NOVEL NEXT B1 - Arc 1 Epilogue: "New Beginnings"
The woman drifted high above, her body suspended in the heavens as terror hollowed her chest. From the blood-red mountain below, the Metal Giant rose, shedding rivers of stone as its vast frame heaved upward. The world groaned at its awakening. A cacophony of grinding gears and gnashing steel carried across the land, a sound like a million rusted souls screaming in unison.
It stepped from the mountain's crown. Sword-like legs, each the length of towers, stabbed deep into the earth, splitting bedrock as if it were parchment. From its back whipped thousands of silver tendrils, thrashing skyward, clawing through clouds, choking off the sun until day itself bled into shadow. With every stride, the earth withered. Verdant plains shriveled into gray husks, rivers boiled dry, and veins of ore ripped free from the soil to coil into the Giant's waiting maw. Where it passed, only wasteland remained.
The Giant bellowed, a roar that cracked the horizon, and steel pillars erupted in response. Thousands of them clawed up from the ground, their tips splitting open like monstrous cannons. Fire poured from their maws in endless torrents, a rain of destruction that scoured the world. Cities of glass and gold vanished in storms of flame; ancient fortresses, once proud and impregnable, crumbled into slag beneath the inferno.
Below, chaos spread. The woman saw people shrieking, scattering, burning alive in seas of fire. Cultivators cloaked themselves behind grand formations, their walls humming with layered wards, yet the flames gnawed at them until each bulwark cracked and failed. Mages hurled spell after spell from the branches of their sacred World Tree, curses like lightning flashing across the sky, but every strike slid harmlessly from the Giant's iron hide. Even the revered Espers of Avalon unleashed their minds in unison, only to fall writhing, their sanity consumed by the Giant's endless malice.
At last, the gods themselves descended, radiant figures spilling from their heavenly citadel. Their brilliance lit the sky for a heartbeat — but one by one, they too fell. Each death fed the colossus, the stolen divine power boiling in its veins as it rampaged across creation.
The Giant roared once more, and the mountain cracked like an egg. From its fissures spilled millions of smaller figures — metal men, gleaming and innumerable. They poured forth in rivers, a silver tide that flooded valleys and ravines, devouring all that fire had not touched. They marched without pause, without breath, without end, their blades wet with the world's lifeblood.
Those who ran were trampled. Those who fought were broken. Those who bowed in surrender found no mercy. The Giant's roar split them open, flesh and spirit twisting, until their skin hardened into steel and their voices joined the clattering chorus of the horde.
Still, the tide was not enough. The woman's horror deepened as realization struck: the Giant's hunger would never be sated. It would not stop until all bent the knee… or burned in its fire.
The Metal Giant roared one final time, and the world itself answered with a scream. From the shattered ground rose legions of beings wrought from fire, water, earth, and air. Their forms shimmered with the raw essence of creation, but their voices broke in unison — an anguished cry as their greatest champions, their kin, and at last even themselves were devoured, turned into fuel for the abomination on the mountain.
In that final instant, the Grand Firmament — eternal shield of the Nine Worlds, unbroken since the dawn— cracked.
Hairline fissures split the sky, thin as spider silk at first, but spreading fast. Every new fracture splintered into dozens more until the heavens were veined with a lattice of breaking glass. The shrieks of the Elementals grew sharper, each note widening the wounds overhead. The Grand Firmament trembled, and across its breadth the worlds beneath shuddered, pulsing as though they, too, felt terror.
The woman stared upward, lips parted, tears streaming unchecked down her face. Her knees gave way, and she collapsed, unable to comprehend the sight of heaven itself unraveling. Then came another feeling — cold, alien, suffocating. The sensation of eyes upon her.
Her gaze fell, past the Giant's writhing tendrils, to the mountain it stood upon. Her breath caught. For it was not stone that rose beneath the Giant. It was flesh.
Every inch of the slope bore faces. Millions of them. They stared outward in grotesque unison — some twisted in hatred, others frozen in grief and confusion, and others still wearing smiles too wide, too sharp, grins of madness that seemed to revel in her horror, as if watching a criminal finally brought low.
Bile surged in her throat. The truth slammed into her: the mountain was built of corpses. A monument of the dead, staring at her alone.
The sky split again with a deafening crack. Shards of the Firmament fell away, and the chains that had bound the heavens broke. The sun itself flared, roaring with the Giant, its corona unfurling like a crown of fire.
Still, the woman could not turn. The countless faces pinned her in place. She only edged back, trembling, shaking her head as tears blurred her sight. Her lips whispered denial, but her heart knew.
A final flash engulfed the void. The Grand Firmament blazed like kindling, and every world beneath it burned.
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"GUAHAHHHHHHAAA!"
The silent night shattered beneath her scream, a cry so raw it rattled the stones of the mountaintop monastery. Tranquility collapsed into chaos as though a hornet's nest had been kicked; voices rose, boots pounded against wooden floors, and doors slammed open one after another.
From deep within the main hall, a door burst wide and half a dozen armored women surged inside. Their spears gleamed with twin-pronged tips, each warrior scanning the chamber with eyes sharp and wary.
"High Abbess?!"
The captain's voice cut through the clamor as her gaze darted across the room, hunting for an unseen enemy. But there was no intruder — only a young woman sitting on a simple straw bedroll, her chest heaving, sweat dripping from her shaved head. Her face, though still youthful, carried the heavy lines of exhaustion.
The High Abbess forced breath into her lungs, then turned toward her guards.
"I'm… I'm fine, Captain. Return to your posts."
The captain hesitated. "But, High Abbess—"
"I said I'm fine!" The Abbess's voice cracked like thunder, the very air trembling. The warriors flinched as though struck.
Silence held for a heartbeat before she exhaled slowly, her tone softening to a calmer steadiness. "I will be fine. Thank you. Inform the others that all is well — and let it be known that today's meditation will begin early."
The captain snapped a salute, though her eyes lingered with unease. "Yes, ma'am!"
As one, the warriors withdrew, closing the door with careful reverence behind them.
Alone, the Abbess rose unsteadily and crossed to the wash basin. The water's surface reflected her face — striking features marred by deep shadows under her eyes, the rims raw and bloodshot.
She sighed and dipped her hands into the cool water, splashing it across her skin as though it might wash away the lingering vision. Without turning, she spoke into the empty room.
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"Isabelle. I believe I asked to be left alone."
"Booo! I still want to know how you do that."
The shadows stirred, peeling back to reveal a figure. A young woman stepped forward, her body wrapped in black cloth that clung from head to toe, leather plates strapped tight above it. The attire might have been menacing if not for the sparkle of her cerulean eyes and the long golden curls cascading neatly over her shoulders, ruining the effect.
The Abbess turned at last, one brow arched in weary reproach. "What," she asked dryly, "are you wearing?"
Isabelle squealed, spinning on her heel with a flourish.
"Do you like it, Mitsuko?! I had it custom-made just last week! Shadestalker silk, stitched to perfection and—"
Amari Mitsuko, High Abbess of the Shanti Oni Monastery, lifted a hand, halting her friend's bubbling excitement.
"I'm far more curious why my spymaster looks like some fresh-blood adventurer trying to play at being dark and edgy."
"Awww, you're no fun anymore. These are great for stealth missions! It's not like my agents will wear them all the time!" Isabelle's lower lip jutted forward as she tilted her head up at the Abbess, eyes wide in mock offense.
Then she coughed delicately and muttered, "Besides, I already sent in an order for a hundred…" Her words dropped to a near-whisper, though they both knew Mitsuko's ears missed nothing.
The Abbess exhaled, long-suffering, and pinched the bridge of her nose before gesturing at the door.
"Just go, Isabelle. I need to prepare for morning meditation. We'll talk later today."
Shoulders slumping, Isabelle trudged toward the exit. At the threshold, she paused, voice quieter than before, stripped of its playful lilt.
"Hey, Mi-Mi, are…"
"I'm fine, Isabelle. Truly. Now, please — we have much to do."
Silence lingered for a beat before Isabelle slipped away, vanishing beyond the doorframe.
Alone again, the Abbess turned back to the basin. She finished washing, then let her gaze drift toward the window where the first faint silver of dawn touched the horizon. The monastery still slept in that fragile quiet before morning chants, but in her chest the weight pressed heavier.
Yes… far too much still to do. And so little time left.
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The two old men sat in silence at the small table, the wind carrying the faint scent of pine and stone from the cliffs below. From this height, the world stretched vast and clear, clouds drifting like pale rivers beneath the tower's peak.
The man on the left wore a simple white gi, marked only by the jade outline of an open eye. His beard, long and silver, hung in a neatly braided line that rested across his lap. Opposite him sat a man in an elegant brown robe whose fibers caught the light with the subtle shimmer of grain and dark soil. Though his face seemed younger at a glance, the lines etched deep around his eyes and mouth betrayed the long years and burdens of office.
The brown-robed man spoke first, his voice deep and measured, the kind that had commanded courts and councils for decades.
"So, my old friend, you found nothing? Curious. Yesterday, had someone told me the Grand Seer couldn't glimpse even the faintest detail of the Starfall, I would have laughed them out of my office."
The Grand Seer lifted his teacup with steady hands, sipped, then set it down with deliberate calm. His voice, though cracked with age, carried a surprising strength that belied his frail frame.
"Cedar, my boy, I know you've grown fond of twisting words during your time in that wasp's nest you call an Assembly. But don't waste the effort on me. I thrashed you often enough when you were a lad, and Archmage or not, don't think I won't do the same again."
For a heartbeat, their gazes locked — hard, unyielding. Then the tension broke, and both men burst into laughter, the sound echoing across the quiet chamber.
When the mirth faded, Cedar leaned back and raised a brow. "But in truth — nothing?"
The Grand Seer let out a weary sigh and lowered his head.
"No, not 'nothing.' It is what I didn't find that troubles me. The pieces refuse to fit, as if some of the puzzle has been stolen away. I cannot tell if this Starfall is only a single shard of something greater… or if the truth is being hidden."
"Hidden? From you?" Cedar's eyes widened, his voice breaking through his practiced calm. "Who could possibly do that?"
The Seer's gaze drifted outward, his eyes clouding as he turned toward the endless expanse beyond the tower. The horizon shimmered in silence, yet his words weighed heavy.
"Yes… that is the question, isn't it?"
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A young girl slept within the crystal sphere, her small body curled tight as though to shield herself from unseen terrors. Thick, glowing roots coiled around the sphere in a lattice of living chains, holding it suspended above a bottomless abyss.
From the depths below came a rumble — stone grinding against stone, underscored by a sharp crackling like ice splitting on a frozen river.
The girl stirred. Her brow furrowed, and she twisted in uneasy slumber, caught in the grip of some nameless nightmare. As she moved, a single drop of liquid, clear as glass, formed on the sphere's surface. It trembled for an instant, then slipped free, falling into the pit.
Down it plunged, swallowed by the abyss until even the faint glow of the roots above could no longer touch it.
Silence returned. The darkness waited.
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Lian Peng, once more wearing the guise of a young man in flowing scholar's robes, sat cross-legged upon the shattered wreckage. His breathing stilled, his aura folded inwards, he meditated in silence as three figures drifted closer across the void.
The first was a dragon, her scales so black they drank the starlight, a living shadow that seemed to stretch endlessly through the emptiness. Her serpentine body coiled with a grace that blurred distance, as though her length extended into infinity itself.
Beside her — far too close for comfort — a leviathan whale glided as if the void were an ocean. Its colossal bulk dwarfed anything mortal eyes could grasp, large enough that it could have swallowed Lian Peng's own [Divine Avatar] whole. Even so, the beast still looked small compared to the vast carcass of the wreck below.
And leading them both, darting ahead with reckless laughter, came… a young girl? She perched cross-legged atop a burning sphere nearly half a mile wide, a roaring sun compressed into a comet of fire. The inferno licked around her like a crown, yet it left neither scorch nor mark upon her, not even on the absurdly oversized pointed hat sliding low across her brow. Every cackle she loosed made the flames dance brighter, mocking the silence of the void.
At last, the three crossed the gulf between them and drew to a halt, no more than a few meters away. The whale's bulk collapsed in a swirl of Celestial light, coalescing into the form of a broad-shouldered warrior. The endless coils of the dragon unfurled into a statuesque woman, her transformation a cascade of black radiance. As for the fireball, it guttered out at a wave of the girl's hand, dissolving into a storm of embers that scattered like fireflies into the night.
Lian Peng rose smoothly and bowed low to the young girl.
"Grand Magus Deathstealer. It is good to see you again, teacher."
The girl gave a brisk nod, tilting her head so the oversized hat didn't tumble forward and swallow her face.
Turning next to the dragon-turned-woman, Lian Peng bowed again, though with less depth.
"Lunar Queen Xiàshuō. I am fortunate indeed to have the Taskforce Director herself rush to my aid."
Xiàshuō's beauty was as perilous as it was radiant, a presence that ensnared the eye. Even knowing the danger, Lian Peng found it difficult to look away. If ever a being had earned the title of Fairy, it was her. Perhaps others would call him biased — perhaps they would be right.
Finally, he faced the last of the trio, the warrior whose mortal form seemed carved from the essence of battle itself. Thick cords of muscle shaped by uncountable centuries of strife moved with the ease of instinct, each line of his body speaking to a life steeped in blood and conflict.
"Namgil…" Lian Peng's voice was flat, his expression as unreadable as a slate.
"That's Lunar King Namgil, you birdbrained bastard! At least use my title!" the broad-shouldered man bellowed, his voice shaking the void around them.
Lian Peng chuckled softly, concealing his smirk behind the sleeve of his robe. "I'll use it when you actually manage to beat me."
A vein bulged on Namgil's temple as he roared, his face dark with fury. "Screw you! Who's the one late to Divinity, huh? I've already surpassed you!"
Lian Peng scoffed. "And yet you've still lost every duel. Perhaps if you hadn't rushed ahead and neglected your Foundation, you might have stood a chance."
"Why, you—!" Namgil's fists clenched, his aura sparking like a storm on the verge of breaking. He lunged forward just as Lian Peng shifted into a combat stance.
But before the clash could land, the small girl blinked into existence between them and cracked both across the head with a gnarled wooden staff that seemed to appear from nowhere.
"Now, boys," she said, her smile sweet, her tone bright as birdsong. "There's a time and a place for everything. This is neither."
Despite her cheer, both men froze as if plunged into an arctic sea. Cold sweat traced their brows, and old scars carved deep into body and soul seemed to stir like sleeping beasts. At the faint tilt of her head, the air thickened with unspoken memory — and the promise of punishments neither wished to relive.
They bowed low in perfect unison. "Yes, teacher!"
The Grand Magus Deathstealer nodded in approval, though Xiàshuō merely sighed, pressing her forehead into her palm and shaking her head at their antics.
The Magus turned her gaze downward, the wreck reflected in her wide eyes. "I'd ask you to explain what's happening here, but I'm afraid Lian Peng's little tantrum has already drawn insects." She gestured lazily toward the void, where faint sparks of energy signatures crept closer from every direction.
Her grin sharpened. "So… what do you say, boys? Shall we remind these children why the Lunar Scouts still rule the skies?"
Lian Peng exhaled slowly, fatigue settling in his bones. Dozens of unknown presences swelled at the edges of his perception, hungry and insistent.
He straightened, resigned. Of course he couldn't get a moment's peace.