COZMART: Corner Shop of Visiting Gods

Eathan sat quietly inside the makeshift tent. Shadows danced against the woven walls, each illuminated by the shifting glow of the triple-layer qi barrier encasing Quine Long's safe zone. He rubbed his temples, scenes from the mortal encampment looped behind his eyes: boys with spears; girls sewing bandages from funeral robes.

"They're treated like cattle," he muttered. "Mortals without qi… just talking, disposable cattle."

Across the rugs, Chewie lounged like a cat under a space heater, filing a claw.

"Welcome to the food pyramid," she said. "Demons at the top thanks to their enhanced qi-born physiques. Cultivators under them, thanks to an aptitude that pushes them past mortal limits. Immortals wherever they please, and mortals…" she paused, frowning at a particularly stubborn cuticle, "well, mortals on the plate. Always been that way—just more Wi-Fi now."

Eathan's glare found nothing to anchor; smoke filtered through the tent seams, smelling of metal and burned talisman paper. Chewie glanced over, eyes flickering as she took in the dull atmosphere. With a small sigh, she shuffled closer, voice softening just enough to sound nice—though comfort clearly wasn't her forte.

"For what it's worth, these days immortals need hashtags and karma metrics. That's progress, if you squint."

"Not helpful," Eathan said dryly, finally looking at her.

Chewie gave an indifferent shrug, returning to her nails. "It wasn't meant to be."

Before he could retort, the tent-flap slapped open. Willow marched in, expression stone-hard. Finn stumbled behind her, doubling over, hands braced against his knees as he wheezed for air. Quine Long entered last, strolling in with infuriating leisure, his eyes betraying none of the urgency radiating from the rest.

"Change of schedule," Willow said. No hello. "We've got a bigger problem."

Finn straightened, still breathing hard. "Turns out we don't have the luxury of negotiation."

Eathan's stomach sank. "What do you mean?"

"Ascendant Alliance scouts informed us that leyline ruptures are accelerating far quicker than expected," Willow said. "Without divine interference, half the island could ghost-blink any of these nearing days."

"Translation—" Finn dropped onto a cushion. "—Negotiate slower than that and we evaporate with the scenery."

Eathan paled, suddenly feeling much colder. He exchanged a worried look with Chewie. They both knew what this meant: according to the Game's rules, injuries and casualties incurred here wouldn't be confined to the nightmare—they would follow them back into reality.

"It'll take at least half a day just to reach the Abyssal Legion's central encampment. We can't afford to waste another second negotiating with the demons." His voice cracked slightly. "Mister White sits right at the heart of this mess—we need to talk sense into him directly."

He glanced around the tent, seeing conflicted faces. Chewie crossed her arms with a huff. "Straight into the tiger's mouth. And then?"

"We yank out the tooth," he answered, the decisiveness surprising even himself. "Show him this world is fake, get him lucid, end the siege before he nukes the map."

"Eathan's right." Willow nodded, approving the shift in priorities. "Commander White's the linchpin. If we solve him, we solve this whole mess."

Quine Long, leaning against a support beam, laid out his hands with a smirk. "You're placing your bets on gently persuading the Pale Judgment himself?"

"If there's even a chance he'll listen, we have to take it." Eathan stood, brushing himself off with determination, though his heart was pounding in his chest. "The alternative—well, there's the history books."

Willow nodded once—tactics accepted. Finn raised a timid hand. "Plan B?"

Eathan tapped the glowing exit seal tucked in his belt. "Run like cowards."

"Amazing," Finn breathed.

Chewie stretched, rolling her shoulders back as though preparing for yet another game of Capture-the-Egg. Willow gave a curt nod of approval.

Amidst them all, the Azure Dragon chuckled. "You lot are adorable. Very well—field trip to the war tiger god."

Darkness had already fallen, the air thickened by smoke and anticipation, but Team 001 knew better than to wait. They left while the ridge still bled embers.

As they approached the edge barrier, Eathan lowered his voice, throwing a cautious glance over his shoulder. "Remember, diplomacy first."

Quine Long's gaze stayed fixed ahead, an amused tilt to his lips. "Historically, diplomacy here meant obey or perish."

Before anyone could respond, he snapped his fingers; azure circuits spiraled up, then down—re-stamping coordinates. A surge of azure qi erupted around them, bright and unnecessarily grandiose—typical of the Azure Dragon's taste for flair.

The world hiccupped. When it steadied, they stood inside the War Council camp itself—black pavilions, silver glyphs, rows of star-iron spears.

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Rows of soldiers passed in disciplined silence, their shadows marching across the ground with unsettling uniformity. The team's sudden arrival drew immediate hostility, and the surrounding guards rushed forward, their blades gleaming under the harsh glare of torchlight. Two spotted Eathan's dumbfounded look and smirked the way butchers eye pigs.

The senior guard stepped forward. "State your identities. Mortals don't enter here without cause."

Quine Long stepped forth, robes settling around him, utterly unperturbed by the weapons pointed his way.

"The Azure Dragon seeks an audience with the Supreme Judge-Executor," he said, voice mild as winter sun. "Is there a problem?"

The guards stiffened, hostility briefly overcome by shock, then replaced with a fearful recognition. The head of the group swallowed, barking an order. Without another word, the soldiers lowered their weapons and allowed the team through, resentment shadowing their eyes.

"This easily?" Eathan craned his neck towards Chewie in a whisper as they followed after the Azure Dragon's long strides past the soldiers.

Chewie shrugged. "They're no more than grunts. Know better than to volunteer as appetizer for the dragon."

The pavilion entrance loomed ahead—a structure of silk embroidered in silver glyphs, pulsing in the darkness. As they stepped inside, oppressive qi washed over them instantly. The inner pavilion felt like a lung holding its breath. Maroon carpet, silver runes glimmering under a spread of starlight—everything converged on one figure lounging against a throne-carved dais.

The White Tiger.

White silk draped him in unbroken lines, immaculate against the gore-spattered maps at his feet. One elbow propped his chin; the other hand drummed a slow, judicial rhythm on black stone. He did not bother to look up when the guards announced the Azure Dragon… or any of the others.

Team 001 halted instantly, the immense weight of divinity freezing them in their tracks. Even Quine Long's habitual smile thinned, the lazy crook of his spine straightening into something almost cautious.

After a deliberately prolonged silence, Bai Hu finally spoke, tone distant, eyes still downcast:

"Qing Long. Your boredom has grown profoundly inconvenient. Find another sandbox."

Quine bowed with exaggerated flourish, teal sleeves fanning like wings. "And miss your scintillating hospitality? Perish the thought." A beat. "I've brought guests."

Still no acknowledgment from the White Tiger. He only continued tapping—tick, tick—stone chipping under nail. The air grew stifling, almost suffocating in the silence.

Willow took the hint. She stepped forward, visor tucked under her arm, tone crisp but courteous. "Commander Bai Hu, we're not your enemies. We're here because this nightmare has to end."

Her words landed in the silence like stones skipping across still waters. Bai Hu remained impassive, eyes half-lidded, tapping. He neither encouraged nor rejected her words, only listened.

She continued carefully, encouraged by his stillness. "This might be difficult to accept, but we've been trapped in an illusion—this entire war, your presence here—it's all a construct, commander. A twisted reflection of your memories."

Stillness, perfect and neutral.

The White Tiger's expression remained unchanged. He only watched, as if patiently assessing their every breath.

Eathan swallowed sand. Logic, he reminded himself. Use logic.

Heart hammering in his chest, he edged beside Willow. "Sir, this conflict has dragged on for two centuries. Leylines across the island are rupturing. Soon, there'll be nothing left. We know what you plan to do—erase the island completely. We've seen it happen."

His voice cracked slightly under Bai Hu's piercing stare, but Eathan pressed on. "Aren't you curious how? We know because… we come from after. From your future. " He forced an exhale. "You change, commander. We've seen the man you become. You become—well—someone who hires interns."

"Exactly, bad PR, sir. You wouldn't want history remembering you as the guy who blew up an entire island, right?" Finn said, desperate to ease the rising tension. "Whole-island genocide would really tank Area 001's approval ratings."

"Strategic calculus: annihilating the Southeastern Ridge eliminates a resource but breeds a martyr myth." Willow nodded, soldier-solemn. "I heard immortals are quite reliant on karmic evaluations. Better yield now."

Silence filled the tent again, broken only by the crackling of distant torch flames. Quine Long remained unusually quiet, eyes narrowed as they pinned onto the figure on the dais. Eathan glanced at Chewie, who also watched the deity closely, a rare flicker of unease crossing her face. He then exchanged a desperate look with Willow, realizing that the nightmare-persuasion route was futile.

Time for Step Three—persuasion through Step One.

Willow stepped forward again. "Commander, even if you don't believe us, you must acknowledge the futility of this ongoing war. Millions have died, the land itself breaks apart. Ending this conflict is the rational choice. This is not why the War Council has sent you?"

"In peace!" Eathan added, suddenly recalling how the original war had ended. "Peaceful intervention is the best way to go." Sensing the moment hanging by a thread, he tried again, softer, almost pleadingly, "Mister White, this slaughter—these deaths—they're meaningless. You don't have to follow through with this. The future can still be rewritten…"

Tap.

Bai Hu's finger paused. His eyes flickered toward Eathan—only for an instant, as if something in the mortal's voice had caught a fraction of his interest.

Tap.

Team 001 collectively held their breaths, hope sparking cautiously in their chests. Willow nodded at Eathan, while Finn exhaled from behind. Even Quine Long's usually sardonic expression flickered into mild curiosity.

Then silence fell again—but it was a silence pregnant with possibility. Bai Hu's gaze drifted, settling somewhere distant, contemplative, as if considering everything they had said. The group exchanged glances, daring to believe that maybe, just maybe, their words were beginning to breach past the White Tiger's iron fortress.

All except Chewie.

Her body shifted slightly toward Eathan, quietly nudging his elbow.

Back out, her eyes said.

Eathan's voice softened instead. "Mister White… you don't have to carry this."

Tap.

For a microsecond, the drumming stopped again. A flicker of something—interest? memory?—ghosted across the deity's face.

Then, it died.

His eyes lifted fully now, irises dark and pitiless. Bai Hu rose. The movement was unhurried, yet the pavilion flinched at once. His robes rippled around him, pristine fabric pooling like moonlight silk. When he exhaled, runes along the walls ignited—silver to white to blinding nova.

"How utterly disappointing."

His hand lifted. Reality folded.

Divine qi erupted like an avalanche, saturating the very air around them all. The team barely had time to gasp before a tidal wave of ruthless force exploded outward. The entire pavilion shook, every runic thread burning white-hot under his command. Bai Hu took one step forward—only one—and the obsidian dais atomised to dust. Immediately following was a pressure wave that hit like a mountain turned liquid: Finn felt his ribs bow; Willow's armour screeched, plates warping under the load; Eathan's HUD burst static, alarms redlining.

The message was clear: audience over.

Quine Long's barrier flared teal, snapped, re-knitted, snapped again—each break a thunderclap. He grimaced.

"Ah. There's the cat I remember."