Chapter 815 : Liberation

Inner realm, divine battlefield.

Within this chaotic, shattered divine battlefield, the three originally clashing divine forces still rampaged wildly—but the relationships between them had clearly shifted.

The overwhelming blood sea still churned in madness, and countless howling blood serpents—formed from the Abyssal Serpent’s blood—now surged wildly toward a single target: the black beast dashing across the surface of the sea.

That massive, devouring shadow raced through the abyss at high speed. Its fearsome roars even forced the blood sea that drowned the space to momentarily recoil. The blood serpents swirled around its body, tearing, twisting, and dissolving its form—

Yet even this could not stop the black shadow’s advance. No matter how grotesquely its body was contorted, it never ceased moving. It smashed through the blood serpents with each charge, its body plunging deep into the bloody abyss, where its invisible gaping maws continuously drank and devoured the corrupted waters—feeding its unending regeneration.

Abyssal Serpent and Gluttonous Wolf, two of the three gods of the Afterbirth Cult, once brothers born of the same womb—were now driven by primal bodily instincts. Their fragile alliance had completely disintegrated, leaving only pure, unending hatred between them.

Outside this brutal clash, the third god—Lord of Forge, who had previously been under siege—finally experienced relief. Once shaped as an enormous planetary machine, the Lord of Forge’s form had now shifted again. The giant megaphones it had used for meme-broadcasts were repurposed into all manner of divine weaponry. It rained down beams, flames, missiles, iron spikes, sacred armaments, and even entire warships on the black shadow and the blood sea—boiling the ocean, shattering the beast.

With the other two gods now at each other’s throats, Beverly unleashed a simultaneous barrage on both, rapidly depleting their strength. And although both Gluttonous Wolf and Abyssal Serpent suffered under this attack, they launched no counterattacks—they had lost all reason, and now saw only each other as their enemy.

…

Material Realm – The plague-shrouded planet.

A great transformation was occurring beneath the heavy clouds of contagion.

Beneath the sunless, diseased skies, terrifying plague creatures—born of powerful microbial corruption—were now consumed by madness. These undead abominations, roaring and shrieking, turned on one another in a frenzy of self-slaughter. All across the battlefield, limbs flew and blood splattered. Mindless cannibalism spread like wildfire.

“They… they’ve all turned on each other?”

Within the dark fog, the phantom form of Artcheli watched as these once-insurmountable enemies tore each other apart. Lifting her head to the unseen heavens, she felt the plague’s influence begin to weaken. She knew: something had changed in the inner realms. A decisive shift had occurred. And now was the time to seize the initiative.

“Advance!”

With a quiet command, Artcheli led her holy warriors forward—breaking through the undead horde that had blocked them for so long. With forces from the other flanks joining in, the Holy War Legion pushed toward its final objective: the Blood-Limb Temple of Afterbirth.

Above them, in the vacuum of space, a strange and wondrous scene unfolded.

Countless flowers bloomed in the void—spreading across planetary orbit. Petals rained down like stardust, forming luminous rings around the plague-covered planet—layer upon layer, majestic and romantic.

At the heart of this blooming storm, arcane runes converged. In a flash of violet light, a delicate figure reformed from pure information—Dorothy, returning from memetic abstraction to the material world. Her eyes shimmered violet as she silently gazed down at the rotting, plague-enshrouded world.

Through Beverly’s divine industrial machinery, Dorothy had broadcast her will-bearing memes to nearly every realm in the cosmos—forcing the Afterbirth Trinity, who once resisted her by endlessly growing brains, to be overwhelmed by an unimaginable volume of data. No amount of brain expansion could keep up. In the end, they were forced to destroy all their minds—reducing themselves to primal instinct.

Yet this was precisely what Dorothy wanted.

With the help of divine artifacts, she had allowed Shepsuna to bestow Adèle with a glimpse of her future Gold-rank form—permitting her to house the incomplete Flower Goddess and release divine power tied to desire and dance. This allowed them to steer the primal instincts of the mindless three gods.

Though their intellect was lost, the Afterbirth deities—being of the Chalice—still retained keen instincts. They could still distinguish friend from foe, and their untamed wildness actually made their power more volatile and dangerous. Abandoning their minds had weakened them—but not fatally so.

Had it been only Dorothy and Beverly, dealing with this wild trinity would still be difficult. But now, Astarte’s divine power made all the difference. Her authority over corrupted desire allowed her to guide their instincts effortlessly.

Though incomplete, Astarte could not face even one of the three gods at full strength—but now that all three were brain-dead, she could toy with all of them.

Thus, with the combined divinity of Dorothy, Beverly, and Astarte, the once-mighty Afterbirth Three Gods was now held firmly in their grasp. The greatest obstacle standing between them and the Mother of Chalice had fallen.

It was time for the final assault.

Gazing silently at the decaying planet below, Dorothy’s eyes sparked with lightning. At her command, the thick plague clouds above thundered. Violent lightning surged across the entire world.

Bolts of thunder tore through the dark depths of plague fog, striking directly at the Blood-Limb Temple deep in South Ufiga. They slammed into the blood membrane barrier protecting the temple, shaking and boiling it.

Though that barrier had been woven from the Mother of Chalice’s divine essence, it wasn’t enough to fully resist the deconstruction effect of Dorothy’s divine lightning. Under high-frequency flashes and the ground’s trembling quakes, the final veil guarding the temple began to fall apart.

And it wasn’t only the lightning. The vast plague covering the planet also joined the assault.

Under the guidance of desire, the now-mindless Plague God began to use its own divine power to infect the very temple it once protected. The corrupted force caused filth-green splotches to form within the blood membrane, slowing its regeneration drastically. Even the temple itself grew foul—with tumors and pustules blooming from its malformed limbs.

Lightning and infection struck together. The temple’s divine defenses rapidly collapsed. In moments, the barrier would fall—and then Dorothy’s forces could invade the sealed chamber and destroy the ritual to release the Mother of Chalice.

At this pace, the release ritual still required significant time to complete. But the temple's collapse was imminent. The ritual wouldn’t finish in time. The Mother’s release seemed doomed to fail, and victory in this Great Holy War now appeared firmly in reach.

Inside the Blood-Limb Temple, deep within the grotesque formation of writhing limbs, a blood-red figure sat cross-legged. Feminine in form, with skin like blood-soaked flesh, her head drooped lifelessly—her skull cut open at the back as though trepanned, her brain completely gone.

This was Unina, the Mother of Chalice’s only Chosen in the material realm.

She sat motionless at the temple’s center, guarding its last defense. No matter how dire the battle outside, her expression remained utterly vacant. She too had been affected by the universal spread of Dorothy’s whispers—and to protect herself, she too had discarded her brain.

Yet at this moment of collapse—this brink of destruction—this mindless servant of the Mother slowly raised her head and opened her mouth.

She murmured blankly.

“The path is clear… the time has come…

Descend, O Spoon…

Flow through this opened aperture…

Liberate the Great Mother… unleash Her true power…”

As Unina whispered, a tiny black hole opened before her. From it, a stream of thick, viscous blood poured forth, splattering onto the temple’s fleshy floor.

The blood thickened. From it emerged fleshy tendrils, grotesque and “Chalice-like” in design. But amid the repulsive stream, something different emerged.

A gem.

The Genesis Gem.

About the size of a palm, purple, etched with countless mysterious markings, and wrapped in blood-soaked tendrils—tiny fleshy filaments snaking through the gem’s cracks.

This purple gemstone stood out from everything else in the temple. It radiated a violet glow as soon as it appeared, and under its light, countless arcane runes were revealed. Most striking of all: a symbol of an open eye.

“!”

At that instant, floating above the plague-choked planet, Dorothy froze. Her violet eyes widened, as if she had sensed something.

“This is…”

Before she could even voice the thought, the purple gem that had emerged from the hole resonated with her across space. A strange link connected them—and in that moment, Dorothy was able to peer into the gem.

What she saw was foggy—indistinct and blurred. But from within that haze, she could barely make out fragments…

It was…

A memory.

A memory recorded by this gem…

…

Under the brilliant daylight, the sky glowed with a dazzling clarity, though the scenery below appeared hazy and indistinct under the almost dreamlike illumination.

It was a garden. Though the entire scene seemed blurred, like it had been deliberately obscured with mosaic patterns, one could still vaguely make out its elegance and beauty. On the verdant plains blooming with countless flowers, various strange creatures wandered leisurely: white horses with single horns, colorful stags, multi-tailed foxes, and white rabbits in formal wear…

Upon this wondrous and lively field, a small hill stood encircled by a clear stream. Atop this low hill grew a lone crooked tree. From its branches hung a cradle, and within that cradle, a figure sat serenely.

It was a full-figured, beautiful woman, clothed in a single layer of thin, simple fabric. Her long platinum-green hair cascaded like a waterfall onto the ground. Between her long, pointed ears was a blurred yet unmistakably graceful face. Her emerald eyes revealed a deep weariness. Several birds circled around her, chirping as they danced. Before her sat a small table bearing a plate filled with assorted fruits.

“This is your third visit this year. And each time, you’re focused on something different… Have you taken a liking to the decor here?”

Half-closing her eyes, the woman in the cradle spoke in a tired voice. Her gaze rested on a dignified figure standing before her.

It was a tall man. Golden hair flowed from his head in radiant waves. Though his face was indistinct, one could still glimpse his handsome features. His bare torso revealed a physique like carved marble, clad in radiant armor beneath his chiseled abs. His glowing eyes gazed calmly at the tranquil stream ahead.

“Something like that. I’ve been working on a garden for Arte, but I’m not satisfied with many parts of it—especially the river. I made the water flow too fast, and it sounds like someone’s using water magic to scour the earth. So I’ve been visiting your place for inspiration…”

As he responded, he turned slowly and picked a fruit from the plate before the woman, taking a bite. The woman tilted her head curiously.

“What a peculiar metaphor… You’ve been so invested in reshaping your realm and building this so-called garden. Surely you’ve got some important reason behind it?”

Her tone turned meaningful. After hearing her words, the man smiled lightly and replied.

“So Arte told you, didn’t she?”

“No… she didn’t,” the woman said gently.

“I just figured it out on my own. Our divinities are linked, after all. I’ve watched her grow up to what she is today. No matter what thoughts she harbors, she could never hide them from me…”

Then, shifting the topic, she added with a knowing look.

“Or rather, since you laid your plans bare to Arte, you never intended to hide them from me either, did you?”

The man paused briefly, then nodded in affirmation.

“Correct. This plan carries enormous risk. If it fails… the one most affected besides myself would be you. You have a right to know the truth beforehand.”

He spoke solemnly, then turned his gaze forward. The woman in the cradle adjusted her posture and sighed softly.

“In that respect, you’re quite likable, Hyperion… So, how confident are you in the plan’s success?”

She asked directly.

Hyperion answered without hesitation.

“Thirty percent.”

“Thirty percent? So you’re betting the entire world on something with just a 30% chance of success? If you fail, everything perishes with you?” she questioned sternly.

Hyperion shook his head.

“No. I’ve made thorough preparations. Even in failure, I can minimize the damage. You have nothing to worry about. Even in the worst-case scenario… I will be the only one to perish.”

His words gave her pause. After a moment, she looked at him in surprise.

“You mean… you even prepared something for me?”

“Yes.”

Hyperion nodded.

Her tone turned sharp.

“You do realize how severely such a plan—if it fails—could damage the fragile structure of our universe. You must know how violently I would react. I don’t see how, in your death, you could contain the catastrophe my unraveling would cause.”

Her voice grew increasingly grave. A faint red light flickered in her green eyes, and her once-calm expression twisted into something ominous.

Hyperion didn’t immediately reply. Instead, he extended his hand and opened his palm. With a flash of divine light, a violet crystal appeared in his hand.

“That’s…”

Even the woman’s blurred face showed visible surprise. The ominous red faded from her eyes as she sat up straight in the cradle, her gaze locked on the gem.

“That’s one of Osiris’s relics… and a substantial one at that. Why is it in your possession?”

She asked in a solemn tone. Hyperion looked at the crystal, now gently floating above his palm, and answered calmly.

“Long ago, by chance, I discovered it in a hidden tomb within the inner realm. It was sealed there—awaiting a certain successor. I retrieved it and have been using it as a secret support ever since.”

“A secret support… no wonder…” she murmured. A glint of realization shone in her eyes. Many of her questions about this younger god seemed to find answers in that moment.

But her face turned stern once more.

“This was one of the arrangements Osiris made before his self-destruction… It was meant to ensure the future appointment of a new Arbiter. It wasn’t meant for you. I advise you to return it.”

She warned seriously. Hyperion replied in the same even tone.

“I know. Once we’re done with it, I’ll return it to its original place. I promise not to interfere with the birth of the new Arbiter.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said.

“If Osiris placed it there, then you should never have touched it in the first place.”

Hyperion chuckled softly, then said, “I understand. We’ve likely disrupted the destiny arranged by Heaven’s Arbiter. But, Lady of Life, have you considered the possibility… that even this, too, is part of fate? That my actions now… might also lie within that design?”

He posed the question calmly. The woman blinked in surprise, then asked with heavy doubt.

“You mean… your entire plan might actually be Osiris’s will?”

“It’s possible,” Hyperion nodded.

“My decision to form this plan was heavily influenced by the knowledge I saw in that tomb—the writings left behind by the Arbiter about Chaos and the Outer Gods. Maybe it was left there… specifically for me to see. Maybe this plan… was actually his idea.”

The woman fell silent. After a pause, she said gravely.

“In the end, it’s all just ‘possibilities.’ Osiris is long gone. We cannot know his true intent.”

“Which is why,” Hyperion said, glancing once more at the violet crystal in his hand, “we have to take a gamble.”

He looked at her again and smiled lightly.

“So, noble Lady of Life—will you gamble with me? Let’s see whether this absurd plan can succeed. If it works, our universe—doomed to chaos—may finally glimpse the light of hope. If it fails, it’s fine. I’m fully prepared.

“If I die, so be it. But I’ve already arranged successors for the divine authority I’ll leave behind. You, Lady, will suffer greatly from the resulting instability, yes—but I’ve prepared this Legacy of Revelation for you. You can use it to shield your will against the corruption of Chaos.

“Your body may still slide toward degeneration… but as long as your will remains untainted, that fall can be restrained—kept within critical bounds. It won’t spiral out of control. When the new Arbiter is born, and the cycle restarts, everything can be slowly restored.

“So in the end, even if it fails, the worst that happens is my own annihilation. What do you say… Lady of Life?”

Hyperion spoke with calm solemnity.

Before him, the full-figured and beautiful woman did not respond immediately. She only stared in silence—gaze locked upon the violet crystal, glowing with mysterious divine light in his hand.

…

As the memory fragment from that fragile resonance faded, all returned to the present.

Suspended in the cosmic void, Dorothy now held her forehead, a look of clear shock written across her face—she had obviously been deeply shaken by what she saw within the violet crystal’s memory.

She knew exactly who and what had appeared in that vision. The man, without a doubt, was her grandfather—the Emperor of Light, Hyperion—and the woman was clearly the pre-fallen Mother of Chalice: the legendary Elven Matron, Lady of Life, Incarnation of the World Tree… the Goddess of Abundance.

And as for the object they discussed—that violet crystal—Dorothy was intimately familiar with it.

“That… that’s a divinity! The one left behind by Heaven’s Arbiter in this cycle—the third piece of divinity I’m missing!”

“No wonder I’ve never been able to sense it—it was taken by Hyperion long ago! His rise was probably aided by this divine shard. And in the end, he handed it over to the Goddess of Abundance as a failsafe in case his grand plan failed—to help stave off her descent into falling!”

Dorothy’s mind raced. She knew well that the Revelation divinity had properties that could resist and suppress mental collapse to a certain degree. It was just like how she and the infant used profiling to manipulate the Dark Coin Noble—whose divinity stemmed from Dark Gold. Naturally, the Abundance Goddess could use this Revelation shard to preserve her will amidst the catastrophic fallout of Hyperion’s failure. While it wouldn’t prevent her physical body from degenerating, a clear mind could significantly slow or ease that descent.

But the reality had strayed far from expectations.

Hyperion’s plan had failed. Yet for reasons unknown, Heaven’s Arbiter’s divinity given to Abundance hadn’t worked. Her fall had been utter and complete, with no sign it had been delayed or mitigated.

At that critical moment, the divinity failed entirely—unable to act as a safeguard. Worse still, it had been consumed by the fallen Abundance—now the Mother of Chalice—and was about to be used in a terrifying way.

“Stop it—now!”

Realizing the severity of the situation, Dorothy maintained her intense lightning barrage on the ground while activating her divine attraction power—trying to pull the violet crystal toward her. But she immediately found it impossible: the crystal, now housing her final piece of divinity, had become tightly entwined with the Mother of Chalice’s body. It couldn’t be pried free.

Her tendrils had burrowed into the divine shard, fusing with it, controlling it—using it as a key to open a dangerous sealed gateway.

“Oh oh oh oh oh!!!”

The blood-entwined violet crystal erupted in brilliant light. A piercing, shrieking howl rang out from the twisted Blood-Limb Temple, sweeping across the entire plague-shrouded planet. The spatial rift inside the temple instantly expanded, spewing massive volumes of thick blood and writhing flesh that flooded the temple and began rapidly spreading outward.

At the same time, the once-collapsing blood membrane barrier suddenly regained its integrity. A boundless regenerative force surged in, rapidly repairing it until it became nearly indestructible. Neither divine lightning nor disease could break through.

“That… that’s the Queen!? No… no, that’s the Fallen Chalice—the evil god! Why… how is Her descent happening on this scale?!”

Astarte, who had been dancing atop the Saint Steel Vessel, froze in terror the moment she felt the howl resound from the planet. She nearly tripped as her divine power went into disarray. Staring at the world now surging with ominous power, she was visibly horrified.

“What’s going on? I feel the Mother of Chalice’s power rising dramatically in the material realm—their sealing ritual shouldn’t be complete yet! How can this be happening?!”

At that moment, Beverly’s voice rang out in Dorothy’s mind, filled with shock. Even while fighting in the inner realm, she could sense the sudden, catastrophic shift in the material realm. Alarmed, she contacted Dorothy for answers.

Dorothy, frowning deeply as she struggled to respond to the crisis, replied with a cold smile in her heart.

“Hmph… you can ask my dearest grandfather about that…”

“You mean Hyperion? What does he have to do with this again? What did he do this time?”

“Nothing much. Just gave the third piece of Revelation divinity—originally meant for me—to the Abundance Goddess before launching his grand plan. He wanted to slow her fall… but it didn’t work.”

Dorothy’s tone grew grim.

“In the end, that shard and the Mother of Chalice were both sealed together. The ritual the Afterbirth Cult has carried out until now wasn’t enough to fully release Her… but it has opened a large enough rift for my divine shard to reemerge—and be used.

“The Mother is using my shard of Revelation as a key—unlocking the archived fragments of history sealed away by Heaven’s Arbiter—drawing out vast stores of corrupted Chalice power to smash open Her prison, hastening Her release!”

“What…?! Are you talking about the discarded powers of past cycles?!”

Dorothy nodded inwardly as she continued explaining. The Afterbirth Cult’s ritual had opened only a partial seal—not enough to free the Mother completely. But it had allowed Her to extend tendrils bearing Revelation divinity. While She couldn’t directly use its power, She could use it as a key to access the archives of shattered history—extracting vast, stored reserves of Chalice-corrupted force, and using them to blast apart the sealing gateway and bring Herself into the material realm.

Unlike the incomplete Revelation-infused divine infant, the Mother of Chalice didn’t need to convert those powers using Commercial Gold divinity. Much of the Chalice power locked in broken history was simply fragments of Her former self—the remnants of the Abundance Goddess from past cycles. In terms of ownership, it belonged to Her. With the key in hand, She could reclaim it all—and liberate Herself.

Dorothy was now doing everything she could to activate the Throne of Fate, trying to shut those historical archives again. Since she held authority over that space, it wasn’t impossible—but the sheer volume of Chalice corruption bursting out made it extremely difficult to reseal. It would take time. And while she worked, the material realm was already beginning to collapse.

From the force of ancient corruption, the seal that had bound the Mother was rupturing rapidly. Filthy, tainted power surged from the ancient rift—bringing mutation to the world.

…

Rumble…

“What… what’s happening…?”

Just as Artcheli was preparing to resume her assault on the Blood-Limb Temple, the ground beneath her began to tremble violently. An unprecedented quake swept across the entire planet.

In the cities, buildings crumbled—cathedrals and castles, shacks and huts—all collapsed into ruins. The oceans surged wildly—thousand-meter-tall tsunamis crashed onto shorelines, devouring everything. Vast plains split apart with resounding roars. Cracks deep into the planet’s core opened, releasing indescribable, nauseating stench.

It was a worldwide cataclysm. Even the Ancestral Valley, the sacred site of Starfall Continent, was not spared. The ongoing Great Wild Rite there was being torn apart. It was clear—it couldn’t continue.

“An unspeakable evil is breeding beneath the earth. This power… is nothing like what we’ve faced before… We won’t be able to hold much longer…”

On the trembling ritual site’s edge, Whitestone, his face conjured in the dust, spoke in a heavy, solemn tone. Hearing this, Yellowstone, who had been supporting the ritual, snapped in fury—glaring across the site.

“We’re finished! We’ve bought them so much time—and those idiots still haven’t completed that damn ritual?! What the hell are they doing?! Useless!”

In the distance, the ritual site of the Great Wild Rite had already been shattered by quakes. The shamans looked around at the crumbling earth and skies, their faces filled with panic and helplessness. Only one stood calm—the True Spirit Shaman, high atop the giant totem pole.

Looking over the chaos below, he remained composed and simply announced.

“The ritual has failed. Prepare to withdraw from the material realm.”

At that moment, everyone in the Ancestral Valley began to retreat—preparing to escape to the story-world realms, where it was still safe… for now.

Amidst the panicked crowd, the old shaman Uta remained calmly seated in his place, legs crossed, his brows furrowed deeply in utter confusion.

“Has it… failed already? No, no… by all rights, the Great Wild Rite should have been completed long ago. Why… why has the Soul Eagle not shown any sign of awakening...?

“Where… did it go wrong?”

Amid fear and doubt, the ritual in the Ancestral Valley was declared a failure. According to pre-arranged plans, everyone began a swift retreat from the material realm—and soon, the situation in the realm would reach a point where they could no longer remain.

…

“What… is that?”

Hovering high above the continent of Ufiga, Amanda stared in astonishment at the sight below. Amid the apocalyptic tremors, a massive fissure was tearing across the entire landmass. And from within the darkness beneath the rupture, an enormous eye was slowly opening, silently gazing up toward the murky sky. The tremors continued to shake the earth, widening the rift, and the abyssal eye began to rise—emerging from below the surface.

Accompanying it were colossal tentacles. As bedrock around the world cracked and shattered, what emerged from beneath was blood-drenched flesh, glistening and raw.

At this moment, the entire planet had become a giant egg—its crust the eggshell, and beneath it, a living being was growing and expanding. It was about to break through the shell and be born into the world.

…

Beyond the material realm, linked by the Wistful Sea, within a space of eternal night, a perpetual full moon hung at the apex of the sky. Its soft silver light bathed the realm of night, calming the vast, desolate mountains.

On the summit of one of these mountains, within a grand yet decaying ancient temple, a silver-haired girl sat quietly upon a cracked stone throne. Her long silver hair draped down, gently swaying, her radiant gown adorned with countless gem-like stars wrapping around porcelain-white skin. Her semi-bared chest revealed a translucent, crystal-like core, within which a miniature black hole swirled in absolute darkness. Atop her head floated a small obsidian crown, like a halo, and within her pitch-black pupils, her irises shimmered like the moon.

She was the Queen of the Night Sky, the Princess of Radiance, the Mother of the Moon, the Mirror Moon Goddess, Selene. And she now sat upon her throne, silently watching the ruined plaza before her.

There, between the shattered columns, a figure was bound, and powerful emotions of rage and resentment radiated from it.

It was the Lady of Pain, the Spider Queen, Morrigan, forced to kneel upon the cracked floor. From the shadow cast by her body under moonlight, countless black shadow-thorns had pierced her form, paralyzing her completely. Yet despite this, she raised her head with defiance, her twisted, pale face full of hatred as she stared at the silver figure above.

“You’re completely out of options now, Morrigan. Give up. Hand over what was never yours, and I shall grant you a place in this world—a continued existence…”

Spoken with a tone of calm detachment, Selene addressed the broken goddess. But Morrigan responded only with a cold, biting laugh.

“Heh… is that pity I hear in your voice?”

“Perhaps. But you know as well as I do—I find everything you’ve done utterly repulsive. My mercy… has nothing to do with you.”

Selene’s voice remained gentle and airy. After hearing this, Morrigan’s mouth twitched. Her already distorted face contorted further with venom as she snarled.

“Don’t pretend to be kind, you sanctimonious little bitch! I don’t need your pity!”

With a roar, Morrigan pushed her body against the shadow thorns binding her, tearing chunks of flesh from herself in the process. Through the agony, she unleashed the last of her divine power at her mortal enemy.

A violent windstorm erupted through the ruined temple. Her spilled, dark blood condensed into a final blood-shadow spear, wrapped in a swirling vortex of wind, and she hurled it fiercely at the silver goddess seated atop the throne. The storm tore space apart as it flew.

The blood-shadow spear, wrapped in the hurricane, lunged toward Selene. But her expression didn’t shift in the slightest. With a flash of silver light, a phantasmal mirror appeared in front of her—reflecting Morrigan’s hate-filled face.

The spear shattered the mirror.

And as the mirror broke, so too did Morrigan’s body—just like her reflection—splintering into countless shards. The Lady of Pain screamed in anguish, her voice shaking the realm itself.

Even then, broken and undone, her bitter voice continued in fragments.

“I… I… Everything you are… all of this… was supposed to be mine…

“All of night… belongs to me…

“You’ll never… take anything from me… you bitch…”

Though Selene had offered her clemency—though the Spider Queen’s cunning might have urged her to live on, bide her time, and scheme again—Morrigan chose defiance. She knew she had no chance of victory.

But the one thing she could not accept—was bowing her head to the silver figure before her. Be it truth or illusion, she could not lie about that.

As Selene watched the shattered remains of one so familiar, she sighed softly. With a small wave of her hand, a miniature black hole appeared amid the floating fragments, drawing them all in with powerful suction.

When it vanished, the screams and curses of the Lady of Pain vanished with it.

What remained in her place was a sword of invisible wind, formed from interweaving gusts, and a single ominous droplet of dark-blooded tear.

Selene gazed at these remnants in silence, as if lost in memory. After a long pause, she finally whispered.

“Farewell… sister…”

As her words faded, Selene looked up at the full moon above. Upon sensing the foul divine energies raging in other realms, her brows furrowed slightly.

“It’s already… reached this point?”

Sensing the fierce struggle of another petite figure like herself in a different realm, Selene’s expression filled with concern. She made a decision, then waved her hand—releasing a silver glow before her.

When the light faded, a sleeping young man appeared.

He looked to be two or three years older than Selene, based on his human features.

Seeing his face, Selene’s expression softened, and she spoke gently in a tone rarely heard from her.

“It’s time to wake up… Gregor…”

…

Back in the material realm, in another remote place.

This… was a realm high above the clouds, a celestial domain as though it existed in the Nine Heavens. Dense clouds stretched like plains to the horizon. A dim yellowish glow, cast from a sunless sky, dyed the endless sea of clouds with the hues of dusk.

The scene was vast and magnificent—but there was a heavy sense of decay, a solemn atmosphere of things approaching their end.

Above the twilight cloud-sea, a glorious palace floated—resplendent in gold, so massive it dwarfed entire cities in the material realm. On two sides of the palace, countless golden chains extended outward from the palace’s core, anchored to unseen ends beyond the sea of clouds.

At one end of this palace of dusk, a massive plaza stood. In its center was a tall radiant crucifix, from which a withered figure hung limply, barely visible through the faint divine glow. The golden chains extended from far beyond, converging on this crucifix.

Beneath the cross, an elderly man in a coarse white robe sat quietly. His body was emaciated, frail. His gaze, vacant.

He stared ahead at the crucifix—and at the pile of broken golden chains at its base. These were chains that had once stretched toward a third distant realm, now severed… lying there, like the fate of something once bound, now undone.