1027 Episode 63 Ragnarok (1)

Every story exists to explain something. Some stories explain humans, while others explain emotions. Just as there are stories that explain concepts, there are also 'giant stories' that seek to explain the universe encompassing all worlds.

And here, right now, there is a story that explains all stories.

The story of stories, the giant story of giant stories.

Regarding that story written to speak the unspeakable, the great recorders first proposed the concept of the 'super-giant story'.

—『On ■■』, unknown

To Heimdal, the constellation, 'Guardian of the Great Water Bridge'—the universe of Asgard was a world perfect in terms of storytelling.

From childhood, he was fascinated by the movement of the stars. Stars occupying their own spots in the pitch-black void, repeating their orderly rotation and revolution.

Counting the magnificent stories interwoven among those stars, Heimdal dreamed that one day he, too, would become one of those great stars.

And Heimdal had the opportunity to become such a star.

The nebula, which borrowed the probability of giant stories, had to reenact 'Ragnarok' at regular intervals to stabilize them.

A star that inherited the name of a great constellation for generations had an obligation to fulfill the role of that story.

Heimdal of this generation, too, lived solely for that duty.

To reenact the false yearning of 'Ragnarok' and to perform the ritual of sacrifice.

Through the sacrifice of him and a few companions, the World Tree of <Asgard> would bloom once again, and the 'giant story' would maintain its lineage.

Once, resentful of his plight, he even vented his frustrations to Odin, his 'one-eyed father'.

Odin asked back.

Odin spoke while gazing simultaneously at the night sky of the nine realms.

Heimdal could not understand the desires of the mythical constellations. Why did they want to be 'recorded' so desperately?

Instead of answering Heimdal, Odin quietly spread his left hand. Then, a giant story began to tell its story within his hand.

Some stories silence all speech merely by existing there. Heimdal stopped even his incantations and became immersed in the story.

The story that made the current <Asgard> possible. The story of uprooting the decaying universe and rebuilding a new world. The screams of constellations dying as they clash with the armies of hell. The spark of hope finally rising at the end of the pandemonium. Destruction and rebirth—as he savored that pure story, which could only be realized through story, Heimdal felt an inexplicable ecstasy. It was a feeling evoked only by constellations capable of understanding the story.

For the first time, Heimdal felt a fierce greed.

But since the story had already been written, he could not truly possess it. If he were to possess that story, there was only one way.

A star that loves a story so deeply eventually becomes a part of it.

Just as is the fate of all stars, Heimdal accepted that destiny.

The story of the Nine Worlds took root in his hophus, intoxicated by ecstasy.

With the story heralding the end of the apocalypse, his mission came to an end. The myth concludes, and the world, having met its end, would finally be reborn.

Surely, it had to be.

Heimdal could not believe the scene unfolding before his eyes.

The man who had endured the final story of <Asgard> stood before him.

Such a thing could not have happened. The 'King of Hell' who had faced this story should have surely perished along with him. But the 'King of Hell' did not die.

That meant only one fact.

But such a story could not possibly exist. There was no way a 'story' greater than the painful creation story of Asgard could exist—

The moment the man uttered that incantation, an anomaly occurred in the <Star Stream>. Whether it was an anomaly or some form that was impossible to even identify, the man's incantation quietly penetrated every star in the sky.

Following this, the sound of something tearing apart was heard from the high heavens. It was not merely the sound of 'space-time' collapsing.

Just hearing it gave him a headache. His stomach churned. All his senses were fiercely warning him.

As if receiving the same premonition, the other constellations were in a strange state as well. Some were scratching their bodies vigorously, while others looked around anxiously.

Constellations that met each other's eyes trembled violently.

As one star let out a spine-chilling scream, the star next to it screamed as well.

The screams spread like a story. Some stars soared into the sky, while others sank into the earth.

But no matter where they moved, there was nowhere for them to escape. Because they were inside this 'story'—

Heimdal saw the sky split open before his eyes. Some unknown, unprecedented force was tearing out the entire 'page' in which they existed.

He could not understand how such a thing was possible. Unable to overcome their terror, the stars finally spat out their stories.

The heads of the great-star constellations, unable to comprehend the scene before them, exploded. The stars, clinging to one another with nowhere to go, wailed.

No, it was not they who were wailing.

Their stories were wailing.

The 'stage' was collapsing. The giant story of the great <Asgard> was being shattered.

Before he could even comprehend how such a thing was possible, Heimdal felt the world, including his incarnation body, being torn apart in its entirety.

And those were the last words Heimdal left behind. The torn world was compressed whole and sucked into a small rift, and from within that rift, a sound like an inanimate object chewing and swallowing food could be heard. And then.

The world was sealed shut in an instant. The torn space and the rift vanished in a flash. As if nothing had happened, completely nonchalantly. Only the sparks of the reach raging violently in the void proved that an unbelievable miracle had just occurred in this world.

The recorders who had witnessed the scene from beginning to end amidst that spark were the first to regain their senses. Some, unable to overcome their terror, fell into a state of [recording interruption], while others, having attained a profound realization, leaped over the landscape.

Although no recorder grasped the true meaning of the scene, one courageous recorder nevertheless managed to record the outcome.

As soon as that record was written, the stars' time, which had momentarily stopped, began to flow again.

Unable to withstand the shock, the constellations let out vivid screams.

Gasping for breath, the constellations shed tears of emotion as they sensed their remaining stories.

The joy of not yet being excluded from this world. The ecstasy of still remaining within this story. And the fear creeping in from the edge of that sense of relief.

The stars could not even remember the names of their vanished comrades. Only the deep, sinister void—the very presence of something—proved their absence.

Some mythical constellations, contextually recognizing the spot of that distant absence, hurriedly departed, but most of the constellations remaining here could not even muster the courage to flee.

Staring into the void, the stars went mad or fell into despair. They screamed in terror, and the stars' fear became a story. The bees willingly chose to be dominated by that story.

Now, only easy submission remained for them.

Submission soon followed in a string like a testimony.

The sky of the <Star Stream> was lowering itself. It was paying homage to the star hanging in a position lower than any other.

Kim Dokja looked at those stars with indifferent eyes, then soon lowered his gaze.

There stood the incarnations who had luckily survived this scenario.

Kim Dokja smiled as he watched the incarnations bow their heads as if prostrating themselves.

Perhaps he had not used this power until now because he did not want to witness such a scene.

It was because he knew better than anyone that using this power would ruin the entire story.

A terrible loneliness ran down his spine. It was a feeling that only one person in this world could understand.

Where Kim Dokja slowly turned his gaze, there stood an incarnation that did not avoid his eyes. He was an incarnation that avoided no gaze whatsoever.

He was a being born into this world by receiving the Holy Order of the 'Oldest Dream'.

"Kim Dokja."

As Yoo Joonghyuk called out the star's name, the star nodded in response.

The two faced each other for a moment. The night sky, with half the stars gone, twinkled ominously.

"That is as far as it goes."

Yoo Joonghyuk stood in front of Kim Dokja once again. Kim Dokja shook his head as Yoo Joonghyuk showed him the 'Black Heaven Demon Blade' held in his hand.

"You cannot stop me. You should know that clearly by now."

The power of the Oldest Dream.

Simply using it excludes every 'character' in this world from the story.

"I can stop you."

Kim Dokja smiled bitterly as he watched Yoo Joonghyuk, who still refused to yield.

"If I stop 'reading', then no matter who you are—"

"Try it."

"Yes?"

"Stop reading."

Yoo Joonghyuk continued to lash out as if he were ready at any moment.

"I know. Even if all the stars in the world stop 'reading'—"

The blade of the Black Heaven Demonic Blade was imbued with the chilling power of the Heaven-Shattering Qi.

"You, at least, cannot completely stop reading."

Kim Dokja's eyes wavered. Indeed, Yoo Joonghyuk's words pierced the very essence of the 'Oldest Dream'.

If this 'Universe' exists to be read, then the 'Oldest Dream' also exists to read.

And the protagonist, who had been read by the 'Oldest Dream' longer than anyone else, was right here.

"Very well. If you are so confident, go ahead and test it."

Kim Dokja spoke as he watched the protagonist finally reach the pinnacle of the <Star Stream>.

"Whether it will be sooner for me to 'stop reading' you, or for your sword to 'cut me'."

As if no further answer was needed, Yoo Joonghyuk's sword moved. The voices of Yoo Sangah and Lee Gilyoung, and the shout of Lee Jihye, could be heard.

The next moment, everything in the area was plunged into pitch-black darkness, just like a story that could no longer be read.