Mahoraga in Lord of the Mysteries

As the various True Gods turned in different directions to extend their dominion and probe the veiled edges of reality, a refined man sat leisurely at an outdoor café, the steam from his porcelain cup curling into the cool evening air.

The flickering glow of a broken led street-light due to the frenzied reaction of the public summoned to a strange world cast shifting shadows across his poised figure. He took a slow sip of his coffee, savouring the bitterness before his gaze lifted from the newspaper in his hand to the divine entities running like headless chickens in search for him.

With a smirk at the corner of his lips, he set the cup down gently onto its saucer, producing only the faintest of clinks. His free hand slipped into his pocket, retrieving a pristine crystal monocle that shimmered with an almost imperceptible golden radiance. In a seamless motion, he placed it over his eye, its surface flashing with esoteric symbols.

"Oh? Now this is getting interesting..." he murmured, his voice laced with amusement and an underlying knowingness that spoke of endless schemes. Without hesitation, he rose from his seat and casually strolled in the direction of one of the gods, his gait unhurried, yet undeniably deliberate.

Unbeknownst to him, another set of eyes had locked onto his movements. Lumian had been lingering nearby, his senses sharpened by his growing intuition for the abnormal. Something about the elegant man sent an uneasy chill down his spine. He was too composed, too effortless in his actions.

'Who is this stalker? And why is he after the long-haired little girl?' Lumian's mind spun, diving into thoughts that teetered on the edge of blasphemy. Yet, thankfully, no one had the authority to judge him here… not yet.

…

*Creak*

*Thump*

Beyond this alternate reality, outside the barrier of the Earth, Mahoraga stirred. His form, a swirling mass of inevitability, pulsed with violent resurgence as he defied the reality inflicted upon him. The Circle of Inevitability had attempted to halt him, yet he was not so easily stopped.

With an unnatural resilience, Mahoraga reached out, his vast presence breaching the barriers between realms. He grasped at the fragments of a shattered will, reviving the Mother Goddess from nonexistence before vanishing once more.

His purpose remained unfinished. The Inextinguishable Ravings and the Uncertain Mist stirred, their dormant consciousnesses forced into reluctant reawakening as Mahoraga reassembled them from their lingering echoes.

And then he returned.

With a final, decisive lunge, he manifested before Earth, with knowledge on how to complete his goal…

…

Meanwhile, in a distorted reality stitched together by unstable whims, Amon smirked as he "stole" a firearm from a passing man; who had, in turn, stolen it moments prior from a crumbling gun shop. The intricate web of coincidences amused him. This place, whatever it was, seemed to embrace the absurdity of fate. The laws of cause and effect bent to his will, and he delighted in their pliability.

A single squeeze of the trigger. A shattered window. A simple cause, a predictable effect. Yet, predictability was such a dull affair.

Lumian, having witnessed Amon's actions, decided to follow suit; but with a touch of flair. Instead of the modest pistol Amon had acquired, Lumian's hands found something far grander; a belt-fed machine gun, its weight comforting against his palms, its trail of copper-jacketed bullets glinting under the flickering neon lights. He had also "borrowed" a pair of headphones and a smartphone playing a movie called Scarface.

Ahead, the little girl's breath grew ragged, her pace faltering as exhaustion gnawed at her fragile frame. Still, she pushed forward, her lips moving in silent murmurs, though whether they were prayers or delusions, no one could tell.

Time stretched. The sun dipped beneath the horizon, and the chaos of displaced souls gradually settled into uneasy stillness. Amanises, frustration simmering beneath her regal composure, conceded to the passage of time. Thirty minutes had passed with no sign of Amon. With a sigh, she leaned against the side of a desolate street, allowing herself a momentary reprieve.

Amon, ever the opportunist, raised his newly acquired weapon, aiming it with the practiced ease of one who had witnessed countless tragedies unfold at his own hands.

"Oh, what fun is this world of equals…" he mused, a glint of mischief in his eyes, "Nobody is... beyond another."

Just as his finger curled around the trigger, a voice shattered the stillness, "Say hello to my little friend~"

Lumian braced himself, knees bent, muscles taut. The machine gun roared to life. A cascade of bullets erupted from the barrel, their trajectory wild and unforgiving. Recoil slammed against him, yet he pressed forward, scattering destruction in every direction.

Chaos.

Screams.

And then—a silence more deafening than any sound.

The little girl lay still. The air reeked of spent gunpowder and spilled life. Lumian exhaled, glancing at the crumpled body of the stalker he had pursued.

He had won. Or so he thought.

A cold dread seeped into his bones as the world around him twisted. Reality groaned. The very fabric of existence trembled as cracks spread across the sky like fractals of a shattered mirror.

He was crumbling. He barely had time to process it before the realization hit him, this was victory. A hollow victory. One where winning mean losing everything, including life itself.

He had struck the target. Perhaps, he had struck too many. One among them had been the anchor.

His form disintegrated, and with his last fleeting thought, he grasped onto the notion that he had, at the very least, taken down his target.

In the space beyond the barrier, Mahoraga faltered. An unseen force gnawed at him, dragging him back into the void between summoning and oblivion.

His summoner was gone.

He had no tether.

His body flickered, limbs dissipating into ethereal mist. He fought against it, but it was written into his very being. The inescapable fate of all summoned entities.

A final, rage-filled cry tore through the cosmos, "Nooooo!"

Across the divine planes, silence fell.

The Goddess of Fate exhaled in relief. The Mother Goddess of Depravity stilled. The Inextinguishable Ravings ceased their mad whispers. The Uncertain Mist wavered between laughter and unease. The Circle of Inevitability seethed, denied its due conclusion.

Klein remained motionless, his gaze lingering on the dissipating echoes of conflict. Then, amidst the hush, a sound cut through.

*Creak*

*Thump*

Everyone's hearts skipped a beat.