Karl sensed gravity was off as he woke up.
The gravity of being a simp? That day was quiet and beautiful outside, with each hum of the city.
It's reasonable—not heavy.
The floor just was; it didn't tremble with heavenly reasoning. A half-empty mug bearing the words "World's Okayest Philosopher" was caught in a sunbeam that swept across a broken coffee table. He did not stop staring at it.
[SYSTEM: EARTH REALITY DETECTED → BOOT SEQUENCE]
No signature from the Pantheon. The density of local deities is zero.
It is advised that you behave.
He rubbed sleep from eyes that had once beheld the framework of reality and said, "Behave?" "What does 'behave' mean? Wait, you can't. You are who I am.
He pushed the cover away. Too little, too limited, his body felt human again, but beneath his skin hummed a faint ring of paradoxic static. Around his finger, the Absurdium Core had compacted itself into a simple band of dull metal. Reality shimmered when he flexed.
The kitchen clock ticked, painfully linear.
Karl found the rhythm comforting; it meant time worked again.
He tried breakfast.
Eggs. Toast. A disastrous experiment: every time he cracked a shell, the yolk rearranged itself into geometric mandalas.
[CORE NOTICE] Reality-stabilization subroutine adjusting to non-mythic plane.
Do not philosophize the food.
"Got it," he said, and concentrated on chewing. The toast still whispered faintly about ontology. He ignored it.
What a stupid way to start the day. I guess I could have done something about the world to target the house. Anyway, I guess people could forget how lonely he is. I mean, he did know he would have to get ahead of million and yes— he did it at the age of 8 years old. That is for another story.
Outside, the city pulsed with mundane divinity—neon shrines, vending-machine altars, students racing to lectures. He joined them, hoodie up, blending among the living like a myth on sabbatical.
Every pedestrian carried their own micro-universe of anxiety and hope. He could feel them, the threads of mercy tugging gently at his Daimon senses.
[SUB-FUNCTION 'Mercy Field' ONLINE]
Detected Emotional Entropy within 15 m radius.
Suggest: Minor reconstruction.
He blinked. The Core wanted him to comfort strangers.
He exhaled and thought let them find rest—just a quiet wish.
Instantly, a quarrel at the bus stop softened into laughter; two students stopped shouting, confused by sudden goodwill.
Karl smiled. "Still works."
By midday, he was standing in front of the ancient university gates, where he had been banished for "ontological delinquency."
Ivy now scurried by the sign for the Philosophy Department. Unaware that the man in the hoodie had changed cosmology last week, students rushed past with tablets in hand.
He noticed a poster: "The Merciful Physics of Karl Ω Yang — A Hoax?" is the topic of this guest lecture.
He flinched. Exile without presence; fame without comprehension.
Lecture halls buzzed within. He sank into his own myth's rear row. Merciful Physics, according to a young lecturer who paced at the podium, was "clever metaphor, not literal science."
"It was both," Karl muttered to himself.
[CORE NOTE] A burst of emotion was observed. Don't use absolute truths to correct mortals.
Priority for global stability is ↑300%.
It burned, but he obeyed. Mercy is the new law of motion, the old self—the exile, the irate thinker—wanted to proclaim.
Rather, he made notes on his own misinterpretation in private.
A student came up during the recess.
"Pardon me, sir. You seem familiar. Are you—?
Karl gave a small smile. "I am nothing. Just checking reality once more.
The library roof was drummed by the afternoon drizzle. He opened a borrowed laptop and located a corner table. Whirring, the machine connected to the campus wireless network.
[QUERY FOR THE SYSTEM] A network that is not secure has been identified. Do you want to improve communication?
"Be kind," he cautioned.
The routers felt a paradoxical pulse. Every online fight on university chat channels quickly devolved into reasoned discussion; flame battles turned into polite discussions.
[FINAL NETWORK UPGRADE]
Campus Attitude: +20%. Equitable distribution of cognitive bandwidth.
Karl saw pupils squint at screens where insults were substituted with apologies while he sipped coffee from a vending machine.
He was proud. For once, there was harmony in 5 GHz instead of thunderbolts or falling skies.
Dusk stretched violet across the city. Karl wandered streets smelling of ramen and rain, heart lightened by ordinary noise. The Daimon power hummed but did not demand. For the first time since the Core's awakening, he felt almost human.
A street musician strummed guitar beside a ramen stall, voice rough but sincere:
"Love's just the logic we choose to break."
Karl laughed softly. "Exactly."
The Absurdium Core chimed quietly:
[DAILY REPORT]
Mercy Acts: 12 (minor)
Emotional Entropy: −18 % city sector 5.
Humanity Index: rising.
He leaned against a lamppost, watching neon reflect on puddles. Perhaps godhood wasn't about rewriting creation—it was about respecting it enough to leave it unbroken.
Then, in the reflection beneath his feet, the puddle shimmered.
A second face appeared beside his own—identical, smiling faintly.
[ALERT] Eschaton Signal Detected ... 0.3 AU local.]
The grin in the water widened, whispering through the ripples:
"Hello again, Karl. You found mercy. Now let's see if you can keep it."
The reflection blinked out, leaving only rain.
Part II
In Cambridge, the smell of rain was always a combination of nostalgia and paper.
With his umbrella discarded and his shoes soaking in the puddles that reflected generations of thought, Karl strolled beneath the spires.
[State of the System]
99 percent plane stability
Suppression of Anomalies: Active.
He grinned as he gazed up at King's College chapel, which was once a theological monument and is now his morning landmark. The man who had rebuilt logic had gone unnoticed by the world, which only requested that he submit a thesis by May.
Conversations on tea and metaphysics filled the familiar corridors of the Philosophy Faculty. Dr. Langley, his boss, gestured him inside the office.
"Yang! It's been weeks since I last saw you. Work in the field?
Karl thought about answering, "Yes," but ultimately decided to say, "I was resolving divine paradoxes." Very field.
Langley laughed. "All right. I hope it helped you make sense of your argument regarding "Mercy as Ontological Constant" in the last chapter. It's... unconventional.
Karl gave a nod. "Unconventional methods usually work."
I guess I am more merciful than it should be. The guilty of sorry can wait for me in death. However, it looks to me that I will never die in the hands of a God. My power can go overboard from time to time. Mathematics has been my main powerful analytic tool through the Logos. The intricate dance of the mind within me... I know this to be true. I once was weak. Now, I am strong.
Silently, the Core throbbed with pleasure.
That afternoon, Karl sat among fellow doctoral students. The seminar topic: Can Ethics Survive After God?
Irony thickened the air.
A colleague argued that morality must be algorithmic now. Another claimed emotion is obsolete.
Karl listened, smiling faintly.
[MERCY FIELD] Ambient Tension: 87 %.
Would you like to harmonize discourse?
He whispered, "Just a bit."
A warmth spread through the room. Voices softened; arguments turned to genuine curiosity. Even the cynical post-doc quoting Nietzsche paused to thank someone for a good point.
Langley frowned, puzzled. "That's... the most civil debate I've seen in years."
Karl shrugged. "Maybe ethics still breathes."
Karl sat with other PhD students that afternoon. Can Ethics Last After God? was the theme of the seminar.
The air was saturated with irony.
According to a coworker, morality must now be algorithmic. An additional emotion that has been claimed is no longer relevant.
Karl listened with a small smile.
[MERCY FIELD] 87% is the ambient tension.
Do you want the conversation to be more harmonious?
He said in a whisper, "Just a little."
A feeling of warmth permeated the space. Arguments gave way to sincere interest as voices grew softer. Even the cynical post-doc who quoted Nietzsche took a moment to express gratitude for a well-made point.
Langley scowled in confusion. "I haven't witnessed such a civil debate in years."
Karl gave a shrug. "Perhaps ethics is still alive."
He earned pocket money by tutoring undergraduates in the evenings. One arrived sobbing after failing a logic test.
Karl stroked the student's notebook after listening. The equations re-aligned into more logical thinking, glowed dimly, and then settled back into ink.
The pupil blinked. "How did you—"
Karl grinned. "Logic is forgiving sometimes."
[ACT OF MERCY +1]
4% is the local entropy.
Later, his laptop buzzed at a café by the river. A silent notification was projected by the Core:
3% is the Humanity Index (Cambridge Sector).
Suggest tea.
He complied. The Earl Grey had a familiar flavor.
Midnight in his college room. Books stacked like fortresses around the desk. The final thesis chapter blinked on the screen:
"Mercy and the Mechanics of Reality."
The cursor flickered. Then words began to type themselves.
You left me in the stars, Karl.
Now I grade your humanity.
The monitor darkened, revealing his reflection—only it smiled while he didn't.
[ALERT] Eschaton Sub-Core signal re-emerging.
The reflection spoke in his own voice:
"Mercy was easy when you ruled pantheons. Try applying it to deadlines, disappointment, and love forgotten."
Karl closed his eyes. "If you're here to test me, do it quietly. People are sleeping."
They dream because you allow them to.
The screen went black. His thesis reappeared, every paragraph subtly refined, better than before. Help or challenge—he couldn't tell.
[SYSTEM NOTE] Shadow assistance logged. Source ethics: ambiguous.
Karl leaned back, exhaustion and amusement blending. "Even my reflection edits."
The following day dawned softly over the Cam. Bells signaled another typical day as rowers sailed through the fog.
Karl strolled silently to the library. Inside, the Core whispered:
Without humility, power erodes. Without authority, humility deteriorates. Daimon, balance.
He grinned. "I'm working on it."
Unfazed, a bird landed on his shoulder. The bird cooed in satisfaction as he shared a croissant crumb.
[ACT OF MERCY +1]
15 m is the peace propagation radius.
Karl let the air taste like history and rain as he inhaled. This was sufficient for the time being—papers to write, people to meet, a thesis to complete, and a peaceful world that no longer need rescuing.
He helped me realize something crucial. I require gestures, whether it's because I'm a neurotic or because I'm Latino. At least, my body is. I am an expressive and demonstrative person; I express every emotion I have through words, gestures, signs, letters, articulateness, and action. I need other people to have this.