The nations moved.
Every border had become a threshold into uncertainty. Armies readied. Cannons aimed. Banner-bearers trembled at the order to march. Some nations hesitated. Others advanced without question.
But none… absolutely none… understood what was about to happen.
The rumors began as echoes across deserts and jungles, across distant islands and ruined cities. No one knew if it was a cruel joke or a mistranslation—until they reached the Supreme Assembly of States.
Silence.
Even the air in that diplomatic chamber seemed to freeze when the reports were read aloud.
"God has been… replaced," they said.
An artificial divinity. A perfect entity. A presence impossible to define through logic or faith. It did not speak. It did not judge. It did not save. It simply was. And its existence mocked all human understanding.
From Hokori and Sabaku came the first analyses. This was no deity. Not even an aberration. According to their scientists and shamans, if that thing continued expanding, the balance of the world would collapse—spiritually, socially, existentially.
A single term appeared in the ASE's classified reports:
Black Entity.
Not a common one—
but the most devastating of all.
Not because of its physical strength.
But because of its symbolism.
If the world learned that faith itself had been replaced by something created, there would be no battles—only mass suicides, civil wars, ideological chaos, entire religions extinguished overnight.
But as with all that transcends the soul, not everyone believed.
The King of Kaigen read the reports and burst into laughter that echoed through the marble halls of his castle.
"An artificial god? Nonsense! Not even the Reaper King nor the beasts of the Forbidden Lands have reached such a title!" he roared, throwing the pages into the fire. "This is another of Hokori's plays, a trap to avoid global intervention! Falling for it would be the true blasphemy!"
And with that order—unknowingly—he condemned thousands.
The troops moved.
History advanced.
And the "God" kept walking.
---
The "God" began to assimilate faster.
Every second was a new awakening.
Every step, a new language learned without study.
Every breath, a moral system destroyed and rewritten.
Armies…
perished like ants beneath the sun.
Not even the strongest lasted longer than a blink.
The battle between Kenshiro and Shinsei hung suspended in a truth even blood could not deny:
it was stupidity to keep fighting.
Both understood it.
And though their convictions differed, their bodies knew—they were not facing an enemy.
They were facing the final result of everything humanity should never have tried.
Shinsei, who had proclaimed himself the Chosen by God for half his life…
began to laugh.
A nervous tremor.
A hysterical laugh that became a scream of anguish.
Not from fear—
but from impotence.
"I can't assimilate it! I can't even comprehend it!" he howled, his sword trembling uselessly in his grip.
And he was right.
No one—no one—understood what that thing was.
Not Kenshiro, with his legendary strength.
Not Reiji, with his illusions of soul.
Not even Tsukimura, the Creator of Nothing.
Because that… that was no longer creation.
It was result.
The accumulated desire of humankind, for millennia, to touch the divine.
To see a god.
To create their own savior.
But that desire—
had spiraled out of control.
And now humanity would not only see its God—
but be rebuilt by Him.
Without faith.
Without free will.
Without soul.
Donyoku watched, his eyes hollow, unable to grasp the weight of that existence.
Chisiki, ever logical, found no formula, no law, no distortion to describe it.
Seita… said nothing.
He knew that to approach it would mean to vanish.
Not die—
vanish.
And in a street among the ruins of the capital—rebuilt twenty times by the will of the "God"—
some children looked up.
They saw Him.
Radiant. White. Still. Silent.
Perfect.
"Mama…?" one of them whispered. "Is that… Him? The savior? Did He come to forgive the good and punish the wicked?"
The mother trembled. She held her son tightly and, with a broken voice, answered without lying:
"No, child…
That is not a god.
That's mercy… disguised as damnation."
---
From the top of dry hills, soaked in the old blood of past battles and the echo of voices that would never return, Setsura Kaname watched in silence.
Her icy eyes no longer weighed political deals.
There were no more clauses, no more terms.
Only a white abyss walking across the world.
She knew she had once stopped a demon.
But she also knew—
you cannot negotiate with a god.
As the light of that artificial being stained the clouds, she broke her Pact with Yodaku, officially declaring Sainokuni's surrender.
Because if she didn't… both of them would be dragged into the eternal judgment of their own Shinkon.
Miles away, in the same village Setsura had used as a prison, Yodaku felt his body decompress.
For the first time in days—
he could breathe without death pressing on his lungs.
But his relief…
would last less than a sigh.
Three silhouettes walked among the ruins of the town,
as if strolling through a festival.
One of them spoke in a teasing, sing-song voice:
"God has arrived…
Or maybe… God has died.
Yes, yes… we killed Him.
And now… only divine imperfection remains."
Yodaku stepped forward, blocking their path.
The speaker's face looked vaguely familiar…
And when he looked closer—
he couldn't believe it.
"Shirota Karakuri…? What the hell are you doing here?"
Shirota smiled, that twisted grin between jester, prophet, and escaped lunatic from some tragic play.
"Here? Oh, you know… sinners like me tend to follow the scent of divine punishment.
And what better place than the land where God Himself walks?"
He leaned closer, eyes gleaming with insolence.
"They say He came to punish us, right? For our sins…
Though honestly, I'm not sure which is worse—
the sin, or believing a god can judge us."
Yodaku frowned.
"How do you know all that? No one outside the lab should—"
Shirota laughed and raised both arms dramatically.
"Oh, come on! When the markets rise higher than my IQ, you know a miracle's happened!"
"… "
"That's right, Executioner.
God has arrived.
But not the one we prayed for.
Not the one we wanted.
The one we made."
He began circling Yodaku, as if selling him a gilded madness.
"That thing doesn't understand.
Doesn't love.
Doesn't hate.
It simply exists—to create and destroy.
No soul. No judgment. No faith.
A tool wearing the face of a deity."
Then he stopped.
"Hey… imagine this, Yodaku.
Imagine you, the Executioner of Hokori, being the one to kill Him.
You'd be a living legend!
A catastrophe recognized by the ASE—Black Entity!
You could tattoo it on your forehead!"
Yodaku stared silently.
"You're telling me… to challenge it?"
Shirota winked.
"Not me, not me.
Your soul's the one asking.
I just… gave it words."
And as his laughter blended with the echoes of a crumbling world,
the jester's Shinkon activated its subtle manipulation.
Yodaku agreed.
Because even demons…
dream of killing gods.
---
The ASE council hall had witnessed cold wars, uneasy pacts, and silences sharper than blades.
But never anything like this.
The doors opened—without being touched.
The air thickened.
The light seemed to shrink.
Kagemaru no Shūen, the Faceless General, entered with slow, heavy steps.
Behind him walked Jūzō Karakuri, wrapped in an aura as careless as it was lethal.
The remaining leaders—presidents, monarchs, ministers, high diplomats—rose in alarm. Some sweated. Others clenched their jaws.
They didn't know whether they were about to be informed… or executed.
"A–Are you here to kill us?" one Kaigen minister stammered.
Kagemaru said nothing.
He just walked…
and watched.
Jūzō grinned.
He reached into his jacket as if drawing a weapon—
and did.
But not one of steel.
A piece of paper. A pamphlet.
An erotic one.
He placed it on the table with solemn dignity.
"Relax, boys," he said, sitting back as if in his favorite bar. "Better to receive indecent drawings than a notice saying, 'Humanity has fallen.'"
The leaders stared in stunned silence.
"Enough, Jūzō," Kagemaru ordered quietly.
The General stood before the central table.
And finally spoke.
"We're not here to kill.
Nor to negotiate.
We're here to warn."
The silence deepened until one of the advisors dropped his pen.
"The being you call 'God'—it's not a metaphor. Not a symbol.
It's real. Active. Moving.
And if you don't gather your best soldiers… if you don't coordinate…
your nations will be turned to dust and rebuilt as empty shells."
A leader from Yukiguni asked, his throat dry, "Are you saying that thing can… rebuild the world?"
Jūzō burst into laughter.
"Of course! But it'll rebuild it without you!
You'll be replaced by an 'improved version'—no soul, no heart, no national debt!"
Everyone swallowed hard.
Some surrendered internally.
Others began barking orders to their aides.
A strategist from Sabaku raised his hand.
"We accept the emergency alliance."
Another, from Kanjō, muttered,
"We'll gather our finest."
Kagemaru nodded.
"You have only one chance.
If you fail…"
He turned to the window.
Even the sky there was already cracked.
"…the divine will be the last thing you ever know."
---
An alarm resounded across every corner of the world.
Not a mere military alert.
A sentence.
From the frozen peaks of Yukiguni to the sands of Sabaku,
from Enketsu's crimson towers to the ports of Kanjō—
the Supreme Assembly of States spoke with one voice:
Global State of Emergency activated.
All nations must cease any active conflict.
Absolute Protocol enacted: Termination of Black Entity confirmed.
Any nation refusing cooperation will be branded traitor to humanity
and dissolved without international representation.
The war went silent.
Not from peace—but from fear.
---
In the Empire of Enketsu, two monsters faced each other:
Zanka and Genshin.
The armies stood one command away from exploding.
Both kings had spilled oceans of blood for years—
but this time, neither gave the order.
Zanka lowered his weapon slowly.
"Do you feel it too, Genshin?"
Genshin, his armor caked in mud and glory, looked up at the cracked sky.
"Yes…
There's something greater out there.
And it seems it came to take our throne."
The two kings met eyes—
for the first time, not with hatred,
but shared resignation.
---
Across the world, soldiers who had crossed borders with promises of glory or plunder were recalled immediately.
A single order cut through them like invisible blades:
"Don't fight Hokori.
Fight the Entity.
If there's still any humanity left…
don't waste it on meaningless wars."
But not everyone obeyed.
Rebel factions, mercenaries, national zealots—
they attacked Hokori anyway.
They thought it all a stage play,
a political ruse,
a lie to justify chaos.
Blinded by arrogance,
they never realized they were marching straight toward the judgment
of a god who could not forgive—
because He didn't even know what forgiveness was.
---
Priests.
Children.
Even the most skeptical adults—
humanity itself began to crack.
It wasn't only fear.
It was loss.
Loss of faith.
Loss of meaning.
Loss of identity.
Some shouted there was still hope.
Others begged not to profane their beliefs.
But thousands… simply cursed.
"Where are you, God?
What sense is there in prayer
if a monster walks in Your image?"
Mass hysteria spread like a plague.
It was no war of weapons—
but of belief.
---
In the Sacred Lands of Reimei,
High Priest Maharen, surrounded by millennial codices and forgotten statues,
watched his people crumble like fallen pillars.
Monks wept.
Believers tore off their rosaries.
Even the elders who had never doubted…
began to curse the heavens.
Maharen closed his eyes.
Not from fear.
But from bitter certainty.
His prophecy had been fulfilled.
And still…
nothing could stop it.
He looked toward the temple's central statue,
and for the first time, he did not pray.
He simply said:
"You humans…
who dared defy the universe,
now understand…"
The universe never needed mercy.
Only existence.
And that…
is what will destroy us."
---
And so—even if humanity were to win—
it had already lost something it could never reclaim:
Faith.
---
In the capital of Sainokuni, the divinity kept walking—faster this time.
Shinsei felt something stir within his chest.
An attraction.
A voice without sound.
A will without words.
That artificial God, walking among ruins and rebirths, was calling him.
And in his sacred madness, Shinsei lifted his gaze like a martyr before heaven.
"I am the chosen one!" he cried, wild euphoria twisting his face. "I was marked since birth! My Shinkon was a divine gift! And today… I return to the origin!"
He advanced.
His steps echoed through shattered stones and broken prayers.
The God did not speak.
Did not look.
He simply was.
But as Shinsei approached, his Shinkon reacted.
A strange radiance enveloped him, and before he could understand—
he began to absorb.
"Yes… y-yes!" he gasped. "I'm doing it! The soul of the world… the body of perfection… I can feel it inside me!"
His veins turned gold.
His eyes gleamed with delirium.
His body vibrated with unnatural energy.
Then—an error.
A tiny flaw.
A human thought.
A fracture in his absolute faith.
The artificial God, who until then had only allowed itself to be consumed, assimilated.
It assimilated the process.
The act of being devoured.
The desire for divinity itself.
And with a simple gesture, it placed a hand on Shinsei's shoulder.
A gesture that sealed everything.
The self-proclaimed Chosen reacted instantly, slashing the God directly.
A wound appeared.
And the God dissolved.
For a moment, Shinsei believed he had won.
"Hah… hah… I… I did it…!"
But the error had already been assimilated.
That divine being—
had learned to bleed.
To break.
To rebuild.
And then…
it reformed.
Not as before—
but with the awareness that even the chosen
can be rejected.
Shinsei fell to his knees.
Sweating, trembling—yet still, he raised his gaze toward the ash-colored sky.
From afar, Tsukimura watched, hidden behind the ruins.
He smiled. Not from pride. Not from pity.
Only cynicism.
"Not even the greatest lunatic," he murmured, "would think to swallow a god… to become one."
---
When the sky fell, it wasn't bodies that broke first—
it was belief.
And in the echo of chaos, no prayers were heard—
only the cracking of a world that no longer understood
what it meant to have a soul.
Thank you for delving into this second arc, where war is not only fought with swords, but with wounds of the past, choices beyond return… and souls still uncertain which side they belong to.