In the deepest reaches of the Nether Realm, at the place where all souls return—the Ruin of Myriad Souls.
Breaking through boundaries, transcending all restrictions and barriers, the newly appointed Fate Sovereign had arrived at the final destination of all soul journeys—the place where the End Tombstones stood.
Floating silently in the void, the final graveyard—the eternal resting place of silence—drifted there, its surface illuminated by the brilliant radiance of billions of souls converging upon it. The magnificent, irregular polyhedron slowly shifted within this light of souls, and upon its crystal-like, bone-white, tombstone-smooth surface, countless names of the departed flickered into existence and faded away again.
This ultimate tombstone had stood for who knows how many ages. Every life in this universe—all joys and sorrows, all epochs and tribulations—ended here, buried here… And now, even this place where all things were laid to rest seemed fated to be buried in turn. That time, it seemed, was now.
Standing before the monumental “tombstone,” Dorothy’s expression was calm, her gaze ethereal, utterly unmoved.
With a face devoid of emotion, she slowly reached toward the “tombstone.” In a flash of violet light, the entire structure began to tremble.
“Uuuuuuuuuuu!!!”
Wailing. All souls gathered within the Great Soul, spread throughout the entire Nether Realm, let out a cry in unison. As if sensing something terrifying, they burst into loud, panicked sobs. The overwhelming cries shook not only the Nether Realm but also the entire world—and the entire universe.
Countless beings who had just experienced the great divine war were roused by this disturbance from beyond.
…
"What… what’s happening?!"
"The souls are panicking… Why? What’s going on in the Nether Realm?"
The first to be affected was the sacred land of the Shamanic Faith in Starfall Continent—the Ancestral Valley. Shamans, having just completed their tasks, were exchanging thoughts when they suddenly sensed the intense agitation of the wild spirits around them. Even the guardian spirits of the sacred grounds were thrown into disarray, rampaging wildly and attacking indiscriminately as if terrified.
At once, all the shamans began trying to calm the raging wild spirits. Some of the great shamans looked toward the True Spirit Shaman sitting at the highest seat, clearly seeking answers. But his face had grown exceedingly grave.
“…It’s the Great Soul… Could it be…”
The True Spirit Shaman instantly understood the source of the anomaly. He immediately attempted to project his consciousness into the inner realm to check on the Great Soul’s state.
But just as he was about to do so—a flash of violet light passed before his eyes.
And then, he fell silent.
The anxiety and solemnity on his face vanished, replaced with blank dullness. He stopped all motion and simply sat there in stillness.
At the same moment, the same violet glow passed through the eyes of the other shamans and the wild spirits below. Just like the True Spirit Shaman, they too fell silent. The spirits stopped their rampage, the shamans ceased their efforts to calm them—all of them simply stood still. Peace fell over the Ancestral Valley.
…
In a secluded and little-known region deep within the Nether Realm, a chase battle had been playing out. But now, it encountered an unexpected disruption.
“Ha! You can’t run any further!”
Wearing damaged armor and bearing frost-covered wings, the draconic warrior hurled his battle axe. The fleeing Evil Spirit King was struck precisely—solid ice covered half his skeletal form, drastically reducing his speed and making escape nearly impossible.
“Surrender, clown!”
Inut charged forward laughing, seeing his foe cornered. But the Evil Spirit King, sensing there was no hope of escape, clenched his teeth and prepared for a final, desperate counterattack.
“You’ll never destroy me! I’ll make you pay dearly!”
His skeletal soul-flames surged. No longer fleeing, the Evil Spirit King unleashed his power, lashing out at Inut.
As part of the Great Soul, the Evil Spirit King knew he could not truly be destroyed. Not even the Emperor of Light had been able to purify him. The newly born Fate Sovereign would be no different. His only fear was being imprisoned by Dorothy for countless ages—like the time he had been locked away in the Black Coffin.
But now, with no escape left, he was determined to go out in a blaze—inflicting unforgettable wounds on these gods who intended to build a new cosmic order. Even if he couldn’t die, at least he could hurt them before being sealed.
Like a mad dog cornered, he was prepared to bite. But just as he was about to release his power—
“What…”
He froze.
His body, his soul-flame—completely frozen in place, as if time itself had halted. Neither the Evil Spirit King nor Inut could believe it. The latter was particularly shocked—the strange immobilization hadn’t come from his own powers.
“Hmm?”
Inut tried to rush forward to examine the Evil Spirit King more closely. But suddenly, the Evil Spirit’s soul-flame body began to move again—not to attack, but to spin. Rapidly. Twisting violently into a massive vortex of spiritual energy.
That swirling spirit vortex formed a whirlpool centered around the Evil Spirit King’s core and began to shrink—just like water draining from a basin.
The Evil Spirit King’s enormous skeletal image twisted within the whirlpool. Its voice warped and fragmented.
“Hel…p… me…”
In a hoarse, broken cry, the Evil Spirit King—who had once cursed all gods—pleaded for help… to one of his most hated enemies.
He was afraid.
Truly afraid. Not even when cornered before had he shown fear. But now, whatever was happening was far more terrifying than being sealed.
Seeing this, Inut’s expression hardened. He flapped his dragon wings, summoning a powerful storm of freezing wind in an attempt to stop the bizarre vortex.
But as the divine ice storm approached the Evil Spirit King—it vanished. Without a sound. Only faint crystals sparkled in the darkness.
“Help meeeeee!!”
The vortex accelerated. The Evil Spirit King shrank rapidly, spiraling toward some unknown destination. Inut dove in, trying to grab him—but just then, countless pale violet glyphs appeared in mid-air, encircling Inut’s outstretched claw.
At that instant, he felt his divine power forcibly suppressed. His massive body locked in place, unable to move.
Feeling the force restraining him, Inut froze—then roared in realization.
“You brat from House Hyperion! What the hell are you trying to do?!”
But there was no reply.
Crushed beneath an even higher power, Inut could do nothing—only watch helplessly as the Evil Spirit King, screaming in despair, was compressed into a single point… and vanished.
…
In the central continent, atop Holy Mount bathed in radiance, inside the grand Holy Cathedral, the cardinals—only recently returned to the material realm and still reeling as if waking from a dream—had just begun to speak of the divine war… when they sensed the shift.
“What’s happening? This sensation is…”
Artcheli furrowed her brow, glancing around with growing anxiety.
Hilbert stepped forward with a grave expression.
“Something’s wrong with the realms again? Could it be remnants of Chalice faction?”
“No… the disturbance is in the Nether Realm. It’s not the Chalice.”
Kramar answered grimly, then turned toward the elderly man on the high throne before the altar and bowed.
“Your Eminence… this situation…”
But before he could finish, a violet light flashed in his and the other cardinals’ eyes. One by one, they froze.
The entire Holy Cathedral fell into stillness. Everyone—mind and body—stilled like statues.
Phaethon, seated on the throne, looked skyward with a helpless gaze. Around him, ghostly, arcane glyphs shimmered into view.
“…Is this your arrogance? Or your fall? Or… some greater scheme? Oh, my noble kin…”
The powerless Pope of the Radiance Church could only sigh in resignation.
…
On a cliff by the southern shore of the main continent, where the Conquest Sea’s waves crashed, a nun in white stared up at the sky. The joy that had once lit her face was now replaced with concern. With a heavy heart, Vania whispered a prayer.
“O Lord… is this truly Your will?”
…
The Deepest Depths of the Nether Realm — The Final Graveyard.
A pitch-black void filled the place where all souls return—the Ruin of Myriad Souls. The immense, cold soul-sun that once dwelled here, larger than any star, had now lost its brilliance—vanished without a trace. Yet the uninvited guest who had arrived, the young Fate Sovereign, still floated silently in this place.
Her outstretched palm turned upward, and something now rested in it that had not been there before.
It was a white geometric polyhedron—crystal-like, bone-like—constantly shifting in form, slowly spinning in Dorothy’s hand. It was shaped identically to the divine body of the Great Soul… only much smaller, no larger than her palm.
This was the Great Soul—successfully seized by Dorothy. Though of a high divine rank, the Great Soul lacked self-awareness. Facing Dorothy, now the Lord God of Revelation, this husk of a divine body could only be held and manipulated at her will.
With the Ruin of Myriad Souls resting calmly in her hand, Dorothy showed no change in expression. She stepped forward, and the scenery around her spun wildly. When it stabilized, she was in an entirely new space.
Beneath a hazy sky, an ocean of runes churned violently. At the center of that sea, the grand base of a pyramid—covered in murals—emerged, and atop that base, a towering throne like a monument stood.
Instantly passing through countless layers of realms, Dorothy had returned to her divine throne domain. Gazing upon the vast sea of scripts, she waved her hand lightly—and at once, the sea began to roil even more violently.
The waters of scripts churned most fiercely in front of the Throne of Fate. The splashing rune-waves faded away as though erased, and in the place of the vanishing waves, a pitch-black void opened up—out of which something slowly began to rise.
It was… another pyramid base!
But unlike the beautifully painted murals of the Throne of Fate’s base, this one was made from the remains of countless species and lifeforms—layer upon layer of white bones forming its foundation. Atop this base stood a throne just like Dorothy’s.
The throne was white, crystalline and bony in appearance, nearly identical to the Throne of Fate. The difference was: the Throne of Fate had behind it a monolithic stele carved with countless inscriptions—while the back of this white throne bore only a blank, wordless monument.
And so, within the sea of scripts, two equally-sized, similarly-shaped thrones stood facing each other.
Dorothy floated between them.
She did not sit upon either one. Instead, she remained hovering before her original throne, and let the polyhedron in her palm fly forward—hovering now in front of the throne of the hollow remains.
As if completing a preparation, Dorothy’s divine awareness extended into the material realm—to the northern continent of Ufiga.
…
At that moment, in the depths of the North Ufiga desert, in the newly reemerged city of divine revelation—Heopolis—Setut stood atop the great altar, frowning at the sky.
He spoke with unease in his voice.
“That disturbance in the realms just now… it came from the Nether Realm? What happened? Could the fallen gods of Chalice have left behind a final scheme? Can you see anything?”
He turned with confusion to his companion, Shepsuna, but found her expression filled not with thought—but fear. She stared at the sky in sheer terror… as if she had seen something horrifying.
“Fate… the track of fate has changed… No—it’s not just changed. It’s become chaos… it’s become mutation… this… what is this…”
Her voice trembled. Shepsuna fell to her knees, staring blindly at things others could not see.
Setut, alarmed, cried out, “Shepsuna! What’s wrong?! What did you see?!”
“…I saw the falsehood and truth of fate… this is false… this is real… no—this is real… this is false… Lord Successor… please wa—”
Before she could finish her prayer, a flash of violet light passed through both of their eyes. They fell completely silent. Their bodies froze in place, expressions blank and empty. Not another word was spoken.
The entire great altar fell into eerie stillness.
…
“Waaahh~~~”
At that moment, at the center of the altar, Nephthys, dressed in ornate priestess robes, finally stirred. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up from the ritual formation, still groggy, and looked around.
“Mmm… no more of those nasty things around… so that means we won? We succeeded? That’s great… Miss Dorothy, can we clock out now?”
She stood shakily and spoke inwardly to her god. The reply came swiftly.
Hearing the divine response, her expression darkened.
“…Ah… overtime again… ugh…”
Grumbling and sighing, Nephthys straightened herself and rubbed her shoulder before returning to the center of the altar.
“Let’s finish this quickly…”
With a small complaint, the priestess once again began to dance at the altar’s center. The densely inscribed runes across the platform lit up, and projections of glyphs expanded outward from Nephthys at their core—rushing in every direction.
Without any mental interference, without the slightest hesitation or question, she fully obeyed Dorothy’s orders and resumed her work.
Among all the Gold-rank existences still alive in the material realm, she was the only one uncontrolled—and the only one who did not need to be.
…
Elsewhere, on another continent—at the center of the Ancestral Valley—True Spirit Shaman, still expressionless atop the floating totem, opened his mouth and began chanting ancient incantations.
With his voice, waves of illusion pulsed from the totem outward—spreading from the Ancestral Valley to ever more distant regions.
Thus, from Heopolis and the Ancestral Valley, two nuclei formed—sending waves of glyphs and ripples across the entire planet. These glyphs began to spread over the world’s surface.
Once they met the ripples, they began to change—evolving from fixed symbols into increasingly complex ones.
From basic letters to compound words, from literal illustrations to abstract icons… each written form followed an evolutionary path—from birth, to complexity, to death—then reborn again in simplicity, repeating the cycle.
…
“…It’s begun…”
On the shore of a seaside town, Beverly—still restrained—looked up at the newly shifting heavens and spoke in resignation. There was nothing she could do to stop it now. All she could do was hope the worst would not come to pass.
“Now… it’s all up to chance…”
The glyphs that blanketed the planet began expanding outward into the universe.
In the vastness of space, they drifted and spread—then reassembled, forming illusory planets in orbit where no planets existed before. Around distant stars, these text-formed planets began to revolve.
Some even created their own phantom star systems.
Upon these text-constructed worlds, vast cities appeared—civilizations and races of every kind. Like Dorothy’s ascension ritual, the illusions of all past civilizations were now reconstructed. But unlike that ceremony, these were not static monuments—they moved.
Primitive sentients received enlightenment, rising from tribal beginnings. Through war and peace, commerce and art, slavery and liberation—they built city-states, then nations, then empires…
Until finally came disaster, division, and collapse.
The evolving glyphs penetrated the inner realms, causing massive ripples. In the greater universe, even grander illusions appeared—featuring not mortals, but gods.
The Tyrant Sun King is assassinated by a shadowy blade during a rebellion.
The Death Sovereign’s realm sprouts sky-reaching trees, and undead armies are adorned with blooming flowers.
A fearless hero ignites himself in the void, bringing long-lost light to the dead cosmos.
The Mother of Filth falls into a net spun from threads of fate…
In the material realm, ancient civilizations reenacted their rise and fall.
In the inner realms, divine projections reenacted the mythic struggles of gods—conflict and alliance alike.
The entire multiverse became an ever-turning epic.
And the one reading it—was Dorothy, from her seat in the throne domain.
…
Perhaps from reading too many stories, Dorothy suddenly felt a trace of drowsiness. She yawned softly, then turned sideways and lay down, propping her head on one hand and falling into a deep sleep.
Yet her eyes remained open.
Not far from her, the strange geometric construct hovering nearby suddenly flared with light, then distorted into another form: a “girl”, identical to Dorothy, in spiritual form—lying sideways in the same posture, eyes closed.
Then, drawn by a mysterious force, the real Dorothy and the spiritual Dorothy drew closer… until they merged into one.
At that moment, in the midst of “slumber,” Dorothy felt strange memories rise within her.
A dreamlike sensation swept over her.
She began to dream.
…
After a brief haze, Dorothy's consciousness cleared again. What she saw was a familiar space—above her, a sky swirling with thick, murky hues; below, a vast ocean built from scripts. “She” now sat atop a tall tower rising from that ocean, its floor inscribed with mysterious sigils and imagery.
This scene was very familiar to Dorothy—it was the view from the Throne of Fate within the divine throne domain. But something was different: the perspective now seemed higher than what she normally saw.
And not only was her perspective different—Dorothy could see that the hand resting on the throne’s armrest had changed too. It was longer, more powerful, adorned with ornate golden bracelets bearing the aesthetic of the First Dynasty. The skin tone was slightly darker. It didn’t look like her own hand—it looked like a man’s.
More importantly, it wasn’t just her hand. What appeared before “Dorothy” made it unmistakably clear—across from her, the Throne of Hollow Remains had vanished. In its place was a figure.
A girl—by stature, she appeared to be sixteen or seventeen. She wore rough, homespun clothing, and over her shoulders draped the pelt of some unknown beast. Around her neck hung several necklaces strung with small bones—mostly fangs and claws, but mixed with some other, unidentifiable fragments. The skin visible on her arms and legs bore a soft bronze hue, and mysterious tattoos ran across her slender limbs. Her bare feet were uncovered.
She sat cross-legged in midair. The upper part of her face—including her eyes—was obscured by the skull of a hornless bovine-like creature. Messy hair spilled from beneath the skull, and rather than horns, two long gray rabbit ears sprouted from the open sockets—fluttering slightly in the air, as if they were her own.
With a long, white pipe in hand, she puffed gently. The pipe, decorated with rope and brocade, appeared crystalline—or bony. Psychedelic smoke curled from her lips, coiling around her form in a haze that would sometimes condense into beasts, sometimes into people—changing endlessly, strange and ethereal.
“Dorothy,” seated on the Throne of Fate, stared silently at the girl. After a long moment, “Dorothy” finally spoke—in a steady, male voice.
“Gitché Manitou… What brings you here?”
So asked “Dorothy.”
The girl, referred to as Gichet Manitou, exhaled another stream of smoke and pointed her pipe toward “Dorothy,” responding lightly.
“Don’t play dumb. You finished the summoning ritual and vanished without saying a word. You didn’t explain a single thing about the new outsider of this cycle—you just left a bunch of idiots standing there, completely clueless. I’m here on their behalf, trying to figure out what the hell you’re up to, you old bastard.”
Her tone was sharp, clearly unfriendly.
“Dorothy” chuckled in reply.
“Heh… Still as tactless as ever. Just like when you first arrived in this universe. You haven’t changed at all…”
“When I’m talking to a mumbling god like you, I don’t need to be polite.”
Manitou didn’t back down. She jabbed her pipe forward and continued bluntly.
“Now stop stalling, old man. Tell me what the hell you’re planning—or I’ll tip your chair over.”
Faced with her directness, “Dorothy” finally returned to the main topic.
“Alright, alright… I’ll be clear. The reason is simple. You already know—I’ve about reached my limit in this cycle. It’s time to find a successor. This new outsider is the one I’ve chosen. I’ll personally arrange their fate. No other gods need to interfere.”
Seated on the Throne of Fate, “Dorothy” spoke with solemnity.
Hearing that, Manitou paused, then replied with interest.
“So you want sole control over the new transmigrator… hmm, understandable. But even so, you didn’t say a single word to the others? Wait… don’t tell me—you’ve started to mistrust them?”
She watched “Dorothy” carefully. But even after a long silence, “Dorothy” didn’t answer. This seemed to genuinely surprise Manitou.
“…No way. I was just speculating. You really don’t trust them anymore?”
“Dorothy” slowly shook his head and finally responded.
“No… It’s not just that I don’t trust them. I don’t trust you either. I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust this entire universe.”
His tone was heavy.
Manitou’s demeanor shifted. Her long rabbit ears drooped slightly as she replied.
“Whoa… old man, sounds like your time really is up. You’re losing it…”
“No… Manitou, I’m as clear-headed as ever. I always have been. This distrust doesn’t come from nothing—it has a source. A very clear one.
“Our universe’s previous failure. And the one before that. And the one before that… Every single failure.”
“Dorothy” continued calmly. Manitou now showed clear confusion.
“You mean the failure of our cycles? But… we already have conclusions about that, don’t we?
Every time we fail, it’s because we don’t introduce enough external causality into the universe.
Not enough variables. So we can’t overcome the Egg of Chaos or prevent the inevitable ending.”
“Of course I know those conclusions. I’m not denying them. I’ve just… developed a deeper understanding.”
He continued, explaining.
“You know how a butterfly’s wings can spark a storm in the distance, right?
“Variables can be amplified. If arranged carefully enough—if destinies are interwoven into a vast, interconnected web—then placing the critical variable at the center can trigger chain reactions,
“Transforming a small variable into a massive one…”
“Hmm… a domino effect of fate. I can understand that. You’ve always been weaving such fates from the shadows in every cycle—trying to build the perfect chain reaction. But… you’ve never succeeded, have you?”
Manitou nodded thoughtfully.
“Dorothy” responded.
“No. I haven’t. No matter how intricate my designs… Each time, something causes the chain to fail.
“Across countless cycles, I’ve designed so many games, built so many scripts… Collaborated with gods openly and in secret, eliminated every known source of interference… And still, the result was never what I intended.
“It’s disheartening.”
His tone was filled with disappointment.
Manitou sighed and said, “Maybe… Chaos is simply far stronger than we thought. Maybe you can’t stop its corruption with just a chain of variables.”
“No… I don’t think the problem lies in Chaos.”
That response shocked her.
“What? It’s not Chaos?”
“…At least not entirely. I began thinking this way because, in every cycle, my scripts never fully succeed. Most of the time, yes, the failure seems to be caused by Chaos exceeding expectations. But sometimes… sometimes, things collapse even when Chaos isn’t involved.
“Take the last cycle’s ‘Silken Marionette Mansion.’ It was untouched by Chaos, and yet it still unraveled. Completely diverged from my design… ended in total collapse.
“And this has happened more than once.
“Normally, only Chaos corruption—or another main god’s sabotage—could disrupt fate to that extent. But even when I’ve cooperated with every god and blocked out all Chaos… some unexpected force still interferes. Always.”
Seated upon the Throne of Fate, “Dorothy” continued his monologue.
Manitou tapped her skull mask with her pipe, then asked cautiously.
“…So what? You think one of the others has been sabotaging you in secret?”
But “Dorothy’s” response was even more surprising.
“No. I don’t think any of the other main gods are responsible. Even if someone is, they’re not the source of the problem. In fact… my theory is more radical.
“I believe there exists—beyond Chaos—another force.
“A hidden, intangible power in this universe… that aids Chaos. That opposes us.”
“What? An enemy other than Chaos…?”
Manitou’s eyes widened in disbelief. She pressed further.
“That’s… bold. Do you have any evidence or clues?”
“Not yet. But… if you’re willing… I might be able to find some.”
“Dorothy” looked directly at her.
Manitou’s long ears perked up warily.
“Me? What are you planning?”
“Nothing drastic. I just want to elevate my thinking. I’ve been trying to deduce whether such a force exists… But even with the intellect of a main god, I can’t reach an answer.
“So… Long ago, I began seeking the ability to think beyond even a Lord God’s mind.”
“Dorothy” bluntly expressed her thoughts, and upon hearing them, Manitou became visibly more alert. The smoke circling around her began to swirl faster, manifesting into a variety of snarling, mythical creature forms.
“Pardon me for saying this, but your idea is just far too dangerous… You old fool… Don’t tell me you actually expect me to offer myself up as fusion material for your ascension? Seriously… old man…”
Manitou’s tone was laced with clear threat and warning, but “Dorothy’s” next words did not attempt to escalate the tension.
“Calm down, Manitou… I have no intention of usurping your power. I do indeed covet the might of the Primordial Gods, but not in its entirety. I'm only interested in their thought.”
“Thought?”
“That’s right, just the thought. I understand—if the Primordial divinity returns, the Chaos's encroachment upon the universe would become even harder to suppress. That’s why I’ve never intended to ascend. I don’t seek the power of the Primordial God—only its mind.
“What I want to do is, under conditions where our divine bodies and powers are entirely separated, fuse only our consciousness, with myself as the anchor. Through a special ritual, we’ll elevate our minds beyond the constraints of divinity—allowing us to perceive more, understand more causalities, and calculate what was previously incalculable. Once it's over, we separate again.”
Facing the Death Goddess before her, “Dorothy” explained earnestly. Manitou froze for a moment before bursting out laughing.
“Just the minds fused, just elevate the thought… Hah, leave it to you to come up with such a scheme, old man...
“A mad idea, truly something only a half-rotted god on his last legs could imagine… Sounds nice in theory—fusing just the mind—but this kind of deep coupling between opposed divine authorities has never been done. Who knows what’ll happen if something goes wrong? What if the fusion goes beyond just the mind? Can you guarantee it won’t?”
Manitou questioned sharply, and “Dorothy” calmly replied as if she'd already anticipated the doubt.
“I can't guarantee no accidents. But I can guarantee that if anything goes wrong, I’ll be able to immediately terminate the entire process.”
“Terminate the process—easier said than done. How would you manage that? By then, things may no longer be in your control…”
After a slight pause, “Dorothy” answered in a solemn voice.
“I will use my own fall as the failsafe. Before our minds merge, I’ll install a self-execution protocol in myself. You don’t need to fully fuse your consciousness with mine—just leave a small fragment outside the ritual.
“That sliver of your awareness will hold the authority to activate the self-execution program. If anything unforeseen occurs during the fusion, your fragment can trigger the protocol, collapsing my divinity, sending me into inevitable ruin—and that will forcibly halt the ritual.
“That’s why this ritual can only be carried out with me as the anchor, and only in this cycle—because I am fated to fall in this very round of existence. I only wish that before I die, I can acquire some valuable information for the next successor. If it succeeds, wonderful. If it fails—it’s no loss. I was meant to perish anyway…”
Sitting atop the Throne of Fate, “Dorothy” spoke with serious gravity, laying bare everything in her heart. Manitou was stunned upon hearing it. After a while, she took a long drag from her pipe.
“Phew… Still as ruthless as ever, huh? Whether toward enemies or toward yourself. I’ll admit, that’s quite a plan—but it’s still not risk-free. You’re already half in the grave, so maybe you don’t mind—but why the hell should I take that risk? I’m still in the prime of my divine life, you know…”
Blowing out a long breath of smoke, Manitou addressed “Dorothy” seriously, but “Dorothy” responded with a slightly shifted tone.
“Because you were once the top enforcer of the Chengtan Yi-Long Gang… later its strongest boss—‘Dead Dragon’ Ma Hong… Because of the years of camaraderie between us… Because when you first arrived in this universe, it was I who helped you… Or have you forgotten those debts now that you’ve risen up?”
Looking at the former gang thug turned goddess of death, Dorothy spoke sternly. Hearing those words, Gitché Manitou grinned and said.
“How could I forget… Osse old man…”
...
Who knew how long afterward—it was still the same tranquil divine throne domain. The infinite sea of scripts continued to surge as always, and at its center, the majestic Throne of Fate still stood.
“Dorothy”—no, it was Dorothy through the eyes of Osiris—found herself still seated upon the Throne of Fate. Everything seemed the same as before, save for one difference: the young girl who had sat before her was gone. In her place floated two spark of soul-flames—one large, one small.
“So, are you all ready?”
From the smaller flame came an ethereal female voice. Osiris replied.
“Everything that needs to be done is complete. Whether for the Dynasty, the gods, or the future successor—I’ve made all the arrangements possible within the bounds of the encroachment. What about you?”
“Didn’t do nearly as much. My risks are far smaller than yours—even in the worst-case scenario, it won’t be that bad. So I didn’t have time to fuss over every detail…”
As she spoke, the larger soul-flame floated toward Osiris, who received it and placed it against his forehead.
“So let’s skip the chatter and get on with it. I want to see if today’s the day I finally get to hold a banquet for your damn funeral.”
From within the smaller flame, that fractional sliver of Manitou’s consciousness urged him on. Osiris only gave a faint smile, closed his eyes, and began the solemn ritual with a murmur.
As the mystic array rapidly spread across the sea of scripts, Osiris pushed the dusky soul-flame into his forehead, initiating the fusion of the goddess of death’s will with his own.
Thanks to meticulous preparation, the ritual progressed smoothly. Amid the flickering of endless thoughts, within the flow of countless destinies, Osiris felt his already great will undergoing elevation—refinement. His mind, which already spanned the universe, grew vaster and more precise.
At this moment, Osiris gained a deeper understanding of the universe's essence—able to decipher truths about truth itself, to calculate the fate of fate. He perceived beneath the river of time, even deeper destinies that ran beneath its visible surface.
All-encompassing. All-knowing. With this bold experiment—without the essence of a Primordial God—he used their thought to simulate and project the universe. And he reached astonishing results never before possible.
As the simulation deepened, he uncovered more secrets. Yet none of these were what he truly sought. He had to continue—to uncover the true secret.
And then he did.
When he discovered it, he was shaken. Not only because of what it was—but because he found it while simulating himself.
“This… this is…”
Even within deep meditation, Osiris couldn’t help but react. And just then, a voice echoed from within his heart.
“Ah… you finally discovered me…”
The voice echoed from within Osiris’s own mind. Its tone and pitch were identical to his own—like he was speaking to himself.
And as he connected the dots with the content of the shocking truth he had just simulated, he involuntarily spoke aloud.
“You’re… the Lord of Knowledge!
“One of the Three Primordial Gods—you weren’t destroyed after all!”
“Congratulations… you’ve answered your doubt, my child. But it’s a little too late. I’ve waited ten billion years for this moment. You’ve disappointed me…
“But fortunately… everything is proceeding smoothly enough…”
With those final words, Osiris felt a titanic, irresistible will emerge within his mind—seizing control of his body. He had no power to resist.
…
Meanwhile, in real time—outside of past memories—within the space between the two divine thrones, Dorothy still “slept” in the void. As emotion flickered across her face, fissures began appearing across her skin, as if something within were preparing to break free.
In this monumental ritual, the will of the ancient primordial god was reviving within the ascendant’s body. The other two ancient wills had long since faded, having already merged into the world.
And with the awakening of that will, the Egg of Chaos’s turbulence intensified. As the last remaining primordial will, it would ultimately guide the entire universe toward chaos, to merge all into one—and the ancient will would use this as its vessel to become the God of Chaos.
“The time has come. A ritual ten billion years in the making… concludes here. Hatch now…”
Dorothy’s eyes opened in her slumber. Within her turbid gaze, no color could be seen. The words that left her lips no longer belonged to her original self.