A little boy was asked by his mentor: What does he value the most in this world?
"Is it money?"
"No."
"Do you crave power?"
"No."
"Then… is it revenge? Do you seek revenge on those who have wronged you?"
"...No."
His mentor leaned closer to him. "Then what is it? What is it that you value? You must have something. Everyone has something."
Quiet but firm, the boy began to respond, "...It's my freedom. I value my freedom the most. And the freedom of those like me. Everyone deserves freedom."
His mentor's eyebrows raised, then they furrowed. "Even the criminals? Those who commit heinous crimes like murder or r*pe? People like your parents?"
There was a brief moment of hesitation, but the boy nodded. "Yes. They deserve freedom as well. Freedom from the shackles of their sins."
"Are you implying that we kill them?"
"It isn't killing," the boy answered, his eyes steady. "I consider it…"
* * *
"Liberation."
It was widely believed that this moment, this one word, marked the day the fate of the universe had been decided.
Bell watched as the star glimmered — no, it winked at him. And slowly, the pain and agony he had been enduring the entire time started to subside.
As he let out a sigh of relief, his breath shuddered, and he whispered, "I did it."
Closing his eyes, he opened them back up to find himself back in his bedroom.
The floor below him was drenched in sweat. It was slick and resembled a slide at a water park.
His body was lying sprawled on said slick floor. His muscles were still twitching and trembling from exhaustion.
He tried to get up, but no strength answered his call; his limbs felt like they belonged to someone else.
So he simply lay there in silence, chest rising and falling with each breath he took as he observed the changes in his body.
There was star energy flowing through it once again, albeit this time, much less than before. It was like a drop of water compared to the pool that it once was.
There was no immediate improvement in his five senses or sudden increase in strength. But that was to be expected. That was fine. This was only the beginning.
In the midst of his self-observation, Bell's body slackened, and he drifted off to sleep. He had been pushing him to his limits and endured more in a single day than most human would in their entire lifetime.
With that little bit of weight lifted off his shoulders, he finally gave himself permission to rest.
In the dream world.
Bell was having another dream about the laboratory.
The laboratory. It has always been the laboratory recently.
Compared to the reality of that day, the images of the tubes before him were grotesquely exaggerated; it felt like he was inside a cheap horror movie designed to disgust their audience and make them lose their appetite for popcorn and soda.
Each step he took felt slow as if he was dragging them through thick mud.
Stopping in front of a tube that was nothing more than a head that was still blinking and staring at him as if he were to be blamed, Bell was starting to feel sick, nausea welling in his guts, his hand about to cover his mouth, when suddenly—
"No more of that," a voice sharply said.
The scene before him collapsed as if it had never existed. The tubes dissolved to nothingness, the scent of filth vanished, and Bell now stood inside an office — polished wood, a dim lamplight, rows of books, and the scent of ink and paper.
Bell, the dream version of him, his awareness and consciousness snapped into clarity; he knew now that he was inside his dream.
"...What was that?" he muttered in confusion.
"Just a little fancy trick," the voice answered.
Bell swung his head back in the direction of the voice, only to find that nobody was behind him. When he turned back around, there was a figure seated at the desk in front of him.
Their legs were kicked up and crossed on the desk while an apple was being tossed up and down with one hand.
"Who are you?" Bell asked, his body stiffened at their sudden appearance.
He understood that this was something more than just a figment of his imagination. This figure before him was real.
The figure before him had a face riddled with scars in crisscross-like patterns. His black hair fell in long, jagged strands that spilled over his eyes like the claws of some animal. Most of his face was hidden by that curtain of hair.
He wore a pair of pajamas patterned with cats and dogs — ridiculous, childish. Yet, there was nothing childish about those scars on his forearms that could be seen as his sleeves were rolled up. His feet were bare, and his toes were wiggling around in the air.
They seemed like a clown almost, yet their presence felt heavy and was pressing on the entire room.
"Would you perhaps have an idea about my identity if I hand you this?" the figure asked. With the flick of his wrist, he tossed Bell a rectangular object that he conjured out of thin air.
Catching the object, Bell uttered, "A phone?"
He glanced at the screen, and on it was the title page of the very same novel that he had been pulled into.
His eyes snapped back up at the figure as he asked, "Are you the author?"
"Ding-ding-ding! Bingo," they winked at him while snapping his non-apple-tossing hand and pointing the index finger at him like a game show host.
"..."
Bell tried tapping on the phone screen, but it blinked out of existence as he did so.
"Sorry. No can do. You're not allowed to read the novel anymore."
"...Why?"
"Why would you want to read a novel that you constantly make fun of?" he asked while sticking out his tongue and pointing at his eye with his finger.
"So that's it?" Bell asked with a flat tone. "Is that why you dragged me into this world then? To punish me for insulting your story?"
If that was the purpose of his existence in this world, then he was going to be disappointed. If it were something so simple as a mere punishment given to him by the author, then he wouldn't have gone through all that trouble. He would've just jumped off a cliff and ended the life of this monster known as Bell Agnus.
"Yes."
Bell frowned deeply.
The figure laughed as he caught the apple mid-air and took a bite. "Relax. I'm just messing with you. Had you nervous there for a second, didn't I? I'm not that petty a person. I wouldn't have gone through all this trouble for something so trivial."
Bell's frown remained locked in place. "Then why? Why am I here?"
The figure leaned back in his chair and began to answer in a sing-song manner, "You're here because…"
"..."
"You're here because…"
"..."
"The reason why I brought you here is because…"
"..."
He paused, then smiled. "...Because… never mind. I can't tell you."
Bell's eye twitched. Was he being rage-baited?
The figure wagged his finger. "Don't give me that look. I wish I could tell you, I mean it… but I just can't. You already know that this universe has a mind of its own. After all, isn't that why you didn't tell anyone about anything involving creating your own skill tree? If the universe takes notice of the universal rule that you were breaking, you'd be punished. Hence, the need for secrecy to reduce the chance of being exposed. The same applies to this."
Bell exhaled sharply, "Then why? Why have you only shown yourself before me now? Why show yourself at all?"
The figure who had been looking at him from a side angle finally turned to face him directly. With a smile on his face, his scars twisting with his mouth, he replied, "Because you've finally become your own God. That's the loophole. It was the only way I could reach you without breaking a universal rule. After all, nothing's wrong with a God visiting another God. But a God visiting a Godless? That's a big no-no."
How could this figure have been so sure that Bell was going to create his own skill tree? What if he didn't? Would the two of them just never meet?
"If you can't tell me my purpose, then aren't you useless to me? Your appearance changes nothing as you provide zero information other than confirmation that you exist out there somewhere. I have questions and you have zero answers to give."
"Tch. Harsh. But not exactly wrong." The figure set down the apple and leaned forward on the desk. "Don't be so down about it though. Here's what I can tell you: although I am the author of the novel, I wasn't the one who brought you here exactly."
Bell froze. "What?"
Was there another God involved then? Maybe even more than just two?
The figure's tone dropped, stripped of its humorous edge. "And one more thing. That's the real reason I came here."
Bell's gaze sharpened.
The figure smiled again, scars stretching as his teeth glinted. "Keep going. You're on the right path. I can't explain your purpose yet, but what you're chasing… it isn't wrong. Push forward, Bell. Keep pushing forward."
Bell rolled his eyes.
"I was going to do that whether or not you told me. Once again, I repeat, your appearance has changed nothing."
"Hahahaha!" the figure laughed. "I'll see you again. And hopefully next time, I can tell you a little more."
"But I thought the rules—"
"You think too much. Farewell."
And just like that—
Eight hours have passed.
That was the longest Bell had slept in a while, and yet, he somehow felt more drained than the nights when he would get less than one hour.
"What a pointless conversation I just had," Bell said as he sat up and left his bedroom to take a shower.
Heading downstairs once he got cleaned up and dressed, his grandfather was in the middle of playing with his little sister when he turned his head and raised an eyebrow.
"You follow a new God?" he asked Bell.
Bell responded with nothing more than a nod.
"No more questions?" Godfrey asked.
"Please."
"Okay."