When Hexin arrived, the fight had reached its boiling point.

In this dream, the god of calamity had been assigned the identity of an ordinary test subject. Since he couldn’t use his true power without revealing himself, he naturally couldn’t overpower the other test subject outright. It was probably the most humiliating moment of that god’s entire existence—even if it was just a dream, it had to be unbearable.

Eventually, one of the researchers watching from the sidelines noticed Hexin’s presence. Their eyes landed on the robe he wore—the kind issued to all test subjects—and they froze for a full three seconds before switching to expressions of disbelief and shock.

“…How did you get out!?”
What happened to the alarms? The guards? The impenetrable sealed doors!?

They didn’t seem to notice what Hexin actually looked like. Or rather, they couldn’t. His appearance was being cloaked by a higher will, something that superseded their perception—so none of them found it strange at all.

“Just walked out,” Hexin said cheerfully, waving a hand. As the source of this “don’t-look-too-closely” effect, he added with a smile, “Don’t be so shocked. I’m the god of this world, you know. Right now, I can do anything.”

The man looked at him like he was speaking nonsense and immediately turned to call security. A few other researchers dropped their pens, ready to seize him.

In the background, the roars of test subjects echoed through the chaos. Hexin sighed. Why was it that whenever he told the truth, no one believed him?

He raised a hand and tapped the ringleader gently on the forehead.

The man flinched. The others reaching for Hexin paused mid-motion. “What are you doing?”

“You’re the lead researcher, right?” Hexin smiled faintly. “Relax. I’m here to help you realize your dream. You wanted to create the most extraordinary monster in the world, didn’t you? Well—let me grant your wish.”

The researcher stared into Hexin’s eyes. They were stunning, dreamlike—but deep within them, something dark twisted. A rift of pitch-black, terrifyingly vast, seethed beneath the surface, something unspeakable and hungry writhing in its depths. A sense of dread chilled him to the bone.

“Let me think… what would suit you…” Hexin said lightly, like he was choosing produce at a market. “Oh, I know—how about a pair of bone wings? Give you the power to fly.”

The moment the words left his mouth, the man felt a horrible itch at his shoulder blades—like thousands of ants burrowing under his skin. Something was growing—pushing outward.

And it was.

Bones erupted from his back, tearing through flesh, snapping sinew, and breaking through with a sickening crunch as he let out an earth-shattering scream.

“Next, horns. What kind of demon doesn’t have horns? You want strength? Double the muscle mass? Hmm… ugly. More arms, maybe? No, that’s worse. Let’s go with something classic—like a three-headed hellhound vibe.”

Every word he spoke was obeyed by the world.

—Give them what they want. Take back what they don’t. Everything in this world belongs to you. Twist it, shape it, break it—however you like.

A thousand voices whispered in Hexin’s ear, drowning out the screams and shrieks beyond. All those voices finally merged into one: the will of dreamworlds from every corner of existence, offering tribute to their young and not-yet-fully-awakened god.

—You are omnipotent here, my child.

The air filled with screams.

The abomination rose and reached for his fellow researchers, but they were already fleeing in terror, triggering a stampede.

The newly born monster seemed confused and slightly hurt. “Why… why are you all running? It’s me! I’m your lead! Don’t run! None of you are allowed to run!!!”

But all he got in return were fleeing backs and horrified eyes. One slower researcher was caught and dragged away screaming.

Hexin walked calmly through the chaos, untouched. Though the room swarmed with panicked bodies, not a single soul so much as brushed his robe. He passed through the crowd and stepped into the arena.

The tailed test subject lay sprawled on the ground, wide-eyed as he watched the madness unfold. He looked dazed—like the scene before him had broken his understanding of reality.

Once, he had been human too.

Funny, wasn’t it? These people had experimented on him without a second thought, twisting him into a monster. But now that the same thing was happening to them, they were crying cruelty and begging for mercy. As if they suddenly remembered what it meant to be human.

Not far away, leaning weakly against the wall, was the god of calamity.

A rare moment of disgrace for the infamous god. He slowly wiped the blood from his lips, frowning faintly. As if surprised by the fact that he was bleeding at all, he rubbed a thumb along the corner of his mouth, smearing the red. Then he looked up, eyes shadowed and unreadable, as footsteps approached.

“…Who are you, really?”

Hexin didn’t answer. He knelt beside the test subject instead, lowering his voice into the boy’s mind. “This is your dream, isn’t it?”

—Because yes, this dream didn’t belong to Hexin.

It belonged to the test subject.

The dream god had the ability to freely travel between dreams—not only his own. Dreams from those who had formed a bond with him, or those who desperately cried out for salvation, were more likely to draw him in.

Hexin guessed that when the boy had broken free from the nurses and run toward him back on the ship, he had sensed something—perhaps without even realizing it.

To be able to sense a god’s presence while still human… even vaguely… that alone marked him as gifted. If he hadn’t been turned into a test subject, if he’d grown up normally, he might’ve become a remarkable warrior by now.

The test subject looked up at him. That’s when Hexin noticed his eyes—a clear, quiet green, like lakewater. Very still. Very beautiful.

Hexin’s pale fingers gently brushed the boy’s eyelids. “Do you have a wish?” he asked softly.

The boy’s lashes trembled under his touch. He looked up at Hexin—and something inside him caved.

It was just a dream. A fake one. But because it was a dream, it could hold this kind of peace.

…To be saved? To become human again? No. That wasn’t it.

A sudden haze veiled the green in his eyes. His voice rasped out like a plea, raw and broken.

“…I want to destroy this place.”

Hexin stood, giving a faint nod. “As you wish.”

The god of dreams raised his hand slowly—and pulled.

In the next instant, countless stars across light-years of space flared like dying embers blazing one final time. Like the last song of a thornbird, they ignited in glory. The stars followed the path drawn by the boy’s fingertip—falling from the heavens like chess pieces knocked from a board.

—A meteor storm unlike anything the world had ever seen rained down.

“…What is that?”

“The sky—it’s falling?!”

The people who were running suddenly looked up at the sky. One by one, their frantic footsteps slowed—then stopped entirely. It was as if the very act of fleeing had slipped from their minds. They were frozen, stunned.

A downpour of stars blanketed the land. In this flawed dream, the entire world consisted of nothing but this one research facility—as if it were the center of all existence. Everything beyond it was barren and lifeless. But now, the falling meteors brought death and destruction to this dead world—chaotic, loud, and oddly brimming with the promise of renewal.

The air was filled with sound. Screams. The thunderous crash of meteors. The fracturing of a world as it split apart.

Hexin slowly rose into the air. Just before this world completely shattered, he found himself wanting to see its edge.

But just as he took off, someone grabbed the hem of his robe—the god of calamity.

“…Who are you?”

“Oh, right. Almost forgot about you,” Hexin said, feigning realization. He smiled lazily. “Since you’ve barged into my domain… what sort of punishment do you think you deserve?”

The god of calamity’s expression went cold—then shifted into a smile, though it never reached his eyes. “So… you’ve awakened?”

Hexin tilted his head. “Hm? What are you talking about?”

“If you’re truly awake… then stop toying with me. Is this entertaining to you?” As he spoke, his hair began to grow longer, his form subtly changing shape, the lines of his clothing blurring into something else entirely.

Hexin: Honestly? Yeah, it kind of is.

But it wasn’t time to let the other recognize him yet. He much preferred having his enemy in the light while he remained hidden in the shadows. A smoke screen would do nicely.

The next second, just as the god of calamity began returning to his true form, the boy before him curved his lips into a cryptic smile. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. Or… are you mistaking me for someone else?”

You’re the dream god—aren’t you?

Before the words could be spoken aloud, the boy’s figure blurred.

In the blink of an eye, a different god stood in his place—one with blazing golden eyes.

Those golden eyes locked onto him with quiet judgment. And then, in the skies above, a colossal city materialized—suspended like a radiant sun amidst the falling stars.

Somewhere in the chaos, a voice cried out in desperation. “P-please save me! Forgive me, god…!”

But not a single god responded.

“…!”
The god of calamity’s eyes widened in disbelief.

The god of the sun let out a soft sigh, gaze sweeping across the mess. “What a disaster this has become.”

“Well, this world was doomed to be destroyed anyway,” came a second voice. Another figure stepped out from behind the sun god—a young man wielding a silver spear. He looked down from above, eyes sharp. “Little bug crawling up from the abyss…”

“Friend.”

The sun god’s voice was quiet, but firm.

The man with the spear narrowed his eyes, snorted, and lowered his weapon—but not before casting a final, warning glare. “Try any of your old tricks, and next time I won’t miss.”

Now the god of calamity was completely thrown.
Were these two true supreme gods? Or illusions?
If they were illusions, their presence felt far too real. But if they were real… then it was simply unthinkable.
Which meant that so-called “dream god” might not be who he had assumed—because the real Hexin hadn’t acted at all like someone who had already awakened.

At that moment, a massive meteor broke through the clouds, plunging the world into darkness. Winds roared as the skies dimmed, despairing cries rose from the humans, while the mutated test subjects screamed with wild delight, exalting the end.

And in the last ten seconds before the collapse, Hexin waved a hand and dispelled the illusions of the two supreme gods. Quietly, he re-equipped the dream god’s card.

In that fleeting instant, the dream god appeared—walking atop a sea of stars, holding a lantern. Its faint glow shimmered, soft and distant.

He released it.

The lantern rose into the sky, and in that moment, millions of others across the land lifted off as well.

—These were the vessels of consciousness belonging to everyone trapped in this dream. They were going back to where they belonged.

The boy glanced at the god of calamity with a smile.

The god followed his gaze and looked down—only then noticing the lantern resting in his own hand. At some point, it had appeared without him realizing. Wordlessly, he let it go.

When he looked up again, he was met with a world ablaze with light.

Old stars were falling. New ones were rising—soaring toward the heavens, toward the sun and moon, upward without hesitation.

—It was a sight the god of calamity, born of the abyss, had never seen.

There was no light in the abyss. No stars, either.
And wherever stars and light shone, creatures of the abyss were never welcome.

Beneath that sea of radiant stars, the dream god turned to him with a smile—as if to ask: Beautiful, isn’t it?

“…”

The god of calamity suddenly heard the thunderous pounding of his own heartbeat.

Maybe the vision before him was too breathtaking. Maybe his thoughts couldn’t keep up. In that moment, his mind went still—and all he could see was the boy smiling under the stars.

“…Where are you going?” he asked.

This time, there was no suspicion, no defense, no motive.
For the first time since his birth, the god of calamity spoke with simple, unguarded curiosity—like someone whispering to a passing breeze:

Where are you headed?

The boy turned. In his eyes danced the reflection of a thousand stars, carefree and unburdened.

“I’m going to the end of the world,” he said, “to look at the stars.”

The abyssal god was struck dumb.

His heart thudded loudly once, then again. And before he could stop himself, he asked:

“…Can I come with you?”

The boy held out his hand.

In the final three seconds before the world ended, they soared together beneath the heavens.

In the final two seconds, they reached the stars.

And in the final second—
the dream ended.