The One Who Writes Existence-Chapter 45: Clash Of Thunder and Trickster

A storm raged in the celestial battlefield, ripping the sky apart with divine thunder. The heavens cracked, their brilliance illuminating the chaos below.

At the center stood the God of Illusion—a smirk playing on his lips, his form ever-shifting, like a mirage seen through fractured glass.

His robes shimmered, flickering between realities, a trick in themselves. Even his presence was uncertain, an enigma that could not be fully grasped.

Opposite him, towering and unshaken, was the God of Celestial Thunder. Clad in armor forged from stormlight itself, his every movement hummed with undeniable power.

His eyes burned with lightning, his aura vibrating with the fury of a thousand storms.

The Trickster struck first.

A lazy snap of his fingers.

A thousand versions of himself blinked into existence.

Each identical. Each seemingly real.

The battlefield filled with laughter—overlapping, echoing, a maddening chorus of voices that spoke as one.

"Good luck finding the real me, Thunder."

Thunder did not hesitate.

His answer was lightning.

A single bolt of celestial thunder crashed down—not at one illusion, but everywhere at once.

This was not a mere attack.

It was a divine law.

"Only truth shall remain."

BOOM.

The world flashed white.

In an instant, every illusion shattered.

Laughter turned to silence. The battlefield emptied.

And there, stumbling back, was the real God of Illusion.

His eyes widened. "You destroyed every false version of me in an instant?"

Thunder cracked his knuckles. His smirk never wavered.

"Illusions rely on deception." His voice was calm, but there was weight to his words. "My lightning doesn't ask questions—it gives answers."

And then he attacked.

A storm unlike any before.

Divine thunder roared, tearing through space itself, unavoidable, undeniable. A force of nature given will.

But Trickster was faster.

His body blurred, flickering in and out of reality. He warped through the battlefield in erratic movements—appearing, vanishing, shifting between planes of existence.

Yet no matter how unpredictably he moved—

Thunder's lightning always found him.

Because it did not strike where he was.

It struck where he was going to be.

A perfect counter.

Trickster clicked his tongue. "Tch. So predictable."

With a flourish of his hand, a dagger materialized in his grasp.

The blade shimmered like a mirage, its form shifting, its edges defying definition—as if it did not belong to this plane of existence.

The Trickster twirled it lazily.

"At least you're weaker than the God of Causality. He was much harder to fool."

Thunder narrowed his eyes.

A bait. A trick.

"Nice try."

With a clap of lightning, his weapon appeared.

A spear of pure lightning.

He did not wield metal. He wielded storm itself.

The battlefield trembled as the air split apart, the spear humming with power beyond comprehension.

Trickster took a step back, whistling. "Oh-ho. Fancy. But tell me—"

His voice came from behind Zephiron.

"Are you watching your back?"

Thunder's instincts screamed.

Too late.

A sharp pain bloomed in his back—the Trickster's dagger had struck true.

The God of Celestial Thunder staggered forward, his eyes wide in disbelief.

How?

He hadn't sensed any spatial distortions. He hadn't seen any illusions. Yet the blade was there, embedded between his shoulder blades.

The Trickster chuckled, stepping back with a satisfied grin.

"Oh dear, you look shocked." His smirk widened. "Funny, coming from the God of celestial thunder."

Thunder gritted his teeth. His form crackled, storms raging around him, as he turned to face Illusion.

"How did you do that?" His voice was thick with disbelief. "From the start, you were just faking—"

Trickster flicked his wrist.

The dagger disappeared as if it had never existed.

"Oh no, no, no." His grin grew wider. "That was all real."

The sourc𝗲 of this content is freēwēbηovel.c૦m.

"But you were looking in the wrong place."

"The moment I summoned my dagger," Illusion tapped his temple, "you were already distracted—by your own instincts."

Thunder's eyes narrowed.

It was true. The Trickster had baited him earlier with that taunt about Causality.

A single moment of irritation.

A single lapse in focus.

And that had been enough.

The Trickster laughed.

"Your storm sees where I will be. But that means..." He spread his arms dramatically.

"I know exactly what not to do."

Thunder rolled his shoulders.

The wound on his back was already sizzling shut under divine regeneration.

Not making that mistake again.

But Trickster wasn't listening.

He was blabbering nonsense.

"You know, I always wondered... do gods like us dream? What if we're just fragments of a greater illusion? What if none of this is real, and we're actually just—"

Thunder's stomach twisted.

Something was wrong.

His instincts screamed.

Then it clicked.

"Oh... shit."

BOOM!!

Reality shattered.

The battlefield dissolved into shards of broken glass.

Everything—the fight, the storm, even the pain in his back—had been fake.

The real battlefield came rushing back into view.

And there, just inches from his throat, was the Trickster's dagger.

A perfect, silent assassination attempt.

But—

At the last possible second—

Thunder moved.

His lightning-infused hand snapped forward, catching the Trickster's wrist just before the dagger could pierce his throat.

C.R.A.C.K.

The sky roared in response.

The battlefield shook under the weight of his divine power.

Trickster froze.

His dagger, so close to victory, trembled in the air, its tip hovering just above Zephiron's throat.

Then, he exhaled.

"Just a little more," Trickster mused, grinning despite his predicament.

Thunder smirked.

"Yes." His eyes burned with lightning. "You almost got me."

The sky rumbled.