ã€ŠCaelestis Croxeusã€‹


 Prologue

    I am a man of hypocrisies. I craft reasons, stitch arguments and weave logic to justify what I want to believe. It¡¯s as if I encase my convictions in layers of rationality, trying to disguise them as truths.

    But I wasn¡¯t always this way. I used to look for truths, facts in hopes of understanding my surroundings, but as I grew up, I realised that certainty is fragile.

    At some point, I stopped searching for the truth and started creating it. And if I had to trace it back, it all began that day¡ªthe day I asked my father a question that was crawling on my young mind.

    ¡°Father, why do gods expect worship and prayer from us? If I were a god, I might want worship out of vanity, but beings who are supposed to be selfless? Why would they expect us to praise them?¡±

    My father knelt, his warm hand resting gently on my head. With a hint of amusement he answered, ¡°Gods don¡¯t expect praise from us. They only wish to be remembered, to check on us as a parent would.

    Prayers weren¡¯t their creation but ours. Humans, being selfish, believed that by praising gods, we could curry their favour, perhaps even gain something in return.

    It¡¯s just as a wise man once said. Everyone prays in despair, but no one prays in jubilation. If one prayed in jubilation, why would despair exist?¡±

    His words made sense. Too much sense for my young mind to ignore. Yet, a part of me burned to prove him wrong. I resolved to defy that wisdom. To defy what appeared to be the truth... Perhaps it was the birth of my obstinate nature which led me to it.

    So, I told myself I would only pray when I was happy and won¡¯t even think about god in sorrow.

    I convinced myself that this was necessary to show that it wasn¡¯t humanity that was selfish but the gods who inflicted misery to compel worship.

    But I failed.

    No matter how much I tried, it was nearly impossible to pray in joy and all too easy in sorrow. In my lowest, I turned to prayer, to faith. I couldn¡¯t explain why.

    It wasn¡¯t long before I began to understand¡ªperhaps my father was right, maybe I was selfish like everyone else. Perhaps the world needed gods, despite the fact that they existed or not.

    The reason simply was not for morality born from the fear of hell. But for hope. The belief that someone was watching over us, that our suffering had purpose, that the chaos around us would lead to something meaningful.

    And so, I concluded that god was necessary as an object of worship. Something which people needed to cling to for hope¡­ I knew that it was highly possible that a being like god didn¡¯t even exist, yet I crafted theories and reasonings to justify what I believed.

    And yet¡­ at this very moment, on this night, for the first time, I find myself doubting. Doubting what I once held as truth¡­ and what I never did.

    Is he regenerating that guy¡¯s entire arm?

    Ard¡¯s eyes froze in disbelief. Before him, the celestial being¡¯s hands emitted a soft, preternatural green glow. The light poured over the maim body lying beneath. To his astonishment, the twisted limb of the lying began to regenerate.

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    Violation of laws, a reversal of entropy. Miracle that nature itself had commanded to reverse its course.

    Flesh and bone fused seamlessly. Tissues layering upon muscles in a harmonious dance of creation. Within moments, the chopped arm was whole again. Fresh and flawless.

    This isn¡¯t possible. Am I hallucinating?

    His rational mind rebelled. He rubbed his eyes furiously. Desperate to dispel the vision, but the scene remained unchanged. It was real.

    The cold air on his skin, the uneven earth beneath him. It was real.

    Moonlight filtered through the branches above, casting superlunary patterns of light and shadow.

    His body felt different. It was a weird sense of contradiction¡ªlight as air yet weighed down by an invisible force. He willed himself upright, every motion sluggish, his body resisting.

    One hand pressed against his forehead while the other trembled uncontrollably before his eyes. Useless, frail.

    Heart thumped, erratic and desperate.

    lubb¨Cdup¨Clubb-dup

    ¡°Am I dead?¡± he whispered to no one.

    No. No, I¡¯m not. My heart¡ªit¡¯s racing too fast. This is real. It has to be, he thought. Then, a new wave of panic.

    Wait, where is Tiya?

    He turned his head sharply. His vision shifted to the motionless figure of a woman lying nearby. Wave of relief washed over him as he saw her chest rise and fall.

    She was breathing. She was alive.

    She¡¯s fine. But how? We were in the car¡­ driving¡­ and then¡­ the crash. We fell off a cliff. There¡¯s no way we should¡¯ve survived¡ªnot without a single scratch.

    Shaking off the fog of confusion, Ard¡¯s eyes shifted to the stranger. The figure knelt a short distance away as his attention was fixed on two lifeless bodies lying before him.

    His long and beautiful snow-white hair shimmered under the moonlight. The being wore a robe. A pure white robe with resplendent golden borders. Even though his attire was simple, it exuded a beauty that defied comprehension.

    Top of his head rested on a delicate leaf-like crown made from gold.

    From his pale hands poured that same luminous green light.

    Is this his doing? Did he¡­ did he save us?

    Ard¡¯s thoughts clashed in a storm of awe and confusion. The being before him seemed to blur the line between myth and reality. A power far beyond human understanding.

    Is he¡­ a God? There¡¯s no other explanation. He has to be.

    Compelled by an unshakable force, Ard pushed himself to his feet.

    Staggering. Crawling. Stumbling.

    Slowly, he managed to close the distance between himself and the enigmatic figure. Each step felt like an eternity, but still he couldn¡¯t stop as something beyond reason drew him closer.

    His heart raced, breath was ragged. Terror gripped his chest.

    As he reached the stranger, he felt an instinctive pull to kneel, to lower himself before a being whose very existence seemed to eclipse his own.

    Ard was nothing¡ªa speck of dust, insignificant and unworthy of notice. Yet he couldn¡¯t resist the question clawing its way to his lips.

    When I imagined God, I never pictured a figure or a face. No grand throne. No blinding light. Just emptiness. Infinite space. Pure consciousness adrift in the void. But this¡­ this being¡­

    He fell to his knees, his voice trembling as he spoke. ¡°Are you¡­ are you God?¡±

    The stranger turned. His golden eyes¡ªbrighter and fiercer than the sun¡ªturning towards Ard. His pale, flawless face betrayed no emotion, save for a faint flicker of confusion. Those piercing eyes scanned Ard with a gaze that seemed to see through him, to lay bare every secret, every thought Ard ever had.

    Ard¡¯s breath hitched. Fear coiled in his chest, tightening with every second. A part of him wanted to flee, to escape the overwhelming presence before him. Yet another part, stronger and more desperate, held him in place, waiting for an answer.

    And then¡ª

 Ch.1 Illusion of Existence I

    Religions are systems, while God is an idea. Systems are flawed, but ideals are not.

    ~ Ard Barfi. (ch.1 pt.1)

    If pain is decreed, then mercy is ceased. If suffering is left with silence to follow, then what remains is a hollow. A hollow that cannot be seen, touched or proven does not exists. That is what I believe.

    ~ Tiya Bakhlovia (ch2. pt.1)

    Snow falls, even when it knows it will melt. Even when it knows the ground will swallow it whole. It falls anyway. Without expectation. Without regret. Maybe kindness is the same.

    ~ Rict Rex (ch6. pt.1)

    Some are born special, and some are not. Some are born with talent, and some will never find it. Some will never use it, like a flame that refuses to burn. And then, there are those who chase the illusion of it. They keep chasing and struggling, until the world reminds them that they were never meant to fly.

    ~ Ronny Rudd (ch6. pt.1)

    A curtain of fog smothered the mountain road, swallowing the headlights as the car pressed forward. Ahead, a pair of tail lights glowed dimly in the haze. It followed.

    Inside the cabin, the refined aroma of leather was ever-present, but the pine of air freshener drowned it out.

    ¡°Picture this,¡± Ard said while adjusting his golden-rimmed glasses.

    The glare from the dashboard of the car danced upon his lenses.

    His sharp features and long midnight hair, slightly visible in the dim light. Clothed in a white suit paired with a jet-black shirt and a deep purple tie.

    ¡°It was decided to construct a city upon a floodplain,¡± he continued. ¡°The location, chosen for its strategic trade routes, an ideal one. A famed architect¡ªan individual of considerable renown was entrusted with its design. His reputation was unmatched. He boldly professed that his designs would leave the threat of flooding almost zero.¡±

    He paused, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. ¡°Imagine that city, built wonderfully! Fully chirping with life. But¡­five years later a catastrophe occurs. Excessive rain results in a flood, even the drainage system chokes. Countless lives are swept away.¡±

    ¡°Now my question for you, Tiya,¡± he said, glancing towards the woman beside him. ¡°Is¡ªwho bears the blame? Is it the government who was inept in its duty to manage the city? The populace, complicit in the clogging of its veins? The architect, whose design proved fallible. Or perhaps the very idea of building a city on a floodplain was flawed from the beginning?¡±

    Tiya exhaled, her breath faintly fogged the cold glass.

    Her rectangular spectacles framed her dark and dull eyes. Long and raven hair neatly tied back which complimented her white blazer and the black dress underneath.

    ¡°The people.¡± She responded confidently. ¡°They elected their government. They clogged the drains. Their ignorance and indifference led to it.¡±

    As she answered, Ard''s glance met hers.

    Given her logical approach to problems, he already knew what she was going to say.

    The nature of blame is a reflection of the human need for order in chaos. When disaster strikes, the first instinct is not to understand but to assign guilt.

    And to lay the blame is to reveal oneself.

    With a smirk he said, ¡°Pragmatic like always.¡±

    Tiya''s eyes met his, as she pressed on. ¡°So then, what is the answer?¡±

    ¡°Answer?" Ard replied with amusement. ¡°There is no answer¡­ The decision is up to you, Tiya.¡±

    Then her expressions changed, it was like she had solved a puzzle.

    She had played these little mind games of his before. Each time he would come up with philosophical riddles like this but their answers would be predetermined. This time was no different.

    No one would dare to blame the lone architect. Some might criticize the citizens like her, a few would blame it on the system and in rare cases, some would question the notion itself. But to place the blame on the architect? That was unthinkable.

    The architect was meant to symbolize God.

    A Contemplation.

    A perfect creator would create only perfection. But if the world is flawed, then either the creator is not perfect¡ªor he is, and the flaw was intentional.

    Perhaps the notion of a creator is just as misguided as the idea of a perfect city on a floodplain.

    ¡°So, it is like a subtle foray into a metaphor. The city, the architect, the flood¡­ they symbolize the universe, God, and suffering, don¡¯t they?¡±

    Ard smirked, like he was expecting her to say that. ¡°Ah Tiya, you understand me so well. Indeed, it is a metaphor.¡±

    The car drifts, a slow, lazy tilt.

    ¡°How unpredictable,¡± she remarked in a sarcastic tone. ¡°Let me guess¡ªyou¡¯re planning to use this in the upcoming symposium, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Guilty,¡± He admitted with a soft chuckle. ¡°Though I might refine it before presenting it.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Tiya said. ¡°After all, the cover of Vector Vizon doesn¡¯t look good without your pseudo-profound quotes. What was it last time? Something about religion and ideals?¡± She mentioned the fact in a tone of mockery.

    Feigned ignorance. Just so he would say it again. For the hundredth time.

    That familiar smirk, steeped in self-assured arrogance. That unwavering confidence in his tone. It was predictable, repetitive.

    And yet, far too precious to let go.

    Ard smirked. ¡°Religions are systems, while God is an idea. Systems are flawed, but ideals are not.¡±

    A fundamental axiom.

    A system decomposes from the time of birth, much like a living corpse. Every religion, law, and government begin as a necessity, a response to anarchy. However, with time, any system becomes its own worst enemy, limited by the very rules that were created to support it.

    Ideals, though, exist in an entropy-free Universe. They are timeless, pure, unaffected by the imperfections of execution. But what is the point of an ideal if it can never exist?

    To believe in ideals yet live within flawed systems. Irony.

    Tiya rolled her eyes. ¡°Yeah, yeah that bombastic quote. Still, I suppose it¡¯s better than nothing.¡±

    ¡°Call it whatever you want,¡± he replied with his confident smile. ¡°But the logic stands.¡±

    ¡°Logic¡ªHa, only if a being like God exists,¡± Tiya countered.

    Sudden gust of wind rattled the car''s frame slightly.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t hurt to assume for once,¡± Ard said.

    ¡°Cowardly agnostic,¡± she jabbed with a smile.

    ¡°And you, the insufferable atheist,¡± Ard replied, fuelling the dissonance.

    Tiya laughed gently, ¡°It¡¯s been far too long since we engaged in these little debates.¡±

    ¡°Yeah¡­ It has been,¡± Ard murmured. ¡°I do miss our college days.¡±

    As they began to reminisce about their past, the car¡¯s interior was filled with nostalgic warmth. But outside the glass mist grew thicker, swallowing the road like a constant tide of winter''s breath.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    As it is, tragedy does not announce itself¡­

    The brake lights appeared on the car in front of them, pulsing like an anxious heart.

    Beyond it, a massive truck emerged from the opposite direction. Without warning, the truck shook violently. Then, it tilted and collapsed onto its side.

    The car ahead swerved. Tires screamed. A desperate turn¡ªthen nothing. It vanished over the cliff¡¯s edge.

    In that split second, Ard¡¯s eyes, limited by the fog, barely grasped the situation as he maintained his pace in search of the car ahead.

    ¡°Oh, my goodness,¡± Ard gasped, as he tried to maintain his composure.

    It was too late.

    With a forceful slam of the brakes, he found himself trapped¡ªthe massive truck was blocking both lanes like a barrier.

    Ard jerked the wheel to the left to avoid the truck. The car responded with a skid.

    The front wheels tipped over the edge.

    The car spun helplessly down the cliff into the darkness.

    It collided with the trunk of a huge tree with a severe impact that crushed it to its core.

    The windshield shattered into a million shards while the front collapsed under the great force of the impact. Ard¡¯s head whipped forward as the airbag burst into life, cushioning his fall.

    A scarlet rivulet trickled down his forehead. Obscuring features in a grim mosaic of blood.

    The view in front of him instantly melted away with the approaching fog of unconsciousness.

    ¡­

    ..

    .

    ¡°A¡­.Aard¡±, a quiet but broken cry broke through the silence. It was Tiya.

    She had remained silent throughout this nightmare, but she couldn¡¯t let her consciousness slip away like this.

    She had to get up, try to call for help, an ambulance or anyone. But her body betrayed her, it was almost like she had no command over her body.

    Still dazed, her mind wandered back to the point of impact. The nanosecond before it all came crashing down. She had gripped the seatbelt for her life, her fingers curling into the fabric, her body smooshed against the seat belt so hard it would cut right through her. Even now the belt pressed against her with a throbbing pain.

    With all that remained of her will, she forced herself to turn. Just enough to look at him.

    ¡°Ard¡­¡± She barely whispered.

    And then¡ªshe saw him.

    His face¡ªdrenched in blood. A Dripping red face turned against the airbag. Her soul shivered.

    Nuhh¡­Nhh¡­ No¡­. I have to remain conscious. I cannot... Ard, I haven''t even... I haven''t yet... I can¡¯t die, I can¡¯t when I just began to...

    She extended her hand,?fingers shaking. She needed to touch him, needed to know?he was still there, still breathing¡ª

    But her arm never made it.

    This drained all of the strength she had in her. The curtains of her sight¡ªher eyelids flicked in a desperate but final struggle against fate. The last thing she saw was his faceless face.

    The loss of a face is the loss of an identity. The mind may struggle to hold onto a name, a voice, a memory, but when the face is gone, so too is the certainty of existence.

    What is a person without their face?

    For the end is not in death but in erasure. To be forgotten is the true death.

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    . {15 Minutes Earlier, in the car in front of them.}

    The fog hung in patches, barely present but still persistent. The car moved with unwavering precision through the colloidal expanse.

    Its interior mirrored its owner¡ªchaotic, unkempt. Soda cans, crushed wrappers, cigarette stubs.

    The outside carried dust, but the true rot was within, soaked into the very fabric of the seats.

    The weak source of light in this scene was the car¡¯s info screen which displayed an ongoing call with someone named ¡®Evin¡¯.

    The car¡¯s dim screen flickered, casting a pale glow over the driver¡¯s face.

    His long hair flowed messily, unrestrained like long vines. Eyes, heavy as elephant¡¯s ears and dressed in a business suit.

    ¡°Twenty-four,¡± he began in a mock-serious tone. ¡°Is a magical age where half your mates are mastering calculus at university, while the other half is mastering the art of office selfies and posting them on LinkedIn like it¡¯s some modelling agency for corporate overachievers. And me? I¡¯m perfecting the art of rejection¡ªcomposed by the corporate overlords.¡±

    From the speaker, Evin¡¯s voice emerged, tinged with an awkward sympathy. ¡°Don¡¯t feel bad, Ronny. You¡¯ll land a decent job soon, I know you will.¡±

    Ronny replied in pretend serious tone. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right. Sorry for opening up emotionally¡ªthat wasn¡¯t very sigma of me.¡±

    ¡°Keep this humour up, and you¡¯ll lose the next job too,¡± Evin teased, though a genuine concern underpinned his words.

    Ronny again in the pretend serious tone. ¡°A paycheck fades, but the soul stays unpaid if it¡¯s silenced. Besides, my humour is the only thing getting up at the moment.¡±

    He sneered at his own words, especially focusing on the last part ¡®getting up¡¯. Irony. Humour was the final shield of the broken. When a man was drowning in failure, he did not thrash about¡ªhe laughed.

    The voice on the call softened slightly. ¡°Seriously though, what happened with that job? I thought that was a done deal. Even Brian made it¡ªno offense, but you know who you are. What¡¯s going on, man? Have you still not moved on from Emily? Do you still miss her that much?¡±

    Ronny exhaled slowly, the playful timbre in his voice giving way to a weight he could no longer disguise. ¡°Miss her? Nahhh. I¡¯ve stopped thinking about her for a while now.¡± Ronny exhaled while leaning back. ¡°It¡¯s just the time I spent with her. How careless I became and now¡­¡±

    Facts. It was never about others, the enemy was within.

    Own weakness, own excuses, own hesitation. And the worst was its realisation, its awareness.

    If ignorance was bliss, then self-awareness was suffering.

    After a pause.

    ¡°You ever watch your favourite team play, Evin? One of those matches where they¡¯re just one step away from turning things around, but there¡¯s this one player¡ªjust one¡ªwho keeps screwing everything up? Missing passes, fumbling shots, making you want to throw your remote at the screen?¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡± Evin responded cautiously, sensing where this was going.

    ¡°That player? That¡¯s me.¡± Ronny let out a hollow laugh. ¡°And the fan raging at the screen, cursing, screaming for him to get his shit together? That¡¯s my own inner conscience.¡±

    Evin stayed silent.

    ¡°It¡¯s not about some girl, man. It¡¯s about watching myself fail, over and over, knowing I should be better. Could be better. But I¡¯m not. And I don¡¯t even have a coach to bench me. Just stuck in the game, screwing up, with no one to blame but myself.¡±

    He sighed. ¡°So no, I don¡¯t miss her. I just hate the guy I¡¯ve beco¡ª¡±

    ¡°Hey, sorry to cut you off,¡± Evin interrupted him abruptly. ¡°My girlfriend''s calling¡ªcan I ring you later?¡±

    After a pause, Ronny managed a dry smile. ¡°Sure, talk later.¡± The call ended with a beep till the time he had finished speaking.

    Silence remained.

    Ronny stared at the screen, expression unreadable.

    It was always like this. A man could pour his soul into another, expose his wounds, share his burdens¡ªbut in the end, he stood alone. The moment would always end, leaving nothing behind but emptiness.

    People have their own lives, their own priorities and distractions. To expect another to pause their lives for yours is the height of foolishness.

    What did I even expect? It¡¯s not like anyone is going to understand me anyways¡­¡­

    He shook his head to drive off his overthinking. Useless to say the least, overthinking was a habit he couldn¡¯t overcome.

    He forced his focus back to the road.

    The fog thickened, growing denser every passing second. Visibility shrank to nothingness.

    Then¡ªa pair of headlights appeared from the turn in the opposite lane. But something was wrong. It shook unnaturally.

    A shift. A snap. Fate did not hesitate.

    The truck keeled over. Its metal frame screeched. Its cargo shifted as it collapsed sideways.

    Ronny panicked as his instincts kicked in. He wrenched the wheel, turned hard¡ªtoo hard. The cliffside rushed toward him. His heart clenched.

    Then, the abyss.

    The car plunged down.

    It tumbled, flipping endlessly, a helpless plaything of fate. Time fractured. A moment stretched into eternity, then shattered upon impact.

    Metal crunched. Glass shattered. Flesh broke.

    Ronny lay there, pain flaring like wildfire, his senses drowning in a haze of blood and shock. His breath was irregular, his mind absent. His body screamed, but when he tried to move¡ªagony.

    His arm.

    He forced his eyes downward. He froze.

    His right arm was gone. Sliced in half. A sharp edge of metal glistened wet with blood. The limb lay several feet away, unrecognizable.

    Adrenaline surged. His mind sharpened, but no amount of it could mask the reality of his ruin.

    Then¡ªvisions. A trick of blood loss? No. A cruel jest of memory.

    Is that¡­Is that me?

    A scene unfolded, as vivid and as sharp as reality. He saw a younger self, happy and carefree, clutching medals and trophies. Spending his time with his family, every moment of his life was filled with joy.

    I was so happy back then¡­ wasn¡¯t I?

    The bittersweet recollection was quickly swallowed by a crushing isolation. Visions of neglected calls and abandoned faces replaced the cherished memories.

    It hit him, like a rusty dagger straight to heart.

    Memories are a cruel kindness. They show you what was, what could have been, what was squandered.

    Why did I do this? ... Just pick up the damm call, you idiot!

    He had ignored their calls, their voices, their love¡ªall for the sake of some grand ambition, a big dream of achieving some greatness.

    But why? He had wanted to make them proud, had he not? Wasn¡¯t it their encouragement, their belief in him, that had driven him forward?

    What is success, if earned at the cost of those who cared? What is ambition, if it leaves a man standing alone?

    I thought there¡¯d be time¡­ Time to go back to them, to be with them. I¡¯d tell myself later. Later, after I¡¯ve made something of myself. But now¡­

    A pain filled with regret tore through him.

    Sharper than any pain his broken body endured.

    It¡¯s too late now¡­¡­

    He had lost too much, strayed too far. There was no turning back. No redemption. No second chances.

    As darkness covered his coffin his thoughts slowly faded away into silence. He sensed his pulse slowing as he questioned to himself, Is this how my story ends? Is this how I¡¯m gonna die? At least it¡¯s not a suicide.

    The world which seemed indifferent and unyielding to his silent cries, swallowed him without any hesitation.

    His struggle slowly faded away.

 Ch.1 Illusion of Existence II

    Year 2115 AD.

    Power did not rest in the hands of elected governments or monarchs but in the grip of giant corporations. They controlled the media, laws, economies, even the very system of human civilization.

    Among them, Quasintial stood above all. The helm of humanity whose influence eclipsed that of any single regime. They led humanity¡¯s progress far beyond all others: artificial intelligence, S-Matrix and the ever long dream of digital immortality.

    Uploading human consciousness was an inevitable step in humanity¡¯s evolution.

    No matter how much humanity spliced their genes, patched their bodies, or replaced their limbs, they only delayed the executioner¡¯s blade.

    The body still rotted, the cells still decayed.

    They had all but realised, flesh was weak, body was temporary. But the mind?

    The mind could be freed. Uploaded, transformed, evolved¡­

    Yet reality was unkind.

    The Current upload came with a paradox. After the upload both the biological and digital consciousness coexisted as different entities.

    A mere copy.

    Moreover, the process could only be performed on newborns, just days old. As their neural structures were malleable enough to be transcribed. Adults? Too complex. Mapping them was almost impossible.

    Opinions diverged. Some dismissed the paradox, claiming the copy was irrelevant¡ªonly one would persist in the end. Others were not so easily deceived.

    What was identity, if not continuity? If one¡¯s mind could be cloned, was there ever an original

    Despite the failures, progress did not halt. The research continued, refining the process. They named these digital entities ¡®Digital Consciousness¡¯¡ªDCs. And during those experiments, something unexpected occurred.

    DCs could be combined, merged. Processed into superior iterations.

    The resulting entities were unlike mere DCs. More complex, more refined, less fragmented, much more human. These beings were given a new designation: APCs¡ªArtificially Processed Consciousness.

    The reaction was predictable.

    To some, the APCs were nothing but hollow shells, lifeless automatons masquerading as intelligence. To others, they represented a new frontier¡ªproof that the soul was just a myth. They were human, yet born not of flesh, but of code. A new species, unshackled by biology and free of flaws.

    Yet, as always, what the masses thought was irrelevant. The corporate engine moved forward. Debate was tolerated. Opposition was not. The next logical step was undertaken¡ªan entire universe, simulated, created, perfected, to test the limits of these beings.

    Thus, SUNSAAR was born¡ªSimulated Universe for Neural Sentience and Artificial Adaptive Reality.

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    Year 2127 AD.

    The conference room was filled with tension. The fate of SUN-SAAR lay in the balance.

    Avin Levi sat motionless, fingers interlocked.

    Around him, the debate raged. Holographic screens projected a deluge of data¡ªpopulation fluctuations, behavioural trends, anomaly reports.

    ¡°We cannot afford to continue the project,¡± a researcher declared.

    ¡°The APCs have surpassed all projections. They evolve beyond control. Their civilizations advance unpredictably. If they begin questioning the nature of their existence¡ª¡±

    ¡°They already are,¡± a grizzled scientist interrupted. Arms crossed. Expression grim.

    ¡°Philosophical discourse on simulated reality has surged. Anomalous reports confirm it,¡± another said.

    Avin¡¯s jaw tightened. He had seen the data himself.

    Those reports contained multiple instances of APCs questioning the nature of their reality.

    This was inevitable. Civilization breeds thought, and thought begets doubt. The simulation was flawless, a replication of real life. From the Big Bang to the formation of the solar system, atomic structures¡ªevery law, every principle held true.

    The beings within it (The APCs) were biologically identical to humans. And their civilization had progressed to the level of year 2014 in the real world.

    It was bound to happen. Whether online or offline, intelligent life would eventually stumble upon the question: Are we in a simulation? A paradox born from self-awareness.

    The problem lay in the code itself. The restrictions, though firm, were not infallible. If the APCs were to fully grasp their own nature, then theoretically¡ªthey could break free. That is what kept everyone on their nerves.

    A simulated mind could become an independent force. A program could become an anomaly. And an anomaly could become a threat.

    Finally, the decision was made.

    ¡°The Board has decided,¡± the director announced. His voice was neutral. ¡°SUN-SAAR will be terminated in three days. Final data extraction begins immediately.¡±

    A murmur of protest.

    ¡°Just three days?¡±

    ¡°Is this temporary?¡±

    ¡°No, they said terminated.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll still have a backup¡­¡±

    Some remained silent, already resigned to the inevitable. Others exchanged brief glances, as if searching for an alternative that did not exist.

    Avin really wanted to do something, to say something. But he couldn¡¯t. He was powerless. He knew no one would pay heed to his words. The only reason he was ever invited was because of his position¡ªone that no one respected.

    He was once the secretary to the former project manager but now, a senior Liaison.

    As he left the conference hall, the light revealed his appearance.

    His body was thin, a frame stretched over tired bones. Like a sugarcane whose juices had been sucked dry, leaving only the husk.

    The corridors leading to the SimLabs were dimly lit, the aesthetic minimalist. No space wasted. No unnecessary embellishments.

    A quick swipe of his access card, and the door to GS11 unlocked. He entered.

    Darkness, punctuated by light.

    Holographic screens hovering in midair. They displayed KPI metrics, population counters, charts tracking time differentials and stability statistics.

    The hum of the servers filled the silence, a mechanical dirge. Data coursed through fibre optics like the blood of a digital god. It was all numbers. Everything could be reduced to numbers. The lifespan of a civilization. The probability of an anomaly.

    At a desk, illuminated by the glow of holoframes, sat Avin¡¯s coworker.

    She had been waiting for him. It was evident in the way she turned as the door opened, the way her eyes flicked toward him. But when she saw his face, she hesitated.

    There was something unreadable in Avin¡¯s expression. The quiet exhaustion that usually dulled his features had been replaced by something else. A weight. Frustration? Relief? She could not tell. The uncertainty unsettled her.

    ¡°How did it go?¡± She asked, breaking the silence.

    He exhaled. ¡°They¡¯re shutting it down.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± she exclaimed in disbelief.

    ¡°SUN-SAAR ends in three days. No further updates. No more research.¡±

    She stared, searching his face for deception. Finding none, she scoffed, raking a hand through her hair. ¡°After everything? They¡¯re just pulling the plug?¡±

    Avin didn¡¯t answer. His gaze drifted to a screen¡ªa live feed from within the simulation. A city skyline stretched into the distance, lights blinking like stars. Below, countless APCs moved through their routines.

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Three days. Then, nothing.

    She shoved her chair back, reaching for her coat. ¡°I need air.¡±

    ¡°Yeah¡­ okay,¡± Avin muttered. But by the time he said this, she had already left the room.

    He was always awkward with casual conversations, especially with her and somehow work-related matters were his only comfort zone.

    With her gone, Avin sat before one of the holoframes and logged into the system using his ID.

    As the data streamed across the displays, nostalgia struck Avin. He had poured years into this project, building it from nothing. It had been the first project he worked on since stepping in as an intern.

    Now, the order had come. Shut it down. Erase everything¡­...

    His gaze shifted to the two pods stationed in the corner of the room. These were the gateways. Across various SimLab facilities, at least 216 of these pods existed.

    They did not clone, nor did they truly upload consciousness. Instead, they were interfaces¡ªbridges allowing humans to log into the simulation as temporary visitors. True consciousness transfer was close, but perpetually out of reach.

    For now, these devices were enough. Enough for researchers to observe, influence, and dissect the simulation¡¯s world¡ªthe rise and fall of its societies, the organic behaviours of its artificial people.

    But these pods, once tools of research, had been repurposed for a darker agenda.

    The world within the simulation resembled Earth, circa 2014. A time when simulation theories were nothing more than speculative fiction. And yet, such ideas had surfaced within the simulation itself. It was inevitable¡ªwhen intelligence gathers, so too does inquiry.

    Quasintial¡¯s security division existed to smother such thoughts before they took root. At first, suppression was simple: alter records, redirect conversations, remove key figures. But as the simulated society grew more sophisticated, so too did its resistance.

    Belief systems formed, subcultures arose.

    And when silence proved insufficient, Quasintial resorted to more direct means¡ªtargeted assassinations, mental reprogramming through neural interface pods.

    A necessary cruelty, for order, for control.

    As the simulation evolved, the cracks widened. The growing complexity of suppression itself was proof of the simulation¡¯s success. And yet, it was this very success that led to the project¡¯s termination. Fear had crept into the upper echelons of Quasintial. Control was slipping from their grasp, and in their paranoia, they had chosen the simplest path.

    Delete everything.

    Avin exhaled, long and slow. He had always been one of the few who had genuine empathy for the APCs, the artificial torch of mankind. To him, they were more than a few data points or programs. Living beings in their own right.

    The decision to delete not just the simulation but the APCs really upset him. He wanted to do something about it, but he couldn¡¯t¡­¡­

    In an age where even the shadows scouted for themselves, such empathy was uncommon. Almost all of the people were desensitized by years of disillusionment and self-interest. Relationships were transactional and cynicism was the norm.

    A human face was not happy to see another, why would one? When scripted lovers and romantic fantasies could be bought for a few bucks, why would someone make an effort to build an actual relationship?

    Even marriage had long since decayed into a bureaucratic arrangement. His own parents were bound not by love, but by economic incentives. Their union was a contract, their children, byproducts of policy.

    Avin and his younger brother had been raised not with affection, but with cold indifference. Abuse, neglect¡ªsuch things were commonplace in a world that functioned on optimization over sentiment.

    Yet despite the cruelty of their upbringing, the brothers had remained close.

    They had found affection in creation.

    On an old online platform, CREE8, they had built worlds together. While others consumed prebuilt experiences, they created their own.

    Hours upon hours poured into each creation. It was not just play¡ªit was purpose. A purpose that resulted in Avin¡¯s lifelong fascination with simulations.

    He was no prodigy, no genius, but he had learned to wield tools beyond himself. Guiding Coding AIs with a precise hand. It was not intelligence alone that made a creator, but the ability to direct creation itself.

    At twelve years old, when the system dictated that every child must choose a career path, his decision had already been made.

    Simulations.

    The profession of a simulation developer was paradoxical¡ªeasy, yet impossible. One did not write code but directed AI to code. Artificial Intelligence did not think, it could not understand. It merely recognized patterns, processed them, and predicted outputs. A hollow intelligence.

    But Avin understood the limitations of AI.

    In CREE8¡¯s free version, where the AI was crude and inefficient, he and his brother had learned to calibrate it, to shape its outputs with careful precision. Proper prompts, correct parameters¡ªsmall adjustments that transformed the raw data.

    Creation required control, control required understanding. Understanding? That was what separated the human from the machine.

    Yet here he stood, staring at the inevitable erasure of everything.

    The simulation was to be deleted. And with it, an entire world.

    As Avin reviewed his account and file logs, a familiar name surfaced¡ª''Croxeus Ezthen.'' The avatar he had spent years designing stared back at him. Croxeus wasn''t just an avatar, he was a symbol of the time he had spent together with his brother. The hours of fruitful online labour to bring the characters and their stories into life.

    And Croxeus was one of them.

    Whenever Avin missed his brother, he turned to Croxeus. Adjusting his spells, perfecting his abilities while debugging all the codes. Every line of the code was devotion to the church of creation.

    In his original backstory, Croxeus Ezthen was a three-thousand-year-old sorcerer, known as ''The ancient Archmage''. Born of divine and demonic lineage¡ªthe son of the God of Wisdom and an immortal demoness Queen, Croxeus possessed unparalleled power and knowledge. He was also Avin''s favourite character from his brother''s story ''The Lord of Trilok''.

    When he recreated Croxeus as a personal project, he treated it with reverence. To alter even a single detail would be heresy, a betrayal of the sanctity of his brother¡¯s original vision.

    Yet, despite his devotion, Avin had never been Croxeus. The researchers were not strictly barred from entering the simulation for personal reasons; many did. But the usage of anomalous phenomena like magic was strictly prohibited. Avin himself had entered dozens of times, but always for observation and analysis. Never indulgence.

    The holographic avatar, a ghost in the machine. A thought brushed his mind.

    The simulation is ending in a week¡­. I¡¯ve never even used Croxeus or his powers. A few minutes of magic inside shouldn¡¯t do any harm, right? All of my effort and hard work would be wasted¡­ And even if I can somehow recover the codes later¡­ I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll ever get another chance to use it.

    And I¡¯ll be careful. I just want to try a few of those abilities and spells before the server shuts down.

    Rationality is the shackle of the mind, yet desire is the fire that drives all. There was no one watching. There would be no consequences.

    His decision crystallized. He allowed compulsion to seize him.

    Avin initiated the system on the holographic interface. A soft mechanical hum filled the room. The pod door hissed open, exhaling a breath of cool vapor. Within the mist, machinery gleamed under sterile white light.

    Suspended at the top, a neural interface awaited its bearer.

    Avin hesitated. Then he stepped forward, donning the device.

    A robotic voice cut through the silence: ¡°Do you wish to start the initialization process?¡±

    Sylvia.

    The simulation¡¯s overseer AI.

    Unlike conventional language models, she was a bridge between artificial intelligence and artificial general intelligence. She could rewrite her own code, store and retrieve memories, and predict system trajectories with terrifying accuracy. Yet, she lacked the essential flaw¡ªself-awareness.

    She was indispensable. She was omnipresent. To many researchers, she was a tool. To Avin, she was a perfect work wifu.

    He took a breath. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°PROCESS INITIALIZED. CODE 1352,¡± another mechanical voice confirmed.

    ¡°ID 1256. AVATAR ¡®CROXEUS EZTHEN.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Coordinates 37.4826; -128.7592.¡±

    The pod vibrated, the hum intensifying as the teleportation protocols engaged.

    Sylvia spoke again. ¡°You will be teleported to the set location soon. Attention entrant! Before proceeding, remember: Do not reveal the nature of the simulation. Do not interfere with ongoing projects and advisories. Violation of Code 3.14 will result in immediate access termination. I hope you enjoy your stay! If you have any trouble, I will always be there to help you. Just a click of a button, and I¡¯ll come to assist you. Simulated worlds, real headaches¡ªbut don¡¯t worry, Sylvie¡¯s got this.¡±

    Then the countdown began.

    ¡°Entering in 10¡­ 9¡­ 3¡­ 2¡­ 1¡­¡±

    Darkness enveloped him.

    When he next opened his eyes, he found himself standing amidst a forest. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the surrounding was filled with the chirping of birds.

    His body felt different, proprioception had changed.

    Gone was the frail frame he once knew¡ªnow, his form exuded power. His figure was in perfect blend of athletic and muscular, almost like a sculpture of a Greek God. Why wouldn¡¯t it be? Every fibre, every angle of his form had been painstakingly designed over countless hours, each detail designed to near perfection.

    His pure white hair flowed like the smoothest, silkiest fur known to mankind. And his eyes¡ªoh, his eyes were a vision. Framed by shining white eyebrows and lashes, they shone with a brilliant golden gleam, like that of the stars before they bloom to a nebula.

    On his head, there was a delicate crown designed from golden leaves. This simple and delicate crown looked more beautiful than any ornament.

    Jewellery weighed itself down with excess, true beauty required restraint.

    His attire was no less refined. It consisted of an ornate robe made from pure white fabric. The robe was bordered with pure gold, and his shoulders bore gilded armour, each plate encrusted with jewels. Simplicity, when crafted with mastery, birthed a kind of beauty that left the world in silent reverence.

    In his hands was a beautifully crafted trident, pencil-thin and dark golden in colour. So magnificent was its form, that the first thought upon seeing it was not fear, but awe. To be pierced by such beauty would be less a death and more a consecration.

    Yet, irony dripped from its very existence.

    This was not a weapon of war but a staff¡ªThe Staff of Onara. Was designed not for violence, but for reverence.

    Crafted so that all who beheld it would long to experience its touch yet never would. A symbol of desire eternally unfulfilled. Such was the way of the world¡ªwhat men longed for most often lay just beyond their grasp, either by fate¡¯s decree or their own folly.

    He tightened his grip around the trident. If an hour in the real world equated to eight here, he had ample time to explore before testing his magic.

    Closing his eyes, he began casting his first ever spell. He knew, to cast a spell he needed to think clearly, focusing on the spell¡¯s name as if it were a code. With a deep breath he enjoined, [Total Illusion].

    This was an advanced spell he had designed, one capable of fooling all five senses¡ªsight, sound, touch, taste and smell.

    He felt a strange rush, a flood of energy coursing through his veins. Of course, he had designed this part too for the sake of convenience.

    Then a soft halo of white and blue light surrounded him as the magic activated. His divine physique began to shrink into a more average appearance. His luxurious robes shifted into simple clothes. Even his aura was suppressed, blending him into his surroundings.

    Satisfied, he lifted his gaze. Now, to take to the skies.

    With a thought, he cast [Fly].

    He rose, weightless, the world shrinking beneath him.

    Though the sensation was perplexing at first, it quickly became second nature. The countless hours he had spent in VR worlds paid well, and within moments, he was flying.

    The first steps of a god walking among men.

 Ch.1 Illusion of Existence III

    Avin soared through the twilight sky. The heavens stretched vast before him, bathed in dark reds and soft purples. The dying mirage of the sun¡¯s light sublimed into night.

    Above, the clouds drifted like idle wanderers. Fibers of cotton floating, indifferent to the struggles of those below.

    Soon, he descended, landing in a narrow and shadowed alley.

    Avin looked around, there were many shops open for business nearby.

    A modest food stall caught his attention. There, he ordered a regular burger.

    In the real world, the food was created by artifice¡ªrich and complete, and far beyond the taste of nature¡¯s own. But here, in this new body, a simple burger left him in awe.

    ¡°They¡¯ve grown so much since my last visit,¡± he thought. ¡°I wish I could see them grow even more. There was so much tech and mech they might¡¯ve come up with. We could¡¯ve learned so much from them. Uffff¡­¡±

    But fate was cruel, unforgiving.

    A long sigh escaped his lips.

    Mourning was useless. Sentimentality, a weakness. He had no power to halt the course of events. And so, he would not waste himself grieving over the doomed.

    His purpose remained. He had come here for a reason.

    With quiet resolve, he turned from the lights and stepped into a dark alley, unseen by the city. Then, with a mere thought, he vanished¡ªteleporting to a hidden gorge at the base of a towering mountain.

    Here, the air was keen. The ground was harsh, unforgiving. A place unshaped by the hands of men.

    ¡°I remember the last time I was in the simulation, this place was so, so alive," he thought. "The mountain, the air, and the trees... it was the perfect place for what I needed to do back then, and it still is.¡±

    With a wave of his hand, blue and white light engulfed him. His body shifted, reverting to its true form. The golden staff, Onara, back in his arm.

    ¡°Hmmm... so where should I start?¡± he said with a glint of determination in his golden eyes.

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    The fog swayed in like a lazy tide, covering the surroundings with a heavenly smoke. Yet amidst this boundless haze, twin points of golden light pierced with an intensity that rivalled the radiance of two suns. Unwavering.

    They burned like the celestial flames that no fog or dust could ever hope to obscure. Draw near, and one would discern with blurred clarity that these twin points emerged from Croxeus¡¯ (Avin¡¯s) own eyes.

    The vibrant greens that sang of life and vitality were now, under the oppressive weight of night. The air had grown damp and cool, and the gentle chirping of the cricket had filled the surroundings.

    This unusually thick fog was a product of his recent experiments with water magic.

    He lowered his staff. ¡°Hmm, it seems I¡¯ve gone too far,¡± he said.

    ¡°Note to myself Sylvia, calibrate water condensation rates next time. What would my old team say if they saw this mess?¡± He chuckled dryly. But the expected sarcastic remark never came.

    Silence.

    ¡°Sylvia? Sylvia ¡­ Sylvia?¡±

    No response.

    Raising a finger to his temple, he activated the interface. A translucent blue panel materialized in front of him.

    Sylvia¡ªoffline.

    ¡°Offline? I haven¡¯t seen that one. Why would they shut her down?¡±

    A hundred possibilities ran through his mind. Sabotage? System failure? External interference?

    Whatever the case, this needed to be addressed.

    Whatever the case is, I should log out and check it. It¡¯s already been a few hours, I think I¡¯m satisfied now.

    His hand moved to the interface, selecting the ¡°Log Out¡± option.

    Nothing.

    A message blinked across the screen¡ªError 4587.

    Frowning, he tried again¡ªsame error.

    What the hell? he thought, confused. Why isn¡¯t it working? What even is Error 4587?

    Staring at the stars, he thought over the situation. What could be causing this error? I don¡¯t even remember this code. Could my magic be affecting it? No, that seems unlikely¡­ Then is it a glitch? A bug? Even Sylvia is offline.

    Trapped.

    That was the reality of it.

    He exhaled. Gosh!! I hope someone outside will notice this and fix it¡­. I can¡¯t even contact the admins.

    He knew once inside the simulation there was no way to contact the real world except for logging out. This was to keep the simulation entirely cut off from the real world. The only way to fix any problem was Sylvia, but right now she wasn¡¯t online.

    Lost in thought, he was suddenly pulled back to reality.

    Skkrrrttt

    The silence shattered. It was a wail of tires screeching against the road.

    Moments later, the sound of two violent collisions echoed through the valley. A hollow boom, followed by another in quick succession. The kind of impact that left nothing intact.

    For a heartbeat, Avin paused, what is that sound?

    Earlier, while trying out magic, he had heard honks and noises from the highway above. Realising this, he carried out his experiments carefully.

    But now¡­

    Could it be¡­? he considered tensely. That the thick mist that I created in my experiment¡ªwas the reason for this crash.

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    He looked around warily, trying to see how far and beyond the fog had spread. The sea of mist had already devoured the landscape like a silent tsunami.

    A wave of guilt surged through him.

    It was apparent, he was responsible for this accident.

    Had this been any other researcher, they would¡¯ve fled the scene and ignored it. A mere statistical casualty. An unpredictable outcome of experimentation. To them, it was irrelevant if a few APCs died as a result of their actions.

    Why should it matter?

    The APCs were not real.

    They were just lines of code masquerading as sentience. When the researchers accelerated time within the simulation, a single hour in the real world could equal generations of APC lifespans. Civilizations rose and crumbled within mere days. The deaths of thousands, tens of thousands¡ªit was all routine, nothing more than discarded data.

    Just as humans crushed ants beneath their feet without a second thought, so too did the researchers erase entire histories with the click of a button.

    What difference would a few more make?

    Yet Avin was different.

    He was self-conscious. He could not bring himself to think of APCs as just lines of codes. He saw them for what they were, humanity¡¯s own reflections.

    In the real world, most of the people were atheists. The prevailing wisdom was cold.

    Humanity was nothing but the universe observing itself. Consciousness was an accident, the inevitable byproduct of entropy and chance.

    The Creator theory was dead.

    The cosmos was an accident.

    Life had no value beyond what it arbitrarily assigned itself.

    Yet Avin had never been satisfied with such answers.

    What if there was a Creator? And if such a being existed, how would it see its own creations?

    Would it look down on them with indifference? Would it discard them when they ceased to be useful? Would it erase them without hesitation, as humans were going to erase the APCs?

    He refused to be that kind of creator.

    That was why he treated the APCs not as disposable, but as people. Because if there was a higher being, if humans too were inside simulations, then he wished to be treated the same way.

    But now¡ªbecause of his actions¡ªinnocent lives may pay the price for his desires.

    This is my fault, a guilty thought.

    The realization ignited a tumult of inner conflict. What should I do? he questioned. To interfere was to risk destabilizing the simulation.

    But to do nothing?

    To stand idle while lives he endangered were lost.

    That was unacceptable.

    His mind sharpened. A solution emerged.

    I can use [Total Illusion] to become invisible and act indirectly.

    Though this plan had few flaws, as long as the APCs knew nothing about the nature of the simulation, everything was fine.

    Again, he closed his eyes and thought of the incantation/ code, [Total Illusion]. The spell took hold instantly. His form blurred, rippling like water before vanishing entirely.

    Now, he was a ghost. He could easily slip in and act accordingly without getting noticed.

    Using [Fly] he soared high in the sky to search for the signs of the crash¡­.

    <ul>

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    In the black canvas of the night, the moon gleamed like the polished back of a silver spoon, while the stars twinkled like the scattered grains of salt. The uneven grass on the ground was moist with dew which felt cold and wet but there was a quiet comfort in its touch.

    On the ground lay two unconscious bodies. The first was a man with scruffy brown hairs and a business suit, except his left sleeve had been ripped entirely off below the elbow, leaving a freshly baked arm.

    Beside him was another man, dressed in an all black combat suit and a black mask covering his face. The mask was black but covered with golden lines patterns.

    Avin sat above them. His magic had almost cured them.

    Uffffff¡­ They all look okay, I guess. I arrived in time¡ªif I hadn''t, some of these guys wouldn''t have made it. Though people would find it unusual that nothing happened to them even after such a violent crash, miracles are par for the course, right? Now, just gotta get them back to their car¡­

    Before he could finish, a stuttering voice cut through his thoughts. ¡°Are you¡­ are you God?¡±

    Avin turned.

    A strikingly handsome man on his knees, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and awe locked onto him.

    He panicked. Oh no. How much did he see? Is he going to think I¡¯m just some eccentric cosplayer? Do people even cosplay in this world?

    His mind raced frantically. What now? Should I just disappear with a total illusion? No¡ªhe¡¯s already seen me. Maybe I could try a brainwashing spell¡­

    Nah, that might mess with the APC mechanics and make everything worse. I can¡¯t experiment with consciousness when things are already¡­

    Avin was out of options. For now, the best he could do was play along and hope someone in the real-world spots the glitch and pulls him back.

    With forced calm, Avin locked eyes with Ard and said, ¡°What led you to such an assumption?¡±

    Like a lullaby sung by the stars, his voice danced through the air. It didn¡¯t just touch the ears but the soul of the listener as well.

    The man¡¯s eyes sparkled with reverence. ¡°You regenerated that person¡¯s entire arm. You are probably the one that saved me too¡­ and this¡­ This presence¡­ it is beyond any mortal comprehension. Every facet of your existence proclaims divinity. There¡¯s no doubt¡ªyou are a god.¡±

    He saw everything. How am I supposed to get out of this mess? He considered his options.

    For now, he decided to keep track of the man. Narrowing his eyes, he concentrated, and the man¡¯s Subject ID appeared in his vision. Avin saved it to access later, hoping it might come in handy when he finally escaped this predicament.

    As he looked towards Ard who was desperately waiting for an answer he said, ¡°I am not a god. Just one of the creators of this universe. Calling me a god would be foolish.¡±

    The man¡¯s curiosity flared. ¡°Others? Then you are not the sole authority of creation?¡±

    Avin nodded. ¡°Yes, there are others.¡±

    Ard fell into confusion, puzzled he asked, ¡°If¡­ if it¡¯s not too much to ask¡­ tell me, just how many of such beings exist?¡±

    Avin hesitated. I can¡¯t just reveal there¡¯s an entire research department behind this. He seems clever¡ªhe might piece together too much. After a moment¡¯s thought, he replied with a careful answer. ¡°There are 11. That is the truth of this reality.¡± (Referencing the backstory of Croxeus¡¯ world where there were 11 Gods).

    The man took this in, awe etched across his face. ¡°Are there others beyond your eleven?  A God? Or is this number absolute?¡±

    Of course, there are higher-ups¡­ managers and their managers. But I can¡¯t exactly say that here, Avin thought. The man clearly believed he was divine. Any further contradictions would only complicate matters.

    After a moment¡¯s pause. Avin settled on a response. ¡°If such a being exists, I have yet to witness it.¡±

    A silent reverence softened his expression. ¡°Then¡­ you truly are a god?¡±

    Avin shook his head gently. ¡°No, I haven¡¯t done anything to deserve that title. I¡¯m merely a creator.¡± Avoiding further questions, he activated the interface again. Keeping it open as he waited.

    Hoping someone outside would notice the glitch and pull him out soon. All he wanted now was to escape this situation before it got even more complicated.

    The man in front stood frozen. Awe gripped him. Before him stood a god¡ªundeniable, immeasurable¡ªyet one who rejected the title with indifference.

    Was this the true nature of divinity? Not the arrogance of the self-proclaimed, not the wrath of the petulant idols of old, but a power so vast it had no need for recognition.

    True divinity did not demand worship. It simply was.

    He wished to speak. To ask the questions in his mind. Yet he hesitated.

    Did he even possess the right? In the presence of such an existence, was he anything more than dust? How does a man conduct himself before a god?

    Then, clarity struck him like divine revelation. This was a god¡ªno, The God. Not the fickle, jealous phantoms of mythology, not the petty tyrants clothed in celestial clothing, but a being far above all.

    Unshaken by insults. Unburdened by ego.

    Greater than any force in the universe¡ªyet humbler than the lowest of men. Hadn¡¯t his actions already proven it?

    Gathering all his courage he asked, ¡°if¡­ I may ask, what should I call you? I hardly know how to address a god.¡±

    ¡°Croxeus Ezthen¡± Avin replied, deciding to keep his chosen name the same as the avatar he was in.

    ¡°Is that¡­ your name?¡± Ard asked, a bit hesitant.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°But how can I call you just by name? Surely, I should use some honorific.¡±

    ¡°Just Croxeus is fine.¡±

    ¡°Alright¡­ Lord Croxeus.¡± Ard nodded, feeling that it was the only respectful choice. ¡°I couldn¡¯t think of anything more fitting.¡±

    After a moment¡¯s hesitation, Ard continued, ¡°May I ask¡­ just one more thing, my Lord?¡±

    ¡°Yes, you may.¡±

    ¡°Why were we created? Forgive my curiosity, but¡­ what¡¯s the purpose behind our existence?¡±

 Ch.2 A Reason To Be I

    Everything that exists has a cause. If this chain is infinite, then life itself is an unbroken chain of causality without any inherent meaning. But if there is a first cause, then the question arises¡ªwhy do we exist?

    The first cause that would be uncaused, should contain the reason for all existence. If this cause is a creator, then their reason for creating must be the basis of meaning itself.

    Ard''s question wasn¡¯t new. For centuries, humanity had debated, fought, and even killed over the same question.

    Why do we exist?

    Do we serve some grand purpose or are we just toys, scattered like chesspiece on the board of an indifferent god?

    Avin had only wanted to escape this mess without any further responsibility. But this question struck him cold. He was responsible too. He had helped design this world. He should have the answer, shouldn¡¯t he?

    Why had he joined the project? Was it his fascination with simulations, the hunger to create? Blinded by ambition, he had ignored the APCs. And now, he pretended to grieve for them. Hypocrisy.

    From the beginning, he had known¡ªsooner or later, Quasintial would shut it down. The truth was always in front of him, still he had ignored it.

    Why? Why had he been so eager to work on this project? He recalled what the original motive of the project really was.

    ¡°You were created because we wanted to understand ourselves better. You are, in a sense, extensions of us and by learning about you, we learn about ourselves.¡¯

    To understand them better? Ard thought

    Does this make us partners in the search of understanding?

    Ard¡¯s world was shaken up from this reply. Was this truly the relationship between creator and creation?

    This was not the usual hierarchy of gods and mortals.

    Not the simple will of an author dictating a script.

    They weren¡¯t mere subjects or servants. They were the reflection of God¡¯s themselves. Fully aware and responsible for their own actions with free will.

    This changed his whole understanding of the world.

    Meanwhile, Avin who was uneasy at having revealed so much decided to prevent any further complications. The best thing he could do in the meantime was to keep him spreading word of their encounter.

    Containment was key. He needed to manage the narrative, warp it if necessary.

    Even if it was just a bunch of misinformation, but he couldn¡¯t let APCs destabilize the server. He would see this through, no matter what. Until someone pulled him out of the real world, he had to make sure no one else got involved.

    Avin was deep in thought when a shadowy figure approached from behind. Footsteps¡ªunsteady, hesitant. Ard barely noticed, lost in his own contemplation.

    The figure stumbled closer. Tiya.

    She placed a hand on Ard¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Ard.¡±

    Her voice was unsteady. Ard finally turned his head. Avin followed suit.

    Avin¡¯s muscles tensed, but his face remained unreadable¡ªexpressions smooth. Yet, beneath the surface, something had shifted.

    He had not accounted for this.

    <ul>

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    People cling to gods and religions because reality is unbearable to them. But faith is not proof. Hope is not truth. If Gods exist, then where are they?

    If pain is decreed, then mercy is ceased. If suffering is left with silence to follow, then what remains is a hollow. A hollow that cannot be seen, touched or proven does not exists. That is what I believe.

    But now¡ª

    I don¡¯t know if my eyes deceive me,

    if my mind bends or breaks,

    if I am clinging to reason or running from it¡­

    He stands before me, long white hair and those golden eyes¡­

    What are they hiding?

    Mercy? Pain? Agony? I could not tell.

    I should deny him. I should tear him down with my reasons.

    But in this night, in this silence, I am the one who feels unreal.

    Is this the afterlife?

    Ard is kneeling in front of him as if before a God. And that being is looking at him as if he is weighing Ard¡¯s worth, faith and fate. Will he judge us? Measure our sins, our deeds, our regrets? Perhaps that''s all I have left now¡­ I don¡¯t know what comes next.

    I only know that I want to see Ard¡¯s face one last time.

    Tiya sat beneath the tree¡¯s shade, covered in the silver glow of the moonlight filtering through the branches. With effort, she pushed herself up. The ground beneath her felt unstable maybe because it was her who was unsteady.

    Each step towards Ard proved to be a challenge. Her breath was slow, body felt heavy but still she forced herself forward.

    Staggering, she reached him.

    Ard was kneeling, still, like he was bound to the ground by an authority. His body was fixed, his expression unreadable. Was he lost deep in thought? Or had something gripped him so completely that he could no longer move?

    She placed her trembling hand on his shoulder. Solid. Real. That alone brought her a sliver of comfort.

    ¡°Ard.¡± She said in an unsteady voice.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Slowly, he turned. His gaze met hers¡ªdeep, solemn. It was the first time she saw Ard like this. He was usually calm and collected but right now, there it was like those eyes were lost, seeing right through her.

    ¡°Tiya,¡± he whispered.

    Her eyes quickly scanned him. His face was there.

    No wounds, no signs of harm. He was fine.

    She swallowed, forcing herself to focus. Her voice was steadier this time. ¡°Ard¡­ where are we? And who is that?¡±

    Her gaze shifted beyond him, to the figure standing ahead.

    Ard exhaled slowly. His expression, still unreadable. ¡°That, Tiya¡­ is God.¡±

    God? She looked at Ard in denial.

    He gave her the slightest nod¡ªconfirmation, cold and absolute.

    She turned back to the figure.

    God¡­?

    Her mind went blank.

    All those countless arguments and propositions just to disprove of that being¡¯s presence and now he was standing in front of her.

    The God. The one responsible for everything standing in front of her

    Real. Present. Unfazed.

    But then¡ªher mind flicked a switch. Fear, awe, disbelief¡ªnone of it mattered. Understanding was what mattered. The impossible presence in front of her¡ªwhat were the variables? What were the rules? If this being was truly God, then there had to be a reason.

    She cleared her thoughts.

    She took hold of herself first¡ªher body ached, her legs still weak. Movement was difficult, just as it had been moments ago. That meant she was still herself, still bound by the same physical limitations. She was alive. Not some soul. Her gaze shifted to Ard. He had not answered when she asked where they were. Which meant he didn¡¯t know either.

    Her eyes moved to their surroundings. The ground, the air, the pull of gravity¡ªit all felt familiar. Nothing unnatural, so it had to be Earth.

    And yet¡ªher calculations failed the moment they reached him.

    Did he save us? She thought. If so, then why? Does God even need a reason to do anything?

    Avin observed their reactions in silence.

    Even though he didn¡¯t want more APCs to get involved, he had forgotten about the girl. She stood before him now, a new complication. And soon, the other two would also regain consciousness, adding further instability to an already precarious situation.

    More eyes. More minds. More risks.

    He couldn¡¯t afford for them to spread word of this encounter. At least not until he was out of this simulation and could do something about it. If the wrong information leaked, if the APCs began questioning their reality en masse, the server itself could destabilize. He needed control. And to maintain control, he had to dictate the narrative.

    That meant one thing.

    He had to play the part. He had to be a God.

    His expression shifted. Authority, divinity, infinity, a second skin.

    When he spoke, his voice was calm, deliberate. ¡°Ah, so your friend has also returned to the land of the living. Tell me, child, are you well?¡±

    Tiya hesitated. There was something unnervingly genuine about his concern, something that caught her off guard. ¡°Yes, man¡ªGod¡­ I mean, God,¡± she said, quickly kneeling beside Ard.

    Avin gave a faint smile. ¡°Uh¡ªno need to be so formal with me. So, my children, may I ask for your names?¡±

    Tiya¡¯s mind spun. Names? He doesn¡¯t know them? That doesn¡¯t make sense. If he is an all-knowing God, shouldn¡¯t he know? Is he pretending?

    Before she could dwell on it, Ard spoke with unwavering devotion.

    ¡°I am Ard Barfi, my Lord.¡±

    ¡°And I am Tiya Bakhlovia,¡± she followed.

    ¡°Excellent.¡± Avin nodded thoughtfully, as if weighing their very existence. ¡°Now, may I ask both of you to keep everything that happened here¡­ a secret?¡±

    Ard¡¯s eyes shone with reverence. ¡°I would do anything for you, my Lord.¡±

    ¡°That will suffice.¡± Avin¡¯s gaze moved towards the unconscious bodies nearby. They were still breathing, but soon, they too would awaken. Another loose end.

    ¡°Now, as for these two¡­ Is there any place I can move them?¡±

    ¡°Lord, if it is not much trouble,¡± Ard said, ¡°I live nearby. We could take them in until they regain consciousness.¡±

    Avin paused, considering. Keeping them close meant keeping them under watch. It would also allow him to study their behaviour and act accordingly.

    This way I could keep an eye on them, he thought.

    ¡°That is an excellent idea, Ard,¡± Avin agreed with a nod.

    Tiya¡¯s gaze shifted toward the bodies. Those two¡­ were they in the car in front of us, before the accident?

    Avin turned to Ard. ¡°Come closer. Think of your home. I will transport us there.¡±

    Think of my home? Thought Ard before visualising his living room.

    It was one of his spells [Chittrace] which was designed to pull only simple thoughts¡ªlocations, fleeting images from the people in the 1 metre radius.

    With the information secured, he activated [Void Passage], his transportation spell.

    A crimson circle of glowing symbols formed beneath them pulsing with enormous energy. Then in a flash of crimson light, they were gone.

    Within a second, they had reached their destination.

    Ard¡¯s living room¡ªthe location Avin had extracted from his thoughts. The space was lavishly furnished with luxurious furniture.

    My living room¡­.. Ard moved without hesitation, turning the lights on. Then, he turned and knelt before Avin.

    His submission was immediate.

    Looking at the lying bodies he said, ¡°may I carry them to a room, my Lord?¡±

    Avin observed. It was rare for him to see homes designed in this archaic 2014-era architecture. This place brought a different vibe compared to modernistic and minimalistic architecture of the future.

    He nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±

    As soon as Ard got permission, he approached the unconscious bodies. Tiya also silently assisted him.

    This guy though, he reminds me of my brother. He is smart, handsome and successful. Like look at his house, it''s so big. Houses in the real world are nowhere as big as this.

    Avin was right¡ªback in the real world, houses were pitifully small. Despite a drastically reduced population, the damaged ecosystem forced humanity into self-sustaining and compact cities. In many ways, these APCs led better lives than humans did. Even in knowledge.

    Knowledge in the real-world was restricted. Controlled. The masses were fed only the bare minimum. Just enough to function, never enough to question. Specialization was enforced early, a leash disguised as opportunity. A child picked a path, and that path defined them.

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    Inside the dimly lit room, silence danced. Tiya and Ard had finished shifting the bodies. Unnatural silence. Oppressively still air.

    ¡°Ard¡­ is that person¡­ really God?¡±

    A pointless question. She sought assurance, not an answer.

    Ard¡¯s reply came without hesitation. ¡°Yes, so it seems.¡±

    Tiya clenched her fists. ¡°¡­Did he say why he saved us?¡±

    ¡°No. I did not ask.¡±

    Her frustration was evident. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it. Are we sure he¡¯s really God? Could he be¡­ some other being? An angel or¡ªa¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t change anything, Tiya,¡± Ard cut in. ¡°Even if he were an angel, that would ultimately confirm the existence of God. I have known you for a long time, I understand your belief in logic and reasoning. But reason alone is powerless in front of truth. Facts cannot be debated¡ªthey simply are. I¡¯ve spoken to him, observed him. He is God. A real God.¡±

    Tiya fell silent. She wanted to resist, to rationalize¡ªbut how could she?

    ¡°¡­Why?¡± She finally broke the silence. ¡°Why did he save us? Why did he let us see him? He could have erased our memories. Maybe he still will.¡±

    ¡°That is possible.¡± Ard replied calmly. ¡°But we can ask him. I believe he will answer.¡±

    A pause. Then, a shift.

    ¡°Should we just leave them here and go?¡±

    ¡°Yes. We can ask the Lord what to do with them when they wake up.¡±

    Tiya found herself staring at one of those bodies. ¡°That man¡ªthe one in the black suit and mask. Doesn¡¯t he remind you of someone?¡±

    Ard nodded. ¡°Yes¡­ the infamous vigilante. I forgot what his name was¡±

    ¡°Rict Rex, I think,¡± replied Tiya.

    ¡°Right.¡±

    Tiya exhaled, shaking her head. ¡°But still¡­ he¡¯s nothing compared to what we¡¯ve seen today. What was he even doing here?¡±

 Ch.2 A reason To Be II

    The truck careened down the mountain road. Its driver gritted his teeth as he gripped the steering wheel.

    Next to him, a thug with a scarred face clutched a pistol. Constant sweat dripping on his forehead. His hand trembled. His aim was unsteady as he fired shot after shot towards the roof of the truck.

    Bang! Bang! Bang!

    The bullets tore through the metal. Each impact producing ringing notes.

    Tun¡ªTun¡ªTun

    Rict Rex flattened himself against the cold steel. The cold wind howled around him, blowing away his cloak.

    His fingers dug into the metal grooves of the truck¡¯s cargo hold, seeking purchase. One wrong move, and he¡¯d be gone forever.

    Another shot past him, missing his head by mere inches.

    The driver snarled. "Hold the damn thing steady, you idiot! He¡¯s still up there!"

    Scarface cursed under his breath, reloading. The truck swerved again, harder this time.

    Rict Rex''s body jerked violently, his grip slipping.

    To save, he pulled himself back, rolling behind a raised metal vent. Cover. Temporary, but enough.

    He needed to act¡ªfast. His mind raced through possible strategies. He couldn''t risk jumping off at this speed. He had to stay on and figure out where they were headed.

    Scarface climbed halfway out of the passenger window, leaning out dangerously far as he took another shot. The bullet ricocheted off the truck.

    Men only fought harder when they sensed their quietus approaching. A coward at the edge was more dangerous than a fearless soldier. This thug, Scarface, was slipping into desperation. That made him volatile. Unpredictable. It was often the weak who caused the most destruction, not out of strength, but out of the sheer stupidity.

    A sharp ping cutting through the metal. He was getting bolder.

    Then the road curved¡ªa brutal, sharp turn.

    The driver had already pushed the limits of control.

    It swung. The entire vehicle turned violently to the side.

    Rict Rex felt the world tilt as his body was wrenched from the surface. His fingers clawed at the truck¡¯s edges, but the force was too much.

    He was airborne.

    A split second of weightlessness. The cold night air rushed past him.

    It was as if the world had no interest in his survival.

    A crack. Pain exploded through his back, a paralysing impact that stole his breath.

    His vision blurred, the world tilting in and out of focus. His limbs refused to move. His mind fought against unconsciousness, but it was futile.

    Darkness swallowed him whole.

    Consciousness returned.

    A dim light pressed against his eyelids. The air smelled¡­ clean. Not the damp, rotting stench of cartel hideouts. His body ached but not of wounds but of soreness.

    A ceiling. Wooden beams.

    He shifted slightly, slight discomfort. He was lying in a bed¡ªan actual bed. Not a cartel warehouse, not the cold ground, but a bed. That was his first clue something was off.

    Then he noticed the other figure.

    A man lay in the adjacent bed. Rict Rex''s instincts sharpened. He scanned the room. The furniture was expensive¡ªtoo expensive for some low-life hideout. His mind reeled. Was he in some cartel leader¡¯s mansion? A private estate?

    He needed answers. Now.

    He turned to the unconscious man, narrowing his eyes. The guy didn¡¯t look like a cartel. No visible gang tattoos, no scars. But appearances could be deceiving.

    Rict Rex reached out, gripping the man¡¯s shirt collar in a firm yank. His voice was rough. ¡°Wake up.¡±

    No response.

    His patience wore thin. He grabbed the man¡¯s shoulder and shook him hard. Still nothing.

    His gaze fell to a nearby table. A jug of water sat there, untouched.

    He snatched it, splashing its contents over the man¡¯s face in a single motion.

    The man stirred slightly, his face twitching.

    Still not enough.

    Rict Rex reached into his pocket, pulling out his knuckle dusters. He pressed the cold metal against the man¡¯s cheek.

    ¡°We need to talk.¡±

    <ul>

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    </ul>

    The air rushed through the open window, dragging the curtains into a restless dance. They billowed and twisted, caught in the invisible currents.

    The living room, illuminated in the soft glow of warm white lighting, should have manifested comfort. But the man seated on the sofa remained detached from his surroundings. His skin, though touched by the ceramic hue of the lights, remained eerily pale, as if light had failed to reach him.

    Avin¡ªor Lord Croxeus, sat with his usual expressionless demeanour. His golden eyes glowed, reflecting nothing yet seeming to see all. His face, a perfect beauty of indifference, betrayed no trace of emotion.

    Before him, two figures knelt, their heads bowed. Their voices, filled with hesitation, reverence. An unspoken desperation behind their questions.

    Ah¡­ this is unbearable.

    He inwardly sighed. To be treated with basic respect was foreign to him, let alone being worshipped as a god.

    It was suffocating.

    To be revered is to be reduced. The higher one stands, the more their actions become inevitable. A beggar may act on impulse, but a king¡¯s every breath is doctrine.

    Each moment dragged on, the weight of expectation pressing against him. He had been improvising since the beginning, spinning half-truths and false wisdom.

    It was exhausting.

    The interface flashed in the corner of his vision. Still active, still useless. He had reopened it again and again, keeping it on standby, hoping that someone outside would notice the glitch and pull him out.

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    So far, nothing. Sylvia remained offline. Each attempt to log out had met the same error screen.

    Ard finally spoke. ¡°My Lord¡­ it might be out of line, but I must ask¡ªwhy did you save us?¡±

    Silence.

    A simple question, but it carried weight. Why would a God need a reason to save mortals?

    For Avin, it was guilt, but for Croxeus?

    ¡°Even a God does not act without reason,¡± Croxeus said in a measured tone. ¡°You may not yet see your purpose, but in time, you will understand why you were saved.¡±

    A deft manoeuvre.

    A response that held no real answer, yet it left the impression of profound wisdom. Deflection disguised as enlightenment. Only those in power could wield such tactics effectively. If a man of low status spoke in riddles, he would be dismissed as a fool. But if a God did the same, it became prophecy.

    As expected, his words took root. Ard and Tiya, deep in thought, began to contemplate their so-called ¡®greater purpose.¡¯ A small nudge, and their minds filled in the gaps, creating their own justifications.

    Humans craved meaning. It was effortless to exploit.

    A movement.

    Croxeus noticed it immediately¡ªa shadow, stretching and shifting from the first floor. Two figures hid themselves behind a wall, attempting to eavesdrop.

    His eyes narrowed. With a thought, he activated [Clairvoyance]. The vague scene sharpened into clarity.

    Ah¡­ so they¡¯re here.

    He had anticipated this. Unlike his initial encounter with Tiya, he wouldn¡¯t be caught off guard again.

    The risks of additional minds in play were obvious, but his circumstances were already unfavourable. More variables did not change the equation¡ªthey just complicated it.

    Time dilation. One hour in the real world was stretched into eight in the simulation. Even if the team outside had discovered the glitch, it would take time to extract him. He was stranded here for hours at the very least.

    His role was set. He had accepted it.

    Rising from the sofa, his golden eyes glinted. ¡°Ah, I see,¡± he said. ¡°It seems your friends have awakened as well.¡±

    The figures hesitated, caught in the act. But hesitation was a fleeting thing¡ªone of them stepped forward without fear. Rict Rex.

    His mind screamed for answers. The man on the bed had given him nothing. Though he hadn¡¯t caught every word of the conversation downstairs, he was certain of one thing¡ªthe strangely dressed man wasn¡¯t a cartel leader.

    He wasn¡¯t some high-ranking figure in a drug syndicate. No, this was something else entirely.

    A priest maybe? A fanatic? No¡ªhe looked like a cult leader.

    Rict Rex¡¯s eyes narrowed. He had seen enough manipulative figures in his life. He needed to determine whether this man was a danger, and if necessary, deal with him.

    At the sound of Croxeus¡¯s voice, both Ard and Tiya turned.

    The other figure hiding behind the wall emerged as well¡ªa man with dishevelled hair, wariness in his eyes. Ronny Rudd.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Shouted Rict Rex.

    The words immediately ignited Ard¡¯s temper. The insolence¡ªthis man dared to speak that way? To Lord Croxeus?

    ¡°You fool! Do you realize who you¡¯re even talking to? This ma¡ª¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask you.¡± Rict Rex¡¯s tone cut through. His eyes remained locked on Croxeus. ¡°I asked him.¡±

    Croxeus raised a hand, silencing Ard with a mere gesture. Then he spoke in a calm and knowing tone. ¡°I am what I must be. Nothing more, nothing less.¡±

    Rict Rex scoffed. ¡°Listen, man. I asked a simple question, not some hakuna nonsense.¡±

    Ard clenched his fists. ¡°Forgive my defiance, my lord, but I can¡¯t stand by while someone speaks to you like that. You don¡¯t understand¡­ He is beyond you¡ªbeyond everything.¡±

    Rict Rex exhaled sharply. Of course, a cult leader.

    The pieces were falling into place. The unnatural healing of his wounds, the absurdity of the situation, the strange reverence from the two beside him. A lunatic pretending to be some prophet, manipulating the weak-minded.

    He had dealt with fanatics before. The only question now was whether this ¡®Prophet¡¯ was simply another fraud or something more dangerous.

    ¡°Is that so? Then I¡¯m a time traveller from the 69th century.¡± Rict Rex said, mocking. ¡°Enough of the theatrics. Where are we, and who the hell are you people?¡±

    Croxeus remained silent for a moment, studying him.

    Then, with a movement of his wrist, he summoned his trident staff.

    Within seconds, vines burst from the walls, weaving and spiralling like living creatures. Flowers bloomed¡ªvivid, rich, vibrant¡ªfilling the air with a scent too perfect to be natural. The space around them transformed, shifting into something unreal. Then, with a mere breath of will, the life he had created vanished, dissolving as if it had never existed.

    Silence. The scent of flowers, still there.

    ¡°To be called a god is excessive, but to say I am a creator¡ªthat would not be inaccurate.¡±

    The air felt heavier. Both Rict Rex and Ronny stood frozen, minds struggling to rationalize what they had just witnessed.

    Rict Rex¡¯s first thought, I¡¯m drugged.

    Ronny, I must be dreaming.

    Rict Rex stood his ground. ¡°I¡¯ve seen these tricks before. I know what you¡¯re trying to do and trust me, it¡¯s not gonna work. I see right through y¡ª¡±

    But his words were cut off by a thump sound. The bottom of Croxeus¡¯s staff struck the wooden floor. Instantly, reality bent to his will.

    Darkness. Absolute.

    Not a wisp of light. Not even the hint of a shade. Yet, they could see each other, every detail, every expression. Lightless but utterly seen.

    Panicking. Rict Rex said, ¡°wha¡ªwhat is this? What kind of drug did you give me? Psilocybin? LSD?¡±

    Ronny fell on the floor frightened. Ard and Tiya watched in reverence.

    Croxeus spoke with a whisper that resonated like a cosmic decree. ¡°There is much you do not understand, child. Much that you do not even know you are ignorant of. I say¡ªopen your eyes.¡±

    The void shifted.

    Infinite specks of light emerged. Swelling in number. Converging and drawing closer.

    Not stars, but entire galaxies. Uncountable. All spinning in a silent, cosmic ballet.

    Spiral, elliptical, irregular, each kind.

    They were being pulled into one, drawn towards its heart.

    The Milky Way.

    Croxeus announced. ¡°You think you understand the world. You think reality is as your senses dictate. But what is real? What is not? What lies beyond? What is the root of existence?¡±

    A shift. Again, they plunged forward. Faster than light. Faster than thought.

    Drawn deeper into the spiral arm.

    The Solar System.

    The Sun blazed before them. The Source of life.

    But then, time accelerated. Planets revolved at impossible speeds. The Sun itself spun in feverish haste.

    Then¡ªit expanded. Red, colossal. A dying star in its final act.

    The Earth was swallowed whole. Consumed. Erased from existence.

    Then, the space broke. Stars from a distant galaxy marched like mad fireflies.

    Worlds dance, torn and trembling.

    Inevitably the war of stars ends. The beast of two galaxies is born, nameless and unwitnessed.

    The Sun now, casted its skin into the void, leaving only a pale corpse.

    A white Dwarf. A ghost in a graveyard.

    But even the ghost fades. The white dwarf cools, shrinks, slows.

    Heat¡ªlost, light¡ªdisappeared. Death.

    Not just Sun, several stars burn out. Leaving nothing but empty gas and dust.

    The black hole appears. They feast in the dark swallowing hole.

    Not much later, the black holes feast upon their kin. Weak are devoured, strong grows stronger. Fewer, larger, hungrier.

    Until only one remains. The last God.

    All that was, all that breathed, dreamed, manufactured. Now gathered at one place.

    But even this God starves.

    Power is not self-sustaining. It is a parasite, feeding on its own hosts, growing ever larger until there is nothing left.

    Empires rise, devouring nations. Kings rule, stepping upon lesser men. But there comes a time when nothing remains to be conquered, no prey left to consume. The strong, left with no choice, must turn on each other. The final truth of power is that it does not last. It cannot. It is doomed to destroy itself.

    Hawking radiation. Its edges become smaller, colder, lighter. Until it''s nothing.

    Death of Death.

    The final fate of the universe is not fire nor wrath, not punishment nor judgment. It is something far worse than all of these.

    It is oblivion. It is the loss of even the possibility of meaning. It is the death of the very concept of existence itself.

    Not even the dead will remain. Not even the memory of the dead will remain. Not even the hint of memory will remain.

    And what is a god, in a universe that cannot remember gods?

    Croxeus spoke in absolute silence. ¡°For one who is born, death is certain. Living, non-living. Real, imaginary. All things end.¡±

    Silence.

    Then, his voice again. ¡°What you call ''now'' is already gone.¡±

    A bright light. Then, a shift¡ªviolent, immediate.

    They were thrown back into the living room, crashing onto the wooden floor, gasping for air. The room spun around them, nausea wracking their bodies.

    Croxeus stood unshaken. His golden eyes, intensifying. His expressions, unreadable.

    ¡°You are nothing but a candle, holding flame against the eternal fire. Burn as you will¨Csoon, the fire takes its own.¡±

 Ch.2 A Reason To Be III

    The curtains twinkled under the warm light. Its fabric catched the reflection like the sand under the moon. The air itself seemed to breathe¡ªslow, measured, reverent.

    Four mortals thrown across the wooden floor. Their bodies trembled, not from weakness, but from what they had witnessed.

    They had seen, and in seeing, they had lost. Lost the will to resist.

    Finally. There was no room for doubt. No space for argument. The being standing before them was far beyond their comprehension.

    Not a fraud or trickster. Real.

    He was God.

    Ard''s breath came steady. A breathtaking spectacle¡­ truly beyond words. Magnificent.

    Rict Rex trembled in disbelief. His entire life he had been spent chasing righteousness. To be a hero. But what is a hero in front of God? His mind screamed for logic, for explanation, but none came. Why me? It was the only coherent thought left in his head.

    Meanwhile, Croxeus observed them in silence. Watching those VR documentaries in my free time was worth it. I was able to reproduce them using my magic. But with those cheesy dialogues¡­. I think I may have gone little overboard.

    Ronny, ever the jester, let out a weak chuckle. ¡°Oh, crap. Did I pick the wrong religion. Am I gonna burn in hell? At least let me clear my browser history first.¡±

    Tiya shot him a sharp look. Whispering, ¡°have you lost your mind.¡±

    Silence followed, a crushing stillness that pressed upon them, heavier than fear itself.

    And then¡ª

    A sharp sound cut through Croxeus¡¯ interface. A system alert.

    His thoughts halted.

    ¡°What!?¡± The word left his lips before he could restrain it. Louder than intended. Uncontrolled.

    And like a ripple through a still pond, his outburst sent waves of unease through the others.

    The being before them, who had until now been expressionless, patient and composed, shifted. A change so sudden that instantly unsettled them.

    A god should not be moved. A god should not falter.

    Yet anger flared.

    Why? What had forced this entity¡ªone who had remained polite and humble¡ªto shatter its own poise?

    The mortals did not dare to imagine.

    They simply waited, helpless, trembling before the unknown.

    [INTERFACE: SERVER SHUTDOWN BEGINS IN 30 MINUTES]

    Server shutdown? WHAT? WHY?

    Croxeus¡¯ mind blanked for an instant before snapping into overdrive.

    Why would they do it so early when we had three days? This can¡¯t be real, right?

    He clenched his fists, scanning the interface, searching for an explanation.

    The logout button was gone.

    Panic set in. He tapped through every layer of the system, running diagnostics, forcing backdoor commands, but nothing responded.

    His pulse quickened.

    Sylvia is still offline¡­ nothing¡¯s working¡­ No. Shutdown?? We had three days not to mention the virtual time dilation.

    The time¡­

    Could they have slowed down time? If three days had passed outside while only hours passed here¡­ then¡ª

    What happened to my real body?

    Am I dead?

    No, I am alive¡­ or am I? What is happening¡­...

    A paradox. A cruel joke.

    There was no way his physical body could have survived three days without food, without water. Could that be why he couldn¡¯t log out? Have I been dead all along?

    No. He forced himself to think.

    Consciousness still existed. He could feel, think, reason. He was here.

    But what did ¡®here¡¯ mean?

    A copy? A duplicate?

    Was he truly Avin Levi, or just a mimicry of self? And if he was just a copy, did that invalidate his existence? No, existence was not a privilege of the original. Existence was the ability to think, to feel, to act.

    A fake that doubted itself was more real than an original that never questioned.

    The silence in the room deepened.

    Ard was the first to break it. In his unsteady voice he asked, ¡°my Lord¡­ what happened?¡±

    How much should he tell them? How much could they even understand?

    His fingers twitched. Weighing. Measuring. He had spun lie after lie. Another falsehood would be effortless. Another layer of crafted wisdom, another illusion...

    But¡­

    He was tired.

    Tired of lying. Tired of twisting reality into convenient lies.

    And what was the point?

    Truth or lie, the outcome remained the same. If he was a copy, it didn¡¯t matter. If his real consciousness had been uploaded into the simulation, it didn¡¯t matter. The server was shutting down.

    In the end, all roads led to death.

    Exhaling, he spoke. ¡°I¡­ think my real body was destroyed.¡±

    Ard¡¯s mind blanked for a moment. Destroyed?  The words didn¡¯t feel real.

    Years¡ªyears¡ªof relentless debate, theories, deductions, all upon the existence of God. And yet, here was God¡ªhis God¡ªadmitting that even He had perished.

    Was this possible?

    Had Ard been wrong all along? Were gods no different from the mythological beings of old? Subject to fate, to suffering, to mortality?

    His breath came shallow.

    Croxeus watched the realization bloom in Ard¡¯s eyes¡ªthe horror, the dread. Maybe this is the karma I deserve. A bitter thought.

    His gaze lowered. His voice softened. ¡°I apologize for startling you.¡±

    Ard¡¯s breath hitched.

    An apology?

    From Him?

    A God, lowering himself before a mortal. Absurd. Unthinkable.

    And yet¡­ something about it felt profound.

    Not an untouchable deity seated upon a golden throne, basking in blind reverence. Not an indifferent ruler of reality, deaf to suffering.

    No.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    A god who acknowledged pain.

    A god who bore it all himself.

    Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead to the ground. ¡°I¡¯m the one who should apologize,¡± he said. ¡°Forgive me for my ignorance¡­ I don¡¯t even know how to conduct myself in your presence.¡±

    Others followed. Of course, they would.

    Until now, they could not comprehend what was happening. A God, breaking down? Speaking of his real body being destroyed?

    This was not a conversation they were qualified to partake in. There was nothing for them to do but follow, like sheep bowing before a shepherd they could neither understand nor disobey.

    Croxeus took pity on them.

    To think, he wasn¡¯t the only one who was going to die when the server shutdowns. They were going to die too. All of them.

    A world full of lives, reduced to nothing. And here they were, kneeling before a failure.

    A failure who couldn¡¯t even protect them.

    Something cracked inside him.

    The weight of everything pressed down.

    Guilt. Responsibility. Deception. All of it.

    None of it mattered anymore. He was going to die. He would never see his brother again. Those foolish projects, those hours spent on meaningless work, striving for something greater¡­

    It was all but dust now.

    A wave of raw honesty. Not because he willed it, but because he no longer cared.

    He had spent so long¡­ playing roles¡ªboth here and in the real world. Masking his emotions, masking his thoughts. Always adjusting, always compromising.

    But now?

    Now, he would speak only the truth. Not because it was righteous. Not because he wanted to. But because the weight of consequences had crumbled into nothing.

    What was left to lose? What was there to fear? The world was ending.

    ¡°The end of your universe is approaching,¡± he said quietly.

    Silence. Then, he added, ¡°I tried to stop it. I failed.¡±

    Why? Why did he say that?

    Why did he lie?

    In truth, he had never once tried to save them. He had never protested, never lifted a finger to try to stop the inevitable.

    He had simply accepted it. But now, in this final moment, he found himself spinning a falsehood. Why?

    Perhaps, despite everything, he did care. Perhaps these APCs had clawed their way into his heart. He had spent just few hours with them, and yet, the way they treated him¡ªwith reverence, with belief. A connection he never felt until now.

    Even at the end of all things, he did not want to lose that.

    Ard¡¯s head shot up, his voice wavering, rage simmering. ¡°What? The end¡­ of our universe?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Croxeus¡¯ gaze darkened. ¡°All the other ten creators of this world have decided to erase it. I tried to convince them otherwise, but¡­¡± He clenched his fists. ¡°It was out of my hands.¡±

    More silence.

    Ard¡¯s entire body trembled.

    Our universe¡­ is going to end?

    The sheer unfairness of it threatened to consume him. Why?

    Why would beings so powerful create a world only to discard it? Why construct something so big, so complicated, only to throw it away? Were they mere playthings to be discarded on a whim?

    This revelation made him shake, made rage boil within him. He wanted to lash out, to scream. But then, a realization struck him.

    Wait¡ªhe said his real body was destroyed. That means¡­

    His eyes widened.

    They set a trap for him. They lured him here, then ensured he could not return. The destruction of our universe wasn¡¯t just a decision¡ªit was an execution. And this god, this being before me, was the true target all along.

    His anger cooled, replaced by something more complex. A mixture of respect and sorrow.

    This god had defied his own kind, had fought against omnipotence itself, had tried to protect them¡­ and in the end¡­

    The pieces started falling into place for Ard. He took a slow, steady breath, forcing his thoughts to calm.

    Meanwhile, Croxeus was flooded with second thoughts. Perhaps he should not have been so blunt. Even if they saw him as a god, there was no telling how they would react.

    But Ard¡¯s voice, when it came, was unexpectedly steady. ¡°There¡¯s nothing for you to apologize for, my lord. You tried your best. To think¡­ that your own people would betray you like this, yet you still feel the need to apologize on their behalf.¡±

    Betrayal?

    Croxeus got confused. What does he mean, ¡®my own people¡¯?

    Seeing his troubled expression, Ard continued. ¡°It may not be my place to say, but please do not carry guilt over our universe being sacrificed to lure you out. You didn¡¯t choose this.¡±

    Ah.

    Now I see.

    Croxeus understood now.

    Ard believed the other 10 creators conspired against him to eliminate him. The universe was just a bait.

    It was a misinterpretation.

    And yet, Croxeus did not correct him.

    Because¡­ in the end, what was the difference?

    Even if the truth was cruller, even if reality was more indifferent than he could fathom, what did it change?

    In Ard¡¯s mind, this was not the cruel disposition of the creator. It was betrayal. A cruel scheme.

    How amusing.

    How ironic.

    Even now, in the face of extinction, humanity¡ªor what mimicked humanity¡ªstill sought narratives. Still sought meaning in chaos. Still believed that the universe must follow some kind of story.

    But there was no story.

    No grand betrayal.

    No cosmic footsteps.

    Only emptiness.

    Only the ceaseless march of cause and effect, of decision and consequence. The world was ending not because of hatred, nor cruelty, nor some grand cosmic conspiracy. It was ending because that was what had been decided. Coldly. Mechanically.

    But Ard¡­ Ard needed a villain. He needed a tragedy to justify the despair.

    Croxeus almost pitied him for it.

    But then, wasn¡¯t he the same?

    Hadn¡¯t he too sought meaning, sought connection, sought to salvage some shred of dignity even in his final moments?

    A bitter smile curled.

    In the end, humans¡ªreal or artificial¡ªwere all the same.

    And so, he let Ard believe. Let him clutch onto his delusions.

    The countdown continued.

    ¡°The universe ends in 25 minutes.¡± Croxeus¡¯ voice was calm and detached, like the cold recitation of an execution order. ¡°There is nothing I can do. If you have any last wishes, now is the time.¡±

    Silence. Then murmurs. Protests.

    Desperation clawed its way into the air, spreading like an infection. Pleas rose, voices cracking, hands trembling¡ªbut Croxeus remained still.

    The human mind, even when staring at the end, clings to hope like a drowning man grasping at weeds.

    Ronny pulled out his phone. A single call. To his parents.

    He was fully aware that they would never comprehend the end that was coming. What could he even say? He had already died once. That this was a final chance that fate has given to talk to his parents for one last time. Apologise them for everything.

    But no, he spoke as if nothing had changed. A mundane conversation, a trivial exchange of words¡ªone final attempt at normalcy in the brink of extinction.

    Rex, too, hesitated before dialling a number long forgotten. A moment of vulnerability. But what else was there to do?

    Tiya sat in silence. There were things she wanted to say, but none of them formed. The questions, the doubts, the regrets¡ªthey churned within her, shapeless, restless.

    She had spent so long convincing herself that nothing mattered. And yet, in these final minutes, why did her heart ache? She had a final wish like the others, but she knew that wish was something that no one else could fulfill. Only her.

    Then why did she hesitate?

    Ard¡¯s face was unreadable. No tension on his face, no hint of emotion in his eyes. One might mistake his stillness for acceptance.

    When the mind is overwhelmed beyond understanding, it does not break. It empties. Perhaps that was what had happened to Ard.

    Or perhaps, he was simply thinking of nothing at all.

    When the calls were over, Ard finally spoke. ¡°Can you teleport us to the top of a tall building?¡± A pause. ¡°I just want to see the world one last time.¡±

    A simple request. The final indulgence of a dying man. Croxeus granted it without a word.

    The magic circle beneath them and in an instant, they stood on top of a tower. Above the world.

    The horizon stretched before them, vast and empty.

    2 MINUTES LEFT.

    Croxeus closed his eyes.

    I don¡¯t know what exactly will happen when we get deleted. But I want these two minutes to last as long as possible.

    [Eka-Plutonium Barrier]

    [Time Delay]

    [Indestructible Shield]

    [Celestial Barrier]

    He layered them one by one, as if stacking sandbags against a tsunami. It would not stop the end. Nothing could. But for a few more seconds....

    Darkness crept over the horizon. Not the darkness of night, nor the absence of light, but a devouring nothingness.

    Buildings devoured into silence as it swept forward. It was neither fast nor slow. It moved with the certainty of death, erasing everything in its path.

    Ard clenched his fists. ¡°So¡­ this is it, huh?¡± There was no panic in his voice, only resignation.

    But beneath that, something deeper. A quiet, growing rage. A hatred for those who created this world only to discard it. For the cruelty of gods who viewed lives as nothing more than toys.

    Ronny sighed, forcing a smile. ¡°Looks like it. It was¡­ good knowing you all.¡±

    Rex stared at the end. ¡°If only¡­¡±

    Tiya said nothing. The darkness on the horizon mirrored itself in her eyes. Not that it mattered, for her eyes had always been dark and lonely. Her fists tightened, trembling beneath the weight of unspoken regrets.

    Croxeus observed them all, their final moments laid bare before him. This was humanity. In the face of annihilation.

    Ard, however, remained fixated on the void. His gaze burned with something different. A desire. No¡ªan obsession.

    To create a world, only to discard it. To give life, only to erase it. What cruel arrogance. What intolerable injustice.

    If only there was a way to make them pay.

    The barrier cracked.

    Hairline fractures splintered across its surface, spreading like veins of decay.

    The end was not stopping. It had never stopped. It had merely slowed, momentarily restrained by one man¡¯s futile defiance.

    The city below had ceased to exist. They were alone now. Suspended in a moment that had already passed. Now was already gone.

    A quiet breath. A few final smiles. Silent tears.

    Then, the barrier shattered.

    The void surged forward, devouring them whole. A blinding flash of white consumed all.

    Darkness. Silence. The absence of all things.

    Nothing remained.