Chapter 112: True Dragon (5)
The sky was tearing apart.
It looked as though some colossal hand was shredding the fabric of reality itself, ripping open a gaping fracture above Babel, and from that rift—it was descending.
The being that had crawled out from the abyss of the Color Universe.
The Outer God of blue mist and webs.
I stood tall in the heart of Babel, looking up at the spectacle.
Even in my massive form as the Black Giant—towering so high I could look down on skyscrapers like toys—I still felt small before the descending Outer God.
Its true form was impossible to fully perceive.
Countless tentacles writhed through the air like a dance, weaving and twisting, while innumerable eyes blinked between them, all fixed directly on me.
The form I could grasp was in constant flux.
Like living paint sprawling across a canvas, it kept warping, shifting, remolding itself.
Like trying to discern a figure within the fog, the Outer God's real shape was always within reach—yet forever unattainable.
But within that shapeless chaos, one thing was crystal clear.