Daybit stepped forward, calm as ever. "This place is where invalids and monsters from the upper floors are dumped. Failed Force experiments. Forgotten echoes. Dead systems." He paused. "And also… where the veil is thinnest."
Kukulcan turned, then elbowed Tezcatlipoca playfully. "Alright, war god—spill it. You were going toe-to-toe with that Jedi frog like he was your rival. What's your deal with Yoda? You're respecting him way too hard for a guy who just torched your chest with light."
Tezcatlipoca chuckled, sitting on a twisted pipe that pulsed faintly. "That Force… That's what the Age of Gods should've become. A world where power follows belief. Where stories make systems. Where meaning shapes matter. I saw it in him." His eyes narrowed. "A future where boredom dies and fun reigns. That's the kind of place I want to fight in."
Kukulcan nodded. "Damn. That's actually kinda deep."
Her eyes flicked over to Daybit. "Alright, then bossman, why all these damn steps for opening this Gateway to Tython? Even Jin-Woo looked surprised."
Daybit didn't stop walking as he answered, voice low and steady.
"Step one," he said, "was belief. I needed mass belief—so I lured almost everyone across the galaxy. Pirates, Jedi, Sith… every faction."
Kukulcan blinked. "Wait, you lured the galaxy here?!"
Daybit continued, ignoring the tone. "Step two: conflict. Jedi and Lostbelt forces had to clash. The intersection of Force and Magecraft was too shallow… so I forced it deeper. The residual energy—the 'mystery'—from their fight had to saturate the atmosphere. That's what enforces the laws of divine intrusion."
Tezcatlipoca grinned. "So basically, they punched each other until reality bled. Nice."
Daybit said nothing more as he stepped toward the center of the shifting structure—where the twisted obsidian walls, once resembling the dark temples of the Sith or forgotten Force shrines, had changed.
The structure had stabilized—transformed. And at its heart… floated a mirror gate.
A giant mirror-like circle of luminous material—its surface shifting with golden streaks, as if reflecting a twin sun. But beyond the mirror was no reflection. It was a sky. A world.
And that world was Tython.
Daybit stood before it as everyone else began to arrive—one by one.
First came Ophelia. as she walked in lockstep beside her Servant—Sigurd, Saber-class, the Dragon-Slayer. His blade rested casually over his shoulder, a half-smile on his lips. And behind them, towering with ethereal beauty and command, Scáthach-Skadi approached silently. Her three Valkyries followed closely, like war spirits ready for judgment.
Next was Pepe—dragging himself in with dramatic flair, arm slung over Ashwatthama's shoulders. The Servant had one arm lazily wrapped around his Master, but his eyes were alert. Behind them, smoke still clung to his chakram.
Hinako arrived next.. Beside her, Prince Lan Ling, Saber-class, radiated elegance with his masked poise. And not far behind, towering like an armored war-beast, was her husband—Xiang Yu, the Lostbelt variant, silent as ever.
The sound of footsteps echoed as Qin Shi Huang emerged—seated in a floating throne, his drone-like Servant extensions trailing in orbit. He said nothing. But his eyes scanned everything.
Finally, Kadoc walked into the light, slightly behind the rest. His white coat was stained with frost and soot, but his spirit remained firm. Beside him stood Anastasia, her hands folded. And lumbering at the rear was Ivan the Terrible, silent, almost reverent.
They had all arrived. The last of the Lostbelts—assembled at the edge of the gateway to myth.
Ophelia looked around, then turned to Daybit. "Where's Jin-Woo?"
Daybit, standing before the gate, answered calmly, "He'll be here."
Hinako approached slowly, eyes narrowing as she stared into the portal's surface. "I expected Tython to look more… terrifying." She tilted her head. "But this place. It's peaceful."
Beyond the gate mirror —Tython shimmered under twin moons. Mountains rose like blades. The wind swept golden grass across valleys, and in the distance, vast stone ruins pulsed with ancient Force energy.
Daybit stared into it. His voice low. "…That's what makes it dangerous."
Then— A portal of dark mist swirled open behind him, crackling with ancient force and pure shadow. From its depths emerged Jin-Woo, no longer masked as Joever Bideney. His long coat whipped behind him like a cloak of finality, and beside him walked Morgan le Fay, her regal posture unmistakable. The Lostbelt Queen of Britain, bearing both sorcery and command in equal measure, said nothing .
From the gathered, a scoff.
Ophelia rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "Seriously? Joever Bideney? That's like a retard senator who eats ice cream."
Jin-Woo didn't even blink. He stepped forward, ignoring her completely, his gaze focused beyond the gate to Tython.
"Offensive Bias," Jin-Woo spoke, calm and absolute. "It's time. The Sith shrine beneath the Jedi Temple is already sabotaged. I've rerouted its containment field—make sure the output surges."
A glowing red Forerunner sentinel the size of a small drone flickered beside him. Its voice came through as mechanical, cold.
"Affirmative, Supreme Executor. Relaying energy surge protocol to Atlantic Lostbelt now."
Then— Far above, in the dark skies near the orbit of Coruscant, another event shook reality.
A human-sized slipspace gate ruptured open. Aetheric light poured from the edges as it still tethered to the Olympus Lostbelt, pulsing like a bridge between galaxies. From it stepped Kirschtaria Wodime, tall and solemn, wrapped in the faded blue coat of the Animusphere. Beside him: Caenis, Lancer-class, spear over shoulder and a frustrated expression twisting her face.
"Tch," Caenis growled, watching the smoke still hanging near the Jedi Temple ruins. "I should've joined that damn fight earlier. All those Jedi flailing around? Would've been fun."
Kirschtaria didn't answer immediately. His eyes were closed, focusing. His hand trembled slightly, still recovering—until finally, he muttered, "Quiet… I need to concentrate."
Then, he breathed. His magic circuits—fully restored by Jin-Woo's earlier intervention—ignited with cosmic brilliance. Astrological magecraft coiled around him like galaxies in motion. He raised one hand to the void as golden script formed around his arm.
He began the chant: "Stars. Cosmos. Gods. Animus. Antrum. Unbirth. Anima… Animusphere."
And the galaxy responded. Across the sky, stars began to move.
The constellations above Coruscant shimmered—then shifted, forming ancient circular patterns. A new stellar gateway formed from starlight itself, orbiting above the Jedi Temple, right where the pirate fleet had gathered to destroy the Order.
Every pirate ship caught in the pattern began to burn. One by one, their hulls ignited—not by fire, but by the collapsing force of spatial convergence.
And through the heart of it—the gate opened.
Kirschtaria staggered. He wobbled, vision flickering, blood trickling from his nose.
This wasn't his world. or his sky. And yet… he had forced the stars to obey him.
"Master!" Caenis immediately rushed forward, catching him under one arm as he dropped to one knee. Behind her, Castor and Pollux, the twin Servants, rushed from the light and helped steady him, their expressions flickering between awe and concern.
Then came the slow, measured voice of Zeus—his avatar gazing at the gate above, arms crossed in reverent approval.
"Well done, my rival," Zeus said with calm admiration. "You've done it."
The gateway pulsed—then, without warning it started to close on itself .
The stellar light patterns dissolved into the void, leaving only smoke and swirling astral aftershocks behind. Castor's eyes widened in dismay, his voice tight with guilt.
"We've failed… Master. I'm sorry."
Kirschtaria, still on one knee, shook his head with a calm, pained smile.
"No. It's just as Daybit predicted. This… this was the signal. The final role now falls to you—Jin-Woo."
Beneath Coruscant, far below the surface, shadows surged with unstoppable force.
Jin-Woo—still standing within the heart of the underground shifting structure—flared his mana. It wasn't a slow bloom. It was a gunshot. A bullet of pure shadow.
His aura detonated outward like a tidal wave, engulfing the subterranean shrine and staining the Force itself with his presence. The stone trembled. Reality blinked. His 50% power, restrained by the limits of this galaxy, still dwarfed anything present.
He raised one hand, and shadows curled around . His voice echoed in weight.
"From dark comes light… but shoudn't , "every existence in the world… was meant to be dark first."
Then he fired. A colossal Shadow Bullet launched from his palm, carved from pure void and existence-nullifying mana. Behind it, two million shadow soldiers—each bursting forth from beneath his feet—poured into its slipstream. They weren't just invading. They were anchoring.
The shot pierced reality, tunneling through dimensions, space, and all barriers of mystic law. And it struck true.
A second later, the anchor point dug itself into the heart of Tython.
From behind him, a familiar presence emerged—towering, armored, and kneeling in reverence.
Bellion, Grand Marshall of the shadows, bowed.
"My liege," he said, voice thunderous and steady, "our infiltration toward Tython is complete. The anchor is secure."
Jin-Woo gave a small nod. "Good."
Then it began. The entire shifting structure around them—once buried beneath Coruscant—suddenly rose. It didn't tremble. . It simply vanished from one place and appeared in another, shifting through folded space in milliseconds.
One moment . And they were there.
Above, near where Kirschtaria's now-faded slipspace gate had been, the Lostbelt stood atop the reformed structure.
Ophelia didn't hesitate.
With a precise flick of her wrist, a dark platform emerged beneath her feet—formed from pure shadow mana gifted by Jin-Woo himself. It stretched like a bridge of obsidian silk, reaching Kirschtaria in an instant. She stepped onto it, her movement graceful and exact, and shouldered him gently, lifting the drained mage toward safety.
"You've done well, Kirschtaria-sama," she said softly, her voice unusually tender. "Your goal is now one step closer."
Kirschtaria said nothing—barely conscious, blood still trickling from his nose—but the faintest smirk curled at his lips.
Nearby, Kadoc stood in silent awe, his arms crossed tightly as he stared up at the swirling shadows overhead. "Never thought… I'd actually be part of something like this," he muttered.
Hinako rolled her eyes. "That low self-esteem of yours needs to be fixed, Kadoc,"
she snapped, arms folded, but her tone wasn't cruel. "You've already crossed the impossible. Start acting like it."
Pepe let out a theatrical sigh and clapped dramatically, his eyes twinkling.
"Now, now, no need to start bickering—we're standing on history. The Shadow Monarch's midichlorian count is about to hit one hundred thousand, and you know what that means~!"
Pepe gave a grin ."We're going to get our hands on the very source of the Force itself."
But Jin-Woo said nothing. He didn't even glance back.
He simply stepped forward—onto the edge of the floating landmass, where the fractured remains of the shifting structure curled outward like petals, forming a gateway again.
A second gate mirror bloomed open before him.
This one wasn't like the others. It rippled like tar. It pulsed like a heartbeat.
On the other side… was a cave—unnaturally smooth, twisted with living stone, writhing gently as if breathing.
Abeloth's cave.
And within it—standing there in full form—was Abeloth herself.
Abeloth's pale, elongated fingers clapped slowly—too slowly. Each impact of palm to palm echoed with unnatural rhythm, like a sound stitched out of horror itself.