Tear

Klaus drifted in endless darkness. There was nothing, and yet, there was everything. He felt nothing at all, yet he could feel everything at once. His mind struggled to comprehend the boundlessness of it all, his mere Awakened consciousness unable to grasp such infinity.

Even with the Wisdom of Uriel and the Divine Eyes of the Void, it was terrifying. It was painful. It felt as though countless nails were being driven into his skull, each one hammering deeper, shattering his thoughts into fragments.

Then, the voice came.

[Suitable Vessel cannot be found.]

[Searching for a random vessel...]

Klaus groaned. Not that he could even tell where his voice was coming from—his body, his soul, his very existence felt formless, unmoored. A void within a void.

Again, no suitable vessel.

So then... what would he become?

His thoughts splintered, and suddenly, he was dreaming.

He saw the Void. Pure, inky blackness stretching infinitely.

Then, in the nothingness, a terrible crack appeared—like the very fabric of reality splitting apart.

There was also darkness there. It was both bizarre and beautiful.

After all, darkness was neither evil nor good. It simply was.

Many feared it, but Klaus felt something different—a strange fascination, a sense of kinship. It was not like him, but there was something that connected them, something deeper than understanding.

Darkness was not nothingness. It was rich, full of nuance. It flowed, its fluid torrents forming intricate patterns in the air, moving and shifting like a living entity.

True darkness was an elemental force, not merely an absence of light, but its rival. Light and shadow existed in harmony—where there was one, the other followed. But darkness… darkness stood alone, a defiant force that opposed both.

Legends spoke of a terrible being slain by the gods at the dawn of time, its lifeblood seeping into the earth, forming the first true darkness. Some claimed the Hollow Mountains were the scar left behind by its death, and beneath them, true darkness still festered.

Nether had made his home there. But he was not the only one who lived in the dark.

Then, something changed.

Darkness was no longer alone. Furious white flames erupted within it, burning with a rage that felt alive.

Darkness and light clashed for dominion—at times, the fire pushed back the void, and at others, the darkness swallowed the fire whole.

Then, Klaus saw him.

A pale figure, shrouded in darkness, diving into the flames with clear purpose… and deep, seething bitterness.

The darkness around him was boundless, unfathomable. It held infinite choices, infinite possibilities. His features were obscured, lost in the consuming dark, but his silhouette remained—a terrible figure with vast, black-feathered wings.

The wings spread wide.

And in that moment, darkness won its battle against the fire, swallowing it whole.

For just a moment before it was being pushed back again.

Even as the figure was shrouded in impenetrable darkness, Klaus's gaze pierced through it. He saw the face of a deity, terrible and sorrowful.

Lonesome.

Bitter.

Like the world had wronged him in ways too vast to name.

Yet beneath that sorrow, something else lurked—concealed, but not absent.

Overwhelming killing intent.

Klaus knew who this god was.

A Prince of the Underworld.

A Divine Smith.

The Last Child of —Unknown—.

The Demon of Choice.

It was Nether.

Klaus watched as Nether struggled to create life within the Ebony Tower.

Stone puppets—lifeless, imperfect—were discarded, thrown into the endless void. One failure after another, cast aside without hesitation.

To Nether, they were not worthy.

Klaus respected him. From all the children of —Unknown—, Nether was perhaps the most admirable, the most inspiring.

Only Hope ranked above him in Klaus's eyes.

But what Klaus didn't respect was Nether's obsession with perfection.

Perfection was a curse.

If something was perfect, it could no longer evolve. It could no longer change. A perfect being had nothing left to strive for, nothing to experience. No sorrow. No joy. No excitement.

Perfection was stagnation.

Perfection was loneliness.

As Klaus pondered this, something shifted.

Something was wrong.

Terribly, terribly wrong.

It was as if an invisible force had wrapped around his heart, squeezing relentlessly.

His mind—barely recovered from the previous onslaught—was ravaged once more.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to cry.

He wanted to die.

It felt as though his very spirit was shattering.

But Klaus would not break.

Pain was nothing new to him. Pain was an old friend.

So he endured.

He calmed his thoughts, letting his mind still like a placid lake on a quiet morning.

And then, with cold indifference, he looked ahead.

Deep within the Ebony Tower, Nether was no longer focused on his failed statues.

He was looking directly at Klaus.

Their gazes locked.

Nether's lips curled ever so slightly.

And then—just before Klaus lost consciousness—he heard a whisper. Voice both soft and sinister.

"I wonder… what choice you will make… Child of the Void."

Klaus woke with a violent convulsion, his body trembling uncontrollably. He heaved, emptying the contents of his stomach, but something felt... wrong. Where was it coming from? His body felt alien. His limbs ached in ways they shouldn't. And then he noticed the blood—thick, warm streaks trickling from his ears and down his face. His eye—wait. His eye?

He only had one eye.

Dumbfounded, Klaus forced himself to focus. The pain was immense, but it was his soul that had suffered the most. He cast his perception inward, into his Soul Sea.

The vast cosmos of his Soul Sea felt off. Distorted. He looked up at his Soul Cores and cursed under his breath. They were on the verge of breaking apart. But even as he watched, they were slowly knitting themselves back together, recovering, reforming.

That damned flaw of his. It was always a thorn in his side. His insatiable desire to see, to understand—it amplified his yearning to observe Nether's work firsthand. But mortals were never meant to witness the divine. A god's presence alone could shatter a lesser being's mind. Unless the deity chose to suppress their influence. But Nether? Nether had done no such thing.

And yet... how? Klaus had been inside a Nightmare. The entire Chained Isles had been nothing more than a conjured illusion, a mere echo of the past. He shouldn't have been seen. And yet Nether had felt his gaze.

Klaus swallowed, excitement and fear churning in his gut. That was terrifying. Even a copy of the Prideful Demon had been capable of such a thing?

No. Think. Analyze. Perhaps it wasn't the illusion itself. Nether wielded power over possibilities, over choices. Had he glimpsed a future where Klaus was watching? Ugh. He didn't know. And that uncertainty gnawed at him.

But he had more immediate concerns.

Klaus took in his surroundings and cursed. Goddamnit. True darkness stretched endlessly around him. He was surrounded by countless discarded statues—Nether's failures, abandoned and forgotten. Not ideal.

He tried to stand but immediately collapsed. His body was... wrong.

A chill ran down his spine.

He felt like a beast.

Was he even still human?

With a heavy sigh, he summoned his spirits. Lich and Hemera manifested before him. Lich examined their surroundings with curiosity, while Hemera's presence bathed the darkness in a warm, golden glow. Klaus reached into his Storage Memory, willing forth a simple sack.

Only three cubic meters of space. But Klaus had cheated a little.

Inside that sack, he had placed another bag—a relic of his own creation, enchanted through ritualistic magic. That bag held twenty cubic meters. His personal relic couldn't be taken into a Nightmare, but by storing them inside the Memory, he had brought them with him.

He looked at Ivory Knife inside bag... Cohort had tried to kick him out of the game while he still had the literal key to victory in his possession.

Idiots.

Sighing, he pulled out a mirror, manipulating space to make it float before him.

What he saw horrified him.

He was an abomination.

Eight feet tall. A single, unblinking eye dominating the center of his face. No mouth. No legs—only arms.

And not just two.

Twenty.

All of them lined with mouths.

Klaus wanted to vomit. But... from which mouth? He let out a breath—if he still breathed at all—and collapsed back onto the ground. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

And why the hell was he thinking about vomiting in the first place!?

Learning how to move took him three days. Even then, his attempts at walking were clumsy at best. But at least he had one amusing trick.

One of the mouths on his hands spoke first, arrogant and self-assured.

"I am majestic and beautiful."

Another snapped back, irritated.

"Shut your bitch ass mouth!"

A third voice, melodic and lilting, added, "Aren't we fabulous~?"

Klaus stared at his hands in silence. Then all of them burst into laughter at once.

Well… at least I won't be bored.

As he adjusted to his grotesque new form, his mind drifted back to what he had seen. He had witnessed history—the past bleeding into the future too quickly. While he had been above, where things remained relatively unchanged, he had seen many things.

He had seen the Tear—a wound in reality itself. A void at the heart of the Chained Isles, expanding year by year. One day, thousands of years from now, it would consume the entire region.

The Tear was nothingness—absolute and endless. Some believed the Ivory Tower had once stood at its center, the first island to break free of its chains. Nonsense.

Klaus had seen the truth.

The Ivory Tower had remained afloat because of Hope's sorcery. Over millennia, the islands at the Tear's edges had crumbled, feeding its growth. Below it, beneath the Ebony Tower and the Sun God's flames, true darkness lingered, retreating into the depths of the sky.

And Klaus?

He was in that darkness now.

But the Tear wasn't supposed to have land.

So what was he standing on?

A dreadful realization settled over him.

He was on a fallen island. Or at least, a fragment of one—something the Tear hadn't completely devoured yet. A forsaken remnant, floating in the abyss.

Perfect.

Now he understood. Light hadn't truly defeated darkness. The Tear was swallowing everything, and since true darkness had been closest, it had been consumed first.

But where had the true darkness come from?