Life can be pain, but we must press forward nonetheless.

Enjoy

Chapter 2: New World

Ragnarök had come.

The base of the World Tree was a landscape torn between majestic beauty and the ominous shadow of impending doom. Its towering roots, each as wide as a city, delved deep into the earth, anchoring the immense tree that stretched impossibly high, its branches disappearing into the heavens. This was Yggdrasil, the lifeblood of all worlds, the nexus of realms both known and unknown. Here, where the tree's roots met the soil, a final stand was about to unfold.

The armies of the defenders stood ready, arrayed in a formation that mirrored the natural order they fought to protect. At the forefront were the Celestial Guard, beings of radiant light, their silver armor gleaming even in the dimming twilight of the battlefield. They carried spears and shields, each infused with divine energy, their purpose singular: to protect the World Tree at all costs.

Behind them, the Verdant Wardens, elemental beings born from the very essence of the World Tree itself, awaited their call to battle. Gentle and kind to friends, complete menaces to their enemies. Their forms were fluid, ever-changing, composed of intertwining roots, leaves, and blossoms that pulsed with the heartbeat of Yggdrasil.

Overhead, the Skyward Sentinels hovered in the air, their wings casting shadows over the earth. These winged beings were once mortals who had ascended to guard the sacred tree, their loyalty eternal. Humanoids, Demi-Humans and even Heteromorphs from all across the Realms have joined to stand against the coming apocalypse. They held bows of pure energy, with arrows that are said to pierce the very fabric of reality itself while others wielded lances to fight directly against airborne targets.

Yet, even as these defenders took their positions, a palpable tension weighed upon them. Across the horizon, the forces of the Void gathered, pouring in like a plague upon the land. The Voidborn, twisted and formless creatures born from the darkness beyond the known realms, surged forward in a relentless tide.

Their bodies were amorphous, constantly shifting, never taking on a singular shape, but always exuding a sense of otherworldly malice. Among them stalked the Dread Behemoths, towering monstrosities with jagged, armored skin, and eyes that glowed with the void's cold hunger. And above them all, the Rift Wraiths flitted through the air, their ghostly forms barely visible as they moved between dimensions, ready to strike at any moment.

At the forefront of the defenders, a figure stood alone, his form dwarfed by the sheer scale of the battlefield, yet his presence unmistakable.

Antares, the Son of Yggdrasil, the protector forged in the fires of creation itself, gazed out upon the armies of the Void. His armor, once gleaming with the purity of divine craftsmanship, was now battered and cracked, yet it still bore the symbol of the World Tree upon his chest. The air around him shimmered with the remnants of his once immeasurable power, a power now diminished, yet still formidable.

He raised his hand, and a hush fell over the defenders. His voice, deep and resonant, carried across the battlefield, reaching the ears of every being who stood with him.

"Today, we stand at the precipice of oblivion. The Void seeks to consume all that we hold dear, to extinguish the light of Yggdrasil and unravel the very fabric of our existence. But know this, my brothers and sisters—though our enemies are many, though they come from the darkness beyond our understanding, we stand as the last bastion of hope, the final line that will not break."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the countless faces before him, each one reflecting the determination that mirrored his own.

"Let them come. Let the Void send its horrors. We will meet them not with fear, but with the resolve of those who fight for life itself. And if this day is to be our last, then let our names be etched in the annals of eternity, as those who stood when all others fell!"

A roar of defiance erupted from the defenders, their spirits lifted by his words. But even as the echoes of their battle cries faded, the very air seemed to darken, a deep chill settling over the land. The ground trembled beneath their feet, as if recoiling from some unspeakable force.

From the depths of the Void, a tear in reality itself began to form, its edges crackling with unnatural energy. It widened, ripping through the fabric of the world with a sound that was both deafening and eerily silent, as though reality itself was screaming. And then, from that tear, a shadow emerged—no, a presence, so vast and terrible that it seemed to blot out the sky.

The Devourer of the Nine Realms had arrived.

It was a being of titanic proportions, a creature that defied comprehension. Its form was constantly shifting, a mass of darkness interspersed with glimpses of a colossal maw lined with countless rows of teeth, each one capable of devouring entire worlds. Tendrils of shadow extended from its core, writhing like the limbs of some ancient, monstrous tree. Its eyes—or what passed for them—were empty yet full of malevolent intent.

As the World Eater broke through from its reality into theirs, the ground beneath the World Tree split and crumbled, unable to withstand the sheer presence of the invader. The defenders, undeterred, launched their assault.

The Celestial Guard charged forward, their spears aimed at the heart of the host of Voidborn. The Verdant Wardens unleashed torrents of elemental fury, their attacks merging with the natural forces of the world itself. The Skyward Sentinels rained arrows down from above, each strike aimed at the seething mass of the World Eater.

But it was as if they were fighting a blistering storm. The Voidborn swept over the Celestial Guard, their formless bodies engulfing and suffocating even the most valiant. The Dread Behemoths crushed the Verdant Wardens beneath their massive limbs, their void-tainted breath withering the very life around them. The Rift Wraiths descended upon the Skyward Sentinels, their ghostly claws slicing through wings and bone alike.

Amidst the chaos, Antares fought with a fury unmatched, his lance—a weapon forged from the roots of Yggdrasil—glowing with a faint, dying light, as other weapons levitated around him striking at whatever abomination that came too close. He struck down countless Voidborn, his movements a blur of deadly precision gained from eons of experience. But even he could feel the tide turning. The defenders were being overwhelmed, their numbers dwindling under the unending onslaught.

Then, as if to punctuate the inevitable, the World Eater's maw opened wide, a chasm of darkness that seemed to draw in all light, all hope. With a bellow that shook the very heavens, it unleashed a torrent of energy that decimated the battlefield, reducing the entire battlefield to ash.

In the midst of this devastation, Antares stood alone, his armor cracked and scorched, his lance shattered at his feet. The world around him was a field of ash and flame, the very air thick with the stench of burning life. He looked up, and there, looming above him, was the World Eater, its titanic form casting a shadow that stretched for miles.

The World Eater's voice was like the grinding of mountains, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through Antares' very soul. "You fought well, Protector," it gloated , its maw curling into what might have been a twisted smile. "But your efforts are futile," it moved closer to him as if preparing to deliver the final blow, but it never came.

"Ours is a tale of old, little godling—For this I won't kill you. No, I will make you watch… as I devour your precious tree. You will witness the end of all things."

Antares, his strength nearly spent, could do nothing but stare up at the creature, a sense of helplessness washing over him. The World Eater then spread its wings—massive as entire cities combined—and took flight above, releasing a long and terrible laugh as it did.

The darkness came quickly, a darkness so complete that it consumed all thought, all sensation. And in that darkness, Antares found himself drifting, his consciousness adrift in an ocean of nothingness.

…

Ligun stood at the edge of the table, his eyes scanning the map detailing the trajectory of the reinforcements coming to relieve them. He was in one of the many rooms afforded within the hideout they were stationed, near the Re-Estize Kingdom. Since the kingdom remained as incompetent as ever, the risk of discovery was low. He heard a door opening and he looks up to see his Vice-Commander who had arrived not too long ago. Maya approached him and came to stand beside him, her expression unreadable as she looked the map with him.

"The men are still shaken,~" Maya began, her voice low. "After seeing… that, I can't say I blame them. Whatever it was that emerged from the crystal, it wasn't something they were prepared to face.~ They're trying to hold it together, but…"

Ligun nodded, his face grim. "They've been through a lot. Ha! Hell, we all have! But we need to stay focused. We have our orders, and we need to hold out until reinforcements arrive. If they're shaken now, it's only going to get worse if we let our guard down."

He crossed his arms, feeling the weight of his responsibility bearing down on him. The truth was, they were outmatched. Whatever that thing was, it was beyond anything they had ever encountered. A being of unimaginable power, something that defied reason, and here they were, tasked with keeping it contained.

"We can't fight this thing head-on," Ligun continued, his voice steady but laced with tension. "If it decides to break out, I'm not sure we'd be able to stop it. Hell, I don't even know if the reinforcements can. We're up against something way out of our league, but our only option is to hold on a little longer. Just long enough for help to get here."

Maya glanced at him, her gaze softening slightly. "You're right.~ The men believe in you, Captain. They'll hold on as long as they can. But… what if the reinforcements don't come in time? What if—"

Before she could finish, one of the magic casters came sprinting up to them, his face pale, eyes wide with panic. He was breathing hard, his words tumbling out in a rush.

"Captain! We—we're hearing sounds from the cell!"

A cold feeling crept up Ligun's spine, settling in the pit of his stomach like a block of ice. He exchanged a look with Maya, who was already on high alert.

"Sounds?" Ligun asked, his voice tight. "What kind of sounds?"

The mage swallowed, clearly rattled. "It's like… like someone talking. But it's faint. And there's this… this presence. It's hard to explain, Captain, but it's not good. We—"

"Show me," Ligun ordered, cutting the mage off before he could spiral any further into fear. The mage nodded shakily and led the way, with Ligun and Maya following close behind.

As they neared the cell, that cold feeling intensified, pressing down on Ligun's chest like an iron weight. The air grew heavier, the atmosphere thick with something that felt almost alive—an overwhelming energy that seemed to pulse from within the cell. The guards standing watch were tense, their hands gripping their staffs tightly, eyes fixed on the door as if they expected it to burst open at any moment.

Ligun took a deep breath, steadying himself. Whatever was happening, they needed to keep their heads. Panic would only make things worse.

'Damn, being the highest commanding offices can be such a pain in the arse sometimes… still, I've got a job to do.' He stepped forward, bracing himself as he moved forward.

…

Antares stirred in the darkness, the chains that bound him rattling slightly with his movements. His mind was a haze, his thoughts fragmented, drifting in and out of focus like a fading dream. The world around him felt distant, unreal, as if he were floating in a void—an endless expanse of nothingness.

"Where…

am..

I…?"

For a brief moment, he forgot where he was. Forgot who he was.

But then, like a flood breaking through a dam, memories came rushing back, crashing into him with the force of a tidal wave. The battle. The World Eater. The shattering of his power. The fall of Yggdrasil…

Antares opened his eyes and stared into this cell he was in. He looked through his body and saw how he was covered in chains which stuck him to the wall.

"Yggdrasil… my Creator… is dead."

The weight of his memories crushed him, and for the first time in his existence, he felt… broken. He moved, his limbs heavy, as if the chains that bound him were nothing. With little effort, he stepped forward, the chains clattering to the floor.

He remembered his Creator, the one who had forged him, given him purpose. He was the first, designed to serve the World Tree in all aspects, especially its defense. But now… now there was nothing. No guiding hand, no voice to command him. The realization hit him like a physical blow, and Antares felt a deep, gnawing emptiness open up inside him—a void where once there had been power and certainty.

Without his Creator, he was lost. His strength, once immeasurable, had been shattered, scattered to the winds. The power he had wielded, the power of the [Ten Worlds, was gone—reduced to [One World]. Where once he had drawn strength from nine realms and his own, now only a single spark remained, a faint echo of the might he had once commanded. Even a common Player could eventually defeat him.

How could this have happened? How could the Son of Yggdrasil, the protector of all worlds, be reduced to this… this shadow of his former self? The loss of his Creator was deeper than he had realized, cutting him off from the source of his strength, his purpose.

The memories of the World Eater flashed through his mind—an image of the titanic creature gloating over him, mocking his failure. Rage bubbled up from the depths of his soul, a fierce, burning anger that threatened to consume him entirely. His aura flared, the energy crackling around him, fueled by his hatred and despair.

But just as quickly as it had come, the anger faded, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion. He almost lost his balance from it, his aura retracting into a dim glow around his body. He looked at his hand, watching as it trembled uncontrollably.

'My powers are spent, without Yggdrasil to serve as my anchor…'

A soft sound drew his attention, and his gaze snapped to the entrance of the cell. His senses flared to life, his [Eyes of Providence] activating instinctively. It was one of his passive skills. Through them, he saw with a clarity that bordered on the divine. He could see from miles away if he so wished, be able to see through illusions and invisibility without fail, and even be able to divine the future. However, the further in the future he goes, the more conflicting the images he sees are—such is the future.

The three humanoids on the other side of the cell door were human, their forms stark against the backdrop of darkness.

'Humans…', he thought, analyzing them with a detached curiosity. Bipedal creatures of flesh and bone, fragile yet adaptable. They possessed no inherent magic, no divine spark within them. Their power, when they had any, came from their mastery of tools and spells, not from within, but they often possess an incredible will which is hard to compute, and he always found it to be admirable. These humans were no different.

They must be the ones who imprisoned me and stuck him to a wall, Antares mused. His anger flared once more, but he forced it down, the fire within him too faint to sustain.

The door creaked open, and the three humans entered, clearly on edge. The one leading them—a man with a steely gaze—was trying hard to mask his fear, but Antares could see the way his hands shook ever so slightly.

"Ahem! Greetings… I am Ligun Devoras Yostyk, Captain of the Windflower Scripture," Ligun said, his voice steady but strained. His words hung in the air, his eyes flickering between the armored being and his subordinates. "And you are…?"

Antares' gaze remained fixed, calm, and unyielding. The names and titles meant nothing to him, mere echoes of a world he had no connection to. His mind briefly touched on the memory of scattered realms, worlds lost when the Devourer once came. These humans were likely remnants of that ancient scattering. A flicker of anger surfaced, but it was quickly extinguished, replaced by a cold, numbing emptiness.

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with tension. Ligun's heart pounded in his chest as the moments dragged on. Could this being even speak? Or was it simply observing, judging?

"I am… Antares," the being finally replied, his voice resonating through the room. It was not just a voice—it was a chorus, a multitude of voices layered together, with one regal tone leading them. The sound sent a shiver down Ligun's spine, and he felt Maya tense beside him. The mage at his side visibly paled, struggling to comprehend the otherworldly presence before them and almost soiling himself.

Knowing the humans looked too stunned to continue, he spoke first.

"Forgive me for my imposing image. It is quite odd to see someone who doesn't know who I am."

"W-well, I'm sure an imposing figure such as yourself would be easily recognizable anywhere. Still, we don't know much about you. In fact , we don't know anything at all, and that's part of the reason why you're here, actually. Could you tell us more about yourself? You don't look… human." From the eye-sockets of his armor, Ligun could see how the ghost of a yellow flame flickered, and then returned to blackness.

"Indeed. The better definition would be a 'Spirit'. Now, allow me to make a question of my own. Where are we? And why am I in a cell?"

Ligun felt the knots in his stomachs turn at the implication. This might deteriorate fast if he doesn't say the right thing…

'He didn't say much, but a Spirit, aye? Not surprising really, considering this guy is centuries old at least.' He quickly formulated his response before Antares could run out of patience.

"To answer your question, you're currently in the Slane Theocracy, one of the few human nations in the world. Everyone here serves our nation and humanity as a whole. We were exploring a dungeon presumably made by the Six Great Gods on the Albelion Hills and found you trapped in a crystal inside." Ligun continued.

"When we freed you, you were… less stable than your current self. You sure caused quite a stir up there. So, for our own safety and to acquire more knowledge about yourself, we brought you here. My apologies if this room isn't suitable for you but there weren't any adequate alternatives." He told him the truth, but obviously not all of it. He couldn't explain why, but something told him that lying even in the slightest in this being's presence could cost him his life.

"Hmm, I see," He thought to himself how he definitely knew nothing of the current world. Slane Theocracy? Six Great Gods? There was nowhere in his memory he could correlate these terms, although there was one thing of interest to note. "This dungeon… what can you tell me about it?"

"To be honest, there's not much we could say. All we know is that dragons may also be involved. Other than that, we estimate that the dungeon is ancient, a few centuries old at least." Ligun found it curious that not even this being knew why he was imprisoned. He could certainly guess some of it, considering what happened before…

'Centuries…'

For him, centuries are as inconsequential as seconds are for the majority of species. But sometimes, it isn't about him, but the people around him. Friends and comrades will fade away in the mottes of history while he will live on. Well… that is until everything changed…

He can't stay here, locked behind a cell. He needs to go outside, see this world for himself with his own eyes. Maybe… his senses betray him? Maybe Yggdrasil wasn't really gone? He needs to know if it's true… was his home… his Creator really gone?

"Well, could you tell me where you come fro—" Ligun was interrupted as Antares waves his hand.

"I'm sure you wish to know, but I'm afraid our time is up. May I depart?"

'Of course… the worst case scenario just had to have happened…' Ligun thought to himself. This won't end well…

"Um… you see… we actually need you to stay here, at least until someone more qualified than myself comes to speak with you personally. If you wish to be moved to more accommodating quarters, that could certainly be arranged as well…" Antares crossed his arms and although Ligun couldn't see his face, it was apparent he was amused.

"I'm flattered by your hospitality. However, I believe I can make my own choices. May I depart?"

"I'm… sorry, but I can't do that…"

"Oh?" The armored man tilted his head.

'They sure are audacious.'

"Our superiors gave explicit orders to us for you to stay here until we can comprehend more about the situation. You're still trespassing into Theocracy lands and are a dangerous unknown after all. Again, I'm sorry, but you can't leave…"

This is it. He'd die right here and now or enjoy a good night of sleep. The Anomaly looked him dead in the eye, and he almost cowered beneath his intimidating gaze.

"Is that so?"

Ligun could only nod. If the gods were watching, now would be a good time for their intervention…

"Hmph. Fine. Do what you will."

'Huh?'

The armored behemoth then turned his back to the group, not wanting to talk anymore.

The three humans looked at each other and shrugged confusingly. Was it that easy?

"A-ahem! Thank you for understanding. If you'd like anything else, just call for us again."

"..."

Not wanting to push their luck, Ligun signaled for the three of them that it was time to leave. They turned and left, walking through the single corridor until reaching a secured entrance. Ligun reached his hand to open it.

…

BOOM

'MOTHERF-'

They heard an explosion behind them and they all jumped to look what happened. Simply, their worst fears were becoming true.

The caged door was blown away, with parts of it now stuck on the walls of the corridor. And out of the cell comes Antares. His eyes faintly glowing yellow, and he slowly strolled towards the entrance.

"Shit! Summon angels and run!" Ligun ordered the two beside him, and they did just that. Four angels appeared by the two magic casters summoning.

The humans escaped the corridor while the angels charged at Antares, ready to slice him to pieces. It did not impress him.

As they approached and readied their flaming blades, he simply punched them. It was so hard it could even be heard by the running humans. They disintegrated after a single blow, such was the difference in level between them, even in his weakened state.

More angels came pouring in, their divine forms radiating a soft, golden light as they lunged at Antares. But to him, they were nothing more than minor distractions.

[Apostle - World Tree] was a divine class, a higher grade of cleric, granted to those chosen by the World Tree to carry its will. Through this, Antares could manipulate [Fragments]—the fundamental essences of the Nine Realms—shaping them into weapons, shields, or even restoring parts of the world itself.

With a casual flick of his wrist, Antares summoned forth his [Fragments], crystalline shards that shimmered with a pale light. These [Fragments] were the remnants of the Nine Realms, tiny pieces of their essence that Antares had gathered over countless eons. Each [Fragment] was almost insignificant on its own, but together, they were his tools, his weapons. He was a Telumancer, able to shape these [Fragments] into anything he desired.

His first creation was simple—a gleaming sword that materialized in his hand with a pulse of energy. It was a fraction of what he once wielded, but it would suffice. He moved with blinding speed, his blade slicing through the angels before they could react. Their divine forms disintegrated, their holy light snuffed out by the power that lingered in his weapon.

One by one, the angels fell, their forms shattered into fragments of light. But Antares was hardly winded. With each angel he struck down, he analyzed their composition, recognizing the familiar essence of divine magic—yet it was diluted, weak, compared to what he had once known.

These humans are bold, or perhaps foolish, he thought with a hint of disdain. They send these pitiful summons against him, believing them to be enough.

"Pathetic."

He walked forward as the last angel fell, his [Fragments] floating around him, ready to strike at a moment's notice. He moved through the corridors with a calm, almost measured pace, as if he had all the time in the world.

Ahead, he saw a set of stairs leading upwards, towards what he assumed was the surface. He ascended them without hesitation, his senses on high alert. When he reached the top, he found himself facing a heavy door. With a single push, he forced it open—only to be met with a barrage of spells.

The corridor exploded in a blinding flash of light and smoke as the spells collided with him. The attack was relentless, it seemed they were willing to waste every single drop of mana they had in the hopes of stopping him. Calculating how much mana they could pour into this attack, they then heard the voice of their captain.

"Cease Fire! Cease Fire! Angels, attack!" Ligun commanded as another flood of angels moved forward to meet their foe beyond the smoke without the risk of friendly fire. Under normal circumstances, not many would leave unscathed after an assault such as that.

But when the smoke cleared, Antares stood there, imposingly. Around him, the ground was littered with the disintegrating forms of angels, their remnants dissolving into the ether. In his hand, he held the limp form of the last angel, its throat crushed by his grasp. With a final, dismissive squeeze, he let it disintegrate as well.

Without a moment's delay, Antares constructed a dagger from his [Fragments, its blade shimmering with a soft, ethereal light. He whispered a spell, his voice barely audible as he invoked.

"[Vindr – Wind Cut]"

The air around him shifted, the pressure condensing into a single, razor-thin line of wind. Faster than anyone could blink, the wind cut through the ranks of the remaining angels hovering above them, leaving nothing but empty space where they had once been.

Beyond their ranks, Ligun watched in horror as his forces were decimated. Sweat dripped down his brow, his heart racing as he realized how utterly outmatched they were. "Is the 6th Seat ready?" he whispered, desperation lacing his voice.

A response came as the 6th Seat of the Black Scripture, a warrior clad in gleaming blue armor, appeared at his side. The warrior's form was surrounded by a glow of numerous buffing spells as he drank numerous potions, each one enhancing his already formidable strength.

"Ready!" The warrior said and he surged forward, his body a blur of motion as he activated multiple Martial Arts at once, each one pushing his abilities to the limit. He was of the Realm of Heroes! Surely he could make a difference!?

Antares turned to face this new challenger, his [Eyes of Providence] analyzing the warrior's movements. Another benefit of [Eyes of Providence] is to be able to perceive the overall level of his opponents. He could see that this charging human was using an alternative method to enhance himself beyond his capabilities.

"Ho?"

In all his eons, he had seen countless abilities, countless forms of combat, yet this was different. This warrior's body was pushing itself beyond natural limits, drawing on a wellspring of strength that defied logic.

But logic was a constraint for the living. Antares was beyond such limits.

"[Jörð – Earth Coil]"

The ground beneath the 6th Seat responded to his command, shifting and coiling like a living serpent. The warrior's eyes widened as his charge was interrupted by the earth that wrapped around him, and it continued to tighten its grip. As he desperately tried to break free, a shadow is cast over him. Antares stands in front of the helpless warrior, pausing momentarily to watch his struggle. Then, before the 6th Seat could even react, Antares struck with a single palm, driving him into the wall and pinning him there.

The rest of the Theocracy soldiers were paralyzed with fear. Their best warrior was bested effortlessly. Some dropped their weapons, their hands trembling uncontrollably, while others began to step back, eyes darting for an escape route. Ligun himself was drenched in sweat, his mind racing as he watched what could only be described as a massacre. This was no battle—He was toying with them, destroying their summons with casual ease, but sparing their lives.

'Why!?,' Ligun's thoughts churned as he tried to make sense of it. 'Why hasn't he killed us!?' In a way, having belonged in the Windflower Scripture for a long time, it was in his nature to want to know everything there is to know. Some gray areas may exist, but he could could surely fill in the blanks along the way. But now… it's different. He's faced with something far beyond his scope of operation,hell, of reality!

Antares didn't spare the soldiers another glance as he moved forward, his calm, measured steps sending the remaining Theocracy soldiers into a frantic retreat. Ligun and Maya were the last to stay in place—the latter of which only staying out of sheer loyalty to her friend—their hearts pounding in their chests as they wrestled with the decision of whether to stand and fight or flee for their lives.

But Ligun, gathering what little courage he had left, called out, his voice trembling. "What… w-what are you?"

Antares paused, his head tilting slightly as if considering the question. "I am the Protector," he answered, his voice carrying a deep, almost melancholic tone. "The one who guards all life… and Yggdrasil."

His voice trailed off, a distant sadness flickering in his golden eyes. He looked away, his thoughts drifting to the memories of his lost Creator, to the brothers and sisters who had given their lives to defend the World Tree. The weight of his failure pressed down on him once more, a burden too heavy to bear.

"May I… depart?" he said again, softer this time, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

Ligun felt a wave of shame wash over him as he lowered his gaze. He couldn't meet the eyes of the being before him. He could see now. This wasn't just some monster—they had all misunderstood the true nature of what they were dealing with. And as much as he wanted to fight, to protect his people, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the wrong side of this conflict. He stepped aside, letting Antares pass. He would deal with the political fallout later. For now, he just wanted to live.

…

Antares emerged from the underground complex and was greeted by the cool night air. The sky above was an unfamiliar canvas, dotted with stars that bore no resemblance to the constellations he once knew. This world was alien to him, and yet… there was a strange beauty in it.

He looked up, his golden eyes reflecting the light of the moon. Reality slowly set in—he was no longer in Yggdrasil, no longer surrounded by the remnants of the world he had fought so desperately to protect. All that remained were memories, memories of fire and death, of the final stand at the base of the World Tree.

He walked across the grassy terrain, the sound of his steps muffled by the soft earth. With each step, his armor began to fall away, piece by piece, disintegrating into motes of golden light that drifted away on the wind. By the time the last piece of his armor fell, his true form was revealed—a being of pure, radiant energy, his body a glowing golden silhouette with the cosmos swirling within.

His form was humanoid, but ethereal, as if made of stardust and light. The cosmos within him was a tapestry of ever-shifting constellations, a reflection of the universes he had once been connected to. But now, those connections were severed, leaving only the faintest echoes of their power.

Antares sat down on the grass, his legs tucked beneath him, his posture erect. The grass around him began to grow, responding to his presence, as if the very essence of life itself was drawn to him. He stared at the ground, his thoughts heavy with despair.

Was there a greater failure than to let your Creator die?

He was a Spirit, a being created to serve, to protect. Without his Creator, his purpose was gone, his lifeforce slowly corroding away. He knew that in the near future, he would die permanently, his existence snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

And so, he prepared to end it himself. There was no point in continuing this detestable existence. His brothers and sisters had given their lives to protect Yggdrasil, and he had failed them. Failed them all.

He closed his eyes, ready to release the last of his energy, to fade away into the nothingness that awaited him.

But then, a memory surfaced—an image of him and his Creator, standing within the trunk of the World Tree, surrounded by its warm, glowing light.

…

"My child," the voice murmured, gentle and caring like a mother.

Antares looked up, reverence in his gaze. "Yes, Creator?"

"What is your purpose?" The question was tender, yet it carried the weight of destiny.

"To protect," he answered, the words a vow. It was all he had ever known, the reason for his existence.

"Why?" the voice asked, pressing softly against the boundaries of his understanding.

"Because you willed it," he said, his voice steady, though doubt whispered at the edges of his mind.

"And when I am gone?" The voice was softer now, almost a whisper in the dark.

Antares hesitated, uncertainty creeping into his thoughts. "I… I would die defending you before that."

Silence followed, but it was filled with a warmth that embraced him, a final comfort as the memory began to fade.

…

Reality snapped back into focus as the first rays of the rising sun touched his face. Antares blinked, the warmth of the light cutting through the cold darkness within. For a moment, he simply marveled at it—this new world, untouched by the devastation of his past. It was simple, unremarkable… and yet, it stirred something deep within him.

He looked down and scooped up a handful of dirt, letting it sift through his fingers. It was just dirt—simple, unremarkable, still… there was something profound in its simplicity.

"Live," he heard the voice of his Creator whisper in his mind.

A fire ignited within him, a spark of determination that pushed back against the darkness that threatened to consume him. He couldn't explain it, but there was something in this world, something in this dirt, this sun, this life that was worth living for.

He slowly stood, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin. He remembered the humans who had held him captive, and how they had ultimately let him go. Coerced perhaps, yet he couldn't bring himself to feel anger toward them.

He chanted softly, his voice carrying a faint echo as he invoked.

"[Sealed Phase – Human]"

In rare times of peace, Antares would disguise himself as one of the mortal races and explore and experience the beauty of the Nine Realms. In this state, he is unable to release all of his capabilities, once it fundamentally changes his very biology, but he is far from defenseless, with even information-gathering spells failing to work on him.

He decided to turn himself into a human, not only because it was the first conscient being he encountered in this world, but it was also beneficial. He is able to choose any race he wants, except the unliving—obviously—but he wouldn't benefit from their racial traits and would actually receive the full penalties, so he preferred to stick with Humanoids.

His radiant form began to shift, transforming into that of a human—a man with pale skin, long black hair, and a beard. His golden irises, were the only betrayers of his true essence, which sometimes swirled around with hidden power. His clothing was simple, humble even—a brown coat with plain garments underneath, all created from his [Fragments].

"I will try," he whispered, his voice carrying a promise to himself, to his Creator, and to the world that had given him a second chance. "I will try… My Creator."

And with that, a journey of a thousand steps began, his steps carrying him forward into the unknown.

…

Far from the tranquil dawn, within the dark halls of a forgotten crypt, an Elder Lich of the Death Cult of Zurannon brooded over the recent failures of his underlings. Created only a few years ago, he now found himself burdened with cleaning up the mess left by others.

Not long ago, there was talk of the grand ritual of Death Spiral, a spell powerful enough to engulf the entire city of E-Rantel. But those damned adventurers from Team Darkness had thwarted everything.

The failure of Khajit, that incompetent fool, and Clementine, that deranged woman, had been a significant blow to their plans. A considerable amount of resources had been allocated to ensure that ritual's success, only for it all to be wasted. Worse, their blunder had drawn the attention of the Slane Theocracy, since Clementine was supposedly once part of their 'illustrious' Black Scripture.

"Pah! Just thinking about them makes me nauseous—and I don't even have a stomach!"

Now, the Elder Lich, clad in robes of deep black, plotted the massacre of an entire village to replenish their dwindling forces. A small price to pay to further their plans, he figured. The Executives were growing anxious after the mysterious mana surge happened a few days ago, not that he cared much.

The lich's hollow eyes gleamed with a cold, malevolent light as he traced his skeletal fingers over a map. The village's fate was sealed; the sacrifices were necessary to rebuild what had been lost. His bony hand hovered over the village's name—a place just near the border between the Re-Estize Kingdom and the Slane Theocracy. Perhaps some Theocracy dogs were living there.

A dark grin spread across his skeletal face.

"Yes… this should suit nicely…"

As you can see, I have taken many creative liberties, hope it's good.

Thougts? Opinions? Ideas?