Archive of Our Own

Darkness was what greeted him when he first stepped out of the research facility.

There was nothing left of the abandoned buildings that had previously been there. Not even the nature that had reclaimed the city had survived whatever apocalyptic event had befallen humanity.

Only monsters surrounded the grayish-white building he walked out of.

Confusion filled his mind but it was washed away by a flood of information that led him to grab the necklace-like silver crucifix when did that even get there which gave him clarity and enlightened him to what seemed like the most reasonable development.

"Let there be light." Grisha God said.

And there was light.

…

Grisha was not near anyone but somehow he still knew of the cries of pain many beings let out at the sudden shining light they had never thought they'd get to witness.

He knew there were legends of the Sun.

He knew there were legends of the time before madness became the norm.

Processing that knowledge seemed to flip a switch — as if it hurt to hold onto any longer, Grisha took off the silver crucifix and threw it at the ground. No fear, nor worry caused that; it was solely self-preservation that caused him to try and distance himself from that item.

Something inside of him rioted at the action and an array of brilliant colors flashed before his eyes.

Something that was ancient, that was light and darkness, the sea and the sky, purity and degeneration, an agglomeration of all colors and all possibilities, an illusory yet real sea beyond space-time that didn't end, that engulfed them all and what did it do to to his coworkers–

They were engulfed by it more thoroughly, their sense of self washed away — omniscience informed him.

Was that going to happen to him too?

The being influencing him seemed like a mockery or the reality of the Christian God. However Grisha knew there was something beyond 'Him' as well. Whatever caused the apocalypse was far worse than the being trying to control him in the present.

What he needed to do was gather more information. Grisha could focus even now, while his mind was constantly coming up with thoughts that had no origin in anything human so why were they his?

There was a stone slab inside that sea, Chaos Sea, his mind supplied. How much could he trust any knowledge that came from that thing?

A crystal monocle glinted from his pocket. One that he longed to get rid of but knew not of the reason why.

Blankly staring at the research facility he had worked in for so long, Grisha found out he had no idea what to do.

…

Back when everything was normal, Grisha had been considered a genius — someone talented enough in his field to be sent off to the secret facility in the Chernobyl exclusion zone.

Many governments had been interested in the phenomenon that had been used to justify the research. Back then that only made all of them who were chosen feel even more like they were doing something important, something that mattered.

It had not been the truth.

They must have wanted what lay beneath the earth.

Many governments in the past must have dug deep below, deeper than they should have, and those that hadn't must have learned once the results of those endeavors spread.

For him the most familiar example was back in his country — in Russia's Murmansk Oblast.

A borehole of over twelve thousand meters.

They must have found the sea that contained all possibilities.

They found it and the government remembered even after the Soviet Union collapsed and the Russian Federation and a number of other countries remained in its place.

That is why Russia demanded to have multiple of their people stationed in the research station, just like other countries did.

All of them had wondered why so many countries would practically fight over the chance to send people to such an unimaginable place.

On many evenings before they officially set off to the facility, he and his coworkers would gather and they'd discuss their theories on what the appearance of oil in a dried-up oil field could mean as to cause such a stir.

Then they'd share a meal and talk until they returned to their accommodations where all that was left was the somber fact they might not walk out of the project unharmed due to the large amount of lingering radiation. Even the high quality gear provided could not completely eliminate the risk.

Worry would overtake them over something so insignificant, none the wiser that those in power believed what lay underground was one of the most important things humanity could strive towards even if it cost a few lives.

Everyone in the facility had been unaware their governments had known there was a greater threat that was unlikely to be overcome.

All of them hadn't known their deaths would have been seen as a necessary sacrifice had the world not ended.

…

From the corner of his eye, Grisha would ever so often catch sight of unfamiliar black hair. This caused him to slightly pause each time, allowing him to stall on the way back to the underground.

Standing in front of the Chaos Sea ended up being frighteningly uneventful.

No negative emotions that should have been there. No unease or dread, only familiarity.

As if that sea has always been his.

Grabbing the slab had been easier than bringing himself to leave.

'He' didn't want him to leave.

Grisha held onto the crystal monocle for support. He wouldn't allow that ancient will to dictate his actions, not when he still had things to do.

Outside, Grisha sat down on the ground and looked at the stone slab. There was no reason to read it manually since the knowledge had already been supplied to him.

He read it anyway.

The language was one that didn't belong to any known civilization. Even without ever seeing it before, one would be able to comprehend what was written at a glance.

The stone detailed what it took to become a god. He decided that the name that best fit it was the Blasphemy Slate although he did not know why he considered it a blasphemy.

Based on the Blasphemy Slate, Grisha was a Sequence 0 of two Pathways — Sun and Hanged Man.

The authorities of the latter included degeneration, corruption, and shadow.

Since there would have to be a choice on what to keep Grisha still pondered despite already having a bias. Eventually however he made up his mind and steeled his will as to not lose his self-awareness while using the Chaos Sea.

A sentient persona was created, one that took the characteristics of the Hanged Man and the Pathway's authority over Degeneration along with the negative parts of Grisha's personality. 'He' could experience selfishness, greed, and anger. By separating such parts of himself, Grisha would create distance that the Primordial hopefully wouldn't be able to fully cross until other measures could be put in place.

And if it also offered a way to not worry about losing his morals without realizing due to self-degeneration, then that was a plus.

Standing in front of a dark-haired figure, Grisha could not help but want to be the one to name his creation.

"From now on you will be the left hand of God, the Dark Angel Sasrir." After a long period of silence a concise proclamation is all he managed to get out.

There was no need to comment on it, nor was there a need to talk at all.

For now Creator and creation still understood each other completely.

…

There was a soul marked by the same gray fog that surrounded what was once known as Asia.

When Grisha first saw the six-armed humanoid what he felt was smugness. The owner of that fog which he despised so much had not returned to the world.

No, that was wrong. It wasn't him that felt those emotions, it was 'Him'.

There was no reason to feel smug about another person waking up in the body of an eight-legged wolf. Even if the logical part of him reasoned that she got lucky in comparison. Being able to feel such things after he had already separated the corresponding emotions wasn't unexpected, but the speed at which they began showing was concerning.

Despite the level of Concealment that came with authority over Shadows, the woman in a layered black dress still noticed him. Although Grisha had not been trying to hide from her specifically it was still something that would have been hard to achieve had she not been an angel of the Darkness Pathway.

For some reason that he couldn't access without the Chaos Sea, 'He' felt distaste towards that Pathway. This had something to do with the being that used to own the gray fog, but Grisha could not think of a connection between the Darkness Pathway and the three he had already figured out belonged to 'His' enemy.

He somehow knew which country she came from, and the state it currently was in at the moment. Of course, he wouldn't get lucky enough to meet someone from his country.

Thankfully, he at least met someone who was not only completely reasonable but also had a strong enough will to maintain her sense of self. It didn't take much to convince her to work together to bring about an age in which humanity prospered.

Neither of them wished to see humanity enslaved much longer.

Amanises aided in Concealing him while he, or more accurately he and Sasrir, attempted to get a better grasp on utilizing the Chaos Sea.

Not long after they teamed up on another matter — making a deal with the most sane one among the current Gods.

Sanguine Ancestor Lilith was difficult to approach; Her beauty was something an angel could not deal with — it was breathtaking and enchanting even to a God.

After careful consideration Grisha had already chosen the principles that would make up his Order and had abided by them for years. This allowed him to proceed without abilities from the Visionary Pathway when trying to communicate with Lilith.

Placates could have certainly helped but it was not worth using the Chaos Sea so directly.

Back then getting Her to take on a form other than a mass of flesh covered in reproductive organs had taken a while despite Her cooperation, especially since they had to take breaks in between talking with Her in a dream while Judgement of Justice and Requiem weakened Her enough for a few more slivers of sanity to come through.

Whenever they took those breaks so as to not give in to the urge of reproduction, he and Amanises would remain in her Concealed World. Such complete separation coupled with the extreme peace her presence brought and his own Justice Halo greatly helped their recovery speed.

During those times they'd sit face to face while they discussed the next step of their plans — how to avoid being found out and how to arrange the following sequence of events in a way that would not cause suspicion.

Making a plot that would last for hundreds of years — a scheme that could not be overly constraining but also had to be detailed enough — was a difficult matter. What made it possible was that both of them were determined enough to see it through. The benefits they would both get from this were too large to ignore. They would not have gone through so much trouble otherwise.

After the three of them sealed the deal through a Contract, all that was left was for him to subtly influence Flegrea and Kvastir's actions to lead to their shared demise. Along with that, fake hints of treachery against Lilith were planted to ensure infighting between elves and giants.

When the day finally came the hardest part ended up being timing the death of Omebella properly. Once the Sanguine Ancestor succeeded in Her self-detonation, he and Amanises acted swiftly. Under Concealment the fates of Omebella and Lilith were stolen via the Error uniqueness in his possession, and swapped. This did not completely kill Omebella, but the "believers" She sought help from were able to finish the job due to a series of reasonable developments.

Although the most time sensitive part of the plan was completed, what followed required much focus.

…

Light reflected from the crystal monocle he held up towards the Sun.

Something so small was what was anchoring his self-awareness. Through the sheer spite the will inside of it had, 'He' could not disrupt all of his preparations. Perhaps from the beginning this was the goal of the Lord of Mysteries; only a true scammer would allow a loss in the face of 'Their' greatest enemy just to use it against 'Him' when 'He' was weak. Just like only a true prideful Tyrant would fall for such bait despite knowing of 'His' opponent's sly nature.

Even when he knew the Lord of Mysteries did not intend to help him but only to stall 'Him', Grisha could not help but feel the tiniest hint of gratitude.

A feeling so dull and incomparable to a human's emotion was remarkably pitiful but it was the most Grisha had felt in a long time.

Such a long time had passed since he first walked out of Chernobyl, and yet even longer had passed since humanity could exist in peace. So unbearably long had they been seen as lesser even by those that claimed to be a part of their race. For thousands of years they had suffered. For generations they had been enslaved by mutated offshoots of their species and killed on a whim.

In the next years, the Blasphemy Slate revealed itself in front of various beings, despite the information that showed itself being incomplete it was enough for the elves, giants, and sanguine to see themselves as divine.

No longer did they group themselves with humanity. But they soon didn't group with each other either — the War of Betrayers, the seeds for which had long been planted, sprouted into the event which separated the elves and giants, weakening their armies and setting the stage for Grisha's upcoming introduction.

The few human commoners that lost their freedom and the pitiful lives humanity led in fright of the divine were a necessity. What little remained of the history of the world before the darkness would soon be lost too with the species that had ruled humanity as nobles for so long now distancing themselves from that truth of the world leaving only those who could not afford the energy to pass on such tales to their children.

Only by arranging the deaths of the Mad Gods could he lead the world into a new age, and for that sacrifice had to be made.

Sasrir stood beside him staring into the distance where a pitifully small human settlement had been created by those running away from the war and the worsening tyranny of the other creatures. They lived in constant fear of brutality, with no odds of survival against anything but other humans. Desperation and hope filled their lives.

Hope for a God that wasn't wicked.

Hope for a God that would save them.

But Grisha could not step into the spotlight just yet.

When Creator and creation looked at each other, what filled the creation's eyes was disgust.

Grisha simply smiled gently, he had long accepted the sins that came with causing those sacrifices were a necessity as well.

…

"Once upon a time there was a group of creatures that acted like an army.

They fought and conquered under the command of a gigantic figure that burned with blazing purple flames. Weaker creatures were trampled and settlements destroyed.

That was until a brighter light stood in the flame's path.

A human village outside of the power of the Mad Gods had been in the army's way.

God said, "You will not conquer this land."

And the army was left unable to proceed.

The flaming giant let out a War Cry, attempted all it could to rouse its soldiers to attack, and sent forth Spears that promised Annihilation.

God said "You will land no hit on me."

Nothing the flaming giant did could cause harm to the brilliant figure standing in its way.

In all His benevolence God only saw the best in the flaming figure — the determination and leadership, the undying will that refused to waiver — and soothed its eternal rage, allowing it to comprehend God's words.

It listened.

Then it knelt.

And God with all His mercy bestowed upon it the right to accompany Him.

The flaming giant took on a human form and expressed its faith and gratefulness for the gifts it received by following God and fighting in His name.

For that loyalty that did not weaken in the face of strife, it was granted the name Medici and became the Second Angel under the Lord."

Sasrir recited the tale, which had originated in the very settlement the story spoke of, out loud to Grisha with a hint of mockery in his voice.

"Why intervene to save them but not any others?"

Despite being faced with such contempt the God did not respond to the rhetorical question.

…

A long time after Grisha passed the Moon Uniqueness into Amanises' hands, Sasrir informed him that it was time for her apotheosis ritual. Due to the more persistent exposure to the Chaos Sea, it was currently his persona that could take more advantage of Omniscience. Although Grisha wasn't far behind in regards to it, the gap was sizable when strong Concealment was brought into the equation.

There was no prior agreement nor contract that required him to provide her supplementary ingredient but there was an unspoken understanding about it.

Grisha took the Blasphemy Slate from Sasrir's hands.

Dragon of Imagination Ankewelt would likely sense this however at this point there was little the other could do.

Unlike Ankewelt, Grisha had separated all emotions that could cause him to hold back.

At the spot they had agreed to go to should either send a request for help in the future was Amanises next to a clean but crudely made pot.

She had already become a Sequence 1 right after retrieving the characteristics and uniqueness from Flegrea. Most only knew the Goddess of Misfortune ran away in the chaos, they didn't know she had won over a small group of worshippers — humans and only humans — and was maintaining herself solely through them and her own determination.

When Grisha approached she did not seem surprised in the slightest, not even at him carrying the Blasphemy Slate rather than leaving it to Sasrir.

Both of them needed no conversation to communicate that they are willing to make this sacrifice.

It would be far from the first or the last one for them.

She entered her Concealed World along with the Moon Uniqueness as a way to avoid interference on either side.

Saving a few human settlements, allowing them to create stories and worship him was preparation for this moment. Bringing forth the power of the Chaos Sea left him reeling due to the same voice that had haunted him from underground before the world ended; the nauseating colors swirling together almost gave off the impression of combining into something new despite already containing all possible variations; another consciousness rapidly awakening in his body– and then it all stopped as a shadow took the Slate from him and handed it to Sasrir who had an expression stuck between worry and doubt. Grisha hadn't even noticed his persona's arrival before this despite being the one to order Sasrir to come to the spot once the attempt was a success.

The envisioned moon-like celestial body had already been integrated into the pot where the Darkness Pathway uniqueness and two Sequence 1 characteristics had already been placed.

In the meantime Amanises had also successfully put the Moon Uniqueness to sleep while inside of her Concealed World.

The moment the potion, which looked like serene and dreamlike gauze, was complete she reached for it and drank it with no hesitation.

Although her stability was not yet guaranteed, there was nothing more he could currently do.

Ravings filled his ears.

Grisha gripped onto the crystal monocle as he followed behind Sasrir to the place where they had chosen to reside, but it could not provide help.

The sky darkened and an overwhelming sense of peace quieted even that ancient will for the briefest moment

The Evernight Goddess would not be worshiped by many no matter how benevolent she may be. At least not when the bonedeep fear of the dark still lingered in everyday life.

Grisha smiled at that fact.

…

"Long before humanity prospered there was a being so lucky it could survive even the greatest catastrophe."

In front of Grisha there was a person that had bowed down the moment he came into view. Although Amanises could no longer Conceal him due to having to recover after advancing, that didn't mean his own Shadows were weak enough to get seen through by what wasn't even a complete mythical creature. Especially since said person refused to outright look at him.

A beyonder of the Wheel of Fortune Pathway?

Rather interesting odds for an albino to be on the Pathway that turns people into albino snakes…Seems like those lucky enough to advance have such small odds follow them from the very beginning.

It could be said a human managing to get to such a High Sequence on their own was fortunate for even being alive, let alone sane. Especially before the potions became widespread knowledge.

Looking at the figure with tightly shut eyes, Grisha decided there was no need to beckon Sasrir to inform it on the proper potion formulas, being blessed by fate was more useful than any proper advancement method could be.

"The being had witnessed a prophecy of the prosperity God would bring onto the world. So it knelt before God and with bravery asked to help bring about that new age."

The man bowed even further before making a pledge of loyalty.

Even as silence hung over the area for minutes to follow, the Chaoswalker did not cower.

"God approved of such honesty. However, He knew the being would suffer due to its incomplete nature, and so granted it the right to complete its form and become an angel."

Grisha meanwhile was busy considering other matters. 'Snakes of Mercury bite their own tails when Rebooting the time…Yet another example of old symbolisms having correct mystical meanings.'

'Could it be due to the Sea of Collective Subconscious? This could make Ankewelt more dangerous than expected, a Visionary might be able to influence humanity to subconsciously give them information they cannot handle. Could this be one of the reasons behind that one apocalyptic prophecy that turned out to be true? But what could have–'

Grisha paused and blankly turned his head downward.

It was almost like he could see through the layers of stone and sediment and into the half-illusory sea underneath that shimmered with different colors in a way that mocked anyone who had seen oil.

Maddening whispers seemed to drown the world to the point that Grisha could not comprehend why the bowing figure did not react in the slightest.

"Do you have a name?"Somehow that quiet question managed to catch the Chaoswalker's attention.

"No."

Such a reply wasn't surprising considering the state of human civilization.

"From now on you will be known as Ouroboros." Now all that's left is to introduce this new subordinate to the others…

Maybe he should have asked Amanises for management tips. Sasrir surely wouldn't mind visiting her to do that. Probably.

…

"Back when people suffered under unjust tyranny, God brought his Kingdom to the Physical World.

He saw all of humanity as His children, and protected all who sought His grace."

Inside the modest structure where the Sun God resided there was currently an argument.

Windblades cut through a Wall of Fire, causing the flames that made it up to wrap and distort. At the same time Fireballs shot out from behind the Wall, aimed at the levitating figure that had dared attack.

To the side there was a bright ray of light as someone far away from both the wind and fire used Flaring Sun aimed right in the middle of the fighting.

Ouroboros blinked a couple of times, before his face took on a confused look. Nevertheless, the newly named Saint didn't comment on the chaos.

Once the effects of the Flaring Sun passed, in the place of the raging wind and fire there were two figures — both wore a similar type of black armor, but their demeanor couldn't have been further apart.

Blazing fire seemed to cover the one with vibrant red hair like a layer of armour as he mockingly gestured at the other.

Right before another round of fighting began there was a shout.

"My Lord!" A yell that was filled with relief and admiration filled the nearly destroyed building as a person with an aura of light ran towards Grisha with a speed achieved through Amplification.

"Aucuses." God greeted with a gentle smile.

His subordinate bowed down before politely but unabashedly complaining about how Medici and Leodero had been fighting for the whole time the three of them were left unsupervised alone.

Once Grisha glanced at the aforementioned two, they had already knelt down before beginning to complain about how it was the other's fault the situation had escalated.

Considering it was a brawl between an Archangel and a Saint — as he had deemed them — there should have been injuries had it been anything even remotely serious.

Judging from their guilty expressions it was almost like two kids getting caught in the middle of a playfight they had been a bit too invested in.

Genuine laughter bubbled up, causing all three of them to look at their God with surprise, and Ouroboros' eyes to widen.

'Is this what having children is like?' Grisha wondered as amusement filled him for the first time in centuries.

Seeing his misbehaving subordinates look embarrassed made the laughter even more cheerful.

The bright glint of the monocle hidden in his pocket went unnoticed.

…

Creating a Holy Text takes time. Especially when everything needed to be perfect — Aucuses would not accept anything else for his Savior.

There was no disappointment at having to revise the script for the umpteenth time since all the changes added more and more accomplishment his God had achieved!

The hardest part was writing about two specific nuisances in a good light, but even that wasn't exceptionally difficult. Both of them were loyal to the Lord and that is what mattered most.

Sasrir was definitely the easiest one to include — as a King of Angels and the Deputy of Heaven, his role could not change no matter how many revisions the Holy Text went through. Not to mention he was the one that had followed God for the longest, his left hand!

Writing was something the Lord had taught him, something that had been inaccessible to humanity before the brilliant Sun blessed their lives.

With his Blessing, Aucuses had become a miniature light that could lead the way for others in the same way God was now leading the way for all of humanity.

Determined scribbling filled the room he had been residing in, before he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

The warmonger and egoist straight up barged in if they happened to need anything; the new Saint kept to himself and seemed too absentminded as to request anything; Sasrir would voice any requests or convey any orders without entering the room, or by sending a Shadow to deliver a note.

Paradoxically only his Lord ever knocked on that door.

The Lord that had neither the need to seek any of them out, nor any reason to be polite, yet did so regardless.

"Yes, my Lord?" Aucuses responded to the knocks as he immediately stood up from his chair in preparation to bow down the moment the door opened.

A holy, profound aura that brought on a feeling of support and dominance filled the room once God walked in.

"Rise." Once the command came, Aucuses immediately obeyed. Rasing from the bow and looking at the gentle smile on his God's face.

Even though he knew it was presumptuous to assume, he could not help but believe there was a hint of fondness in those bright golden eyes.

"Would you like to accompany me outside?" The Lord asked like Aucuses would dare give up such a chance to be near the Sun's radiance.

"I'd be honored to, my Lord!" Such offers were something he'd be willing to fight Medici to get more often!

Being outside during the day, walking side by side with his God was a moment that felt all the more sacred due to the shining light that came from the Sun.

The Sun that his lord had brought into the world.

How many had died believing that Sun to be nothing but a legend? Something created by beings desperately trying to find hope by creating stories of past glory and peace?

Now everyone knew how it felt for warmth and light to become the new ordinary.

"The Holy Text shall be known as the Bible." God said at the end of their outing, a hint of something horrifying that Aucuses could not discern replacing the warmth of His smile.

…

Turbulent waves crashed harshly against the rocky coastline; thunderstorms and raging winds caused most living creatures to seek shelter; thick clouds prevented sunlight from passing, ensuring that only the occasional flashes of lightning could illuminate the land.

An overpowering sense of intimidation made its way into the hearts of anyone witnessing the scene imbued with an aura of destructive wrath and savageness.

These conditions had become even more common-place near the shores ever since the Elf King began warring against the Giant King — the Tyrant's unyielding rage would continue even in the midst of the most peaceful moments of the war.

To Leodero there were few things more terrifying than this scene. Even an angel would be scared stiff in the face of the divine might being showcased.

Unblinking, he stood frozen as he tried to suppress the urge to flee.

Eventually he would have to face those full-blooded elves that had shunned him, face that "mother" that had abandoned him, face the fierce army alongside his Lord's forces.

For all of that he needed to be able to withstand the subconscious fear brought on by the pinnacle of his Pathway. Otherwise even the newest Saint would end up being more useful than him.

He didn't need Medici mocking him anymore than he already did.

Thankfully the Lord — forever benevolent even to him who shared blood with the enemy — had forbidden that annoying bastard from going too far. Although the frustrating guy could still get away with the occasional Provocation due to being born a mythical creature since it was in his very being.

However even someone as irascible as Leodero could not complain, not when his God would listen to any complains like all of them mattered most in the world, not when He saw all five of them as something important.

Never before had he been seen as important, not even when he had desperately achieved the level now known as Cataclysmic Interrer on his own in a last attempt to not be seen as lesser by those who had previously claimed were kin.

Soft singing coming from somewhere behind him cut off those thoughts. It was in an unknown language that had become endlessly familiar to him.

Cowering in the face of the storm no longer seemed impossible to prevent — courage came rushing into him thanks to that melody.

Leodero turned around before kneeling.

The quiet singing stopped but the warm aura that accompanied the presence of his God didn't allow for the fear to begin pressing down on him anew.

"What do you think of the sea?" The Lord asked as He looked calmly at the vicious waves.

Even as silence followed that question, God didn't get impatient in any way — He simply looked at him with that gentle smile that made Leodero feel like an equal and not a mere subordinate.

Lying to God would be the worst option, even if Leodero believed the honest response would not be what He wanted to hear.

"I dislike it, my Lord." Every time he caught a glimpse of the passages in the script of the Bible that described him, he could not help but feel distaste that could not be voiced.

Demanding a part of the Holy Text to be changed simply because he did not enjoy being perceived as a guardian of the seas was moronic.

The storm was something humans feared, rain could help them survive another day, but the sea was off limits for humanity. What kind of useless Saint would be left to guard the aquatic life? He knew there were powerful things below the surface of the water, he had completed his advancement ritual after all. Yet nothing could help him figure out why such a role was necessary.

"There will come a day when humans will see braving the seas as a necessary part of society. When that day comes, when humans develop enough to be able to build ships that can bring them to distant lands, there has to be someone they can pray to for a safe journey. You will be that someone; they will see you as a shield that protects them from tragedy." A soft, patient voice interrupted any doubt.

Leodero could not discern whether this was a prophecy or simply a prediction.

This didn't change the feeling of pride that welled up in him at the words.

"I shall fulfill my role!"

"I know you will." His God answered with nothing but trust.

Never again did his descriptions in the Bible bother him — anytime doubt would creep in those gentle words would bubble up in his mind.

…

Thanks to the infighting between the various races, picking their leaders off became slightly easier.

Soniathrym had been weakened due to a confrontation with Aurmir, creating the perfect opportunity for Grisha to step in. There wasn't much longer he could avoid involvement anyway — as the White Tower and Visionary with corruption from the Chaos Sea, Ankewelt must have long realized something was up.

Grisha knew the Dragon of Imagination was not as insane as it appeared. However the Dragon of Imagination consequently knew of Grisha.

By becoming the True God of three Pathways and subjecting himself to even greater corruption by 'Him', Grisha was certain that he could make both Ankewelt and Alzuhod meet their end.

However having all five Pathways would make him more vulnerable to the awakening of 'His' will…

Perhaps Grisha should take a page out of Ankewelt's book and create his own version of that hidden resurrection plan?

…

A baby was looking at Sasrir.

The baby looked a lot like a younger version of himself Grisha.

"So this is the resurrection vessel?" Sasrir blankly asked his other self.

"Indeed. He has certain memories of the Pre-Epoch which will make maintaining sight of the endgoal easier." A clipped reply is all that the God said — endlessly frustrating Sasrir due to the vagueness of what Grisha wanted.

"We have not been one for far too long to play this guessing game. What do you expect me to do?" It was a shame such sharp questions could not be asked in front of the others.

"You will be the one to raise Adam." Grisha said as if it made any sense.

"…" Sasrir finally realized what had been bothering him most about the whole situation.

Why would his other self make the choice to have the resurrection vessel begin as a child? It was a completely seperate younger version of them Grisha but even disregarding the odds of it developing its own personality due to the different conditions and the inherent divinity of being born a mythical creature, there was still much that could go wrong purely due to it being merged with the Visionary uniqueness!

Sasrir could not help but be wary once he realized that — who knows whether the original body had made a lapse in judgement or if the Primordial had awakened enough for such influence!?

The Primordial God Almighty… 'He' also holds the symbolism of the Father… Grisha's state right after exiting the Chaos Sea could only be slightly better than the current one.

The Son is begotten of the Father, and the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father.

Grisha created Adam with a part of himself, just as he had done with Sasrir.

Perhaps something had gone wrong from the beginning?

…

Although defeating the rest had been easier once Ankewelt and Soniathrym's uniquenesses were taken, it still took a long time.

The death of a deity caused terrible consequences, and God wished to lessen the impact they'd have on civilization, which greatly increased the time required.

Herabergen wasn't surprised in the slightest that his new Lord would ignore efficiency for the sake of humanity — had His benevolence been any less then Herabergen himself would not be among the living.

Despite being a former enemy, and a traitor to his own kind, he was welcomed with understanding the moment he switched sides. The God held no surprise, like that betrayal was an expected fact.

Considering He had a grasp on the authority of Omniscience even before accommodating the White Tower Pathway it was also possible it really wasn't anything other than the only probable end result.

Regardless, Herabergen was one of the Lord's angels and so he could not deny an order from the Deputy of Heaven. That is how he found himself staring into the innocent eyes of a baby while the Dark Angel went to fulfill some kind of assignment.

The honor of being the first angel — other than Sasrir — to be granted the honor of knowing about the Lord's child was almost enough to make up for the fact he had not been able to request new knowledge from his new God.

Despite appearing like a human baby, it was obvious that it had the intelligence of a mythical creature.

There was little Herabergen could do for a child that required no care. Eventually he decided that the best course of action would be to tell it stories.

Scripts would come naturally to a being born an Author, however giving it a few examples couldn't hurt. Especially since he had a book detailing some of Ankewelt's–

Herabergen lifted his eyes from the book he had summoned.

As expected there was nothing in front of him.

Swiftly performing a Mystic Art to seal the room was enough to prevent a possible accident. Now, no matter where the Psychologically Invisible baby was, it wouldn't be able to leave in any way that would not alert him.

Checking on his island of consciousness proved his assumption — there were traces of a Psychological Cue, among which was an insistent urge to read stories. Thankfully Wisdom allowed him to realize something unwanted would happen should he read on without checking up on the Lord's child.

Had the stories that have made the biggest impression on him not been those arranged by Ankewelt, then breaking away from the the Cue would have been even harder — he would lack the sudden questioning at his own actions that arose once he realized embellishments about the Lord's former enemy might not be taken well.

'It seems like this is why I was chosen. It still lacks the necessary foresight for an Author but it certainly lives up to its insidious nature.' Herabergen was grateful for the trust that Sasrir, and by proxy the Lord, had given on his abilities to not fall for the schemes of a Higher Sequence being.

He switched the book with a manuscript of the Bible and began to recite to the invisible baby about its Father.

Talking to a seemingly empty room did not discourage him in the slightest.

Paranoia about the room truly being empty would occasionally try to push him into opening the seal to check in the hallway; such sudden emotions only proved the divine child was still in the confines of the seal so Herabergen would Imitate Placate to try and curb those obvious manipulations.

This lasted for more than a day.

Eventually the door was opened and he sensed that the seal was broken.

Sasrir had returned!

Interestingly, Sasrir said nothing about the child being gone — most likely used to the Psychological Invisibility by now.

'How experienced… '

Herabergen couldn't help but feel a smidge of pity for the Dark Angel.

…

There was a room in the house — which was now more accurately called a palace — that had a ceiling covered in constellations. Black sprinkled with brilliant small lights forming various clusters was what greeted anyone looking up.

In the center of the ceiling there was a replica of a star system which included a blue and green planet similar to the one they were currently on. Only the difference in landmasses and the dull gray color of its natural satellite made it recognizable as foreign.

All of the celestial bodies moved simultaneously as if they were merely a shrunken version of the real cosmos.

However anyone who knew of the sky would be unable to spot any recognizable constellations nor would they be able to find that familiar crimson moon.

God frequented this room very often, but never before had He brought any of His angels along.

Now all seven of them were standing at the door, still in awe of the view.

Ouroborus had never seen such a wonderful sight before. Gazing at the open sky had long been something he knew better than doing — not even becoming a Soothsayer gave him the confidence to gaze out into that vast void filled with malevolent eyes.

Next to him Medici was filled with appreciation, not because of the view but due to the wonder of seeing more of their God's power of Envisioning at work.

Ouroboros watched as Aucuses wandered around, enamored with the idea of finding the Sun.

Leodero was looking with interest at a water filled planet that seemed to completely lack land, before he glanced at Medici and his expression morphed into barely contained rage.

At that Ouroboros turned to look at the Conqueror who was innocently looking up at a replica of a black hole.

"My Lord, is this a recreation of some part of the cosmos?" Herabergen's question caused them all to stop what they were doing and turn their heads towards the Lord.

Although Medici's expression soured at the straightforwardness of the question, it couldn't compare to Sasrir's sullenness.

God chuckled more coldly than He used to before he turned his head towards the solar system at the center of the ceiling.

"This is the cosmos of the past."

Ouroboros couldn't decipher what heavy implications Herabergen found in that announcement.

Right before Aucuses was about to inquire the significance behind that answer, Adam interrupted.

"Father once told me that the Moon used to look different than it does now." The Son of God had grown into a toddler and no longer used Psychological Invisibility as instinctually as before, however everyone found that they had skimmed over his existence until he spoke.

This new information brought their eyes back to that subtly different planet at the center.

Although not all of them could fully understand yet, something bleak had befallen the atmosphere in the room.

However intuition let Ouroboros know that now was the best time he would get to paint the wonders of the Starry Sky — past version or not.

So he sat down on the floor and took out some of his paints from a dragon skin satchel the Lord had bestowed upon him after he became an angel.

Aucuses grimaced — he had always found sitting on the floor when in the presence of God to be unmannered. Medici on the other hand laughed before sitting down next to the Angel of Fate and cheerfully throwing an arm around his shoulder.

Luckily, Ouroboros just happened to have not started painting yet so the sudden jostling movement didn't cause any errors.

Soon Herabergen also joined them, looking proudly at the paints he had created.

"That star should be closer to the other."

Ouroboros was thankful to the Wisdom Angel for the materials he usually provided, and his incessant nitpicking on the accuracy of the art was also rather useful in comparison to the War Angel's unrelated chatter.

Adam and Leodero also sat down on the floor next to them. The latter did so as to get into an argument with Medici for mouthing something rude ealier while the former quietly watched the painting process with no comment.

It seemed like Sasrir had probably hid in some shadow as a constant feeling of being watched by the darkness was felt by all who were present.

Nothing made Ouroboros pause in his painting, at least not until their God's warm hand found itself on his head, ruffling his long hair.

All of them paused what they were doing when the Lord sat down among them but the fond look in His eyes caused them to continue even more energetically — Sasrir, who exited out of the shadows, albeit on the opposite side of Adam now, also was in a less sullen mood.

Only when he was the last one left standing did Aucuses hurry up from where he was staring at a star cluster and plop down on the floor near Adam.

That's how God and His angels spent a whole day casually sitting on the floor.

…

Lilith was still beautiful after switching to the Mother Pathway, however it couldn't compare to Her past.

Thankfully Her sanity was the exact opposite.

The time he had spent convincing Her to actually wait for Badheil to become a True God as to fulfill the conditions for the Mother Pathway's apotheosis ritual ended up being completely worth it.

After hundreds of years, Grisha could finally make use of his investment.

"Where is it?" She asked, making no time for small talk. Being forced to be wary of having Her true identity revealed must have been the cause behind that rush so he made no comment.

Grisha smiled as he took out a monocle from his pocket.

Lilith took it from his hands before inspecting it like one would an interesting trinket.

"It's quicker than I expected." Slight intrigue was discernible in Her otherwise firm tone.

Back when he and Sasrir had previously visited Her the degree of activation had been a lot less than it was now.

However it wasn't the first time it has been this close to activation.

Now that it was back to such a state, Grisha would not miss this opportunity to ensure greater odds against the Primordial.

Seeing that She would not be able to probe for information, Lilith wordlessly began the process of catalyzing the full activation of the uniqueness.

Grisha had long realized She was perfect for this plan — not only could Lilith be easily left indebted to both him and his strongest ally, but she was also not the Primordial's daughter unlike Omebella.

Utilizing the method he had used for Adam and Sasrir had a high probability of failing due to the Error countering the Maker symbolism. On top of that as a lower manifestation of the Genesis symbolism the Mother authority was likely to cause a slight degree of separation between the Lord of Mysteries and the awakened uniqueness via an element of New Life.

The risk of Mysteries awakening would still be incredibly high but tolerable.

Once the uniqueness was nearly fully activated, it began to cause a strong convergence effect — managing to drag over the Worm of Time characteristic Grisha had previously taken from Aurmir and prepared for this moment.

At this critical stage he intervened and by utilizing his level as a Half Great Old One manged to place a restriction on it in order to prevent possible accidents.

After everything was completed he and Lilith parted ways.

Returning to the palace with a baby from a non-neighbouring Pathway in hand was something that his angels would have been surprised by had Amon not been a part of the Bible for years by this point.

By ensuring that the newly created Amon had anchors who saw Him simply as a mischievous being who would bring hope during the Apocalypse, it could effectively lessen any overly disturbing instinctual usage of Loopholes and Theft.

Although all of his angels had reached the level of Sequence 1 by now, it was safer to leave this baby with the one with the most combat potential who would be most firm in raising it.

"Medici, from now on you will be the one to raise Amon."

Expectedly, the War Angel quickly agreed to the order.

For some reason Sasrir's judgmental stare was a bit more intense than usual.

…

Was this Justice?

Eliminating the Gods that had been suppressing humanity, and reclaiming multiple uniquenesses was for the good of the world.

Even as the lines between him and the Omniscient and Omnipotent God began to blur even quicker than they used to.

Grisha felt that being worshiped by humanity was only natural.

And Grisha also remembered going to church.

Remembered being a child holding his mother's hand while she guided him towards their town's small church. As he waited for her to get several candles he'd look with wonder at the various icons and decorations inside, always marveling at them no matter how many times he had seen them before.

His mother had been a religious woman and always hoped he'd follow in her footsteps, but never enforced the belief onto him. Still, during the days she had time she'd take him with her to church even if there weren't sermons at the time.

Grisha still remembered a gentle hand holding his as it helped him properly light candle after candle and securely place it next to the those left by many other people.

A prayer for the living and for the deceased.

Then she would press her thumb, pointer, and middle finger together and tap the sign of the cross on her body as she murmured a prayer before smiling at him as he clumsily imitated her despite having no true belief in his mind.

On her face would appear a warm smile that even the dozens of lit candles right before them could not compare with.

Candles just like the ones that humans now lit as a form of prayer to Grisha.

Was it Justice to not allow them to pray to the others?

Was it Justice to deem those he had worked together with for so long as Unorthodox Gods? To fight against them?

It wasn't but Grisha had long predicted it wouldn't be.

His Justice Halo did not weaken, it only grew more powerful.

For the principles behind his Justice had been knowingly wrapped from the beginning.

…

Medici's mocking laughter filled the hallway as the War Angel frantically tried to find the damned monster of a child that had escaped from his grasp.

From the side Leodero and Aucuses snickered together at his pain.

Only Ouroboros was actually useful.

In fact, it could be said Ouroboros was even more useful than Medici himself as soon after the Angel of Fate joined the search he found the runaway baby.

It turned its small head to look at Ouroborus before nudging the monocle on its right eye with a chubby hand.

"Interesting." The small baby said with the voice of a grown man…a grown Medici?

Now that they could clearly see the contrast between the voice and body the two unhelpful bastards known as the Wind Angel and White Angel full on double over in laughter.

Had his voice not been stolen, Medici would have cursed both of them out to the Abyss and back!

"Amon, return the voice." Out of seemingly nowhere they heard the voice of the menace's older brother.

Ouroboros, who was blankly looking at the baby, easily handed it over to the child that had appeared beside him.

The scene of a child with innocent and pure eyes carefully holding their younger sibling might have been slightly adorable had said younger sibling not began yelling complains in a stolen voice.

Thankfully a King of Angels of the Spectator Pathway was apparently capable of calming even something as frustrating as Amon.

Soon after the Angel of Time was successfully Placated, Medici felt his voice return.

"YOU LITTLE–" before he could finish his yell his ability to produce sound was taken away once again.

This time however everyone present was able to see the smile that had formed on Adam's face before that little traitor disappeared from their view along with Amon.

With a still gaping mouth Medici vowed to himself to never forget this betrayal.

…

Gray fog swirled together, forming a vast and impenetrable wall.

Nobody knew what lay behind it.

Not even the Omniscient and Omnipotent God knew the situation in the sealed off continent.

Approaching it always came with an overwhelming urge to destroy the barrier, to throw lightning, shadows, light, and anything else he could as to bring it down.

Based on Grisha's research such actions would cause greater threat than he initially thought.

It was a good thing he had been unable to create an opening last time he had stood before it.

Recently a prophecy had entered his mind.

Someone would stand outside this fog one day, someone who had been selected by Mysteries just like Amanises had been.

By the time they emerge there would be nothing that could guide them to the truth of the world. No legends nor records were left. No similarity to what once was — languages, clothing, geography, and even ecosystems were irreversibly changed.

Grisha knew what such a world would look like to someone without knowledge. This would seem like something straight out of a fantasy movie. Whether someone had a good life in the past or not, most people would try and find a way back to the life filled with technological commodities.

Madness was the underlying nature of the Pathways; someone chosen to possibly become a Pillar's resurrection vessel would undoubtedly be pushed into divinity by fate.

So Grisha sent an Oracle to the city nearest to the barrier.

Something too direct might risk loss of control or a mental breakdown, something too subtle would carry the risk of not being recognized.

"Chernobyl."

That was the perfect word to hint to the one who would come here someday that there was somebody else who shared the memories of the twenty-first century.

Once they appear and hear that word, they should be able to connect it and the similarities with Christianity to reach the truth regarding Grisha's identity.

Being around more people from that era would be rather enjoyable.

…

It didn't take long to realize Adam was often an accomplice — occasionally even the mastermind — to Amon's little schemes.

Other than the Lord and the Deputy of Heaven everyone else had the chance to become the next target.

Being around either of the two excluded from those schemes came with momentary immunity from being a victim.

Since Sasrir was currently being hogged by Herabergen under the guise of helping with research, and Aucuses was preaching outside the palace, that left Leodero alone to compete with Medici for who would be able to get the chance to be in the Lord's presence today. The War Angel was undoubtedly more desperate as he was unlucky enough to be the one taking care of Amon most often however the Wind Angel wasn't too far behind in regards to determination to not be left alone with that evil child.

Somehow the Lord ended up being the one to call both of them.

They weren't going to complain at being rescued so they wordlessly agreed on a truce.

When they came to the room the Lord was in they instantly smelled something odd.

An unknown purgent stench filled the room, most similar to the smell left after a fire.

Both of them quickly identified the source of it to be a white and orange stick-like object left in an oddly shaped small glass bowl. Smoke rose from it and swirled in the air as their God turned His focus onto them.

"In the south there have been sightings of followers of the Unorthodox Gods." He said instead of the usual greeting.

"I trust you two to deal with them promptly."

They could sense now wasn't the time to ask about those unknown objects so they quickly headed off to finish the mission they had been assigned.

That white and orange object never left their minds even when they investigated the area they had been assigned. What about it could be important enough to cause the Lord to Envision it during His personal time?

Sadly there was not even a trace of the members of the cults, which made by the Three Unorthodox Gods, by the time they arrived. Not even Medici could find anything — strongly susuggesting high level Concealment to be involved.

"What do you think that object was?" Leodero asked him as they made their way back at a moderate pace as to not have to expose themselves to Amon too soon while simultaneously not delaying reporting about the lack of progress.

"It's good to see you finally acknowledge that the Lord prefers me over you! Maybe in a few more centuries you will also realize you–" The Provocation was cut off once his intuition warned him that egoist might overreact should the sentence be finished.

Medici was confident he would be able to survive that guy's Heavenly Punishment however it was better to not needlessly put that confidence to the test.

The rest of the trip back was accompanied with animosity that he skillfully ignored.

Once they once again stood before the Lord there was nothing to prove that mysterious object had ever even existed.

After reporting, Leodero seemed ready to inquire about it before the Lord cut him off and told them to leave.

The uncharacteristic coldness made them look at each other in confusion once they closed the doors behind them.

Perhaps it was due to being denied an answer but after that the thought of that smoking object remained in their mind for longer than either of them ever expected. Eventually the next time the two of them had the chance to talk with the Lord when He was behaving normally, they posed the question.

At their inquiry he smiled and Envisioned an unlit version of that white and orange stick.

"This is known as a cigarette." God explained.

"They are harmful to humans but would pose no threat to you."

And so both of them found themselves being taught how to smoke.

…

Grisha leaned back in His chair while watching the complicated patterns the smoke created as it rose from His cigarette.

Back when He was human He found their smell disgusting. Now all that Grisha felt was familiarity.

He was very familiar with the brand his father always bought, more than enough to Envision an exact replica. Just like the old glass ashtray that had always been on the table on their balcony for as long as he could remember.

The last time he had ever visited his parents that familiar ashtray had been replaced by a new one. It was cheaper just like the new brand his father had picked up an unknown time before the visit.

Something in him hadn't been able to stand that sight and led him to scold his elderly father for lying about having enough to get by and for always nagging Grisha for "needlessly" worrying about them. During their minor argument Grisha had opened his wallet and shoved money in his father's hand while promising him it wouldn't make a difference on his own quality of life if he supported them more.

After that he got scolded by his mother in turn but the two of them didn't argue back whenever Grisha sent money to their bank accounts so it was something he counted as a victory.

Grisha had promised them he would try visiting more often.

Then a few months after that he was sent to Ukraine to join the Research Facility in Chernobyl and never ended up fulfilling his promise.

They probably didn't even have a chance to realize something had happened to him before they died.

A quiet shuffle sounded out from somewhere near the opposite side of the room. Such a sound would not have been noticed by a human but to Him it was incredibly obvious — enough so interrupt His reminiscing.

It caused Him to leave the lit cigarette in the ashtray before getting up and swiftly appearing near the source of the sound where a large bug with a circular white discoloration around its right eye was rummaging among an assortment of mystical items.

Grisha chuckled before picking it up and returning to his desk.

After being lost in memories for so long looking at the bug in front of Him caused an urge to talk about that long lost era.

"Amon, I think you would have really liked the internet."

The bug Amon's antenna twitched in curiosity.

…

Amon was bored.

Nobody was at home, not even His brother.

Occasionally prayers would fill His ears but He didn't see any reason to respond to them. Last time He did so in a way he found entertaining, the end result was being lectured by Father.

For years after such lectures Father would keep His distance from Amon and wouldn't tell anything interesting to any of His avatars.

Amon didn't want to see Father look at Him with such revulsion again any time soon.

In the end He decided to host a vote with His avatars.

Amons of various gender and age sat on beautifully carved wooden chairs along an extravagant table He had stolen just for similar occasions.

"I think we should pick Medici next!"

"We picked him yesterday! We need to go after Herabergen!"

"And how do you expect us to get that lizard when he has basically glued himself to Sasrir?"

"You're all wrong! We should do something unexpected — Adam will be returning first, it's the best opportunity!"

That exclamation was joined by a multitude of agreements before those Amons noticed the rest looking at Them quietly and realized They had messed up.

After taking care of those few unlikeable individuals the heated voting session ended with a clear winner — Aucuses!

This result was barely ahead from the idea of targeting both Herabergen and Sasrir but after some more convincing arguments it ended up winning by a few more votes. However since it was so close it was only right to save the second place for a future prank!

Most Amons rather enjoyed that word Father had taught Them so it was often used during Their conversations with each other.

The others were scattered about various major cities as they always were during important holidays. On the other hand Father was out with Adam why did he never take Amon out on such trips? but would likely return later than all of the rest.

It was sadly too late to interrupt the main portion of whatever preaching Aucuses decided on this time.

Adam might be back soon if Father sent him off as early as usual but it is likely that no matter what it wouldn't be before Aucuses had already finished the opening part of the event.

This obviously meant the last option left was to crash the event on His own!

Now the biggest question was how to do it without displeasing Father to the point of a lecture.

Usually it was Adam that helped Him figure out such plans — they were often dozens of times more boring than what Amon originally wanted, enough so to occasionally cause Him to not do anything at all.

However what one Amon couldn't achieve could be completed through a team effort!

Once again They entered a debate with dozens of ideas being voiced at once.

Like always it didn't last long as the Amons quickly settled on an idea!

Quickly Stealing the distance multiple times, Amon found Himself next to a golden cross on top of a magnificent cathedral.

Below Him hundreds if not thousands of humans could be seen piously looking at the bright and holy figure of the White Angel.

Amon smiled and adjusted the crystal monocle on His right eye before Deceiving the Justice Halo that was active over the area.

Multiple bird Amons, rodent Amons, and bug Amons, all simultaneously performed Theft on Aucuses.

This allowed Them to steal three things near instantaneously — the Justice Halo itself, the authority of Holiness that was being used on the believers, and the memory of those abilities.

The last one required continuous stealing to prevent issues but with the amount of avatars that Amon had brought working in tandem with the element of surprise everything should progress as planned.

This too was rather dull compared to the initial plan but the odds that Father would find it amusing were way higher.

After all, the idea of this prank came from stories and images originating from the era lost to time He always talked about.

There were beautiful stained glass windows portraying the forms of the eight Kings of Angels.

Amon took out an Envisioned item He had stolen from Ouroborus earlier that day — a can of so-called spray paint.

He and five other avatars got to work while a few others released bits of stolen Shadow authority allowing for everything to proceed in secret.

Soon all Amons retreated and returned what had been stolen.

This caused Aucuses to immediately freeze in place.

The confused believers watched the White Angel look around with obvious displeasure before everyone noticed the addition to the cathedral's windows.

On the faces of all angels other than the Lord's two sons were black lines creating contorted, funny expressions.

Unlike the rest, the window representing Aucuses had one more addition, which was a gift Amon had received.

Perhaps it was seeing those googly eyes on the gratified art of himself that caused Aucuses to uncharacteristically lose his cool in front of the masses.

…

Placating someone regularly was exceptionally easy. This, however, did not mean that Adam would be willing to deal with the consequences of Amon's pranks all of the time.

Father had already fixed the problems that had arisen after the prank — other than the leftover frustration of course.

He seemed to find it amusing enough to not even pretend to scold Amon. If it had been Adam that messed with so many anchors there would have been consequences.

The youngest King of Angel had always been able to get away with things the rest of them couldn't. Surprisingly, not holding overly deep grudges for instinctual actions was actually commonplace among them so despite the others not being happy with that fact they had accepted the reason to be that such trickery was instinctual for the living Error uniqueness, and never thought deeper about it.

Adam could not do that, doing so would be an antithesis to His his very being.

So he just watched the others quietly without intervening in their views. Most of them ignored him even without Psychological Invisibility anyway.

Occasionally Ouroboros would request to paint him or Medici would get frustrated enough to shove Amon at him or Sasrir and Father would check to ensure that he was still not too separated from them himself.

Ironically it was only Amon — the one that took most advantage of Adam's abilities — that sought him out purely for company.

His younger brother's main body was currently in the form of a raven resting on their Father's head as the two of them listened to a fairytale from the Pre Epoch.

Usually it was only Amon that got the chance to listen to such stories, after all Adam already knew of them due to some of the memories he shared with his other self Father.

Listening to them again served no purpose.

It wouldn't have happened had Amon not dragged him along, saying that if he had to listen to barely concealed moral preaching then Adam had to as well.

…

There was a baby.

This familiar sentence was almost enough to send all of them into a frenzy to find excuses to run away from the palace.

What stopped them was that the baby was Ouroboros.

Apparently the Angel of Fate's intuition caused him to see it necessary to Reboot soon.

Seven people sat around a small silver snake, all blankly looking at it.

For some reason Outoboros had neglected to warn them — probably due to a mixture of his usual air headedness and it not causing any problems that would alert his intuition in advance.

Amon tried to poke the snake with a stick He had taken out of somewhere but His hand was slapped away by Herabergen who had been sitting closest to the Angel of Time.

Uncommon silence filled the room.

"Someone take Ouroboros to his room." Was what Sasrir finally managed to get out after going through multiple stages of disappointment and dismay.

"I'll do it." Medici announced with a grin.

Before putting his hand near the snake and waving it about for a while to signal it to climb on.

Thankfully, Ouroboros did indeed wrap around the offered hand.

Under the vacant stares of the others Medici casually made his way out of the room and into the hallway.

Occasionally he would try and begin a conversation but only receive a hiss or two in reply.

That had the unintended side effect of causing even someone as rowdy as Medici to shut up for once.

"You're being so quiet." That familiar annoying voice caused his grin to subtly falter but there was no other satisfaction he would give Amon.

Burning that brat's hair again was especially tempting but it would only give the menace more reason to be bothersome so Medici did the intelligent thing and chose to pretend like there was nobody else walking beside him.

Surprisingly Amon didn't say anything else the whole walk.

Medici wouldn't let feigned innocence cause him to lower his guard so he kept the brat in the edge of his vision despite focusing on the long hallway.

Everyone had separated rooms which were mostly filled with various mundane furniture alongside trinkets given by the Lord. Of course there were also minor differences in decor like Aucuses having way more golden decorations or Herabergen having a personal library. Medici himself had plenty of war trophies.

Interestingly enough Medici had never been to Ouroboros' room.

The Angel of Fate was nearly always somewhere else in the palace and could easily be found when one sought him out. It was likely Ourobors only retreated to his room whenever he wanted to be alone. In that case nobody bothering him was certainly his luck in action.

'How convenient.' Few things would be worth more than having the ability to keep away from nuisance whenever one wanted.

It was only pitiful that the most frustrating of said nuisances seems to have also realized that.

The small silver snake wrapped around his arm slightly raised its head once it saw the door to its room before letting out a hiss that was probably permission to enter.

Medici wasted no time doing exactly that.

All of the walls were covered by murals.

Even the ceiling had a design focused around the symbol of the cross.

Looking at the detailed paintings made Medici let out an appreciative whistle.

He walked past the scene of what was probably Ourobors' recruitment and approached a depiction of all of them sitting by a dinner table. Well, all of them that had been around back before the fall of the Ancient Gods.

"It's unfortunate that the bookworm wasn't with us back then." Although it sounded like a rare compliment coming from Medici, the cause behind it was more so the aesthetically displeasing asymmetrical arrangement they were sitting by the table in — on the left side of the table were Sasrir, Leodero, and Ouroboros while on the right were himself, and Aucuses. The Lord, who was sitting at the head of the table, was in the middle of speaking something with a seemingly amused expression.

Thinking about it, at some point they seemed to have unknowingly stopped the tradition of dining together.

"Wanna bring it back?" He asked the snake that had slithered up to his shoulder.

It leisurely nodded its head in response.

Both of them had ignored Amon who had been staring at one of the murals.

On the glass of His crystal monocle a depiction of everyone but Him joyfully sitting on the floor under a fake but beautiful starry sky was reflected.

…

For the first time since he has been an angel under the Lord, Herabergen was invited to dinner.

Apparently it was something the rest had done often before the end of the Second Epoch.

He had the misfortune to be next to Amon but since both the Lord and Sasrir were here there was little that could happen.

Or so he thought.

The food was objectively incredible and the mundanity of the action of feeding lulled him into a false sense of security. Suddenly, he and Sasrir bit into their respective bit of food and both of them twitched as a colorful array of tiny glittering objects exploded in their mouths and onto the table.

This caused Medici, Leodero and Aucuses to instantly cease eating in a display of their impressive reaction time. Unlike them Adam continued on with a confidence only a High Sequence Spectator could have.

Those that weren't pranked began mocking the misfortune of their colleagues.

That mocking soon stopped as they felt something missing.

The Lord smiled quietly throughout the whole meal, never commenting nor reacting.

Years passed after that but for some reason the others never asked to have dinner together again.

…

Cooking was often called less precise than baking. However it too required following a step by step process which had to be precise for the best results.

Grisha looked at the feast He had prepared.

Everything looked perfect with not even the slightest imperfection in the preparations.

The taste of everything was completely optimized.

Knowing every ingredient was measured by eye would have surprised someone had they not known God had prepared it.

As it was, nobody even showed a sign of wonder at the quality of the food.

Those who had been working under Him long enough to have tried His authentic cooking simply complimented the dishes that lacked even the smallest hint of personal taste.

Vaguely, while watching the glitter that landed near His left arm, Grisha wished He had Envisioned a grand throne and table away from them.

On an inclined platform where He could look down on those meaningless antics.

…

Being around Amon was no longer enough to suppress 'His' will.

In one of the thousands of homes across the land that once used to be known as Europe there was a newborn child named Bethel Abraham.

God thought that child had potential to grow into a promising candidate for the position of the Lord of Mysteries.

With guidance that potential would grow into something more. Once everything succeeded Bethel Abraham would be used as a weakened version of 'His' enemy.

Sealing was the most important ability Grisha sought so He ensured the child headed into the direction of becoming the Door.

The Fool uniqueness would be simple to acquire, and while Amon could survive without the Error uniqueness that might lead to problems with becoming the light at the dawn of the Apocalypse.

There was no need to rush, it was best to ensure Bethel's advancement went smoothly but not overwhelmingly quick, lest an error arise in the plan.

It took far too long to realize such thoughts were not His own.

A level of awakening being allowed for the Lord of Mysteries would not cause overwhelming problems as long as it was kept in check, which was something Grisha could do with reltive confidence. It could even help suppress the Primordial's will.

It's a shame 'He' had already awakened within Him to the extent allowing for the prevention of that scenario.

God called His first creation.

The plan to redeem those oversights was set in place.

…

Aucuses remained in the Giant King's Court long after the meeting of the Rose Redemption had ended.

His God wasn't as infallible as He seemed.

God had long been falling under the influence of something more ancient.

God was never what Aucuses thought He was.

There were so many signs but Aucuses never dared to assume that He was once a feeble human.

Something that used to be human had brought back the Sun, decimated the Ancient Gods, and brought salvation to humanity.

If Acuses had been alive in that distant past, if he had been the one chosen by the Chaos Sea, would he have been the one worshiped by thousands?

Would Aucuses be the one regarded as a Savior, as the Sun.

Something akin to envy pushed him into a fantasy of what it would be like to be God.

He pressed the urge down until he saw that same envy on the faces of Herabergen and Leodero. Both of them recognized Aucuses' look in return, and a twisted determination began brewing in his heart.

Amnises had been abandoned by the God that had been Her previous ally and yet Sasrir still had the egoism to call Her to become one of the leaders of the Rose Redemption.

She, Lilith Omebella, and Badheil wanted to have the right to preach as to obtain anchors and ensure the stability of Their state.

Salinger and Tolzna had no loyalty to the Omniscient and Omnipotent God, and the possibility to remove a threat to future ascension would likely be tempting.

Maybe there was a way for all of them to benefit.

Three possible vessels were better than one.

…

Something had gone wrong.

How could they do this to him?

How could they ruin his plans?

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

Why wasn't Amanises helping him?

Weren't they friends?

Why had he betrayed her again?

Didn't he help her so much?

Excruciating pain caused Grisha's thoughts to spiral in a way that had only happened before when he was hunkered up in a room of the facility along with the few remaining coworkers that were sane and not oil.

He could hear the same voice that had summoned him from underground laughing at the betrayal.

Grisha was so scared.

Why couldn't those emotions have remained with Sasrir?

There was something looking at him.

Something other than his Kings of Angels the traitors or the ones that had been there emotionlessly watching and waiting for him to die.

A gaze from beyond time, from beyond a gray fog that hid all of the watcher's features.

"Mysteries."

Familiar foreign hatred filled his being as a flare of power passed through layers of fog, taking 'His' attention away for the briefest moment.

So there would be someone in the future who could attain that elusive Sefirah.

Oh right, the Sefirot were essential.

Grisha needed to ensure the world could survive. He needed to ensure the existence of a new Great Old One.

Should he never resurrect there had to be people who knew the way to attain that level.

The memory of the stone slab he had left to his other self cut through his barely focused thoughts.

With the fall of the Ancient Sun God came the Cataclysm.

Humanity's only hope also was created.

The Second Blasphemy Slate was witnessed by multiple beings who began to plan for the future.

…

In the land Forsaken by God there were numerous ruins. They belong to once glorious cities and villages.

Quiet remnants of humanity's glory under the Omniscient and Omnipotent God.

Among them there were pieces of what was once the palace inhabited by the divine.

The sign of hope and the victory over the madness of the Ancient Gods was now unrecognizable.

Unusually for such ruins, there was a wall that was abnormally well preserved. Its state was so good that the paint on it was barely even faded.

A white haired man stood in front of it.

His expression could not be discerned.

After an unknown amount of time the man turned around and left the grounds where his home the palace once stood.

Coincidentally, once the person left, the strong lightning that had somehow avoided the wall for hundreds of years began to strike at it one after the other.

The scene of eight figures sitting together on the floor slowly crumbled under the force of the repetitive hits.

Soon in the place of the mural what remained was only a pile of rubble reminiscent of the plenty of similar ones in the vicinity.

…

Adam was no longer Adam.

The backup plan created before the beginning of the Angel of Imagination's existence as had worked as intended.

With innocent and pure eyes, Grisha continued the preparations for the Apocalypse through the body created by merging a uniqueness with His younger self.

His childlike eyes stared at the results of His newest plots and deemed them a necessity.

He would not hesitate to do whatever was necessary, not even His own complete annihilation would be too much if it led to a favorable outcome.

Because God loves the world.