Everything was collapsing. All that Morpheus had built over his lifetimes was crumbling. It was as if the world had a special grudge against him for living a mere ordinary life. Whenever he began again, the end was destruction. Whenever he made a friend, death came knocking; whenever he formed a family, fate itself severed that bond with its own hands. Morpheus endured this cycle over and over. The same pains, different faces. The same losses, different times. Only one thing never changed: he was always the last one standing. No friends remained by his side, no enemies. On the crowded stage of the universe, at the final curtain, only a single actor was left: The Last.
Morpheus stood amid flames. Steam rose from his eyes—not tears, but heat. Flesh dripped from his skin, his body melting like a candle. But the true agony wasn't physical. What burned him was the memories echoing in his mind.
With every searing moment, the shattered mirrors of his past glinted in his eyes. Every memory, every loss, every betrayal was reborn. And with each recollection, Morpheus's rage intensified. His eyes closed, but his mind remained open. A flood of long-harbored hatred rose within him—against the gods. Against the universe. Against everything. Why? Why always him? Why was he always the one left behind? He had harmed no one. He only wanted to live. Like everyone else, he only wanted to build a life. But the gods seemed to sacrifice his peace for their own amusement.
At every turn, fate erected a new wall before him. Everyone he loved was torn away by death or betrayal. He may not have known the names of those responsible, but he understood they were part of a divine design. The gods… They rewrote his destiny by moving their fingers from on high. Each beginning carried an ending. And the one who remained at the end was always him.
He was on the verge of succumbing to madness when a figure suddenly hauled him from the flames.
The figure pulled him from the inferno and laid him on a cold anvil. He still melted, he still burned—but now a different agony began.
The figure held a hammer in his hand, as if ripped from the sky, forged by lightning. He struck Morpheus again and again.
Each blow shattered an organ, then remolded it. It re‑forged his flesh and re‑shaped his bones. With every strike, the rage within Morpheus hardened, sharpened. It was as if a blade was being forged—but the blade was his soul. With every blow on the anvil, the old Morpheus died, and something else was born in his place. Not a man, but a weapon, an engine of vengeance.
The figure's face remained hidden, but the grin on his lips was clear. A maniacal grin—proof of how pleased he was with the creation he was crafting. A Perfect Blade.
Morpheus had lost his will to live. He neither wanted to live nor die. But the memories had given him something else: vengeance.
He knew. The Creator had done this to use him. He might become a tool. A pawn. But he no longer cared. If he was to take his revenge, he no longer cared what he became—a pawn or a blade. As long as he could make the gods suffer. As long as the cycle broke.
Morpheus closed his eyes. Each hammer blow resonated in his soul.
Klein, seeing his friend cling to his sword and collapse, leapt forward to help. He didn't know Morpheus was in such dire straits. Morpheus had always hidden from others, masking his pain. When Klein saw his arms, he realized Morpheus was on the brink of death. His arms were nothing but bone. Morpheus no longer held on—he didn't want to. He wanted to die.
Just as Klein advanced, a figure blocked his way. The figure was the Angel of the Evernight Church. It would not allow Klein to proceed. Klein, stunned, searched for any way forward. When he looked around, he saw angels from other churches standing guard. All around Morpheus and Adam, weapons in hand, no one could intervene.
Klein felt suffocated and hopeless—he understood that the gods wanted Morpheus dead.
It had been a month since Sunny escaped the Second Nightmare. In that time, he had visited Morpheus occasionally. He spoke of the power duel with Nephis. When he checked the runes, he saw Morpheus growing stronger. His Sequence was steadily decreasing—proof of his progress. But when it reached Sequence 3, something changed. A new field called "Honorific Name" appeared, along with instructions on how to perform a ritual for it. Sunny burst into laughter when he read it. The writers sounded as if they were praising a god, and that thought amused him.
Now, while relaxing at home, his phone rang—it was Kai. He answered immediately: "Sunny! Come to the Academy. Morpheus is dying!" Sunny didn't know how to react. The idea of Morpheus dying felt alien to him. Someone who could kill anyone with a single hand—what could kill him? "What's happening?" he asked, rushing out. Shadow‐stepping quickly, he headed to the Academy. "His stats changed suddenly and his body is breaking down," Kai explained. Sunny couldn't understand it.
Before long, he reached Morpheus's room. Four doctors were struggling to hold his body together. Nephis used his power to try to heal him. But no matter what they did, his flesh separated from his bones. Sunny's concern grew as he saw him. Morpheus was still alive—but he was dying.
Then, abruptly, the deformations stopped. Just as everyone breathed a sigh of relief, Morpheus's entire body ignited. The bed and the surroundings were engulfed in flames. The doctors had to step back. The fire wasn't normal. The hatred coming from those flames was not ordinary. The flames swelled and spread, and his deformities continued.
Everyone could only watch in helplessness. Not wanting to stay idle, Sunny weighed his options. Then something occurred to him. He asked for everyone's swords—and some candles. He lit the candles and planted swords in a circle on the ground around him. He stood in the center and raised his hands as if in prayer.
When Klein saw his friend's body ablaze, the sense of urgency intensified. Adam and the Church angels tensed and drew their weapons. Without waiting further, they attacked Morpheus. They had a plan—the easiest way for Morpheus to die was through surrender. But they also had another plan: should anything change, they would personally kill him. The churches had united and prepared this plan.
Klein stepped back a few meters. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He looked at Leonard and Daly. "I need you to guard my body for a while," he said. Leonard nodded without question. Daly followed suit. Klein performed the ritual to ascend into the Grey Mist. As his body collapsed to the ground, Leonard caught him.
Grey Mist rose and Klein touched the star representing Morpheus, in his burning, angel‐torn state. The sight awakened rage and sorrow in him. Immediately, he wanted to call out using Morpheus's honorific name. He arranged the ritual once more. He stepped into the circle and invoked:
Morpheus was once again burning in the Flame of Wrath. After being hammered and remolded, he was cast back into flames. With each second there, his old rage returned, seeping into his soul more deeply at the forge. The Creator planned to transform him into a mindless weapon. Morpheus understood this. But his vengeance burned so strongly it did not anger him. As long as he could kill those who hurt him—that was all that mattered.
No one knew how long he had been there. But since the fire was dying down, one could assume it had been a long time. He had regained his old strength and hatred. But now he was becoming a monster.
After the Creator delivered the final hammer blow, he held Morpheus in his hand. The grin on his face widened as he inspected the sword. He slowly moved it from right to left. The sword cleaved space in two, revealing Morpheus's sleeping form behind it. He looked back at the sword and said, "At last, it is complete. At last, you have become a weapon worthy of me."
Morpheus did not respond.
The Creator was pleased. Nothing left to prepare. He only had to wait for his awakening. He began guiding Morpheus back to the gate from which he was first taken.
Meanwhile, Morpheus's mind contained only vengeance—the torment inflicted by the gods and his coming revenge. How he would kill them, how he would torture them, the desire to obliterate everything… These thoughts overwhelmed him. He had lost his mind. Yet after a moment, voices echoed through his mind. They cut through the torrent of thought and brought a sudden calm:
"The Last Blade Forged by the Creator,
The God‑Slayer Wreathed in Eternal Vengeance,
The Severed Edge that Cuts Through Fate, Time, and the Divine.
MORPHEUS—DON'T GIVE UP!!! DON'T BACK DOWN!!! HOLD ON!!!"
Morpheus's eyes snapped wide open. These voices were the bonds he had in this life—and they were as important as the old ones. To succumb to vengeance would mean destroying those bonds. He refused to do that. But his hatred quickly returned. He knew he had to extinguish the Flame of Wrath within him. And he knew how to do it. The Creator had planned it from the start: by devouring the gods.
And would you look at that... One's holding him in its hand.
When he consumed all the gods, when the Creator awoke, there would be no one left—and he would swallow everything again.
Morpheus freed himself from the Creator's grasp. He was allowed to emerge. The Creator watched him with interest. When he saw Morpheus enter a fighting stance, he laughed as if amused. "Is my own blade turning on me? Even if I am dormant, you cannot defeat me. This is my domain," he said, indicating the empty darkness around him. Morpheus knew this. That's why he waited until he reached the gate. He turned his back on the Creator and struck toward the gate with [Extraordinary Sword], cutting it down with two cleavings. His mind was clear and his old powers had returned, but atop it all burned the Flame of Wrath that had forged him into a death machine. He sliced through the gate like it was butter.
The Creator narrowed his brows when he realized Morpheus's intent. The gate shattered and a river of blood began pouring into that empty void. The river filled the space with every passing second.
Morpheus turned toward the Creator and said,
"Now this is my domain."
Then he attacked.