Hexin had once mocked that classic TV trope—as long as you wear a veil, no one will recognize you. And now? He couldn’t believe someone was actually pulling that stunt in real life… and with even less effort. Just a pair of glasses.

The only small mercy was that the guy had the basic decency to make himself look uglier. In the abyss, appearances tended to polarize hard—either nightmarishly grotesque to the point of trauma-inducing, or so perfect and seductive it bordered on a supernatural weapon. According to the lore, abyssal beings so beautiful they made people pine, obsess, and eventually cough up blood and die weren’t just called “beautiful.” They were catastrophes.

Most abyssal gods carried some variation of this trait—and the man in front of him was no exception.

Perhaps sensing Hexin’s gaze, the man ahead, walking with long strides, suddenly turned to look back.

The walls around them glowed faintly white, and under the bright lights, Hexin noticed something odd: the man’s hair wasn’t just black like he first thought. It was such a deep violet that it appeared black—like paint stirred endlessly into a rich, viscous purple that absorbed all light.

“What’s wrong?” the man smiled slightly. “Nervous? I get it. New environment, and you’ve been in that lab for so long…” His voice lowered into something gentle. “It must’ve been really hard for you.”

Hexin replied coolly, “Do you want to know?”

The man tilted his head, surprised by the lack of sadness on his face. “Hm?”

But Hexin moved right past it. “What should I call you?”

The man paused, then smiled. “Ah, that. You can call me ‘Doctor.’”

“You won’t tell me your name?”

“In my hometown, names aren’t something you give away lightly,” the doctor said with a shrug. “Sorry.” Then, as if remembering something, he added with a sly smile, “Maybe if we get closer, I’ll tell you. Who knows.”

Liar.

Hexin had recognized him the moment he laid eyes on him. Of course he knew the man couldn’t be trusted. No matter how convincing the smile was, those eyes had never once warmed—they were cold and utterly indifferent from beginning to end.

Because—the one calling himself “Doctor” was none other than the god of calamity. One of the infamous abyssal twin gods. The younger brother of the god of ferocity.

Didn’t expect him to show up this early. If Hexin had to guess, based on this man’s usual style and notorious history, he was probably here to prevent the dream god from awakening.

Since arriving in this world, Hexin had encountered creations of gods, believers of gods—but this was the first time he’d come face-to-face with another god himself. Ten thousand years might seem long to mortals, but to gods, it was nothing more than a long journey. Like those subordinate gods scattered across the galaxy, dormant or hidden, just waiting to be summoned by the supreme god.

“We’re here.”

The god of calamity had no idea his disguise had already crumbled the moment they met.

They had made their way through a maze of corridors. At the end, the doctor opened a chamber door and gestured politely for Hexin to enter.

Inside was a sleek, sterile med bay filled with neatly arranged high-tech equipment. Shelves along the walls were packed with bottles and vials, but all carefully sorted by type and dosage. The room’s owner clearly had a thing for tidiness—maybe even a bit of OCD. You wouldn’t have guessed it just by looking at him.

The doctor slipped on a pair of disposable gloves and gestured toward the operating table. “Lie down.”

Hexin didn’t move. Instead, he scanned the room and pointed to a machine in the corner. “If it’s just a check-up, that should do.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “You know what that is?” Then answered his own question, “Must’ve used it in the lab… but it’s not right for you. You’re special—the most special.”

He leaned in slightly, locking eyes with the boy. His voice dropped, deep and magnetic, while that faint smile twisted into something more bewitching. “…You need something more thorough.”

Hexin said nothing. He moved to the indicated platform and sat, his flowing robe spreading out beside him. Surrounded by cold instruments, he looked like a snow-white rabbit laid out on a butcher’s block, helpless and waiting.

“You’re going to inject me with a sedative,” Hexin said, watching the doctor’s hand with the familiar syringe—the exact same kind used to drop the rampaging test subject earlier.

“It’ll hurt a little. The anesthetic just keeps you from feeling pain.”

Hexin glanced at him, then slowly smiled. “It also keeps me from resisting.” Before the doctor could reply, Hexin continued, “I suggest you think twice. The sedative might make me dream. I could have nightmares.”

“Still just a kid,” the doctor murmured indulgently, almost like a parent humouring a tantrum.

Behind his glasses, those lead-gray eyes shimmered with a warped mist. A breath of a laugh slipped from his lips. “Don’t worry—it’ll be over soon. Once I strip that fragment of consciousness out of you…”

Then something shifted.

He turned to check the boy—and froze.

Hexin was already asleep. Peaceful. Still.

The doctor: …Wait. I haven’t even given him the injection yet?

He stared down at that familiar face, dazed for a moment. And then, unexpectedly, a strange drowsiness crept over him.

Shit… I let my guard down.

That was the man’s last coherent thought before his consciousness was yanked into darkness. The next second, an invisible force dragged him violently into a dream.

And he wasn’t the only one.

At that very moment, others began to fall asleep as well—seemingly without reason. Among them were the imprisoned researcher in the warship’s detention cell and several test subjects held under confinement. All of them slipped into inexplicable slumber. A patrolling soldier discovered the anomaly and reported it immediately, throwing the entire ship into chaos.

•  

Hexin would like to offer his sincerest thanks to the god of calamity for handing over such a convenient experience bundle.

A poor, traumatized little test subject, emotionally triggered by the terrifying sight of an operating table, accidentally let loose the power buried within—subconsciously lashing out at the doctor in self-defense. A flawless narrative!

The god of calamity realized he’d made a miscalculation. He hadn’t expected the dream god to awaken this quickly. Worse—he himself might have been the trigger. That thought left him with the bitter taste of shooting himself in the foot.

But he still had time. The awakening of the dream god wasn’t instantaneous. It was a gradual process—power and memory would return little by little. Until that happened, there was still room to manoeuvre.

Hexin: *Oh? Is that so? 🙂 *

The priority now was to escape this dream.

Since the dream clearly belonged to Hexin, the god of calamity could, technically, brute-force his way out using his powers. But he didn’t dare. Using power here might only accelerate Hexin’s awakening. So for now, he had no choice but to wait—for Hexin to awaken of his own accord. Once the dreamer woke, the dream would shatter with it.

That thought clarified, the god of calamity took stock of his surroundings—and realized he was submerged in water.

This was Hexin’s dream, and as the intruder, the god of calamity had been assigned a role within it. A natural defense mechanism in dreamworlds: everything and everyone is automatically rationalized by the dreamer’s subconscious.

Through the semi-transparent wall of the vessel, the god of calamity immediately recognized this place—it was the same research facility they’d just destroyed. Now he was floating inside one of the tanks like any other test subject.

He tilted his head slightly and saw a familiar face in the adjacent tank—Hexin, peacefully unconscious.

“You’ve been in the lab this whole time… must’ve been hard, right?”

“Do you want to know?”

The brief exchange they’d shared earlier now replayed in his mind, layered with new meaning. The eerie synchronicity of it sent a cold shiver down his spine.

“Test Subject K6 is awake. Prep him for the arena,” a researcher said as he walked up to the tank. With a flick of his pen, he checked something off a list and motioned for others to assist.

The god of calamity realized they were referring to him. His eyes chilled, but when he glanced sideways at the still-sleeping Hexin, he held back.

So the wires connected to K6’s tank were unplugged, and the vessel was wheeled away.

Moments after they left the room, the “sleeping” Hexin slowly opened his eyes. A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips.

Now… he whispered in his heart, this is my domain.

Welcome to my world.

My dear little toy.

Tank K7 suddenly shattered.

The explosion of glass and liquid froze midair. Every droplet, every shard hung suspended—locked in a motionless moment like a slow-motion scene stretched to infinity. Each bead of water gleamed, sharp and perfect, as if the next second they would fall—

—but that second never came.

In the frozen world, Hexin was the only thing moving. As he stepped forward, the fragments and water naturally split to either side, clearing a path for him.

He made his way calmly toward the testing arena.

Meanwhile, the god of calamity had already arrived—just in time to witness a brutal monster brawl.

The arena was massive and open-air, fenced in by a live electric grid. Inside, a test subject with an amphibious tail was locked in savage combat with another bearing bony wings. They fought like beasts in a zoo cage, while beyond the fence, crowds of spectators watched with fascination.

Hundreds of researchers were recording data, all while applying outside stimuli to keep the subjects from holding back. Some forgot their work altogether, eyes glazed and cheeks flushed as they revelled in the sight of blood spraying through the air.

In the end, the tailed subject emerged victorious.

Then it was the god of calamity’s turn.

The test followed a tiered battle system. If a subject wasn’t critically wounded or near death, they had to keep fighting.

The panting, frenzied creature still onstage locked its bloodshot eyes on the crowd and lunged. It caused a wave of panic among the researchers—until it was slammed back by the electric barrier. High-voltage currents sparked across the mesh, forcing the thing to retreat with a pained screech.

While the shaken researchers cursed and recovered, they threw the god of calamity into the arena.

For a moment—just one brief, trembling instant—the god of calamity very much wanted to crush every one of them. To roast their souls in abyssal flames and toss the ashes to his beloved little pets.