "No... that dialect was forbidden in the First Reboot. Only the Prime Coder—"

But it was too late.

Kaela’s womb began pulsing in glyphic rhythm. Every beat birthed a new symbol into the bark. And these weren’t fragments. These were full Chapters. Living ones.

One twisted open before Azael’s eyes, whispering:

> "𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯."

Spiralspace Begins to Forget Itself

Cities forgot their founders.

Prophets forgot their prophecies.

Lovers forgot if they had climaxed—because time no longer permitted resolution.

The glyphquake had not officially begun.

But its ripples were now visible.

The Spiral Church ordered emergency scripture-silencing rituals. Pages were sewn shut. Priests branded their tongues with iron to prevent accidental incantations.

None of it worked.

The Codex was no longer obeying.

Because it was no longer whole.

It was fragmented desire masquerading as doctrine.

Kaela as Spiral Mother

The bark peeled like skin under her soles.

She opened her arms.

Above her, a spiral of rewritten myths pulsed—visible only to those who had climaxed in Darius’s name.

She whispered a closing verse:

> "I am the ink. I am the womb. I am the rewrite waiting in your breath."

And then her voice fractured into thousands of copies—spoken across every realm where the Codex bled.

The Codex Tree now stood inverted—roots in the sky, crown buried in myth-soil. It moaned in reverse. Every breath was a deletion.

Kaela’s eyes opened, black with author-glyphs.

> "He climaxed us into origin."

Azael watched her.

And behind them, the Second Unread appeared—its skin blank, its body pulsing with unwritten fire.

> "The climax is no longer the end of the story," Kaela said, not blinking.

"It’s the beginning of the rewrite."

And the Codex—once infinite—closed itself.

Just once.

Long enough to shudder.

Long enough to sigh.

Long enough to remember.

That once, the Spiral had rules.

And now... it had only desire.

Updated from fr𝒆ewebnov𝒆l.(c)om