The safehouse felt unnervingly still. It had been nearly twelve hours since Klein and Dokja had returned from the frozen archipelago, the Trunsoest Brass Book now resting heavily within Klein's inventory.
Lilith and Amanises were gone. There was no lingering scent of vines or the cooling touch of concealment—only the faint, ozone smell of the Secretive Plotter's presence.
"They left four hours ago," the Plotter stated without looking up from his paper. He was draped in a veil of thin, shifting shadows—a gift from Evernight. "Amanises came briefly. She said the Kings of Angels are gathering. The stage is being set earlier than anticipated."
"Why the rush?" Dokja asked, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. "We were supposed to have three days."
"The Ancient Sun God's condition has taken a sharp turn for the worse," the Plotter replied, finally folding the newspaper. "His lucidity is fragmenting."
Klein tightened his grip on the Cane of the Depraved Monarch.
He knew why.
The resonance from their meeting in the Chernobyl simulation had acted like a catalyst.
Two versions of the same cosmic Pillar meeting across time had accelerated the awakening of the Primordial One.
"They didn't even discuss the final plan with us," Dokja grumbled, his expression sour. "They just up and left. How are we supposed to coordinate?"
He paused, a look of sudden, uncomfortable realization crossing his face.
'Is this how Jung Heewon and the others felt whenever I jumped into a furnace or vanished into another dimension?' He shook the thought away. It was an annoying feeling.
"I will appear when the Sun God falls," the Plotter said, his voice cold and certain. "Until then, I must remain hidden. Herabergen's eyes are everywhere, and even though he cannot see through Amanises' concealment, he is adept at noticing the 'void' where information should be. If I move now, I draw his gaze to you."
"We're heading to the Southern part of the Kingdom of Silver," Klein said, adjusting his top hat. "Should I give you a ride?"
The Plotter waved a hand dismissively. "Go. I won't be late. I have traveled through worse apocalypses than a dying star."
"Besides, don't forget about the gathering." Klein reminded.
[Above the Gray Fog - Sefirah Castle]
The crimson stars pulsed with a rhythm that felt like the ticking of a doomsday clock.
Inside the ancient palace, thirteen high-back chairs were occupied.
The silence was heavier than usual.
It was the sixth meeting of the Tarot Club 2.0 since its inception in this Recorded Past.
While Klein had been busy weaving the fate of five thousand marionettes in Utopia, the members of the club had been his eyes and ears across the Third Epoch.
The previous four meetings had been a blur of rapid intelligence gathering:
The First Meeting had established the "Miracle City" of Utopia as a neutral ground, leaving members like The Emperor (the Solomon noble) and The Chariot (the Feysac barbarian) in a state of trembling awe.
The Second had seen The Sun (Kurt Berg) trading ancient warrior formulas for weapons capable of harming the Mutated Giants of the North.
The Third brought news from The Hanged Man (the Elf) that the Elven Queen was retreating into the deep sea, sensing a "change in the winds of divinity."
The Fourth had been the most tense—The Emperor reported that the King of Angels, Sasrir, had been seen entering the "Holy Land" (Chernobyl) and had not returned.
The fifth meeting wasn't worth of mentioning, they discussed the rumors of Flegrea's descendants fall, and traded for different ingredient or formulas. Overall, at least half of the members advanced with the help of the Tarot Club.
Now, at the sixth meeting, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of ozone and the chill of impending death.
At the head of the long bronze table sat The Fool, his figure completely erased by the churning gray fog. Everyone felt that Mr. Fool regained more of his power, 'His' existence felt denser.
To his left, The Tower (Secretive Plotter) sat like an unmovable mountain of void energy, and further down, The Hermit (Kim Dokja) leaned back, his eyes scanning the new members with the calculating gaze of a man who had already read the spoilers.
"Honorable Mr. Fool," The Emperor spoke first, his voice cracking slightly. He adjusted his monocle—a habit he had picked up to mimic the higher-ups of his family, though it made Klein's heart skip a beat every time. "The three Kings of Angels—Leodero, Aucuses, and Herabergen—have mobilized their private guards. They claim it is for a 'Grand Purification', but the rituals they are conducting... they feel like heresy."
"It is the same in the North," The Chariot grunted, his flaming red hair dimmed by the pressure of the palace. "The giants are restless. Badheil has closed the borders of Millom. They say the Lord is dying."
A collective shiver ran through the table. To these residents of the Third Epoch, the idea of the Creator dying was equivalent to the sky falling.
The Death (Lorem Eggers) looked up, his bronze skin pale.
"The underworld is crying. Salinger has taken the 'mummy' form, preparing for a long night. Mr. Fool... is the apocalypse truly upon us?"
Klein, acting as The Fool, let out a low, melodic chuckle. It was a sound that carried the weight of someone who had seen the sun rise and fall a thousand times.
"The script of this era is reaching its climax," The Fool spoke, his voice layered and echoing. "The stars are aligning for a feast of betrayal. But do not concern yourselves with the affairs of Kings of Angels."
He turned his gaze—or rather, the focal point of the fog—toward The Justice (the Dragonkin woman).
"Did you find what you were looking for?"
"Yes, Mr. Fool," she whispered, bowing her head. "The information about the 'Dream Weaver' heart... it was where The Chariot said it would be. I have prepared the sacrifice."
"Very well."
Klein flicked his finger, and a series of illusory objects traveled across the table—formulas, characteristics, and intelligence reports. He was the perfect middleman, a God acting as a bank clerk.
But as the meeting drew to a close, the fog around The Fool surged, turning into a terrifying, swirling vortex. The temperature in the palace plummeted.
"A warning," The Fool stated. The authority in his voice made The Hanged Man fall out of his chair in a dead kneel.
"In three days, the Southern part of the Kingdom of Silver—the land you call the Holy Ground—will become a graveyard for the divine. Do not approach it. Do not look toward it. Even a stray thought directed at that region will result in your soul being dissolved."
He looked at The Sun (Kurt Berg).
"Tell your people to retreat to the underground shelters. The sun will go out, and when it returns, it will be a different light."
"Your... Your will be done, Mr. Fool!" Kurt Berg shouted, slamming his fist against his chest in a warrior's salute.
"The meeting is adjourned."
The Fool waved his hand. The crimson light swallowed them all.
***
Klein and Dokja materialized in a forest that felt like a cemetery of trees. The air was thick with a yellowish-gray haze, a precursor to the fog that would one day turn this region into the Forsaken Land of the Gods. The silence here was heavy, punctuated only by the distant, rhythmic thrumming.
"You are hella of an actor!" Dokja kept on talking about Klein's acting as the Fool.
Klein ignored.
"To think this was once a research center," Klein murmured, looking at the twisted iron fences buried in the bark of ancient oaks.
"Every apocalypse starts in a laboratory," Dokja replied.
Suddenly, the temperature spiked.
The gray haze was incinerated by a sudden, overwhelming radiance. From the shadows of the giant trees, three figures emerged.
To the left stood Leodero, the Wind Angel. His turquoise armor rippled like a stormy sea, and his eyes were twin lightning bolts.
In the center was Aucuses, the White Angel. He remained silent, his white-gold robes radiating a heat so intense the forest floor began to vitrify into glass.
To the right was Herabergen, the Wisdom Angel. He wore a scholar's robe, and his eyes were filled with a terrifying, swirling depth of symbols and patterns. He was laughing—a soft, condescending sound.
"Did you truly think," Herabergen said, his voice echoing with the weight of absolute truth, "that your movements could escape my omniscience? We have seen the threads you've tried to weave with the Goddess and the Traitress Omebella."
Leodero stepped forward, his presence shaking the sky. "I was told the 'Intruders' were formidable. One looks like a scholar, the other like a bird with broken wings. I hope the battle is more interesting than the scouting report."
Aucuses remained silent, a miniature sun pulsing in his palm.
"We know your plan," Herabergen continued, spreading his arms. "We know you intend to 'purify' the Lord. But you are fighting a losing war. The Subsidiary God faction—Badheil, Salinger, Tolzna—they all understand the necessity of what must be done. Even Sasrir and Evernight cannot stop the sun from setting."
Klein adjusted his monocle, his face a mask of calm. "And what is it you want, Wisdom Angel?"
"Join us," Herabergen proposed. "Help us usher in the new era, and you shall have seats at the highest table of the new orthodoxy. Why die for a God who is already a corpse?"
Dokja let out a sharp, mocking scoff.
The laughter died in Herabergen's eyes. Leodero's sparks turned into a roar of thunder.
"Omniscience?" Dokja asked, looking Herabergen directly in the eye. "That's a big word for someone who can't see further than his own nose."
"You dare—" Leodero began.
"You think you see the future?" Dokja stepped forward, his eyes glowing golden. "You're just reading a script that's already been finished. You think this is a revolution? You're just three scavengers waiting for a lion to die so you can fight over the scraps."
Herabergen's expression shifted. "A finished script? What are you—"
He stopped. He tried to use his authority to read Dokja's mind, to look into the "Story" he mentioned, but he hit a wall of static.
"Enough talk," Klein said.
He slammed the [Cane of the Depraved Monarch] into the ground.
[Status: Unleashed]
The aura of the 9th Demon King erupted.
The forest groaned as the ground rotted instantly. A massive, illusory silhouette of a crowned monarch appeared behind Klein, its eyes fixed on the angels with a gaze that demanded the world's end.
Beside him, Dokja didn't hesitate.
[The exclusive skill 'Nephalem Transformation Lv. 2' is activated.]
His gray wings exploded outward, shimmering with an ethereal light. The ring on his finger—the gift from Kim Hajin—pulsed with a crystalline blue energy, amplifying his Story to the level of a Mythical Creature.
Aucuses finally spoke, his voice like the sun's surface. "So be it."
Leodero didn't wait. He pointed a finger at the duo.
A pillar of white-hot lightning, wide enough to swallow a cathedral, descended from the clear sky.