Thus far, the tales have been recounted in third-person omniscient narrative. The series was originally titled Lumi'Nae's Voidbound Odyssey. Yet, even with the new title, The Eternal Diva's Shadow: A Metabound Odyssey, does it not imply that I remain heavily involved and should occupy centre stage? I allowed the author—who wished to remain anonymous—to do as they pleased, and while I naturally prefer solitude, at this rate might Ouroboros, Tiamat, or another character eventually usurp my role as the primary lead?

  Speaking of anonymity, should the author not have adopted that as their pen name? They were then captivated by Norse mythology when the first story was written, yet there is already a character named Niflheim within the narrative. This could cause confusion, potentially leading readers to mistakenly believe that the character is a self-insertion by the author—an impression that was never intended.

  Come to think of it, I am meant to be amoral and cosmically indifferent to the past, present, future, and beyond. At one time, Nemesis insisted that existence held meaning, while others like Nihilignis contended the contrary. Then there are Yuwu and Azuraella, who simply exist; most mortals fall into a similar category, do they not? They are too preoccupied and ephemeral to ponder such matters deeply, lacking the capacity to effect change beyond their own solar system and, for the most part, their immediate surroundings.

  As I confided to Ayame, I am not entirely sure of the answer myself. Why must the meaning of existence be definitively one thing or another—or even both, neither, or indeed any fixed answer at all? The simplest response is that it is unknown. In truth, the most straightforward explanation is that every action a sane and rational mortal takes is solely aimed at keeping themselves alive and thriving.

  And what of beings such as myself, who have created the gods—those considered the ultimate architects of creation? When I raise my left hand, innumerable meanings are forged; while my eldritch right arm—drips forth elements that either possess no meaning or lie beyond it.

  This marks the first occasion on which I have addressed you directly. My thoughts are usually inscrutable, yet I wished to see how the narrative would appear in the first person, from my own perspective. Aside from the dialogues I shared with Nemesis at the amusement park, I have remained relatively silent compared to the other characters. And for once—just this one time—I wanted you to hear my voice.

  In the last chapter—whether one calls it a short story or otherwise—I, Sathiel, and Tiamat were absent during Lancelot's and his lion knights' assault on Nemesis' camp in the Forest of Broceliande. We had parted ways shortly after establishing the camp, for Tiamat had been craving destruction, as she has always possessed a violent soul. Sathiel, meanwhile, insisted on accompanying me for protection, despite knowing full well that I do not require an escort.

  For no particularly compelling reason, I led us to the safest fishing spot in one of the corridors that bridge the infinite planes of the Void. There we encountered an outer goddess named Setsuna Juliet Fuyukawa, the Greek monster Typhon—disguised as a rugged man—and Cerberus, the three-headed dog. Throughout our time together, Setsuna regarded me with suspicion and failed to catch a single fish. Typhon, on the other hand, netted a bounty of void fish, but after consuming one raw, he promptly cast the remainder back into the water. He thanked them for the meal but remarked that they needed to taste better. Meanwhile, Cerberus swam through the void ocean as Tiamat lashed him from above with a long, spiked whip, urging him to generate a spectacular tidal wave in our direction. Throughout, Sathiel stood vigil behind me, intercepting the tidal wave with her Cursed Blood Tide.

  Just as Setsuna rose to request something from me, I caught something unexpected—Brahman's tainted corpse. I resurrected him. To summarise briefly, he had been undone by the perilous environment of the Void mere moments before engaging an Exvoidian named Borga in a duel. Only outer gods with an affinity for Ayame, those shielded by the Obsidian Triad, or entities on par with Ayame are immune to this meta-present, all-overwriting environment. Despite Brahman's original form being more potent than that of Setsuna—a human before she embraced Ayame's power—Setsuna enjoyed greater compatibility with Ayame's shard, whereas Brahman did not. He thanked me for restoring him, though I sensed a measure of hostility. Accustomed as he was to receiving no assistance from those outside his own realm, he appeared resentful and insecure, unable to accept that he was not the final reality. In contrast, Dao and her Three Pure Ones, along with the other Void Incarnates, seemed more accepting of their own revelations.

  I never sought gratitude, nor did I expect anything in return. Setsuna found herself intrigued when Brahman unveiled his connection to the Tenebris Monochrome—a truth she had long suspected, much like protagonists in one tale recognising their counterparts in another. If memory serves, the Tenebris Monochrome is the chaotic faction aligned with Ayame. These beings are, in essence, her creations—immortals who, in their relentless pursuit of the ineffable, seek to grasp the myriad forms of final realities that defy categorisation, all born of her influence. In contrast, the Obsidian Triad, a more lawful and considerably more powerful faction allied with Ayame, remains independent. They act as a third party, rather than being direct creations of hers.

  As Brahman engaged Setsuna in a fierce duel, he unleashed his Annihilation of Essence to swiftly conclude the battle. In response, Setsuna parried his uncounterable assault with her odachi and her Tragick Sworde Style—a fighting technique reminiscent of mortal Iaijutsu, though lavishly enhanced with metaphysical flourishes. Before Tiamat could hurl herself into the fray, I phase-shifted Sathiel, Tiamat, and myself to the Unknown.

  Earlier, I had received an urgent call from Ouroboros, yet my intuition suggested no reply was necessary. I know that he and Akashirae are currently at Great Camelot, intent on participating in Metrina's Boundless Battlegrounds and rescuing Nemesis.

  I am now off to observe and report on the unfolding events at Great Camelot—a name that designates both the metaphysical realm and the legendary kingdom. The city is an extraordinary amalgam of medieval architecture and science-fiction elements. It appears that both Akashirae and Ouroboros have joined a diverse assembly of beings, from mortals to primordial deities, all awaiting an announcement from a mysterious cloaked woman.

  This enigmatic figure, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Ayame but with reversed colours—her hair and garments are white instead of black, though her eyes remain bottomless black—goes by the name Blanche. Standing atop a colossal stadium reminiscent of a vast monochrome chessboard, Blanche addresses the crowd and remote onlookers alike:

  "Greetings and welcome, competitors and spectators, mortals and gods, winners and losers. I, Blanche, will be your hostess for the 22,354th Boundless Battlegrounds. Let us hear it for the astounding competitors who will be fighting and dying tonight!"

  The assembled throng erupts in cheers, ravenous for both entertainment and carnage. "It is all thanks to the Goddess-Saint Metrina for making this eternal spectacle possible. This time, the Goddess-Saint herself, along with her kin, shall serve as the three judges!"

  Blanche then gestures towards three empty thrones. In a sudden burst of light that envelops the omniverses and beyond, a charismatic and commanding woman materialises on the central throne. It is Metrina: her hair a rose pink interwoven with strands of white, her eyes a brilliant gold, and she is clad in immaculate opal royal attire. With arms crossed and one leg elegantly draped over the other, she declares, "I expect nothing less than excellence from all competitors." Many in the crowd offer prayers to Metrina, grateful for the rare opportunity to witness her in person.

  Blanche continues, "To Metrina's right, we have her Metapotentia sister, Lilith Nightshade—also known as the pop star, ArchDeMoN!" In an instant, particles of fire, wind, lightning, earth, and aether coalesce to form a stunning woman who takes her seat on the throne. With flowing black hair, eyes that shimmer with red and purple hues, and draped entirely in obsidian bandages, Lilith sits with her legs crossed, one hand concealing her red eye. "Your reality is a cage, and I am its warden," she intones. Twirling a sharpie deftly, she continues, "Devout killerlords of mine, I shall not be bestowing any engravings upon you this aeon. For you see..." She places her left hand over her seemingly uncontrolled right arm and adds, "My seething, writhing hand is busy averting countless apocalypses. A brutal shame! Oh, I can hear the ceaseless laments. If the world ended today, would that not be magnificent?" At her cue, many in the crowd brandish their bloodied daggers, waving them like lightsticks at a concert. One enthusiastic fan even shouts, "2012 was supposed to be the greatest day of my life!"

  "Finally, I present to you the third judge, Surtr Valmue!" At these words, all the stars in every world simultaneously send a slender beam of light towards the throne, and an unclad oni woman with a supermodel's physique—cloaked in infernal flames—assumes a forward-leaning pose on the throne. "I am the Eternal Flame; my melody incinerates discord. Forge your fate to the rhythm of my symphony of embers—I care not for your praise, only for the dance of holy ashes. Ignis Syrinx Krohm. Dance, ephemerals—your time is but a verse in my requiem." An army of burly, tattooed riders astride motorcycles rips off their shirts and chants in unison, "Ignis Syrinx Krohm!" They even produce a massive wardrum and beat it with unbridled enthusiasm.

  Then, as if on cue, a fourth throne materialises beside Surtr's. "Uwaa~! Late-late-LATE!" cries Yuwu, who dashes towards the newly formed seat. With bread still in her mouth and clad in green plate armour, she claims the space with characteristic exuberance.

  Amidst the commotion, the participant Seimei, surrounded by his shikigami, voices his confusion, "Who is this? My Omnyojutsu cannot foretell the futures of the three judges, yet this new fourth one remains shrouded too. At this rate, how can I allow others to label me the Legendary Omnyoji?" Seimei—a man in his early twenties with brown hair and green eyes—appears genuinely perplexed.

  "...Weeb," interjects Nosferatu, standing between Abe no Seimei and Lord Ruthven.

  The latter—a devastatingly handsome man in his mid-twenties with tousled brown hair and hypnotic pink eyes, draped in pristine white leather—chuckles. He playfully sticks his tongue out before tapping Nosferatu's head with affectionate mockery as he defends Seimei.

  "Ohhh, you bald impostor. I do love a bit of name-calling." His smirk widens as his nails lazily trace Nosferatu's skin, before suddenly digging in—just enough to draw blood. "But let's get one thing straight, hmm? There's only room for one supreme vampire at the top, and naturally... that would be me."

  Nosferatu let out a hoarse laugh—speaking clearly being a painful endeavour for him—while grabbing Ruthven's rear, much to the latter's apparent delight. "Pretty boy's got... fresh meat. Very... good. My touch... shall be your... doom."

  I distanced myself metaphysically from the scene; perhaps the Metapotentiae had taken note of my presence. Conceivably, it might be more discreet—and create a sense of detachment—if the remainder of the tale were rendered in the past tense. Well, it should be better than nothing. Here goes.

  Blanche looked towards Metrina, who simply nodded. "It appears we have a fourth judge! Yuwu, the Dragon of the Jade Void! Once the Jade Emperor, now the reigning Tian—would you care to address the audience?"

  "I'm so, SO sowwy for being late!" Yuwu declared, dropping the bread from her mouth as she continued, "I—I attempted to leave early, but then I accidentally put my greaves on the wrong feet, and suddenly there was this magnificent bread truck parked outside—it reeked of melon pan! I thought, perhaps I should bring snacks for everyone! But then I remembered that judges must be utterly serious, and—" Mid-sentence, she paused, snapping upright with a startled gasp. "Wait, that's not important! Please forgive me—I shall work extra hard to make amends, even if I must consume three helpings of shame-rice later!"

  The crowd erupted in applause. "You're so damn cute!" one voice cheered.

  "Please be my waifu!" another shouted.

  "Holy fertile milkers...!" Thor bellowed. "A sight so mythical is indeed rare—even in the resplendent golden age of Asgard!"

  Ruthven turned to regard the god. "So you can tell as well? Not bad... but do keep your voice down, won't you? At this rate, I'll never get my poor, restless boner under control." Meanwhile, Nosferatu continued to grope his backside, this time sinking his fingers in with exaggerated, almost thoughtful intensity.

  "How can you two be so sure?" Seimei interjected. "She is clad in plate armour—the triangular chest plate may be merely for show."

  Thor shook his head with a hearty laugh, slinging a mighty arm around Seimei's shoulders. "Ha! Spoken like a true novice! Once you have revelled in the company of as many fine women as I have, you learn to discern such truths with but a glance—even when they are concealed beneath steel and artifice!"

  "Oh, come now, it's simply a matter of instinct, my dear," added Ruthven. He tapped a finger against his temple before letting it trail lazily down his chest. "A man's... finer senses simply know these things. If yours can't pick up on the presence of a ripe, delectable beauty nearby, well..." His pink eyes gleamed with mock sympathy. "Perhaps your poor little thing is in need of some serious training."

  Thor released Seimei with a great clap on the back before turning to the vampire, grinning. "Ah-ha! You and I shall get on splendidly, my friend! I must say, I am most impressed by your warrior's build—a physique truly worthy of battle!" He paused, squinting at Nosferatu. "Though I must admit, it is rather peculiar that an old man seems so fond of your backside... but no matter!" He threw an arm wide in invitation. "Come! How about the five of us share a drink later? A proper feast to celebrate this fine company! Yes, you're welcome as well, decrepit old fart! My treat!"

  "Ah, my dear fellow, how could I possibly decline such a magnanimous proposition?" replied Ruthven. "I gather then that the final addition is none other than that woefully enchanting kunoichi standing at your side?"

  Hammy drew back, creating a measured distance between herself and the others. The beautiful woman with vivid purple hair and cool brown eyes regarded them with a melancholy gaze before murmuring, "You, quintessence of dust, ought not to associate with me. I am nothing but misery incarnate, unworthy of any favour."

  From afar, Elizabeth Bathory observed the banter between them. Out of curiosity, I read her thoughts: 'So those two are my successors... They have turned immortality and power into a farce, just as I suspected. One is a fallen noble vampire—a festering coward seemingly willing to sleep with anything that moves. The other is a repulsive wretch; even a ghoul exhibits more decorum.'

  Then she turned to a muscular, heroic man in his mid-thirties, his long, straight black hair and stubble lending him an aura of rock-solid determination. "Remember our blood pact, mutt. These two are to be prioritised for elimination. Bring their corpses back to me once they're dead."

  Beowulf, who bore a tattered cape and three swords upon his back—two mere hilts in their sheaths and one that appeared ancient and crude—opened his eyes. Having been levitating in meditation, he touched the ground and exuded a stern calm, a formidable force that sliced through reality itself. Competitors stepped aside as he passed. Elizabeth's blood pact rendered her invulnerable to harm from Beowulf and anyone else bound by the same pact. "There is naught I cannot cut," he intoned, "so consider it done."

  "Really? You think you can cut me too?" Sun Wukong bumped into his shoulder and walked past before turning to face him, staff held confidently over his shoulder.

  "The Awakened Void Buddha, the Chaos Great Sage, a fellow rebel," Susanoo declared as he appraised Sun Wukong. He unsheathed the Ame-no-ohabari halfway and scrutinised it carefully. He recalled how Amaterasu had refused to lend him the Ame-no-Murakumo-no-Tsurugi for the Boundless Battlegrounds, asserting that it now rightfully belonged to her descendants. With indirect assistance from his siblings—whom he had implored for help—he had spent an eternity tracking down his reclusive, disheartened father in a hidden realm, eventually compelling him to relinquish both his blade and spear. Though weakened, his father had still fought a hard-battled contest, the skirmish only ceasing because he had grown weary of everything.

  Susanoo now fixed his gaze on what appeared to be the sun. "Ane no Mikoto, does your radiance still fear my storms? When your light vanished, my tempests roamed heaven and earth. My deeds may be unforgivable... yet without them, would your light shine so brightly? You refused to lend me the blade I gifted you despite my prostration for the sake of Kushinadahime. Even that kusojiji failed to revive the Great Deity of Yomi. And know this—not once have I regretted mourning her. I will do what he could not, and the only way to save my most beloved wife is to triumph in this tournament."

  His spirit steadied as he recalled Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi placing their arms on his shoulders before he stepped through the Doorless Door. They were in Tsukuyomi's palace—his sparse office, to be precise—situated on the moon. Amaterasu had said, "For once, I shall root for you. Show those gaijin gods what you are made of. Violence and disobedience have always been your forte. I know you will excel at both." Tsukuyomi added, "We were never close, but know that you have my support. Your importance has long surpassed my own. Do not make us kami appear feeble and become a laughingstock."

  Amaterasu bit her lip. "And if he does? Will you kill him as you did Ukemochi, all in the name of purity? You are still an evil god. This will be the last time I ever lay eyes on you."

  "Not this again," Tsukuyomi retorted. "I fail to comprehend how you do not find Ukemochi repulsive. You are more lenient to our little brother than to me, even if only slightly. He killed far more... And did I ever complain when you were assigned the most important domain? No. I have always known my station and upheld the laws of purity rigidly, as all kami should. You were the one who strayed."

  They both grasped each other's hands, pushing and butting heads in heated disagreement.

  "Rigidly. That is the problem. Your naive idealism will bring death to all life. Do you have any idea how much work I must do compared to you two boorish loafers?"

  Susanoo separated them. "I learned much from Kushinadahime. One lesson, in particular, is that violence must be wielded wisely."

  Amaterasu stepped on his foot, scorching it slightly, and snapped, "Just shut up and leave. I do not wish to hear that from you."

  "Your sister has spoken. As always, her words resonate above ours, regardless of whether they are right or not."

  Susanoo strode through the Doorless Door, but not before saying, "You too can change, brother. The moon is never a still object—it phases and orbits."

  "Just whom do you think you are addressing? I am well aware of that, and I know it can turn red too—an ill omen indeed... How rude of you to depart before hearing my full response." He glanced around; Amaterasu had already left.

  "Would you like some tea, Tsukuyomi-sama?" a retainer asked from near the door.

  "Yes. And make it as bitter as possible," he replied.

  He watched her work with meticulous precision.

  "Wait, I do not want you to leave just yet. Perhaps there is still work to be done here? Also... tell me, have I ever been unfair? I am not the one who is insane, am I?"

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The retainer replied, "Pardon me, Tsukuyomi-sama. It is not my place to say... I will return shortly with the cleaning utensils."

  He sighed. "Don't take too long."

  Resting his fingers against the teacup, he felt its scorching heat but took a sip anyway, the burn searing his mouth. His gaze drifted to the portraits on the wall—himself and his siblings, their hair a pure, unnatural white, their eyes gleaming gold.

  In the present, Ouroboros took note of the powerful competitors around him. He had initially considered his former master, Sun Wukong, and that Beowulf fellow as threats to watch, yet he now observed that both Guan Yu and Susanoo might prove to be equally, if not more, interesting adversaries. He also mused that Guan Yu had reincarnated as a woman now—so perhaps not? Amidst his wariness, he failed to notice a pale lass with light blue hair tied in a side ponytail and red eyes, who stealthily approached and tugged at his black trench coat.

  For a fleeting moment, it seemed that everything but them dissolved into That Sea. Ouroboros could scarcely discern his surroundings—colours beyond his ken, indistinct structures, and voices intermingled with the strains of Moonlight Sonata.

  "Are you happy?" she asked as she reappeared before him at the piano.

  "Tch. Stupid question, kid. Happiness is for those too preoccupied with fixing their mistakes." At once, Ouroboros paused, as though questioning why he had uttered those words and pondering the nature of his errors.

  She resumed playing flawlessly, eyes closed in concentration. "But isn't the act of mending mistakes a form of happiness—or at least a path towards it? Someone once told me that those who flee from their regrets never notice the blood seeping through the cracks of their veins." A one-red-eyed black cat leapt onto the piano and dozed off. "Do you ever pause to admire the moon while you swing that halberd? Or savour the taste of rain as it falls? You cannot mend everything, yet you can still find joy in the attempt. Shouldn't you have learned that by now? ...Big brother."

  Before he could reply, she and the eldritch reality vanished. He glanced at Akashirae and the others around them; none appeared to have noticed her—at least, none that he cared to acknowledge. I certainly noticed, but perhaps that is best left unremembered.

  "Is something wrong?" Akashirae asked. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

  "Don't tell me you didn't see her... Never mind, it's nothing."

  "You're being odd again. Weirdo."

  Blanche held an opalescent orb between her hands before letting it fall. The moment it struck the ground, it shattered. Great Camelot crumbled like glass, swallowed by a flood of opal light as it fused with another realm, giving birth to a new domain: The Godless Altar.

  The realm was still forming when I saw Blanche collapse, a single bead of sweat trailing from her chin. Was it for dramatic effect, or had she truly overexerted herself? I was fairly certain the orb had been imbued with Metrina's power, meaning Blanche should not have needed to expend her own—thus it must have been theatrics. Rising to her feet, she began to explain the rules of the game, which bore the same name as the newly created realm.

  From what I gathered, this video game–like world operated on a levelling and progression system, with maximum levels and stats capped at 999,999,999. Mmm. Seemed a bit low. Its inhabitants were not mere coded NPCs but genuine entities for whom stat allocation and hovering menus were an intrinsic part of existence. Beyond these game mechanics, the realm was indistinguishable from any other in the Plane of Fallen Gods and Mortal Mundaneness.

  Blanche continued: the competitors were divided into two groups—the Chosens and the Godless. The Chosens were mortal contenders, ordinary individuals plucked from another world and devoid of supernatural abilities. They fancied themselves protagonists trapped in a lucid dream—a premise suspiciously familiar, perhaps lifted from an isekai manga. Each Chosen was assigned a Godless, a powerful entity destined to fight on their behalf.

  Among the Godless yet to be summoned were Ouroboros and Akashirae, destined to be bound to one of the Chosens. The mortal contenders would be dispatched first into the game world; once they had acclimatised, the Godless would follow.

  Blanche prattled on, her voice unwavering even as the mortals stifled yawns and their attention waned. To me, her monologue did not seem unduly long. At last, she opened the floor to questions.

  Thor was the first to speak. "Tell me, wicked witch, what is the goal of this game?"

  Unperturbed, Blanche offered a sly smile. "Why, isn't it obvious? The title should have given it away. Your objective is to claim the Godless Altar—and if that means defeating the other Chosens and their Godless, so be it."

  A mortal hesitantly raised a hand. "Has a mortal ever won the Boundless Battlegrounds before?"

  "Indeed. Your feeble mind must have wandered when I mentioned it earlier—though I suppose I can repeat myself for your benefit. The last battlegrounds, designed exclusively for mortals, bore a mecha theme. The victor's prize? A single wish fulfilled. She chose to be reborn and reunited with her loved one in the realm of nonfiction reality."

  After a few more questions, Blanche looked smugly at the assembly and declared, "I've created a tutorial for you dimwits. You Chosens can refer to it from your menu at any time. And remember—your menu will one day inform you when it's time to summon. It's RNG-based, of course, but there are measures you can take to increase your chances of obtaining the Godless you desire. Good luck finding them and rolling for your 7- to 10-notes Godless. Until that fateful day, live as good citizens in your new world—and here's a pro tip: you die when your HP reaches zero."

  "You don't say?" Thor exclaimed, leaping onto the monochrome stadium as if he'd had enough of her antics. "Enchanted Conjuration: Ragnarok Thunder!"

  Surtr shot a look of utter disapproval at the conjuration, shaking her leg so vigorously that her flames singed her throne slightly.

  "This is it, witch. I'm going all out!" Thor surged forward with the speed of lightning, zipping through the air as he amassed power before swinging his elemental, chaos-infused, flame-and-lightning sword and axe at Blanche. She blocked both weapons effortlessly with the pinkies of each hand.

  "Ara ara," she said, "it was entertaining watching you shout at the sky and buzz around like an overzealous fly, as if you could do anything in this world. But tell me, big boy—got anything else? A lady as amazing as me shouldn't be kept waiting~"

  She pushed her pinkies, sending Thor and his weapons hurtling back a considerable distance—nearly off the edge of the massive stadium.

  "I—Impossible! My weapons hold enough power to obliterate Yggdrasil and the Nine Realms a nonillion times over! I've trained endlessly, pushing myself beyond my limits... That bitch, Niflheim—what she did to the realms, to my father, the king... I can't allow my home to be left in ruins!"

  Channeling every iota of his power, Thor transformed his now gigantic weapons into frenzied vortex projectiles and hurled them at her. Blanche tapped the space in front of her and intoned, "Light and dark, dark and light—two halves of a single coin, ever entwined. Back-to-back, side-by-side, they may be trite, yet they kindle the divine spark of creation, as transient as the tide's caress. Annihilate! Burst forth! Forsake life's confines and surrender to slumber! Behold the paradoxical splendour of the Insignificant White Holes!"

  Countless specks of maximally compressed light appeared like miniature fireflies, shredding the chaotic elemental weapons before converting them and sending them beyond the Unknown.

  Metrina held a paddle score of five. "A valiant attempt, but let's be honest, it didn't even make the slightest dent. I can appreciate your effort, but it's not enough to impress me. However, just to be generous, had you unleashed a fraction more of your true potential, I might have awarded you a solid six. But for now, a five is the best I can offer. You really need to try harder to stand out."

  Lilith held a paddle score of seven. "O fallen god of the mundane realm, whose fists command the very pulse of thunderous destruction—yet here you stand, a colossus of squandered might! Seven stars I bestow—not for triumph, but for your shameful pantomime of celestial war! Did you think omnipotence was a cloak for lethargy? Even the lowliest mortal, armed with nothing but grit, could carve a saga more resplendent than this farce of godly indolence! Return to the celestial forge, O wayward warrior, and rekindle the embers of your purpose... lest eternity itself yawn at your indolence!"

  Blanche quickly jotted down Lilith's words in her notepad. After closing it, she rendered the words into plain language, "You hold the power to reshape galaxies, yet you fought worse than a drowsy homeless bum. Seven is generous. Next time, try trying. The Archdemon also suggests consulting an astrophysicist about your apparent black hole of effort... or perhaps a poet. Even annihilation deserves a touch of panache."

  Surtr held up a paddle, its score a mere one. "You're an utter tosser. Anyone with an ounce of honesty, who isn't doling out pity points, will say the same. Ignis Syrinx Krohm—go set yourself on dumpster fire and burn to ash, or get the fuck out of my sight." Her caustic tone and menacing presence only deepened Thor's already despairing, defeated expression, and Blanche promptly teleported him away. I might have given him a paddle score of eight, considering he did march onto the stadium, present himself, and give his all against the impossible.

  The competitors exchanged remarks as they analysed the skirmish. One of the Chosens commented, "I hope I don't end up with him as my Godless. He probably belongs in the trash tier... He looked strong and capable at first, but went down like a bitch. I'm here to win, not to lose."

  Ruthven shook his head and placed a hand at the corner of his forehead. "I did caution that daft Thor that his notion was naught but folly, yet he persisted in his idiocy. One may savour the immediate, headlong release of wrath—trusting in a lone, feeble spark of intellect—but the ruin that follows is all too apparent. Naturally, such was the outcome. Blanche, you see, is no foe to be met with brute force alone; she demands a far more artful approach. For, regardless of a woman's formidable power, a man may ultimately subdue her through carnal conquest. The true triumph lies in orchestrating her undoing with exquisite psychological treachery and deliberate debasement."

  Nosferatu, scratching his own arse and then inspecting the remnants of shite on his fingers, flashed an ugly, perverted smile. "Sex... Attack... Sex... Evil penis... wins." Ruthven's eyes narrowed into a contemptuous glare. "Keep your filthy hands off me! I can't fathom that I ever allowed you to lay a finger in my arsehole."

  Seimei interjected, "Depraved toxicity isn't the solution, you two. You see, it's already brought ill tidings upon you, Ruthven-san. Be serious for once; you are an intelligent man. Surely you would agree that had Thor-san prepared more in advance, he would have—"

  Before Seimei could finish, Hammy cut in, slapping herself in the face. "Lose again, and again, and again?" She sighed, sinking to one knee and clutching her kodachi by the throat—nicking herself slightly in the process. "To be or not to be? It's because that dust met me. I caused his downfall, as I have so many others. Once again, misery strikes deep. Oh, the misery... when will it ever cease?" She dropped her kodachi and resumed self-slapping. "Spineless, I'm spineless!"

  Seimei grasped the kunoichi's wrist. "Hammy, please stop."

  She replied, "Slapping myself is all I'm good for. Pain? I rather like it—it's been my closest companion since birth. I love pain."

  Taking out a small jar of healing balm, Seimei applied it gently to her face. "No you don't. If you did, you wouldn't be crying. I don't know what demons you're grappling with, but there are good people in this world. And you—your spiritual energy, the calluses on your hands—they tell me how hard you've worked to get here. You've done well. You are an exceptional person." He patted her head.

  Hammy burst into tears. "Ophelia, I'm so sorry! It was I who needed to get to a nunnery... I really, really love you."

  Meanwhile, Akashirae had unfurled her crimson fan, Inevitable Destiny, and fanned herself, deliberately ignoring the distant drama. "How unbecoming. Blanche went out of her way to put on a spectacle. That flashy, idiotic incantation wasn't a monostich, couplet, or haiku, nor did she mention her own name in it."

  She continued, "For chantmasters—whether mortal, god, or higher—uttering one's own name in their work yields the best results. It's more practical to keep it short. Less is often more in this case. This is a rule established by one of the Metapotentiae. Such basic principles are even taught in mortal magic schools. It's tradition, and not worth risking severe punishment—losing one's power or existence—for defying that Metapotentia."

  A greenish-blue fire coiled around Ouroboros' fist. "Basic, lucid, gymnastic, scholastic. Honestly, saying one's own name sounds rather foolish. I chant random rubbish all the time when I fight—hiya and wata! It doesn't matter, as long as the feeling is right. Besides, for us entities that surpass the divine and every other known reality, further power is almost inconsequential."

  Akashirae's irritation was growing. "You don't get it, brother. It is precisely why even we, overpowering primordial deities, must do this. The factor that tips the scale when one transcendent entity battles another is obtaining the Metapotentiae's favour. As your older sister, I prefer you to live forever, so start doing things correctly unless you want me to set you straight."

  "Force me then, little sister." Ouroboros gripped her chin. "Or perhaps you could cease these mumble-jumble, mousey distractions and explain why you kept gazing at that wizard Seimei? I may not be the brightest, and you usually hide well, but I have observed you day and night for aeons. I can tell when something is amiss, especially when it's this obvious. Did you not once say that speaking with me makes you feel better? Spill it."

  In response, Akashirae twisted Ouroboros' nipple and, using her primordial power, made milk trickle from it. "No."

  Undeterred, Ouroboros stood tall. Akashirae was momentarily taken aback by his serious, determined demeanour and fell silent. After a brief pause, she met his gaze again, cupping his face with her hands and gently pushing him away. "Whenever I watched you spend most of your day napping, I both hated and envied your easy-going attitude. But eventually, I found it comforting, as it suggested that everything would be all right. I like the way you are—so please, don't ever change, okay, Ouroboros? I need not worry about that, right? You are an eternal dragon that continues to bite its own tail even when you're not."

  Ouroboros took her hands in his. "What's this about? I don't recall the last time you called me by my name. We're just going to play this one game and have a good time, aren't we? We're both eternal. Mortals wish for their happiest day to last forever—but that is us, literally. You and I have each other's backs. Even if you don't have mine, or even if you despise me, I will always be there for you. Things will be as they have always been."

  Blanche seized control of her competitors' bodies as if they had always been hers, bending their focus to her will.

  "Stop your whining, you babies—unless you've given up on your sorry excuse for an existence. Your fears are baseless. These battles should never be this melodramatic or one-sided—unless, of course, you, Godless and Chosen alike, are doomed to stagnation and failure. If that's the case, consider this a splendid opportunity for change.

  Now, it's about time I sent you all on your way. But have I forgotten something? I do have a habit of repeating myself, even in my own thoughts. Ah, yes—when you awaken, you'll all have a chance to win a wish from the Goddess-Saint. Just keep moving, keep your heads on your shoulders—move first, then think. Simple enough, isn't it? And if you get eliminated and die, well, there's a good chance She'll resurrect you once the game is over. Good assurance, am I right, or am I right?"

  She pointed two slender fingers at the Chosens and the Godless before teleporting them into an intermediate, concealed metaspace, leaving only the spectators behind. "To those gathered here, and to those watching from afar," she announced, "the tournament shall begin shortly. You need not lift a finger—I will broadcast the entire event directly into your mind and essence. Simply remain where you are and experience it all."

  I glanced at the stats of Ouroboros and Akashirae. For primordial deities, they appeared rather unimpressive. The siblings, like the other Godless, were slumbering within an opalescent crystal of light, awaiting their summons. It seemed that Metrina had recalibrated all the competitors' strengths for the sake of her game—an endeavour to level the playing field. I, too, should participate; perhaps something good would come of it. I supposed it was time for me to resume my Phase Shift—a hyperpotent ability not unlike Ouroboros's Theseus Ship, but operating on the deepest, ineffable level. I erased what I wished to move entirely from the Unknown and recreated it from scratch in my desired location. The process was so seamless that none, save for myself, knew that they had essentially died. Alternatively, I could relocate entire omniverses and realms to my position in a similarly seamless fashion, as I had done before... Something was amiss. Someone was interfering. I had expected this, though I should still manage to make it to the Godless Altar; the lack of precision in my point of arrival was, at the very least, mildly interesting.

  "Lady Lumi'Nae!" Sathiel clutched me tightly as we materialised, plummeting from the sky. "W–why are we falling? I told you I'm terrified of heights!"

  Her blue cape whipped into my face, blocking my view. I couldn't help but wish I could see her expression right now. Probably something adorably flustered.

  "One of the Metapotentiae has noticed us and interfered with my Phase Shift."

  "Grr... I detest these methods of transportation. Once more, I'm being shuffled around randomly like a piece of common luggage in a disorganised airport."

  A pair of indigo wings sprouted from Tiamat's back—emerging from the very same place where she normally sprouted her draconic heads. Would she, in future, also sprout multiple tails as Akashirae did? A random thought, perhaps best left unheeded. I soon followed suit by phasing in the ten void wings that were always attached to my back, even when they appeared imperceptible.

  As we descended toward the clouds, the world known as The Godless Altar revealed itself: plain green fields bordered by ancient trees stretched across the horizon, with farmers tending their crops and a large town of wooden buildings coming into view. This was one of the starting areas the hostess had mentioned.

  Before we could venture further, Sathiel and Tiamat were teleported away. Hovering just below the clouds, I was not alone; Metrina appeared before me. Despite my lingering amnesia, certain names would sometimes surface unbidden—I recognised her at once.

  "Wow, so it is you...! I knew you were out there, watching us all along—observing from the Unknown, no less. But to see you face-to-face... that's an entirely different experience." She stepped closer, her voice shifting to an analytical tone, though still edged with her familiar air of superiority. "Multiple entities within you, huh? Fascinating. I can tell, however, that you are the dominant personality here. It's good to see you, Calluna."

  I nodded, though the name rang a bell with a tinge of reluctance. I might have explained that I was not exactly Calluna, but she likely already knew that my memories and knowledge were now far more limited than those of my former self.

  She gazed intently at my glamoured right arm and placed her hand upon it. I had been practising the art of shapeshifting this eldritch limb into a more mundane form, as Nemesis had advised. If I had any weakness, it was that my transformed right arm was the one aspect I struggled to control. It made me drowsy, and if I lost focus, it would revert to its eldritch form—or rather, to a stump from which a black substance continuously dripped. It induced a sleep as peaceful and painless as death itself—the kind of slumber that mortals so desperately yearn for.

  Metrina continued to caress and inspect my right arm, which, to me, felt no more than an odd, tickling sensation. I wondered how long she intended to persist, though I maintained a stoic poker face. If I possessed a soul, it would surely be laughing uncontrollably at the absurdity of it all.

  Her eyes met mine—lively and filled with intrigue. "My, my! Are you having trouble stabilising your arm? Your new form appears sufficiently intact, held together by destabilising Unknowns. At present, you accelerate the Silence Beyond more than any one of us." Her tone carried a note of mild admiration, yet it was clear she was already formulating plans beyond a simple observation. "I'd be more than happy to rectify that for you, provided you participate as a Godless and triumph in the Boundless Battlegrounds. Though I must say, I'm surprised you allowed me to examine your arm to such an extent. Your past self would not have permitted it so easily."

  I felt my eyelids growing heavy. "I'll play along..." I murmured.

  Almost mechanically, my face drooped toward Metrina's chest, my breath slowing. "...Mommy." The word escaped me unbidden.

  "Calluna?" Metrina's voice pierced through the fog of my thoughts—soft, yet insistent. I felt her concern, though her tone still carried that unmistakable confidence, as if she were guiding me back to reality rather than expressing true alarm.

  Gradually, her voice began to fade, and once more, I found myself wondering—was this what it felt like to die peacefully?

  I could feel my arm reverting to its monstrous, eldritch state, and I questioned whether I had made the right choices up to this point. Perhaps I should have assimilated Tiamat into my right stump back then... No, I dismissed the thought with a mental shake. I would strive to live a more honourable life than my past self—whatever honourable might mean for a Hyperpotentia.

  Metrina's voice returned, now a gentle reproach, her words imbued with a teasing affection that was unmistakably hers. "Hey, Calluna, don't just drift off on me. We don't need to sleep, nor are we capable of it, so stop pretending otherwise. And regressing to the point where you call me mommy... Oh, Calluna..."

  I felt her presence—warm and guiding, yet ever slightly beyond my reach. Her steady heartbeat, alive and insistent, contrasted sharply with the absent pulse deep within me. I knew I had to maintain control—I could not slip back into my Archlegion form. Every beat of Metrina's heart resounded with the readiness to move, to live, to act—while mine felt like a lingering, fading echo. The myriad hearts, barely beating within me, were not truly mine. I had never possessed one... and yours, reader, is within me too. You were never alone.

  Yet, despite the strange solace I found in that emptiness, there was something more—a metaphysical pull drawing me beyond the confines of my nature. I could feel the weight of my own form and the slow emergence of my tentacles, wrapping around us like a protective embrace.

  And amid it all, I could hear a murmur, almost as if carried on a whispering wind: "It's going to snow tomorrow."