“Choose.” The old man’s voice fell like a cold bell in a winter hall.

“One person takes one. Once one is taken, the other can’t take that one.”

He pointed at two masses resting in clear cups on a black tabletop, like stars trapped in night glass.

One was a dazzling yet warm white orb of light; the other, a liquid veined with dark-blue cracks—light magic and void magic, day and abyss.

“Senior brother, you choose first.” The smaller boy’s words trembled like a reed in wind.

“No. You go,” the tall, broad-faced youth said, his hand ruffling the boy’s hair like sun on wheat. “I’ll take what remains.”

“But…” The boy bit his lip, fear fluttering like a moth. “What if what’s left… isn’t as good?”

The youth’s smile was gentle, a hearth fire in snow.

“Someone has to choose,” he said, voice steady as a mountain path. “Then let me walk the other road.”

…

In the vast cathedral hall, the overhead glass poured dawn like a gold waterfall, bathing the nave in bright, steady warmth.

Within that rolling veil of gilt light, white and blue flared—two meteors crossing, their afterimages braided like silk.

Two spell-bolts, heavy with power, curved with subtle arcs like hunting falcons. They slipped past each other’s strike, then hit true.

The motions were so practiced they felt like muscle memory worn smooth by rain. In truth, they had done this countless times.

Qi and Xiuze—two of an era’s strongest, both shaped by the same teacher like twin blades from one forge.

One became a Void Wanderer, hiding from [It]’s gaze like a shadow beneath a moon. One became the [Pope], bearing [It]’s “grace” like a crown of thorns.

Since that day, they had fought so many times that the count dissolved like sand in tide.

Scenes like this had surfaced again and again like old constellations. Yet today, a memory flickered in Qi’s mind like a lantern in fog.

“Someone has to choose. Then let me walk the other road.” His senior’s words rang clear, the echo carving his chest like a chisel.

If—he told himself if—back then he had taken light magic instead of his senior—

His feet didn’t move; his form dimmed and brightened like breath. A slip into the [Void] let him glide past Xiuze’s light as a fish through reeds.

Would he be his senior today—would he be the [Pope]?

The question held no weight; no one returns to yesterday to reshape dawn. Qi’s will was iron, a blade meant for battle, not drifting thoughts.

Yet today, doubt kept knocking like rain on a shutter. He couldn’t help it; his heart kept turning the stone.

Was it because history had stepped forward a pace, like a wheel biting into earth? They, whom [It] called viruses, impurities, rebels, finally bared teeth.

They had opened their mouths, shown their fangs, and bit [It] once—no more than a firefly spark against a storm, no more than a thin wail.

Still, compared to the old path that never moved, this single step deserved a shout into the sky—even if they all would die.

The next heartbeat struck him like thunder splitting a cliff. He froze, mind wiped blank like slate in rain.

Purple light flooded Qi’s pupils, a tide drowning shore. Heat surged; terror burned cold as iron.

A purple lightning ripped the [Void], its glare searing retinas like noon on snow. It tore the sky into a net of dark-blue shards.

With roaring momentum, it speared toward the [Demon King]’s castle like a god’s spear flung from high storm.

That was—[It].

[It] had descended.

After so many ages, this was the first time people saw [It] appear within the [X] World.

“Who?” Qi’s heart prickled like a thorn bush; his blood boiled like wine on flame.

Who could force [It] to descend, to step down to the [X] World layer?

The [Swordsman]?

No. Impossible. Even he, at his peak, stood under the ceiling, hands on the glass.

Qi, who had lived through the [Swordsman]’s era, had to admit the man’s strength, a blade singing in storm.

But he did not believe that blade could threaten [It]. The truth was cruel, cold as winter stone.

From the start, everyone knew the [Swordsman]’s fate was death—no matter which world he reached.

Then who?

…

“Nobody,” the [Pope] said, shaking his head like a tree shedding snow. “It’s [It] itself.”

“What?” Qi flinched, mind flashing like struck flint, then clarity fell like quiet rain.

Without [It]’s will, no one could ever catch [It]’s silhouette, nor know [It] had stepped down from the [Z] World to the [X] World.

Without doubt, [It] had chosen to show its figure to all like lightning peeled open at midnight.

But why?

A terrible thought skittered through him like frost across glass. His skin cooled; a shiver climbed his spine.

“You’ve guessed it,” Xiuze said, voice slow as drifting ash. “Lure the snake. Kill one to warn all. Nothing more.”

Qi understood at once. He stared, aghast, at the purple radiance, a blade drawn in the sky.

Its path was bright and clean, like chalk on slate. The whole [World] could see it; everyone knew [It] stood at the tip.

Especially those hiding underground, restless like wolves beneath snow, ready to spring.

Sure enough, as the purple light fell, secret corners around the world stirred like nests waking at dawn.

Many dormant or feigned-dead auras snapped awake, old as stone, carrying the scent of ancient rain.

They had hidden to evade the laws of the [Cycle], to avoid [It] like sailors dodging a storm wall.

[Hero Kings], [Demon Kings], [Companions]—all willing to strike at the [World]’s true Demon King—[It]—they cast away dignity like cloaks.

They chose to live like dogs, breath by breath, like corpses that refused to lie still.

Through times and turns, through wheel and wheel, love and kin and friendship wore down like carvings in wind.

But their hatred for [It], their hatred for the [Cycle], stayed iron, cold and unbroken.

Today, their chance arrived—the moment [It] stepped into the [X] World, like a hawk stooping into the field.

Almost at the same instant, they shocked awake from sleep meant to save life, like embers flaring to flame.

Before minds cleared, bodies rose by instinct, either blinking through space or streaking across sky like arrows.

They rushed here together, drawn like rivers to a sea, killing intent sharp as winter air.

What a scene it was. If one stood atop the peaks of all three worlds, they would see splendor like fireworks across night.

A purple lightning pierced the three worlds, taller than thought, pulling from the [Void] a titanic tree.

Cold blue ribbons wrapped its branches—void fissures, space torn and frayed like silk under strain.

From that tree’s heart, purple radiance poured outward like a flood; the sky became a purple ocean rolling in storm.

Across that boiling sea, breaths of many colors flew from every direction, crashing toward the purple giant like waves on cliff.

There were dozens at first, then more, the count climbing like sparks caught in wind—soon past a hundred.

“Unimaginable. This [World] has so many [impurities],” Xiuze said, surprise glinting like frost, then a smile cut cold as a blade.

“Pity. From now on, even being [impurities] is off the table—corpses can only be corpses.”

“No!” Pain and fear carved Qi’s face like knives. His cry fell from his throat like a stone into deep water.

The next moment, every light but the purple went still, stopped on a razor’s edge like wings frozen in ice.

Not a drop remained. All erased. Silence fell like ash after fire.

Divine might brooks no offense.