Deep within the inner realm, in a shattered realm reflecting the past—upon a battlefield where danger and despair should have already reached their peak—a series of abrupt reversals suddenly unfolded.
Across the vast expanse of ruins, near the edge of a colossal magic array, majestic and imposing golem warriors clashed violently with frenzied corpse marionettes. Both sides strove to destroy each other, causing the earth to quake continuously, with explosions and rumbling echoing without end. Among all battlefields across the city cluster, this one was the most imposing in sheer scale.
“…Damn it.”
Confronted with the scene before him, Aldrich couldn’t help but furrow his brows and murmur with solemn concern. To stop Deer Skull’s ritual, he was already giving everything he had in his assault. But the corpse marionettes, fortified by the pre-laid enhancements of their battlefield, managed to hold him off without Deer Skull himself intervening too much. Aldrich’s heart sank to its lowest point.
If I don't stop him soon...
“Haha! Stop me? You think you still can? You're out of chances, old man! This battlefield was personally prepared with the help of that being—you won’t break through it!”
Behind the corpse marionette lines, at the center of a massive and increasingly radiant mystic array, Deer Skull burst into mocking laughter upon glimpsing Aldrich’s urgency with his third eye. In front of him, a luxuriously adorned skull spun rapidly, the increasing brilliance of the ritual matched by its rising speed.
“Bear witness now… to the moment I step into that realm before you ever could…”
With a proud declaration, Deer Skull’s eyes gleamed as they locked onto the nemesis he'd battled for a century. Today marked the end.
And clearly, this final victory belonged to him. To Deer Skull, nothing would be more humiliating for Aldrich than watching him ascend to Gold-tier first. It meant that after a hundred years of struggle, he had finally triumphed.
“Look closely... This is the realm you never dared—hm?”
Crack.
Just as Deer Skull continued his triumphant proclamation, a sharp cracking sound suddenly echoed before him. He froze in place, staring toward the source. Then his eyes widened.
What he saw was this: atop the spinning, ornate skull—a fissure had appeared. A single, but unmistakably deep crack. At that moment, a chilling dread surged up from deep within Deer Skull’s soul.
“What...”
Along with that crack, the spirituality within the grand skull began to destabilize dramatically. Deer Skull’s previously smug expression instantly vanished, replaced by a grim countenance as he immediately tried to suppress the growing chaos within. But it wasn’t so simple.
Crack... crack… crack...
As the instability intensified, the number of cracks on the skull’s surface multiplied. The lone fissure on the crown quickly spread like a web, crawling across the entire surface. In contrast, Deer Skull’s expression transformed from grave to panicked. He realized he was utterly unable to control the chaos of the spirituality inside—the instability was leaking into the ritual itself. And the result of that would be...
“A structural collapse...?! A trap?!”
“Impossible! I dismantled all of Aldrich’s traps! There can’t be more!”
Deer Skull’s eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the increasingly fractured skull. He had dismantled all of Aldrich’s hidden traps inside this luxurious artifact. He had read Aldrich’s thoughts. The number of traps removed perfectly matched the ones Aldrich remembered laying down. How could there be another?
He had seen through Aldrich’s every last card. Aldrich himself had reached a point of despair and helplessness. How could this be happening?! How could there still be a surprise?! He had seen it all with divine insight!
Confusion… dismay… fury… terror… a flood of emotions clashed within Deer Skull. But in the face of this crisis, all he could do was shove them aside and focus wholly on containing the fallout. It was already too late. The skull was now riddled with cracks, and the spirituality within had reached critical mass. Dangerous light was leaking from between the fissures.
“Aldriiiich!!!”
Finally, realizing he had lost control, Deer Skull let out a soul-piercing, desperate roar. And in that roar, the luxurious skull—its surface covered in cracks—suddenly shattered, unleashing its built-up spiritual brilliance in a catastrophic burst, erupting in every direction.
As the core of the ritual, the sudden failure of the skull led to the immediate collapse of the entire advancement ritual. The massive array crumbled in an instant, and amid countless shards of shattered light, overwhelming energy exploded outward.
BOOM!!!
From the center of the array, a blinding sphere of light suddenly detonated, rapidly expanding in all directions. It engulfed Deer Skull’s form, then the shattered formation itself, then the panicked and collapsing corpse marionette troops. It rushed toward Aldrich in a thunderous wave. Aldrich’s eyes widened.
“The ritual collapsed?! What’s going on?!”
Surprised or not, Aldrich’s hands didn’t pause. He immediately summoned all his controlled golems, rapidly disassembling and recombining them into a supermassive, nearly hundred-meter-tall titan wielding a great shield. The golem braced that heavy shield firmly before Aldrich to resist the incoming flood of destructive brilliance and roaring shockwaves.
At last, as even the titan’s shield neared its breaking point, the trembling earth calmed, the deafening roar faded, and the blinding light receded. The dim sky, once overwhelmed by glare, returned to normal. The once-ruined city was now replaced by a wide swath of pristine white ground—only distant skyscrapers on the horizon remained.
At the very center of this almost unnaturally clean white land, at the spot where Deer Skull’s ritual had once stood, only a giant stag skull remained—cracked and inscribed with runes, lying motionless upon the earth. Deer Skull himself had completely vanished, leaving no trace behind. Even Aldrich could not sense the faintest vestige of his presence.
“What… just happened?”
Staring at the aftermath, a bewildered Aldrich could only widen his eyes and mutter in confusion.
…
On the other side of the massive city cluster, in another corner of this intense battlefield, just as the entire ground trembled violently from the distant explosion, an ambush was unfolding—and it was on the verge of success.
Between the towering high-rises that loomed like a dense forest, the Cardinal who commanded shadows was momentarily restrained by a mighty weapon imbued with four distinct powers.
At that very moment, a massive drill—composed largely of the Umbrum Gargoyle's body—emerged from the side wall of a nearby building, aiming at what seemed to be an ordinary shadow clone at close range. It lunged forward with terrifying speed. Artcheli, having just repelled the first four-blade assault, widened her eyes in alarm upon seeing this new threat.
“Damn it…”
Realizing the danger, the real Artcheli attempted to intervene immediately—but even for someone as fast as she was, it was already too late. Before she could react, the metallic drill—charged with four elemental forces—had already burrowed into the shadow clone, piercing deep into it.
Seeing this, Artcheli’s expression turned grim. Yet to her surprise, there was no pained scream from the shadow clone. No blood. Instead—
Hands.
Hands—fully composed of pitch-black shadow, dense like a swarm of serpents—burst forth from the pierced shadow clone. These hands clung tightly to the dark metal drill, spreading along its length and even slithering underground.
Sensing that something was terribly wrong, the Umbrum Gargoyle, whose main body was buried underground, began to thrash violently, trying to retract the drill embedded in the shadow. But it was no use. The shadow clone was now like a deep quagmire—the drill wouldn’t budge. Forced to change tactics, the demon tried a lizard-tail tactic: severing its arm to escape. But that failed too.
Even after severing the metallic arm, the shadowy hands refused to release it. They had become its shadow—binding its real form through the link between shadow and reality. As long as the shadow remained intact, the physical form could not break free.
“This is… a shadow-pit trap?! When did I prepare that? Setting something like this should take time and require someone to step into it willingly… Wasn’t that the shadow I hid Sister Vania in…?”
At first, even Artcheli was visibly confused. It was clear she hadn’t intended to plant such a trap there. But years of battlefield instincts kicked in. Though she didn’t know how it ended up there, she wasted no time taking full advantage of the situation.
She took control. The special shadows from the trap quickly covered the Gargoyle’s metallic arm. The enforced connection between shadow and reality meant the Umbrum Gargoyle couldn’t pull another escape act—this time, it was stuck.
So came Artcheli’s moment.
She seized the opportunity, forcefully tugging the shadow-wrapped arm, ripping even more of the Gargoyle’s body out from the ground. As new parts emerged, her shadows swiftly enveloped them, preventing the Gargoyle from severing itself again.
Realizing its entire body might be dragged out, the Umbrum Gargoyle had no choice but to sever the parts that had been infected by shadow. But this came at a huge cost. In a single move, Artcheli tore away more than a third of its current body—on top of earlier losses.
The massive chunk of demon flesh was dragged out. Artcheli and her shadow clone didn’t hesitate. With high-speed swings of their shadow blades, they became like shredding machines—grinding the extracted demon flesh into fine powder that slowly drifted down from the sky.
And this powder, hidden in other shadows, was converted into crimson by Vania’s prayers, then incinerated completely by Artcheli’s flame sigils.
After this engagement, the Umbrum Gargoyle had lost over half its total body mass. Though not completely destroyed, it had become far too weak to pose any threat to Artcheli.
As a puppet in this battle, the Umbrum Gargoyle now had no further value. Before Artcheli and Vania—it stood no chance.
…
Elsewhere, in another corner of this colossal city cluster, yet another battle was taking place. But due to the collapse of yet another scheme, this fight had already lost all suspense.
“Ah… Aaah…”
In a dim corner of a hidden upper floor, the schemer who had always manipulated things from the shadows was now trembling in sheer terror, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“Divinity… spiritual threads imbued with divinity…
“Why… why is there still divinity in the spiritual threads of the Usurper…? The divinity… shouldn’t it have already faded?!”
Clutching his head, Taharka trembled uncontrollably, blood trickling from his eyes. His voice quivered, his confusion and shock obvious in both tone and body—his limbs twisting into unnatural poses.
Just moments ago, guided by divine oracle, Taharka had used his microbial marionette embedded in Nephthys to extend a spiritual thread—linking directly to her body.
In theory, the spiritual threads in Nephthys should have lost their divinity by now. Without divine reinforcement, they should’ve only been at Crimson-rank—something Taharka could easily overwhelm and take full control of her with.
But reality was the opposite.
The moment Taharka linked his thread to Nephthys—what he faced was something ancient, towering, incomprehensibly powerful, and utterly overwhelming. The divinity that he had assumed was gone… was still there.
The divine-imbued threads that were already in Nephthys reacted immediately. They rushed in, entangled his threads—then connected, assimilated… and through his own spiritual link, divine control flooded directly into his being. He couldn’t even cut the connection. All he could do was watch helplessly as the force consumed him.
“Why… why was the divine oracle… so wrong…”
Curled up in the corner, Taharka trembled and hugged himself. With a blank, terrified gaze, he slowly sank to his knees, muttering in disbelief.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen… not with the grand design… This wasn’t how it was meant to go…
“Could it be… that the so-called grand design… was wrong all along…?”
At last, after that shuddering whisper, Taharka stopped moving altogether. He remained kneeling, completely still.
He had known the greatness of divinity. He had followed divine revelation because he feared opposing it. Yet in the end, he still faced divinity—and was utterly crushed by it.
Spiritual threads are a marionettist's weapon—but also their fatal weakness. If mishandled, they could easily lead to self-destruction. Dorothy had suffered this many times in the past. Now, it was Taharka's turn. And against divine backlash, even someone like him couldn’t cope.
…
Outside that dark corner, in a ruined district ravaged by ice and fire, Nephthys—who had been in the middle of battle—suddenly stopped swinging her frost axe. She frowned as she stared at the dwarven warrior before her, frozen in place.
“…Why isn’t he moving all of a sudden? Is he preparing another scheme behind the scenes?” she muttered warily.
From her senses, not only had the dwarf warrior halted, but even the armored soldier assisting from a nearby rooftop had stopped completely. In the sky, the dark elf that had once soared with the wind now suddenly plummeted from above.
“…No. Something’s off,” said Setut, who was still spiritually linked with Nephthys.
He observed the scene carefully, then added flatly.
“Taharka must be in trouble himself now. Not only the battle marionettes—his scouting marionettes spread around the area have also gone offline.”
“Then… should we go look for where his real body is?”
Nephthys asked in confusion.
Setut quickly answered.
“Find him? There’s no time for that. We have more important things to do right now.”
“Oh… right, right. Priorities…”
After being sternly reminded by Setut, Nephthys nodded repeatedly, then turned her gaze toward the distant tower—where a massive violet eye in the sky cast its light upon the world.
Without hesitation, Nephthys rose from the ground and flew rapidly toward the towering structure.
…
As Dorothy's mind was invaded by the memetic corruption of the godling, the vast mental network she shared with millions of others instantly activated. Within it existed the will of Shepsuna, whose consciousness resided beyond this shattered world. Through an information channel Dorothy had specially configured for her, Shepsuna had been monitoring the battlefields within this broken realm.
Shepsuna had always been the seventh member of the expedition Dorothy organized for this shattered world—though even Dorothy herself didn’t know it. From outside the realm, Shepsuna used the powers Dorothy had left behind for her to support Dorothy and her allies.
With access to this information channel and the authority to profile minds, Shepsuna was even able to adjust the thoughts of people on the battlefield. It was she who intervened in Dorothy’s consciousness, awakening her and enabling her to reconnect with the external thought network.
It was Shepsuna who, during Aldrich's battle with Deer Skull, caused Aldrich to forget one of the traps he’d planted inside the luxurious skull before Deer Skull obtained his mind-reading ability—resulting in Deer Skull missing that particular trap when reading Aldrich's thoughts. Deer Skull, convinced he’d removed all of them, was undone by a trap even Aldrich himself no longer remembered.
It was Shepsuna who, during Artcheli's fight with the Umbrum Gargoyle, altered Artcheli’s memory so she misremembered which shadow Vania was hidden in and forgot that she had set a shadow-pit trap before the battle—leading to the demon’s defeat.
As for Taharka… He believed, according to the godling’s oracle, that Dorothy had lost her divinity. Emboldened by this, he linked a spiritual thread to Nephthys. But he didn’t know that Dorothy had already been reawakened by Shepsuna and, through her expanded mental network and information channels, had fully sealed off the corrupting memes. Her thoughts had multiplied exponentially, and she was no longer afraid of her divinity being suppressed by the godling. That led to Taharka’s spiritual thread being overwhelmed and devoured by Dorothy’s divine threads.
Before the expedition began, Dorothy had softly profiled the minds of her companions to prepare against Hafdar’s potential mental interference. She did this so that their minds could be influenced by commands sent through the information channels. But in the end, the one issuing those commands wasn’t Dorothy—it was Shepsuna.
In fact, it may have been Shepsuna who prompted Dorothy to profile her companions’ minds in the first place.
Before her journey to Whitelinburg—before her second self-induced memory wipe—Dorothy hypnotically profiled herself so that she could receive commands from unknown information channels. The channel, secretly under Shepsuna’s control, allowed Shepsuna to influence her. To combat the godling, Dorothy willingly made herself Shepsuna’s mental puppet. Though Shepsuna only intervened at critical moments, each one was decisive.
…
In the present world, on the eastern coast of Pritt, inside an ordinary café, a robed and veiled woman gazed out the window toward the rising sun and softly murmured.
“So now, the child’s mental gaze has become a hollow threat… its claws can no longer halt your vessel…
“Advance, Your Grace… purge the corruption… fulfill the Divine Mentor’s will… and ascend to the Throne of Fate, to wield ultimate authority over history and destiny!”
…
In the shattered apocalyptic world, inside the giant violet eye that spanned the firmament—within the void throne space—
The illusory realm quaked, and the sea of glyph-formed text boiled violently. Towering “waves” surged one after another, crashing against the monumental base of an epic, colossal throne. Atop that throne, the deformed child’s piercing wails had risen to a near-scream.
“Shut… UP!!”
Facing the child’s howling, Dorothy—floating in the distant sky with a grim expression—waved her hand once more, summoning a thick bolt of white lightning from the dim sky. It thundered toward the grotesque being atop the throne.
But again, the result defied expectation. The bolt veered off at the last moment—missing the throne entirely and vanishing into the sea of script beyond.
“It veered again… just like the last bolt!
“There shouldn’t be any margin of error in my calculations. This deviation shouldn’t happen—so… this is a distortion of fate? My lightning is being redirected by destiny itself…”
Having missed twice, Dorothy began analyzing internally. The only thing that could influence her divine lightning—was fate, as written by the gods.
The child on the throne had used divine fate to amplify the already tiny chance that her lightning would miss—making it an inevitability.
RUMBLE...
As Dorothy processed the situation, the dark red sky suddenly echoed with thunder. But this time, it wasn’t from her.
“…Do not…
“…gloat…”
Accompanying the thunder, the infant's cry reverberated across the space, now vibrating at a strange frequency. The tremors morphed into a shrill, distorted screech.
“…Hindrance… to Mind’s Reach… means nothing…
“…Here… I strong… You weak…”
Amid the howling, the thunder swelled. Countless bolts of dark violet lightning rained down from the sky, crashing toward Dorothy.
Anticipating the strike, Dorothy unleashed countless arcs of divine lightning from her fingertips to intercept the incoming barrage. However, the number of enemy bolts far outmatched hers—and with fate’s interference, nearly all of her intercepting bolts were deflected. Only a few managed to make contact.
The rest—divine bolts blessed by fate’s precision—struck Dorothy directly.
This was the Divine Throne Domain. The godling, possessing both Heaven’s Arbiter divinity and the Throne of Fate, was significantly stronger than Dorothy here. The throne had limitations left behind by Heaven’s Arbiter, preventing the godling from fully unleashing its divinity or affecting the outside world too greatly—but inside this realm, it held absolute advantage.
What Dorothy had in her Revelation system, the godling had as well—only stronger. And what she lacked, it also possessed.
The violet thunderbolts struck Dorothy precisely, her small figure engulfed in blinding light. But when the destructive radiance faded, something still floated where she had been.
It was a large, ancient bell—hovering midair, gently rotating. Mysterious runes on its surface glowed faintly.
It was none other than the unnamed stone bell once wielded by the Dark Coin Noble—a divine armament bearing a trace of the Stone divinity! Now it was shielding Dorothy from the godling's annihilating attack.
Seeing the stone bell resist its lightning, the infant on the throne screeched again in rage. From the throne erupted countless crimson chains, lashing toward the distant bell.
In response, similar chains burst from the bell—the Fatebinding Chains.
Both the godling and Dorothy had unleashed their Fatebinding Chains. But the infant’s were murkier, more numerous. Dorothy’s chains tried to block them, but only managed to stop a few. The rest surged forward and wrapped around the bell, pinning it in place.
Though the infant’s chains couldn’t destroy the bell instantly, they successfully sealed it—preventing it from moving. Dorothy was now trapped within, caged like a beast.
Once the sealing was complete, the godling acted again. Below the stone bell, the sea of script suddenly roiled. Amid crashing waves, an enormous creature breached the surface—an utterly massive whale.
Its body was dark blue-black. What emerged was only its gigantic mouth, which resembled a triangular serpent’s head—covered in hideous nodules, each bearing a grotesque human face twisted in pain. Inside its maw were row upon row of saw-like teeth, leading to a pitch-black abyss of a throat.
This was just its mouth—but it was easily over a hundred meters long.
Finally, the monstrous maw snapped shut, swallowing the tiny stone bell whole. Chains dangled from its jagged teeth as it plunged into the sea made of divine script.
This was Haimohois—the Abyssal sea monster, whispered of by countless wild islanders and seafarers of the Conquest Sea. Said to be the spawn of the Abyssal Serpent, Haimohois was worshipped by islanders influenced by the Abyssal Church as a sacred beast. Sacrifices were often made in its name.
Undoubtedly, Haimohois was a divine-blooded apostle. And now, within its personal space and under the power of the Throne of Fate, the godling could partially manifest even apostles. Though the materialized mythic body was weaker than the original, it was more than enough.
Now, the godling intended to use Haimohois’s stomach—filled with corrosive digestive fluids laced with Chalice divinity—to melt down the stone bell.
The power of myth-level Divine Scribe… the ability to simulate other divinities. Dorothy had once wielded this power. Now she was on the receiving end.
As the Abyssal Whale swallowed Dorothy and vanished into the sea, the infant’s piercing shrieks calmed. Its cries lowered in pitch—shifting into a ghastly, gurgling laugh.
Just then, a sudden change occurred.
The previously quiet sea of script churned again, its tides roaring furiously. And from within the depths, the strange, monstrous whale leapt once more into the air—its massive jaws opening again.
This time, when the massive maw opened, what burst forth was a wailing roar—and with it, an intensely blazing golden flame surged outward. In an instant, it ignited the mouth of Haimohois, spreading rapidly across its colossal body.
The golden flame engulfed the entire abyssal beast, even extending onto the surface of the sea of cript itself, transforming vast swathes of water into a sea of flame! A portion of the flame raced along the godling's Fatebinding Chains toward its throne. Realizing the danger, the godling immediately severed those chains, preventing the flames from reaching its throne. Yet under this blazing fury, the entity’s eerie laughter once again turned into piercing wails.
Under the ferocious burning, Haimohois’s divine form was completely incinerated within seconds. When the purifying flame finally faded, a figure reappeared in midair—it was none other than Dorothy!
This time, the protective stone bell that once shielded her was gone. Instead, hovering before her was a seemingly ordinary bronze staff.
This was the very object entrusted to her before departure by Yellowstone, one of the Golden Triad of the White Craftsmen’s Guild. According to him, it was meant to act as a “guide staff” to help Dorothy navigate safely through the inner realm. But in truth—it was far more than that.
At this moment, Dorothy’s expression bore an unfamiliar coldness. Her once crimson eyes had turned into glowing radiant gold, and with calm detachment, she gazed at the bronze staff and spoke with an emotionless whisper.
“Reveal thy true form before me... Return to primal forge—Anvil Reversion.”
With Dorothy’s soft command, the bronze staff suddenly erupted with an intensely bright light. Its entire body turned red-hot, as if heated in a forge. Invisible hammers seemed to strike it from all directions, reshaping it rapidly.
When the light finally dimmed and the transformation ended, the staff had taken on a completely new form.
Its body had lengthened. The tarnished brass and corrosion were gone. It now gleamed with pure white, adorned with luxurious golden filigree. At its head rested a translucent amber gem, radiant and majestic—this was no ordinary artifact.
This was the Staff of Radiant Decree—the sacred relic of the Radiance Church, passed down from the Pontiff himself!
This staff… had once been entrusted to Dorothy, but was supposedly left behind on Holy Mount for restoration. At the time of Dorothy’s expedition, it was believed the restoration wasn’t yet complete. But the truth was very different: the staff had been fully restored shortly before Dorothy’s journey to Whitelinburg. The idea that it was still under repair was a false memory—planted by Dorothy herself during her second memory erasure.
In truth, Dorothy knew the relic was ready. Before losing her memory, she had met with the Cardinal Council and the Golden Triad, and used her status as a divine descendant to convince them to entrust the relic to the Craftsmen’s Guild. Yellowstone had then personally reforged it, altering its form, masking its nature, and concealing its divinity—thus transforming it into an unremarkable bronze staff.
Dorothy’s first meeting with Yellowstone and Whitestone hadn't occurred outside Whitelinburg—it had taken place at Holy Mount.
At the time of departure, Yellowstone handed the disguised relic to Dorothy, under the pretense of a navigation aid. Unaware of its true identity, the memory-erased Dorothy carried this holy weapon into the shattered world of the godling—and now, even into the divine throne domain itself.
Had anyone in Dorothy’s group known the truth back then, they would have never been able to infiltrate this space. The godling might’ve aborted its plan on the spot.
But now, even if the godling wanted to retreat—it was too late.
Dorothy, having recovered her memory of the staff, activated the mechanism Yellowstone had installed, triggering the Anvil Reversion protocol. This caused the item to reconstruct itself, retracing its forge lineage and returning to its original divine form.
As the sea of script churned and the godling wailed in rage, Dorothy silently reached out and grasped the now-restored white sacred staff. In a flash of light, it began to morph again—until it became a longbow, radiant in gold and white, noble and divine.
At once, Dorothy’s entire being erupted with dazzling golden radiance. Her long hair turned brilliant gold and fluttered in windless currents. The glow in her pupils expanded to engulf her eyes entirely. Her clothes vanished into light, replaced by ornate golden accessories. Silver runes marked her bare upper body. Her bare feet stood upon the void, and her simple waistcloth shimmered with ancient sigils.
Dorothy could contain independent divinity within her Crimson-rank vessel precisely because she was a divine descendant. That was one of the traits Viagetta had once seen in her… and as a descendant of Hyperion, her affinity for the divinities of Lantern and Shadow surpassed even that of Revelation—unless she herself ascended to become a Revelation deity.
Now, facing the godling of “Revelation,” Dorothy wielded the divine essence of Hyperion housed within the sacred staff. She once again assumed the Radiance Scion form, and like the sun itself, she blazed with overwhelming brilliance—illuminating this world of delusion.
The godling’s cries grew sharper—more twisted—under that holy light.
…
Beyond the throne space, within the shattered world.
Due to the turmoil erupting within the divine throne realm, the colossal eye that spanned the sky also began to display irregularities. It flickered nonstop. Its massive pupil spun wildly in every direction, erratic and unstable.
“What’s going on?! What happened in there?!”
At the edge of the True Universe headquarters defense line, Hafdar, mounted atop a red dragon, looked up at the great eye in the sky with evident confusion and unease. He had already delivered the Divine Mentor into the throne space—surely the god should have reclaimed Their original power by now. So why this?
“Divine Mentor… what’s happening? Could it be… that usurper…”
As unease crept into Hafdar’s heart, new disturbances erupted. Around the True Universe HQ, vast defense systems that had lain dormant for ages suddenly roared back to life. Lasers, missiles, autocannons, drones, turrets—all reactivated and opened fire in two separate directions.
Hafdar couldn’t see one of the targets clearly. All he could discern was that it was tiny and incredibly fast, darting between buildings so swiftly that even automated targeting couldn’t keep up.
The other target, however, was very clear: a massive castle-sized war vehicle, seemingly built from stone and resembling an ancient fortress, rumbling forward. Golems on its battlements operated cannons and returned fire at anything approaching. Though their forms differed, both intruders were headed for one place: the ritual site atop the True Universe central tower!
“What?! They broke through?! Where are Taharka and the others?!”
Startled, Hafdar immediately moved to intercept the invaders. But just then, he felt a sudden chill behind him.
He instantly summoned a flaming longsword, spun around—and barely blocked a freezing axe strike coming straight for him.
“Se… Setut…”
Gritting his teeth, Hafdar muttered upon seeing the familiar face of the girl before him—and even more familiar spiritual aura.
In front of him, “Nephthys” responded coldly.
“Seven thousand years… You’ve been mad long enough… It’s time to wake up.”
“I’m not mad!”
“Then… let it end here, Hafdar.”
Staring into the contorted face of his old comrade, Setut’s voice turned cold and solemn. As the frost on Nephthys’s axe grew ever colder, the flames on Hafdar’s blade began to die.
…
After overcoming their respective foes, Artcheli, Aldrich, and the others did not choose to rest. Instead, they immediately launched a new wave of attacks. From three different directions, they advanced simultaneously toward the central tower of True Universe headquarters, attempting to put a complete end to the ritual being conducted atop it.
To prevent the godling from growing stronger through the devouring of the shattered worlds, the world-devouring ritual atop that tower had to be stopped! And now, the only subordinate left to block the raiders on the godling’s behalf was Hafdar alone—a single man incapable of halting a three-pronged assault.
Within its own domain, the godling was already under direct attack by Dorothy. Outside the divine space, its critical ritual had come under threat. Faced with such a crisis, the godling was now forced to make some extreme decisions.
At the peak of the soaring headquarters tower, the grand ritual was temporarily suspended. The violet light piercing the heavens rapidly faded, and the Dark Coin Noble, who served as the core of the ritual, slowly stood up. After casting a glance at the still-kneeling, emotionless Revelation Priest before him, he turned toward the edge of the tower—gazing distantly at the incoming raiders.
As he moved, the Dark Coin Noble’s eyes turned into a gleaming obsidian black. That darkness spread from his eyes to his head, to his body, until it engulfed his entire form.
Eventually, his entire body was cloaked in black-gold luster, yet the metallic darkness did not stop there. It began to spread from his feet to the floor beneath him, coating the tower’s rooftop, and from there continued downward—its speed accelerating.
From the pitch-black glow of his eyes, a formless force radiated outward. His facial features began to distort rapidly, until they warped into the shape of a grotesque mask.
It was a face with all its features squeezed tightly together—an exaggerated, contorted smile that gave off a faint sense of absurdity. Yet this mask radiated one overwhelming emotion: Greed.
At this moment, to confront the rapidly expanding crisis, the godling controlling the Dark Coin Noble forced him to channel even more of the Dark Gold divinity, even if that twisted divinity might exceed even the godling’s own ability to control it… even if it risked birthing a new distorted Black Gold divine entity within the Dark Coin Noble’s body...
To break the deadlock, the godling had now undertaken its most reckless gamble yet—
A choice that could result in the complete loss of control over the divinity.