The porcelain cup felt warm against the Secretive Plotter's palm.
It was a mundane sensation, one that felt jarringly out of place amidst the metaphysical tremors vibrating through the foundation of the Recorded Past.
It had been one day since Kim Dokja and Klein Moretti had vanished into the ink-drawn pages of Groselle's Travels.
Twelve hours of silence, save for the rhythmic thrum-thrum of a dying world's heartbeat.
The Plotter took a slow sip of the tea. Behind his eyes, the silence was a lie.
"It's beginning, isn't it?" the 666th Kkoma whispered from the depths of his soul.
"Does it matter?" the 887th retorted. "We are still recovering. The battle at Baal's castle... that cursed [Great Sage's] intervention... our Narrative is still frayed. If we move now, the Probability cost will be astronomical."
The Secretive Plotter closed his eyes, his mind traversing the memories of 1,863 regressions. He had spent this entire month in "recovery," a state necessitated by the absolute exhaustion of his ego. But here, in the silence of the Third Epoch, he had found a strange sanctuary.
"We have recovered enough," the Plotter thought. "The 'Guest' inside me... the psyche of the Supernova Dominator... how is he?"
"He is in a state of 'Regressor's Eternal Depression'," the 999th Kkoma chuckled, his voice echoing like dry parchment. "We have suppressed his cosmic ego with the weight of our own failures. A Great Old One's psyche is powerful, yes, but even a god cannot withstand the sheer boredom and despair of nearly two thousand failed lives. He has stopped screaming. He is simply... mourning his own existence."
"Good," the Plotter murmured. "This time, we might actually succeed."
The 999th Kkoma spoke again, his tone uncharacteristically soft. "We still don't know the situation on Earth."
"Earth is safe for now," the Plotter replied. "They have the Astral Barrier. And the 'Black Lotus'—told me about his companions. He told me that there is someone even more powerful than Black Lotus himself..."
Suddenly, the cup in his hand shattered.
RUMBLE.
It wasn't an earthquake. It was the World being torn in half. Outside the window, the sun—the radiant sun of the Third Epoch—didn't set. It was snuffed out. A thick, oily darkness swept across the Eastern Continent, an encroaching tide of void that devoured every mote of light.
The veil of [Concealment] around the safehouse, the thin layer of stardust maintained by Amanises, dissolved.
The Secretive Plotter stood up. He didn't reach for his sword yet; he simply adjusted his coat.
"It is time," he said.
He stepped forward, not into the hallway, but into the [Border Realm].
Flash.
[The Holy Land — Southern Kingdom of Silver (Chernobyl)]
The Secretive Plotter appeared on a ridge overlooking the rusted, titanic dome of the Chernobyl Research Complex.
The world below was a theater of divine slaughter.
In the center stood the Ancient Sun God. He was a colossus of light, his skin a radiant, golden porcelain that was currently spider-webbed with black cracks.
He wasn't resisting the assassination.
In his eyes, there was a profound, suicidal peace.
But his body was a different matter.
The 'Primordial God Almighty' part of him—the cosmic ego that demanded survival at any cost—was screaming through his flesh. Waves of pure [Purification] and [Destruction] pulsed from him, vaporizing the forest for kilometers in every direction.
Around him, the Rose Redemption had gathered for the kill.
Amanises roared.
She was no longer in her human form.
She was a Giant Eight-Legged Demonic Wolf, six hands emerging from her ribs, each clutching a weapon of darkness. She had draped her realm over the entire valley, severing the battlefield from fate and information.
She swung the scythe. It was a blade of black bone covered in strange patterns, combining the power of [Repose] and [Horror]. The dark tide from her blade hit the Sun God, not to kill him, but to soothe his 'Primordial' side into a temporary slumber.
"Sleep, Grisha," she whispered, her voice a city-wide midnight poem. "Bashed at the gaze it cannot shun, it faints and withers and is gone..."
Beside her, Leodero, the Wind Angel, was a vortex of indigo lightning. He was in his Complete Mythical Creature Form—a giant octopus wreathed in electricity.
"LEODERO!" Leodero roared his own name.
A bolt of lightning, imbued with the power of [Disintegration], slammed into the Sun God's shoulder. The golden porcelain shattered, revealing a void of black liquid beneath. Leodero was terrified, his lightning flickering with the fear induced by the Sun God's aura, but his greed was stronger than his fear.
Aucuses, the White Angel, stood like a second sun. He was a Sunbird wreathed in golden flaming feathers. He unleashed [Pure White Light], a beam of absolute destruction that targeted the Sun God's chest.
"Everything will be liberated!" Aucuses sang, his voice a bardic submission spell.
Herabergen, the Wisdom Angel, hovered above Chernobyl, his Mythical form—a series of Illusory Bookshelves—shaking as he Cognized the vulnerabilities of the Creator.
"The heart is the weakness!" Herabergen shouted. "Hit the heart!"
Salinger, the God of Death, moved like a mummy wrapped in bandages. He unleashed his [Nation of the Dead]. The forest, already rotted, turned into a colorless graveyard. Thousands of undead spirits, summoned from his [Internal Underworld], climbed the Sun God's legs, trying to drag his vitality down into the earth.
Badheil, the God of Combat, was a 10-meter tall Cyclops. He swung a [Twilight Greatsword] composed of orange-red twilight. Each strike didn't just cut; it aged the Sun God's light, forcing his divinity into a state of decay.
Lilith, in her form as the Desolate Matriarch, pressed her hands to the ground. Vines made of gold and blood erupted from the ground, binding the Sun God's arms. [Life Deprivation] — she was sucking the life out of the very concept of 'Harvest' that the Sun God held.
Tolzna, the Prisoner, shrieked. He was a collection of intangible Curses. He latched onto the Sun God's mind, injecting [Madness] and [Indulgence] to distract the Primordial One's logic.
The Ancient Sun God groaned.
The world outside the Concealment was in total panic.
The Secretive Plotter looked away for a moment, his gaze traversing the continent.
Across the Northern and Southern Kingdoms, the sky was a bruised, bleeding black.
Wraiths erupted from the shadows of every city.
People were being transformed into monsters simply by breathing the air tainted by the dying God's breath. Yet, the defenders fought back. Giant Pathway warriors stood in the streets, their [Dawn Armour] glowing like small stars. Sun and Tyrant beyonders formed phalanxes, lighting the night with bonfires and lightning strikes.
In the sky, the Crimson Moon flared to an impossible size. Under its light, the monsters became even more fierce, their mutations accelerating as the Moon Pathway's Uniqueness reacted to the chaos.
Back at Chernobyl, the battle reached its breaking point.
The Sun God's 'Primordial' side roared—a sound that shattered the [Illusory Bookshelves] of Herabergen and sent Leodero tumbling into the black sludge.
"YOU... SHALL... NOT...!" the Sun God's voice boomed, no longer human.
A pillar of golden fire erupted from the dome, incinerating Salinger's undead army and melting Badheil's twilight sword. The pressure was so intense that Tolzna was nearly erased from existence.
Amanises moved. This was the moment she had prepared for.
She lunged through the golden fire, her powers allowing her to navigate the bad luck of the Sun God's dying aura. She raised her bone scythe, aiming for the cracked center of his chest.
SHINK.
The blade sank deep into the radiant shell.
The Sun God's radiance flickered. The golden light began to bleed away, turning into nine massive blobs of Beyonder Characteristics. His corpse dispersed from the Darkness Uniqueness of Evernight, forming into a slate of information.
But then, the betrayal within the betrayal began.
As the Sun God slumped, his life-force fading, Leodero, Aucuses, and Herabergen didn't look at the God anymore.
They looked at Amanises.
Aucuses hissed, his light turning aggressive.
"God says: The Night is over!" Herabergen chanted.
Simultaneously, the three Traitor Angels unleashed their combined might not at the Sun God, but at Amanises.
[Heavenly Punishment] + [Flaring Sun] + [Rule Theft].
Amanises, exhausted from delivering the killing blow, was blasted backward.
Her wolf form shrieked as her six hands were charred by holy fire.
Badheil and Salinger hesitated, their eyes darting between the dying God and the falling Goddess, the death of the Great Old One driving them to the brink of madness.
The Secretive Plotter, watching from the ridge, let out a weary sigh. He adjusted his nebulous coat and stepped off the ledge.
He didn't fall.
He walked on the air.
"Since when," the Plotter asked the voices in his head, "did I become so kind?"
"Since you met that fool who calls himself a 'Reader'," the 999th Kkoma replied. "Move. The narrative is begging for an intervention."
"Don't command me."
Three King of Angels were drawn by the scent of glowing blobs of characteristics and Uniquenesses that emerged from the corpse of the Ancient Sun God.
All of nature protested against the Three. Omebella was using all of her powers, her mental state also destabilizing.
The Secretive Plotter landed in the center of the battlefield, right between the three Traitor Angels and the wounded Goddess.
He didn't use a Pathway.
He didn't use a Potion.
He released the Status of a King of Outer Gods.
"Dumpling?" Omebella opened her mouth.
[Giant Story 'Lonely Pilgrim of Destruction' begins its storytelling!]
'That's the story of the loneliest man in the world...'
[Story 'Hell of Eternity' begins its storytelling!]
'In this regression I will...'
"That is enough," the Plotter's voice echoed, a True Voice that made the Spirit Bodies of the Angels crack.
He raised his hand toward the pitch-black sky.
A point of light appeared at the zenith.
It wasn't the Sun.
It was a cold, white star from a different universe.
The darkness of the Cataclysm was incinerated. The world was lit once more, not by the grace of the Creator, but by the indifferent, crushing light of the Cosmic Void.
CRUNCH.
A weight descended that bypassed all divine defenses. Leodero was slammed face-first into the black sludge of Holy Land. Aucuses' light was compressed until he looked like a dim candle. Herabergen's symbols were scattered like autumn leaves in a hurricane.
Leodero looked up, blood leaking from his octopus eyes. He saw the Plotter's aura—the same "Status" he had felt from Kim Dokja.
"Again..." Leodero gasped. "Those powers... the intruders..."
The Secretive Plotter looked down at them, his eyes two burning galaxies. He stood over the dying Sun God, his [Black Heavenly Demon Sword] pointed at the throats of the three Angels.
[Recorded Past is trembling!]
[The Constellation 'Secretive Plotter' is looking at the 'Rose Redemption'.]
"The meal is over." The Plotter declared, his voice cold as the space between stars.