"Evernight, are you just going to let Ince Zangwill's matter slide?"
"Ince Zangwill is under Adam's control. Even if He senses a shift in the situation, I can't openly break with Him. Adam's a King of Angels—if He schemes, my church could face the Lord of Storms' hostility."
Amanises leaves unsaid that her cooperation with Adam continues. As a goddess who endured the Banquet of Betrayal and the Fourth Epoch, she knows better than to trust easily. Even if she, the True Creator, and I, the High-Dimensional Overseer, share a goal, it doesn't sway her alliance with Adam.
Someone trusted fully after a few days? That's a fairy tale.
"I'll prepare a divine descent ritual, but it's unlikely to succeed. Keep an eye on your Nighthawks—don't let them suffer heavy losses," the True Creator says gravely, offering a token reminder as an "ally."
"I could help, dear True Creator," I tease.
"Get lost."
"Don't push Adam too hard, True Creator. Your divine half has deviated from our predictions. And don't be so prickly—I'm trying to help," Amanises soothes.
"You're the reasonable one, Amanises. If any Nighthawks fall during the descent, I'll send their souls to Klein," I offer.
"Get lost."
…
Tingen City, West Borough, Daffodil Street.
I, Klein, draw the curtains, letting golden sunlight flood the bedroom.
Resolving a nagging issue feels refreshing. I sprawl on my bed, savoring a rare moment of ease. But the weight of my responsibilities soon creeps back. Thinking of the looming pressures, I decide to head to the Divination Club.
"I've got the Clown potion formula now, just waiting to fully digest 'Seer'… Adrian mentioned world-sweeping calamities at each epoch's end. Time's running short—I need to advance my sequence to protect my …" I mutter, hyping myself up. Forcing myself upright, I grab my tailcoat and half-height silk hat from the rack, launching into another busy day as Mr. Fool.
At the Divination Club, I lounge in the meeting room, sipping Sibe black tea. Scanning a newspaper to pass the time, I wait for a chance to play the Seer.
Suddenly, Glaint enters, monocle glinting, silk hat in hand, accompanied by a woman in her thirties wearing a blue high-collar dress. Her haggard expression catches my eye. Activating my spiritual vision, I sense anxiety and panic radiating from them.
Is this about the investment divination Glaint asked for? Did it fail? Figures—my reading wasn't favorable, but he didn't back off, I muse.
Last time, Glaint, fresh from recovering from lung disease, sought a divination on investing in Lanevus Steel Company. The result was grim, advising against it. Reading Glaint's expression, I choose my words carefully. "Good afternoon, Glaint. That Lanevus fellow isn't trustworthy, is he?"
Glaint freezes, then unloads a torrent of complaints about Lanevus, the vile swindler. Christina, who came with him, shares her plight. Learning that divining Lanevus's location requires his personal effects, she lowers her voice. "Could a child of Lanevus work?"
A child? I glance at Megose beside her, stunned.
"If the child's born, yes," I tell Christina. "But that'd take months. This might reflect the divination's outcome: patience, persistence, abandoning greed, then a turning point and sunlight."
"Months…" Christina shakes her head, murmuring, "No, by then, even finding Lanevus won't get our money back…"
She falls silent, then turns to Megose. "You must decide. Keeping this child will make your life harder, full of thorns. Will you tell him his father was a fraud who deceived many, including his mother?"
In the Forsaken Land, I, the High-Dimensional Overseer, shift into the "eggshell" avatar I left behind. Through its sturdy shell, I taunt the True Creator. "True Creator, what were you thinking? No matter how rough our state, it shouldn't be this bad. If you don't act, you'll end up aborted in a hospital."
"…" The True Creator growls, "You know you're annoying, right?"
"Yep, Primodial Hunger said the same," I nod. "That was after I tossed his plate into the Supernova Dominator's territory. Got an earful from both."
"Out of curiosity, what's Primodial Hunger's food?"
"A thriving planet."
"Damn." Irritated, the True Creator manipulates His external avatar, making the child in Megose's womb kick gently, soothing her to avoid abortion. If it came to that, it'd just trigger an early divine descent, wiping out Tingen—but for an evil god to fall so low would be humiliating. Knowing my nature, the True Creator suspects I'd mock Him for days.
"I could help—even ensure your descent," I offer suddenly. His eyes narrow, flesh around Him quivering. "What do you want?"
"Nothing," I say sincerely. "You may not believe me, but if I must want something, it's that Old One never rises again. Sealing Old One's ashes? I'm all in."
I don't mention that, as a pathway embodiment, much of my behavior follows its instincts, aligned with my traits. My pathway's nature—arrogant pity for the suffering, aiding a stranded Klein—drives me. Beyond my human-era penchant for mind-games, my logic stems from pathway's properties.
Adrian, two outer god pathways, and my source matter form the High-Dimensional Overseer: merciful yet cruel, humble yet arrogant. Mortals can't fathom such a deity's motives, making me fearsome. My partially alienated human soul repulses some outer gods. I don't fear death or loathe life, but my human side hates absolute silence, craving a lively "courtyard."
To me, pillars and mortals are equal. If it intrigues me, I act. Helping the True Creator for free? It's just a scene echoing my human memories.
"How?" the True Creator asks gravely.
I smirk, stepping off a carriage. I watch goods from Backlund arrive in Tingen, shipped out via freighters. Beside me, a trade company agent and the newly promoted Benson oversee South Continent laborers unloading cargo—goods that destabilize their homelands.
The agent boasts, "Praise Emperor Roselle! We buy South Continent raw materials so cheaply and sell surplus industrial goods at such high prices!"
Ironic. Roselle perfectly, cruelly replicated the old "triangular trade" here, its legacy still crushing South Continent peoples. Yet in oppressing nations like Loen and Intis, the lower classes fare little better than those they exploit. Sadder still, they can't rebel—their existence merely anchors the gods above.
Outer gods find native deities' reliance on fragile anchors baffling. A strong self is the sturdiest foundation. In the cosmos, Old Ones and true gods live by convergence or source instincts, far freer than Earth's sealed gods.
These anchors make gods vulnerable to cosmic pollution. High-sequence convergence should accelerate, but the Seven Gods stage a stagnant farce. Left unchecked, this planet will freeze until the original barrier falls, and outer gods raze the world.
I dislike this drama, so I'll stir the stagnant waters in outer god fashion. Even the rigid Supernova Dominator doesn't stifle civilizations so—He waits for them to reach the stars, then devours them playfully. Yet these mere true-god-tier Seven Gods choke the planet lifeless, no different from the Celestial Worthy's puppet show.
Driven by divine altruism, I resolve to grant Earth's beings freedom to grow.
"Eyes wandering in delusion, sage hidden behind the veil, messenger solely of Adrian Abraham."
A pair of eyes opens beside me, still and oddly cute. In my view, the Hidden Sage, fully corrupted by me, has been remolded into my likeness.
"Deliver a letter to the Punishers and Nighthawks patrolling nearby," I say, scribbling a note, folding it, and handing it to the transparent eyes. I'm unconcerned about being divined—without an Old One's might on Earth, even the Lord of Storms couldn't trace me.
"What did you do?" the True Creator frowns.
I chuckle. "Reported Lanevus."
"?" He blinks. "Why report my descent vessel's father for no reason?"
"Think about it. The Storm Church, following their god's will, will drag Lanevus to their cathedral. But since the Lanevus case is in Nighthawk jurisdiction, they won't let the Punishers take him. To keep it quiet, the Storm Church will likely make him return the swindled money, giving justice to the victims."
Adjusting my formal monocle, I continue via my Forsaken Land avatar. "This draws attention from your presence in Megose's womb and gives your next vessel's mother more freedom—like heading to the chaotic South Continent. Though Adam and Ince Zangwill will likely keep using Megose to secure 0-08, I can 'help' alter Ince's memories, crafting a fake 'True Creator descent vessel.' I'll need a piece of your divine flesh for the 'copy.'"
The True Creator: "…"
After a long pause, He sighs. "I'm counting on you, ally…"
Nearby, patrolling Punishers and Nighthawks startle as a letter appears in their pockets. Reading it, they spring into action. Watching the final crate load onto the ship, I yawn and turn to Benson. "Cargo's done, brother Benson. How about a break at that café?"
Benson hesitates, glancing at his supervisor, who studiously ignores my blatant invitation.
(End of Chapter)