"Night, are you really going to let Ince Zangwill's matter slide?"
"Ince Zangwill is under Adam's control. Even if He's vaguely sensed a shift in the situation, I can't openly break with Him. Adam is a King of Angel—if He schemes, my Church risks hostility from the Lord of the Storm."
Amanises left unsaid that her collaboration with Adam persisted. As a deity who endured the Banquet of Betrayal and the Fourth Epoch, she knew better than to trust easily. Even if her ultimate goals aligned with the True Creatornand High-Dimensional Overseer, it didn't sway her pact with Adam.
Trusting someone after mere days? That belonged in fairy tales.
"I'll prepare a Divine Descent ritual, but it's unlikely to succeed. Keep an eye on your Nighthawks—don't let losses pile up," the True Creator said gravely, offering a token reminder as an "ally."
"I could help, dear True Creator," Amanises teased.
"Get lost."
"Don't push Adam too hard, True Creator. Your divine half has veered beyond our predictions. And don't be so prickly—the High-Dimensional Overseer is trying to help…"
Amanises soothed.
"You're the reasonable one, Amanises. Fine—if any of your Nighthawks fall in the Divine Descent, I'll send their souls to Klein."
"Get lost."
…
Tingen City, West Borough, Daffodil Street.
Klein drew the curtains, letting golden sunlight flood the bedroom.
Having just resolved a nagging issue, he felt a rare ease. Relaxing on his bed, he savored the brief respite. But the weight of his responsibilities soon resurfaced, prompting him to plan a trip to the Divination Club.
"I've got the Clown potion formula now, just waiting to digest Seer… Adrian warned of world-sweeping calamities, usually at each epoch's end. Time's running short—I need to climb the Sequences fast to protect my friends…" Muttering as if to hypnotize himself, Klein forced himself upright, grabbed his tailcoat and half-height silk top hat from the rack, and began another busy, fulfilling day as Mr. Fool.
At the Divination Club, Klein lounged in the meeting room, sipping Sibe red tea. He skimmed a newspaper to pass the time, waiting for a chance to play the Seer*l.
Suddenly, he spotted Glacis, monocle glinting, silk top hat in hand, entering with a woman in her thirties wearing a blue high-collared dress. Her weary demeanor caught Klein's eye. Activating Spirit Vision, he noted their anxious, flustered emotions.
Is this about that investment divination he asked me for? Did it flop? Figures—my reading wasn't favorable, but he didn't back off, Klein mused.
Last time, Glacis, fresh off recovering from lung disease, had sought a divination about investing in Lanevus's Steel Company, receiving a negative result. Studying Glacis's expression, Klein chose his words carefully, "Good afternoon, Glacis. That Mr. Lanevus isn't trustworthy, is he?"
Glacis froze, then unleashed a torrent of complaints, cursing Lanevus the vile swindler. Christina, accompanying Glacis, shared her plight. Learning that divining Lanevus's location required his personal items, she lowered her voice, "Could Lanevus's child work for the divination?"
Child? Klein glanced at Megose beside her, stunned.
"If the child's born, yes," Klein told Christina. "But that'd take months. This might reflect the earlier reading: patience, waiting, persistence, abandoning greed—then a turning point, a glimpse of sunlight."
"Months…" Christina shook her head, murmuring, "No, after so long, even finding Lanevus won't get our money back…"
Silent for a moment, Christina looked at Megose, "You must decide. Keeping this child will make your life harder, full of thorns. Will you tell him his father was a fraud who swindled many, including his mother?"
In the Forsaken Land of the Gods, the High-Dimensional Overseer, now in the "eggshell" avatar, taunted the True Creator through its sturdy shell, "True Creator, what were you thinking? No matter how bad our state, it shouldn't be this pathetic, right? If you don't act, you'll end up aborted in a hospital!"
"…" The True Creator growled, "You're insufferable, you know that?"
"Oh, I know. Primordial Hunger said the same," the High-Dimensional Overseer nodded. "That was when I tossed his plate into Supernova Dominator's turf. Got chewed out by both."
"Out of curiosity, what's Primordial Hunger's food?"
"A thriving planet."
"Damn." Irritated, the True Creator manipulated His external avatar, making the child in Megose's womb kick gently, calming her to avoid abortion. Though, if it came to that, it'd just trigger an early Divine Descent, wiping out Tingen. But for an evil god to fall so low was humiliating. Given the High-Dimensional Overseer's nature, the True Creator figured He'd mock Him for days.
"I could help—even ensure your descent," the High-Dimensional Overseer offered suddenly. The True Creator's eyes narrowed, blood and flesh trembling around Him, "What do you want?"
"Nothing," the High-Dimensional Overseer said sincerely. "You may not believe me, but if I must want something, it's that God Almighty never returns. Sealing His urn is something I'd go all-in for."
Unspoken was that, as a Sefirot incarnate, much of His behavior followed His Source's instincts, aligned with His traits. This included arrogantly pitying sufferers and aiding Klein, a lone stranger. While His human-era quips stemmed from memory, most of His logic was driven by His Sefirot's nature.
Adrian, two Outer God pathways, and Sefirot formed the merciful yet cruel, humble yet arrogant High-Dimensional Overseer. Such an incomprehensible Outer God unnerved others, especially with His partly alienated human soul, repulsive to some Outer Gods. He feared neither death nor loathed life, but His human side despised total silence, craving a lively "courtyard."
To Him, Pillars or mortals were much the same. If it intrigued Him, He'd act. Helping the True Creator for free was just that—a scene echoing His memories, amusing Him.
"How?" the True Creator asked gravely.
Adrian smirked, stepping off a carriage. He watched cargo from Backlund arrive in Tingen, shipped out via freighters. Beside him, a trade company agent and the newly promoted Benson oversaw South Continent workers unloading goods—goods that ravaged their homelands' order.
The agent crowed, "Praise Emperor Roselle! Letting us buy South Continent raw materials so cheaply and sell surplus industrial goods at such high prices!"
Ironic. Roselle's cruel, perfect revival of the ancient "triangular trade" persisted, crushing South Continent peoples. Yet in oppressor nations like Loen and Intis, the poor lived little better than those oppressed. Tragically, they couldn't resist—they existed only as anchors for the topmost gods.
Outer Gods found native gods' reliance on fragile anchors baffling. A strong self was the sturdiest anchor. In the cosmos, Old Ones and true gods lived by convergence or Source instincts, freer than Earth's sealed gods.
This anchor dependency made gods, meant to be unyielding, vulnerable to cosmic pollution. High-Sequence convergence should accelerate, but the Seven Gods staged a decaying farce, stalling the planet until the primal barrier fell, inviting Outer God destruction.
The High-Dimensional Overseer disliked this stagnant drama. He'd stir the dead waters His way. Even the rigid Supernova Dominator wouldn't stifle a civilization's growth, merely devouring it once it reached the stars. Yet Earth's mere true gods turned the planet lifeless—how was this better than the Celestial Worthy's puppet show?
Driven by divine altruism, the High-Dimensional Overseer decided to grant Earth's beings freedom to grow.
"Eyes wandering in delusion, sage hidden behind the curtain, messenger of Adrian Abraham alone."
A pair of eyes opened beside Adrian, motionless, almost cute. To Adrian, the Hidden Sage was thoroughly corrupted, its active parts remolded into the High-Dimensional Overseer's likeness.
"Deliver a letter to the nearby patrolling Punishers and Nighthawks," Adrian said, scribbling swiftly, folding the paper, and handing it to the transparent eyes. He didn't fear divination exposing him—with no Old One-level power on Earth, even the Lord of the Storm getting this letter wouldn't faze him.
"What did you do?" the True Creator frowned.
Adrian chuckled, "Reported Lanevus."
"?" The True Creator blinked. "Why report my Divine Descent vessel's father for no reason?"
"Think about it. The Church of the Storm, following their Lord's oracle, will drag Lanevus to their cathedral. But since the Lanevus case is in Nighthawk territory, they won't let Punishers take him quietly. To keep things hushed, the Church of the Storm will likely force him to cough up the swindled money, giving victims justice."
Adjusting his formal monocle, Adrian continued via his Forsaken Land avatar, "This draws attention from your presence in Megose's womb and gives your next vessel's mother more room to maneuver—say, heading to the god-clashing South Continent."
"Though Adam and Ince Zangwill will likely keep using Megose as a prop for 0-08, I can 'help' tweak Ince Zangwill's memories, crafting a replica 'True Creator Divine Descent vessel.' I'll need a piece of your divine flesh to pull it off."
The True Creator: "…"
After a long pause, He sighed, "I'm counting on you, ally…"
Nearby, patrolling Punishers and Nighthawks stared as a letter appeared in their hands, then sprang into tense action after reading it. Watching the final cargo crate load onto the ship, Adrian yawned, turning to Benson, "Cargo's done, Benson, my man. How about a break at that café?"
Benson froze, glancing at his supervisor, who studiously ignored Adrian's blatant familiarity.
(End of Chapter)