The gathering of the gods took place within a vast celestial hall suspended high above the heavens, where time itself seemed to bow.
Countless crystalline screens floated through the enormous chamber, each casting a rhythmic flicker over the divine audience as they monitored the desperation of Players scattered throughout the Endgame.
Yet at this moment, every single screen displayed the exact same mortal.
He Zhihan.
More specifically, the same footage of the tattooed convict gripping a heavy metal grate, a terrifyingly ecstatic smile plastered across his face as he repeatedly brought it down into the head of a Nightmare looped without mercy.
The Goddess of Lust lounged lazily across one of the highest celestial seats, her lips curling into a slow, sultry smile.
She crossed one elegant leg over the other, her voice dripping like warm honey through the hall. "You’re being extraordinarily petty, aren’t you? How long do you plan on broadcasting his charming little outburst to the mortals?"
Several deities glanced toward the figure responsible for the lobby-wide smear campaign.
The God of Madness sat rigidly upon his throne, knuckles white, his expression twisted in raw fury. "How dare he..." His voice thundered, rattling the celestial pillars. "That mere insect hasn’t even drawn breath in the Endgame for twelve hours, yet he possessed the audacity, the utter arrogance, to reject us?"
The Goddess of Lust let out a soft, melodic laugh. "Oh, listen to you. You sound genuinely heartbroken."
"I am insulted!"
The God of Fortune leaned back comfortably, a coin of pure star-fire spinning lazily between his fingers as his eyes gleamed with amusement. "Hate him or love him, the mortal has certainly injected some flavor into this dreary game."
The hall gradually quieted, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
Fortune’s smile widened. "After all... no one has ever destroyed a Scenario from the inside out quite like that before."
The God of Fortune chuckled again. "Which makes me wonder... Why are we playing so soft? Why keep hiding it? Why not broadcast the truth to the lobby, that He Zhihan didn’t just clear a Nightmare scenario, he destroyed it?"
"And give that arrogant bastard even more reason to believe he’s special?" The God of Death scoffed, his shadow darkening the marble floor beneath him. "Yes, he absorbed a Lockdown. Yes, he dragged the truth out of a rigged trap. Impressive for a worm." His voice hardened into a low growl. "But that was an extermination scenario. They were all supposed to rot there."
From her throne, the Goddess of Greed giggled, resting her chin on her palm. "Oh, stop whining. You’re just embarrassed because it was your scenario."
Death glared at her with burning eyes, but Greed merely blew him a kiss.
"Say whatever helps you sleep at night," she purred, her eyes fixed on the screen where He Zhihan stood with his hands casually tucked into his prison trousers. "I like him. He was a serial killer in the Main World, wasn’t he? We have plenty of murderers here, sure, but there’s an actual soul to his violence. It’s subtle. It’s art." She sighed dramatically. "I only wish he hadn’t rejected me. I would have made him my primary vessel and watched him slaughter every single one of your precious little favorites."
Several gods frowned, their divine aura rising in irritation.
The God of War slammed a heavy, gauntleted fist against the armrest of his throne. "What exactly does this mortal think he’s going to achieve without our favor?" His eyes narrowed dangerously at the broadcast. "Does he truly believe he can continue dismantling scenarios without divinity on his side?"
He snorted in contempt. "What happened in that school was a fluke. Pure, ignorant luck." His voice turned razor-cold. "It was his first trial. He will bleed out in the next."
War turned his head, his gaze sweeping over to the highest, darkest seat in the hall, settling on the one deity who had remained entirely motionless throughout the debate.
Fate stared at the flickering screen, his expression an impenetrable mask.
War frowned. "Well, Fate? Speak up. Isn’t he going to die?"
Before Fate could part his lips, the God of Pestilence snorted lazily, resting his boots on the edge of his dais. "Why are you all in such a hurry to snap his neck?" A faint, ruthless smile crossed his face. "Let the boy run wild a little longer. It’s been centuries since a Player made you all look this pathetic."
Pestilence leaned forward, fire dancing in his irises. "Besides... if he starts burning down our playground, we won’t need a Scenario to handle him. We’ll descend and kill him ourselves."
War pondered the thought for a while. Slowly, the murderous tension in his shoulders eased into a dark grin. "Fair enough."
Gradually, the stifling pressure in the grand hall began to dissipate. The gods turned back to their respective screens, their brief intrigue settling back into cold detachment.
High above them all, still staring at the image of the young man in the blood-stained prison jumpsuit, the God of Fate finally closed his eyes.
He didn’t say a word.
He didn’t have to. Because buried deep beneath the System’s encrypted code, where even the other gods couldn’t look... the threads of the Endgame weren’t tying around He Zhihan’s neck.
They were snapping.