Tom drifted through nothing.
Yet his lungs moved as if breathing through corrupted, unknown memories.
The fog of light around him pulsed in rhythm with his heart, though even that felt distant, like it belonged to another man. The last thing he remembered was the sun.
That impossible burst of heat, the roar of energy swallowing everything.
And now.… this.... bullshit....
He was standing, or maybe floating, inside an infinite camera reel.
Thousands— no, millions of shimmering films circled him, orbiting in slow motion. Each one flickered like the edge of a dream, spinning gently, clicking as they turned.
He looked closer.
Inside one film, he saw himself cloaked in black. A knife glinting in his palm, walking down a narrow alley lit by red lanterns.
A drop of blood fell and the image snapped.
In another, he wore a crown forged of iron and sapphire, seated upon a golden throne while armies knelt before him. The city outside recited the holy anthem in an unknown language.
A third film showed him in a lab calmly, his hands steady as he rewrote a star's orbit with a single formula.
Infinite amount of version of himself was there on the films around him. No way, it was an illusion but reality, running parallel, unaware of the others.
Every film showed what could be or perhaps what already was.
He reached toward one and his hand passed through the air or what looked like air with a faint hum. The film trembled.
Suddenly, hundreds of others reacted, flickering faster, showing glimpses of strangers and familiars alike Vera's quiet gaze and even himself dying over and over again in a thousand ways.
Tom froze. His reflection fragmented in the flickers. Dozens of Alberts, dozens of Toms, all floating in opposite directions in films.
He whispered to no one, "What…. did I do?"
He moved forward knowing there is none to answer. Or what felt like forward until the light condensed ahead. Slowly, shapes began forming, assembling pixel by pixel like something rendering from static.
A wall emerged.
Massive, endless, built from translucent holographic bricks. Each brick was a film, sealed with faint metallic tape that glowed faint blue.
They moved like living cells shifting and rearranging themselves into something unreadable or not understandable.
A language which developt beyond time.
Tom stopped, staring at the vast mosaic. His reflection rippled across a thousand surfaces, fractured, repeated.
He stepped closer. One film at the center began to flicker faster, like it recognized him.
Inside that flicker, he saw himself again, but not quite. The man there had no eyes. Only a faint mark glowing in the shape of a ring.
Tom whispered, his voice resounding endlessly into the void.
"Did I just.… transcend reality?"
The films didn't answer. They only turned faster than a light-year, bleeding into the dark, until he was a silhouette against a billion reflections of himself.
He was just confused, how the hell is he alive in this type of outer realm?
He clenched his fist. "What the hell is this?"
The sound of the universe came. The fragments of reality stared back, mocking him — every version of him, every path, every mistake.
He drove his fist into the wall in confusion.
The impact wasn't sound. It was reverberation. The entire space convulsed as though struck by the fist of a god. The wall rippled, the holographic bricks shattered like panes of fragile glass.
A roar followed from the films themselves. Each reel burst into flame, igniting in cascading waves. Countless lifetimes burned at once — kings, beggars, scientists, assassins — all collapsing into ash. Their screams, their songs, their memories, all turned to static.
The wall crumbled and faded into dust.
Across the horizon, a single window appeared, open and impossibly bright. The glow poured out like liquid sunlight. Tom shielded his trembling eyes.
"...."
Something moved inside the light.
Then came a deep, harmonic voice, neither male nor female. It recalled through him, not around him.
"Vessel of Artorias."
Tom was stunned. His breath hitched. "Wha— how do you know that name!?"
The entity ignored him.
"You have walked among fractures of yourself. The Abyss recognized you. That is why you stand here."
Tom grit his teeth. "I didn't ask to be here."
"No one asks to be chosen."
"Chosen? By who?"
The entity continued as if he hadn't spoken.
"I can help you advance. But every ascent requires a cost you know? Fragments of your rituals — pieces of your being — you will surrender them to me."
Tom's scratched his balls twice in confusion. His rituals were his path to power, to ascension. Giving away even fragments could alter his Build's nature.
"And what do I get in return?"
"My guidance. My knowledge. My domain. The Darkest hungers, but it is blind. I will give it sight just for you."
Tom exhaled sharply. The light flickered, waiting.
He thought of the matches, the unknown threats across land, the Overseers, the endless climb.
"Fine." he muttered. "I'll take the deal."
"Then our pact is sealed. I am your assistant in your shadow in journey and ascension."
The voice softened now, resonant with strange reverence.
"You are currently standing in the Axis of my heart. My physical realm. None can cross it without being summoned."
Tom's voice lowered, uncertain. "So…. you called me here?"
"Yes. And now you must return. Everyone is waiting."
Before he could speak, the light consumed him.
He felt weight return. The roar of the burning wall dissolved into a low hum.
When his eyes opened, he was lying on the stage back there.
The system screen blinked faintly beside him.
[ Assistant linked: Unknown Entity – Status: God ]
Vessel of Artorias.
He whispered, "What did I just agree to?"
A God!?
An Uptie 4, Level 1 entity.... his assistant?
He couldn't even comprehend the scale of what that meant.
Uptie 4 was beyond his comprehension, mortality. A being that could chew timelines, drinnk destinies, use empires as tissues. And now it was tied to him.
Why? But the problem is, a how is summoning out of nowhere there.
Why would something like that bind itself to a man everyone thought was a traitor?
Tom's fingers trembled but he hid it under his trench coat. He breathed slow, forcing composure. The panic inside clawed at his ribs.
When his boots touched the metallic ground of the arena again, the crowd's roar struck like lightning.
Gasps. Screams. Shock.
"HE'S— HE'S ALIVE! ALBERT NEWTON IS STILL ALIVE!!!"
The announcer's voice cracked in disbelief. The holographic leaderboard flickered. The system hesitating to register the impossible.
Fon Reeze froze mid-step, her flute shoke in her hand.
Tom stood beneath the blazing lights, body smoking faintly. His coat torn, skin faintly scorched. But his eyes were still steady, cold, yet strangely luminous.
He looked up at the enormous simulated sun above the ring.
Survive the sun's heat for a nanosecond. That was the rule.
Not to avoid it.
He had walked willingly into the real portal into the actual sun.
He would have burnt but actually he was planning to use his Face in there to withstand it.
The crowd didn't know whether to cheer or fear.
The announcer stammered, "T-then…. then that means—"
Tom cut through the silence.
"No," he said firmly. "Keep her as the winner."
Fon's lips parted, unsure if she'd heard right.
He walked toward her slowly, his steps deliberate. Though both carried the weight of entire lifetimes.
"You earned it." he said quietly. "You trusted your truth. That's rarer than survival."
She just stared. Her reflection shimmered in his pupils like ripples in still water.
Then, with faint humility, she nodded.
" But.… you survived the sun...."
Tom smirked faintly, exhaustion bled through the curve of his lips. "Sometimes faith burns brighter than sunlight."
A strange quietness spread through the audience that follows miracles.
He turned away. The crowd erupted again, chanting his name but he wasn't listening anyone.
Inside, he could still feel that divine whisper circling his thoughts.
[Vessel confirmed. Progression begins.]
He clenched his jaw.
The symbol of the sun shimmered faintly in the air. Burning a halo above him but it wasn't glory. It was a reminder.
He had survived the sun once.
Now, he carried its fire within.
Tom's shoes echoed softly across the dim hallway, the sound bouncing off the marble walls like a heartbeat in an empty cathedral.
He was looking for Harriet — the idiot had disappeared, right when everything was calming down. Seems like he is trying to take revenge on him for disappearing
He peeked into a few rooms. Empty. Quiet. Then, from the last one on the left, came a sound — a sniffle. Then another.
Tom squinted. "No way."
He opened the door just slightly and peeked in. Harriet was sitting on the chair, face buried in both hands, tissues scattered all over the floor like a snowstorm of sadness. His red fedora tilted awkwardly on his head, his nose stuffed, eyes puffed.
"Oh, Albert.…" Harriet sniffed dramatically. "My only partner…. my best friend.… gone too soon.…" He blew his nose so hard it sounded like a trumpet. "You brave, mysterious, emotionally unavailable man!"
Tom blinked. He slowly closed the door halfway, muttering, "I'm not emotionally unavailable.…"
Harriet wasn't done. He reached for another tissue, sobbing louder now. "You didn't deserve to die! You deserved— you deserved a vacation! Or maybe a raise! Or both!" He paused, then wiped his tears with the sleeve of his coat, shaking his head. "Ah, Albert…. gone before I could ever pay him back the twenty coins I borrowed…."
Tom felt a strange warmth rise in his chest. Harriet actually cared.
He pressed his hand over his heart, whispering, "You really did miss me.…"
Then suddenly.... Harriet straightened up. His teary face went completely blank. He tossed the tissue aside like a script he'd finished reading.
"Well," he said cheerfully, "since Albert's gone, I'll take his wages."
Tom's jaw dropped.
Harriet stretched casually, humming. "Nine thousand coins and.… hmm, not bad for emotional damage compensation."
There was a long silence. Then—
CRASH!
The door burst open. Tom lay on the floor, hat tilted, eyes wide in disbelief. "You— WHAT!?"
Harriet jumped, almost falling off the chair. "A–Albert! You're alive!?"
Tom pointed an accusing finger from the ground. "You were crying for my salary, not me!"
Harriet blinked innocently. "Both can be true!"
Tom groaned, facepalmed, and muttered into the floor, "I should've stayed in that bright junkyard."
The chapter ended with Harriet holding his hat proudly, declaring, "Glad you're back, partner but the wages are mine."
Both caught eachother's throat, then began to walk....