Earth does not just contain a singular world, it is composed of many, an immeasurable amount.
Each world is a sprawl of all possible outcomes, layered infinitely, each timeline a world unto itself.
Some diverge at choice, others at chance, and some for reasons beyond even divine comprehension.
But in the end, they all exist, each possibility real, each thread valid, and none lesser than the next.
At least, that's how it was meant to be.
Earth's structure is built like a tower with no ceiling, and no true foundation.
Just levels stacked atop one another, made of choices, histories, fates, and all the space in between.
These timelines are not dreams.
They are solid. Layered realities evolving in parallel, drifting forward through the slow erosion of time.
To even glimpse beyond the thread you currently walk, you must command the present, not just by will, but by understanding the very dimension you inhabit.
You must grasp the lattice of time that surrounds you, and master its depth.
And I did.
When I broke through the seventh wall, something changed in me.
The world no longer seemed uncertain, not the way it used to.
I understood then that I wasn't looking at one story among many.
I was seeing the blueprint behind all of them. The frame. The logic. The limit.
Earth, by its nature, embraced structures where all possibilities were true.
Within each world contained within Earth, there's a distinct shadow.
But the moment I awakened to the truth of Dark Alter, I realized that such a structure could be broken.
That truth could be chosen.
Dark Alter doesn't manipulate reality like a crude force. It doesn't bend. It corrects.
It doesn't weave a new timeline; it dissolves all competing threads and asserts one absolute outcome.
Its authority isn't over matter or energy, but over everything within Earth itself.
When I used Dark Alter at full capacity, I didn't just return from the future, I rewrote the legitimacy of every other future.
My own path was elevated above the rest, not because it was strongest or most noble, but because I remembered it.
That memory became law.
The world could no longer sustain the vastness of what I attempted. It couldn't contain my alteration.
And so, like a body rejecting a foreign organ, it ejected me, casting me back into time, displacing my soul from the apex to the root.
But the damage had already been done.
The structure of this world, once ruled by a perfect balance between all timelines, was cracked.
From then on, every version of reality was still present, still technically "true" but none could rival the clarity, the density, the authenticity of the one I returned to.
Because I stood in it. Because I chose it.
That is why Kivana could see every path except mine.
My future is no longer a future.
It's the truth, and all others have been rendered pale imitations, ghosts of might-have-beens orbiting a reality that no longer accepts their claim.
[The world is a grand tapestry of illusions. He simply made those illusions fade.]
That voice again. I never attributed it to some omniscient, all-encompassing deity, but even so… it wasn't wrong.
Much like how Heaven was perfect, a place without flaws, I seemed to embody them.
While studying and battling the Silent Court, I uncovered truths that shattered the foundation of what I believed Earth to be.
As well as the transcending place Heaven should be, however even I fail to encompass its true nature.
Mirabel seemed to linger in thought, her brow furrowing before she turned to me. "So you're saying… it's all predetermined?"
I leaned back against the couch and exhaled. "No. I'm saying the future I lived through, that future, will happen. That path isn't possibility. It's certainty."
There's so much I've seen. The re-emergence of the western continent. The collapse of the angels. The clandestine rise of the Golden Authority.
But this time… they've changed tactics.
They no longer whisper from the shadows.
They march in open daylight, confident and deliberate, as if the world already belongs to them.
Their aim isn't conquest. It's preparation. For what they call the descent of their god.
But why? It's not because God is dead. He isn't. Nor is He absent.
He simply doesn't interfere, or perhaps, He does, but only with those He favors. His silence isn't abandonment.
And if I know He exists, then so too must other false idols. Which leads to one conclusion:
The Golden Authority doesn't worship Him.
They serve something else entirely. Something older. Something real.
Their aim isn't to sanctify the world. It's to unmake it. To strip it of all meaning and replace it with their own.
And if they succeed, if they truly achieve what they intend, I believe the true God could erase it all with a single thought.
Which only proves… they aren't His faithful. They are imposters. Heretics, in deliberate defiance of the divine.
Even Gabriel. Even he, standing among them, doing nothing, that only strengthens my theory.
[Nicholas could chase a hundred conclusions before finding the right one. He's just not clever enough.]
I scoffed aloud at the mocking voice, then turned to Mirabel.
"They won't wait for us to act. We need to be ready at all times."
Mirabel stood from the couch and sighed. "I suppose there's no reason to hide anything from you anymore, is there?"
I chuckled. "I told you my secret. And I already knew yours. What's left?"
She looked at me with a softness I hadn't seen before. Then, without a word, she removed her shirt.
I turned away, flustered, until the air changed. Something was wrong.
A dense, suffocating pressure swept through the room, raw and ancient. My instincts screamed.
My senses recoiled. Everything in me told me to run.
But I looked.
There, on the upper right of her chest, burned a sigil, a lion split in two, one head crimson, the other black.
Both burned with a fury so old, it predated not only kingdoms, but the very pantheon of false idols.
My eyes stung. My soul trembled.
I had to look away.
"You see," Mirabel said, her voice calm and unwavering.
"Unlike Nicole or Malachi, I carry something deeper. A sin greater than anything else. I was born… with Wrath."
Beings who give in fully to an emotion, to an obsession, can have it carved into their soul.
I swallowed, the pressure finally easing. Then I whispered, hollow with awe,
"To bear a mark like that… you must have committed yourself to a wrath so vast, it surpassed the very bounds of this world."
She offered me a serene smile, then pulled her shirt back down. "I was under the impression you had a mark as well."
It was true. We all did.
Coincidentally, or perhaps not, we each bore marks tied to the seven sins.
But I've encountered others, too. People branded by longing, sorrow, greed, even joy.
Malachi? He's said to embody lust, though I've heard whispers suggesting his sin is far crueler.
But Mirabel? There's no ambiguity. Hers is wrath, pure and absolute. The kind that could reshape nations with a heartbeat.
"My mark…" I said, standing slowly, "its grip on me is far more vicious."
I exhaled. "We should prepare for battle. It's time I show you the name of my sword."
She tilted her head, curious. "You mean… you're actually going to unwrap it?"
I grinned. "Don't you want to see how much I've improved?"
Her lips curved in amusement. "Hmm… maybe I'll show you a few things too."
[Nicholas had come to a realization. He still didn't fully grasp the depth of Mirabel's power. But he intended to find out.]
I held out my hand. My sword shimmered into view, flickering into my grasp like memory itself.
"Cool trick, huh?" I said, smirking.
She scoffed. "Is that all you've learned?"
Looking down at Sotergramma, I smiled.
"No. I now command a far vaster sea… one that, I promise, will drown every last one of those gold-toothed bastards."
I could handle them killing me. I could even handle them killing others. Hell, I could stomach them killing themselves.
But attacking my family?
Nicole and I have our differences. My mind even twists itself just to forget her.
Even so, I have limits.
If I were to let something like that happen without making them bleed for it…
Then what would I be?
[Nicholas knew the answer deep down. He had already become what he feared. And yet, he still chose to continue.]
Really? No, I suppose it's right. I really have deluded myself, haven't I?