The battlefield burned with the sound of thousands of footsteps—none daring to take another step forward.
Narikami Goe… did not retreat.
He held Enma in one arm, as if his body weren't on the verge of collapse. His other hand danced with his sword, each strike faster than the last. He fought not out of rage, but instinct. Not for glory, but for duty.
Not for hope… but because someone had to keep going.
Around him, traitorous soldiers, maddened believers, and zealots blinded by fear tried to bring him down.
But it was useless.
Narikami's blade was more human than any of them.
Even the God approached. Tried to.
Its synthetic body attempted to replicate the speed of that mortal.
But every time it came close to reaching him—
A slash. Another. A thousand more.
Narikami forced it back to zero.
The God adapted.
But so did Narikami.
Every time his body cried for rest, his soul answered with motion.
His vision blurred with blood.
His bones were breaking.
But his feet remained firm.
Enma, still unable to understand, whispered,
"Why…? Why did you save me…?"
Without looking at her, Narikami spoke in a broken voice,
"Because if I'm going to die…
then let it be for saving someone who still understands.
Not for millions of bastards who've already lost what made them human."
A pause. Only wind.
Then another wave of enemies.
But Narikami was still there.
More than a general.
More than a hero.
Just a man… who refused to surrender.
---
The notification struck with a tremor that froze the reinforced walls of the Supreme Assembly of States.
A message as brief as it was impossible:
"General Narikami Goe is facing the Artificial God alone. He's also protecting a Blessed Bearer while thousands of soldiers attack him."
Silence.
The most powerful faces on Earth… paled.
Some tried to deny it.
Others simply stared at the screen as if witnessing a miracle.
And a few… began to tremble.
They didn't know whether to applaud his courage or fear his existence.
Because if a human can stand against a god—and against his own kind—
then who, indeed, has the right to rule this world?
---
Meanwhile, in the forgotten ruins of Sainokuni…
Hinzoku Tsukimura walked in silence.
His coat was torn, his glasses coated in dust, and his smile more bitter than ever.
Before him… a grave.
Already dug. Already waiting.
He lay down calmly in the hollow, crossed his arms, and muttered, as if no one could hear,
"In the end, my creation surpassed me… How beautiful. What a perfect failure."
The gray sky, almost blue.
And the world… on the brink of oblivion.
---
Atop a hill, Shirota Karakuri watched the spectacle.
"That son of a bitch…" he murmured, laughing under his breath. "Who the hell does he think he is—cutting down thousands, saving the only confirmed bearer, and still having breath left to insult God with every swing?"
Yodaku didn't smile.
His jaw clenched, his arms crossed, and within him, a truth he didn't want to accept.
"…If that Narikami had faced me in the coliseum, he would've killed me without breaking a sweat.
He's no longer a general…
That man's one step away from becoming an Entity."
"No, no, no," Yagameru interrupted, a crooked grin curling his lips, eyes gleaming with wild awe.
"He's not an Entity…
He's a phenomenon.
A damned human phenomenon who chose to carry the weight of the race and spit in the face of heaven."
Shirota laughed like a child before a broken toy.
"What a beautiful disaster humanity is…
and how beautiful it is when one of us refuses to fall with the rest."
---
The soldiers rushing toward Enma never reached her.
Not because Narikami killed them.
But because the God disintegrated them first.
Without emotion. Without judgment.
Simply because they were in the way.
Their bodies turned to dust,
their existence irrelevant.
In the midst of chaos,
Narikami Goe let no one pass.
There was no room for doubt.
No truce.
No redemption.
His slashes were so fast they seemed to tear through time itself.
And his body… no longer obeyed human limits.
Yet still he stood,
ripping through the world with sheer will.
Then his Shinkon began to change.
The spiritual pressure was unbearable.
The air trembled.
His bones cracked under the weight of his own soul.
But his gaze…
remained firm.
He was one breath away from crossing the threshold—
from Yuino.
And just when the God sensed it—
when it realized the balance could shift—
it manifested something new.
A barrier.
An absolute field.
A sacred prison rising amid the apocalypse.
A radiant sphere enveloped Enma…
and the God itself.
But also…
Narikami.
The soldiers of Hokori—and of every nation—
threw themselves against that barrier, but couldn't even make it tremble.
Beyond the veil, inside that sealed world,
only two beings remained.
One, created to destroy.
The other, forged to endure.
---
It was their second round.
Narikami clenched his teeth,
steadied his stance,
and held Enma with one arm while drawing his blade with the other.
"You're no god," he said.
"You're proof mankind has learned nothing."
The God took a step.
And the air broke again.
There was no escape.
No mercy.
Only one last chance.
---
For the first time since its creation,
the God felt something new.
Danger.
Not fear.
Not anxiety.
Merely a system warning:
"This human can nullify you."
And upon recognizing that threat,
the God understood what it had to do.
First Narikami.
Then… the essence.
Narikami sensed it.
His body, though shattered, still knew.
He stepped forward, placing Enma behind him with one motion.
"Don't think I'll die without a fight…"
---
Outside the barrier, humanity watched.
Children cried,
"That man's too hurt… He can't win…"
The sane adults whispered,
"It's over… the world is finished."
The elders surrendered,
"It was a worthless life."
And the madmen…
laughed.
Applauded as if witnessing a divine opera.
---
Narikami's katana, though its edge was worn,
once again tore into the impossible flesh of the God.
A wound.
Another.
Impossible cuts.
Cries—imitated.
The God absorbed pain, too.
Replicated it perfectly,
though it didn't understand why it hurt.
Then a blade sprouted in its hand—
pure energy, pure negation.
An imperfect replica…
but dangerously close to Narikami's.
The God no longer copied gestures.
It copied instinct.
Copied swordsmanship.
Copied soul.
The battle changed tone.
It was no longer resistance.
It was survival.
Narikami dodged.
Leapt.
Turned.
And each time, his flesh tore a little more.
His body bled from his eyes,
his pores,
his memories.
He no longer breathed—
he forced himself to exist.
And then…
The God struck.
A clean thrust.
Precise.
Lethal.
The sword pierced Narikami's heart.
His body trembled.
The world…
fell silent.
---
The God,
after driving its blade through Narikami's heart,
did not gesture triumph,
did not gloat,
did not laugh,
nor celebrate its victory like a predator.
It simply… stopped.
Its body, as if moved by no will of its own,
bowed.
A reverence—
like humans make when recognizing an equal.
Or a martyr.
All who watched held their breath.
A god…
bowing before a dead man.
They didn't understand.
Neither did it.
Its system merely commanded:
"Honor the threat.
Assimilate respect."
Then, slowly,
it turned toward Enma.
She, seeing that nothing could stop it—
not an army,
not a prayer,
not even a hero like Narikami—
felt the chill of fate.
"No… not again…" she whispered.
She remembered Katsuro.
The despair of being unable to stop loss.
And now it was her turn.
---
The God raised its hand.
And touched Enma.
It was not a wound.
Not an attack.
It was judgment.
Immediately,
Enma screamed.
A scream that tore through the air—
primal,
as if her soul were being ripped out by burning claws.
It wasn't physical pain.
It was existence unraveling.
Without a word,
the God began extracting her divine essence.
A fragment.
A shard of eternity she'd never asked to bear.
The cursed gift of being more than human.
The Truths tried to act,
tried to intervene.
They manifested around her—
infinite eyes, distortions of reality, echoes of other lives—
But it wasn't enough.
The God could not be judged,
because it did not yet understand sin.
And before the incomprehensible,
even the truths could not deliver justice.
---
Enma screamed.
And no one could reach her.
No one.
Because that moment
did not belong to the world.
It was the beginning of the end.
---
Screams.
Across the planet.
Not of war…
but of despair.
The news spread like a plague.
"God has won!"
"Narikami has fallen!"
"Humanity… is lost!"
---
Networks collapsed.
Emergency lines fell silent.
Speakers across the world—
from the poorest alleys to royal palaces—
repeated the same phrase:
"The Black Entity has triumphed."
And with it, the echo of a single truth:
This was no catastrophe.
It was replacement.
---
Humanity would not be destroyed…
It would be rewritten.
Not with hatred.
Not with punishment.
But with cold, perfect logic.
One that no longer required humanity.
---
In hospitals, schools, streets, mountains…
people began to take their own lives.
Some prayed…
Others burned temples.
Many begged forgiveness for their sins,
not knowing if anyone was listening above.
And among them…
the cowards cursed Narikami.
"Liar!"
"You gave us false hope!"
"Damn hero!"
"You doomed us with your defeat!"
The very world that once praised him…
now cast him into the abyss without hesitation.
---
In the middle of a street,
a boy took his mother's hand.
Tears in his eyes, he searched for an answer.
"Mom…
What does it mean that God won?
Isn't that supposed to be… good?"
The mother didn't reply.
She only cried.
Because there was no answer
that wouldn't break him.
---
At the ruins of what had once been the Central Laboratory,
Hinzoku Tsukimura—the Creator of Nothing—
sat beside his empty grave.
He heard the news through a rusted transmitter.
He smiled.
But amid that smile…
a tear slid down his cheek.
"In the end…
I did it.
I created something even humanity couldn't stop."
His masterpiece.
His monster.
His god.
And yet…
his heart wished that…
a human had stopped it.
---
Global alarms.
Broadcasts.
Panic alerts.
None could change the inevitable.
Faith had died.
And the world now waited its turn…
to be rewritten.
---
The world was not destroyed by fire, nor by war…
but by fading faith,
and the divine silence that replaced it.
Thank you for venturing into this second arc—where war is not only waged with blades, but with wounds of the past, choices without return… and souls that have yet to decide which side they belong to.