[The Giant King's Court — Main Hall]
The transition was jarring.
One second, they were standing in the painted snow of a dying book; the next, they were surrounded by the colossal, somber majesty of the Giant King's Court. The air was thick with the smell of ancient stone and lingering divinity.
Klein Moretti blinked, his spirituality adjusting to the sudden shift in reality layers. Beside him, Kim Dokja sheathed Unbroken Faith, his expression guarded.
"Finally," a calm, resonant voice echoed through the vast hall. "You stepped out of Ankewelt's toy."
Sitting on the massive steps leading to the throne was a young man with simple flaxen hair and a plain white robe. He held a thick, brown-cozenskin book in his lap—Groselle's Travels. He closed it gently as they approached.
It was Adam.
But it was also not Adam.
His eyes were no longer just limpid pools of golden divinity. Within the gold, there were deep, swirling shadows, a profound darkness that contained pain, sin, and an ancient, terrifying humanity.
"What happened?" Dokja asked, looking around for the radiant entity that had devastated the continent.
"The battle has ended," the man said, his voice carrying a dual resonance—the detached observation of a Spectator and the heavy burden of a martyr. "Your friend, the 'Secretive Plotter,' was of great help. Leodero and Aucuses... they have returned... to me. Amanises is recovering; the Moon's Uniqueness took its toll on her stability."
He looked at Klein and Dokja, a faint, complex smile playing on his lips.
"You may call me Grisha Adam now. The divinity of the Visionary and the humanity of Sasrir have merged once more. I am a dual god. Though the balance is precarious, I can now wield a portion of the Chaos Sea's authority without immediately losing control. My plan... has succeeded."
Klein felt a chill. This was the birth of the entity that would terrorize the future epochs—the True Creator, but stable, possessing the mind of Adam.
Grisha Adam stood up, walking slowly down the steps. He ran a hand along a massive stone pillar.
"I wish this were reality," he murmured, his voice tinged with a profound melancholy. "I wish we could have saved this era in the true timeline. But this is just a recording."
He sighed, the sound echoing like a dying wind through the hall.
"There is no reason to be sad now. The fragment—the Core of this reality—is already shattering. It could not withstand the immense narrative strain of its central figure being assassinated and then resurrected."
Klein's eyes widened.
He exchanged a glance with Dokja.
They had guessed it, but hearing it confirmed was different.
The Ancient Sun God himself was the Core of this Recorded Past.
If he truly died, the instance would fail. If he survived, the instance would break from the deviation.
"There is barely a day left before the completion of this world's collapse," Grisha Adam said, his tone shifting, becoming lighter. "You have worked hard. You should stroll. Enjoy the free time. Outside this memory, you will have a lot of work to do."
He waved his hand casually.
The world warped.
[The City of Giants — Street Level]
They appeared in the middle of a bustling street in the City of Giants, located below the court. It wasn't dark. The artificial sun shone brightly, casting long shadows. Giants and subsidiary races milled about, the panic of the previous day replaced by a tentative normalcy.
Klein twitched his mouth. 'So... we missed the Cataclysm. We were trapped in a book, fought a dragon, came out, and the world-ending war was over. I feel like I skipped the final cutscene of a game I spent eighty hours playing.'
The relief was palpable.
He was exhausted.
They strolled through the titanic streets. A giant boy, easily as tall as Klein, bumped into him.
"Sorry, little one!" the boy boomed cheerfully, shoving a newspaper into Klein's hands before running off.
Klein opened the paper. It was enormous. He had to hold it with both hands. Dokja leaned in to read over his shoulder.
'I wonder how many times would this newspaper be enough to wipe your ass?' Klein lampooned at the size of the newspaper.
[THE DAILY GIANT] HEADLINE: THE GREAT BETRAYAL THWARTED!
"The Lord has prevailed! The devious scheme of the three Blasphemers—formerly known as Angels under the Creator—has been crushed. Sources from the Divine Kingdom confirm that these traitors colluded with the scheming Devil Monarch Farbauti and the surviving evil Subsidiary Gods in an attempt to assassinate the Creator. Their vile plot failed against the Lord's omnipotence! The Eastern Continent has suffered damage in the conflict, and areas are currently quarantined for public safety."
"Wow," Dokja muttered. "He controls the narrative fast. Blaming Farbauti and the subsidiary gods to cover up the civil war among the Kings of Angels. It's neat."
"It's politics," Klein sighed, folding the massive paper. "Even gods need PR."
They continued walking.
The city was a marvel of cyclopean architecture, but it also had areas dedicated to entertainment for the smaller races living under the giants' protection.
They passed what looked like an amusement park, with massive swings and carousels powered by tamed beyonder creatures.
Klein checked his pockets.
He still had a significant amount of Riso—the currency of the Third Epoch he had earned earlier.
"This money vanishes in twenty-four hours," Klein said, a mischievous glint entering his eyes. "It's useless outside."
Dokja understood immediately. "VIP treatment?"
"VIP treatment."
They spent the next few hours in a whirlwind of extravagance.
They bought the most expensive tickets, ate delicacies prepared by giant chefs (which were comically large), and sat in the highest private boxes at the gladiatorial arenas. It was a fleeting, hedonistic release from the constant pressure of survival.
Eventually, as the sun began to dim, they turned a corner and saw a familiar figure standing in the middle of the street.
The Secretive Plotter was leaning against a lamppost, holding a glass of iced lemonade that looked ridiculously small in his gloved hand. He was wearing his usual nebulous white coat, looking completely out of place among the giants, yet no one seemed to notice him.
"You took your time," the Plotter said, taking a sip. "The lemonade here is surprisingly adequate. A bit too much sugar, perhaps."
Klein, feeling generous with his soon-to-be-deleted currency, held out a massive skewer of roasted gryphon meat he had just bought. "Want some? It's good."
Dokja immediately stiffened, subtly nudging Klein's arm with his elbow, his eyes signaling a frantic 'No'.
The Plotter paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the meat, then at Klein.
"I do not eat what is made by others," the Plotter said coldly. The temperature on the street seemed to drop ten degrees. "Especially not by creatures of this reality."
Klein awkwardly retracted the skewer. 'Right. My mistake.'
"Everyone is waiting for you," the Plotter said, crushing the glass in his hand—it vanished into stardust.
He grabbed their shoulders. There was no nauseating spin of teleportation. It felt more like the universe folded around them, attracting them inevitably to a specific point in space and time.
[The Rose Redemption — Meeting Hall]
They materialized in the grand meeting hall where Klein had first met the organization.
The long stone table was groaning under the weight of a magnificent feast. Ethereal servants danced around, bringing platters of food that glowed with spiritual energy.
But the table was mostly empty.
Grisha Adam sat at the head of the table, in the seat that once belonged to Sasrir. Amanises sat to his right, her beautiful face pale, her eyes underlined by dark circles. She gave Klein a faint, weary nod.
On the side dedicated to the Subsidiary Gods, only one figure sat. Omebella, the Earth Mother, sat in silence, her plate untouched. The seats of the other gods were empty, a stark reminder of the brutal cull that had just occurred.
Medici and Ouroboros were fighting over the roasted chicken leg, Ouroboros used his powers to make Medici unlucky enough to fall.
"That's cheating!"
A voice cut the bustle.
"Finally, they are here," Grisha Adam said, his voice warm and welcoming, lacking the terrifying pressure of the True Creator.
He gestured to the empty seats next to Amanises. "Please, sit."
As Klein and Dokja approached the table, a system message flashed before their eyes.
[You have temporarily acquired a title within the Recorded Past.]
[Kim Dokja is recognized as 'The Story Angel' under the Ancient Sun God.]
[Klein Moretti is recognized as 'The Angel of Mysteries' under the Ancient Sun God.]
It was a hollow honor in a dying world, but it felt significant.
The Secretive Plotter took a seat next to the solitary Omebella. He didn't eat, just watched the proceedings with detached amusement.
"Even though my rebelious and blasphemous Son didn't come, I'm still really happy with my family that gathered today."
Grisha Adam raised a golden goblet filled with wine that shimmered like blood.
"To a new Epoch," he proposed, his voice echoing in the silent hall. "To a new era, born of betrayal and blood. May the mistakes of the past not repeat in the future."
"To the new era," Amanises whispered, raising her glass.
They drank. The feast continued as the evening neared its end.
It was a somber celebration, a wake for a world that was already dead.
[The Balcony overlooking Dawn Town]
As the final hour approached, they stood on the vast balcony of the court.
Below them, the city of Dawn Town was bathed in the eerie, beautiful light of the Crimson Moon. The artificial sun had finally set for the last time.
Grisha Adam stood at the railing, flanked by the Secretive Plotter, Amanises, Lilith, Klein, and Dokja.
Adam reached into his robe and pulled out six shimmering objects.
They were the [Continental Fragment Pieces].
They were already fusing, vibrating with intense light and a hum that resonated in their very souls.
He turned to Klein and Dokja.
"I can give you something that might help. Though," he added with a self-deprecating smile, "it may not be of much help at all. Call it a souvenir from a failed god."
He reached out. In his palm, a shard of rough, gray stone appeared. It radiated an aura of supreme blasphemy and ancient power.
"A fragment of the First Blasphemy Slate," Adam said. "It shattered when I forced the connection to the Chaos Sea during my resurrection. It holds secrets... and danger."
He handed the shard to Dokja.
Then, Grisha Adam placed his hand on Klein's shoulder. His eyes, swirling with the darkness of Sasrir and the gold of divinity, bore into Klein's.
"And for the one who seeks the Mysteries..."
A system message appeared in Klein's vision. But it was wrong. The blue window was corrupted, bubbling with black, oily sludge that obscured the text.
[You have acquired ???]
The message distorted, the text bleeding and screaming silently.
[Warning: ??? is contaminated by the source of ■■.]
Klein felt a cold, slimy sensation seep into his Spirit Body, lodging itself deep within his soul. He shuddered, but nodded his thanks.
"It is time," the Secretive Plotter said, looking at the sky. The stars were beginning to wink out, one by one. The reality was dissolving.
With a dazzling light, the six Continental Fragments in Adam's hand finally converged into one perfect, blinding diamond.
The light expanded, obscuring the crimson moon, the Giant King's Court.
As their consciousness faded from the Recorded Past, a final barrage of system messages assaulted Klein and Dokja's minds.
[You have accomplished an achievement no one has ever achieved.]
[You have successfully navigated the 'Eastern Continent (Pre-Cataclysm)' to a 'Happy Ending'.]
[The Star Will is shaken by your interference in a primeval narrative.]
[You have acquired a Myth-Grade Story!]
The light consumed everything.