Chapter 165: God-Killer Theory

Date: 6/23/2001 – 3:50 AM

Location: The White Room – Assessment Floor

Perspective: Kaiser Everhart

The transition was smoother this time. The grey static of the nursery dissolved, replaced by the sterile, blinding brilliance of the White Room.

I felt the familiar texture of the cold, metallic desk beneath my palms. But before my vision could fully sharpen, a sharp, sudden pressure clamped down on my left sleeve.

Small, pale fingers were trembling against the fabric.

“You’re late,” a voice whispered.

“4 minutes and 12 seconds past the synchronized entry time, Kaiser.”

I turned my head. Amelia was leaning toward me, her emerald eyes wide and searching. She looked as though she hadn’t blinked in the entire time I was gone.

“The simulation had a lag, Amelia,” I said, my voice smooth.

“I was… occupied.”

“Occupied with what?” she pressed, her grip tightening. “Vance? Or… or her?”

She couldn’t stand the idea of someone else.

“I was securing a future,” I replied, leaning in just enough to enter her personal space.

I watched her pupils contract. “Is that why you’re still holding my sleeve? Are you checking for tremors, or are you just making sure I don’t vanish again?”

Amelia flinched, but she didn’t let go. A faint, dusty pink hue began to crawl up her neck. “I am… I am performing my duties as your partner. It is illogical to leave a partner unmonitored when their stability is in question.”

“Is that all I am to you, Amelia? A subject?”

I let a small, knowing smile touch my lips—the kind of expression that suggests a secret only two people share.

I reached out, my hand hovering just inches from hers.

“You wanted to stay,” I said softly. “Last time, Vance practically forced you out, yet here you are. You didn’t even go to your own station. You waited for me.”

“I… I have a good memory, Kaiser,” she whispered, her voice dropping into that vulnerable, shimmering register she only used when we were alone.

“I can’t forget the way you looked when you were arguing with him. I can’t forget the way the room felt. If I’m not near you… the information feels incomplete. It’s like… a blind spot in my world.”

“A blind spot,” I repeated. I shifted my weight, the chair screeching quietly against the floor. “And we can’t have that, can we? A perfectionist like you needs every detail in place.”

“Don’t tease me,” she muttered, her gaze dropping to our desks.

“It’s not… it’s not funny. I felt like the simulation was going to collapse without you. I thought they had finally decided to… to throw you away…”

The fear in her voice was real. To her, the rest of the world was a blur of irrelevant numbers. I was the only thing that mattered.

“Look at me, Amelia.”

She hesitated, then slowly lifted her head. Her emerald eyes were shimmering, a mix of clinical obsession and a deep-seated, possessive need.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, my voice carrying a weight of absolute certainty.

“Vance can try to, but he can’t move me. And he certainly can’t move you away from me. We’re the only ones who actually see this place for what it is, aren’t we?”

“We are,” she breathed. “The others… they just follow the rules. But you… you rewrite it.”

“Then trust me.”

I stood up from my chair. The movement was slow, deliberate. I stepped into the narrow gap between our desks, closing the distance until I was standing directly over her. Amelia looked up, her breath hitching in a quiet, suppressed exhale.

I reached out. I didn’t grab her sleeve. Instead, I gently tucked a stray strand of her black hair behind her ear.

“You’ve been overworking your ’forest,’ haven’t you?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Your eyes are tired, Amelia.”

“I… I had to catalog everything,” she stammered, her clinical composure finally shattering. Her face was heating up, a deep crimson bloom spreading across her cheeks. “I didn’t want to miss the moment you returned.”

“Good girl,” I murmured, patting her head.

She let out a shaky, breathy exhale, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment of pure, unadulterated validation.

“K-Kaiser…”

I placed my hand on her cheek, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw.

It was a calculated act of intimacy—a physical seal on the “Special Bond” I was forging.

To win the Foundation’s race, I needed more than just high scores. I needed a partner who would never betray me. I needed her memory to be my archive, and her devotion to be my shield.

“From now on,” I said, looking directly into her opening eyes, “don’t monitor me as a subject. Monitor me as your partner. If I’m late, it’s because I’m clearing the path for both of us. Understood?”

Amelia nodded frantically, her hand reaching up to cover mine, pressing it tighter against her face.

“Understood,” she whispered, her voice thick with devotion. “I… I’ll be your partner, Kaiser. I promise.”

I smiled.

The “Aporetic” and the “Photographic” were now aligned.

Vance might have the system. But I had the heart of its talented observer.

The assessment was about to begin.

98 breathing bodies were abruptly cut short by the sound of a single, heavy footfall.

Director Vance stepped onto the central dais.

Behind him, the holographic board flickered to life, displaying a massive, pulsing countdown clock.

“Today,” Vance began, “is the end of your life. Or the beginning of your purpose.”

He paced the edge of the stage, his gaze sweeping over the rows of desks like a scythe through wheat.

“You have been fed. You have been trained. You have been monitored. The Foundation does not invest in mediocrity.”

“Today’s assessment covers 12 core subjects. Mathematics, Mana-Physics, Arcane-Engineering, Biological-Optimization… and the weight of your own history.”

He stopped, his eyes locking onto the center of the room.

“The threshold is absolute. 100%. Anything less is a declaration of failure. In this world, a weapon that is 99% functional is still a broken tool. If you fail, you will be expelled.”

“And in the Foundation, expulsion is not a departure. It is a disposal.”

He leaned forward, his silver-rimmed glasses glinting.

“Your talents are gifts from a higher order. They will carry you through the fire, but only if you master them. Do not let your talent wither by overuse, and do not let it use you. A weapon that fires itself is merely a hazard. But remember…”

He turned his head slightly, his gaze drifting from Designation 000001—the golden-haired boy who sat like a king—to me. The corner of his mouth quirked in a way that wasn’t a smile.

“You may never know the devil sitting next to you in this world. Sometimes, the greatest threat isn’t the exam in front of you, but the anomaly breathing in the next seat over. Pass… or be erased.”

The Devil.

With a sharp, synchronized snap of mana, the air above our desks distorted. Sheets of heavy, textured parchment materialized out of the white mist, landing with a soft thud in front of every student.

The first examination: History of the Celestine Era.

I took a deep breath, the “Aporetic” in my mind shifting into high gear. The information began to stream, filtered and cold.

Question 1: Identify the Primordial Beast of Time and Space.

Question 2: Analyze the collapse of the Valerion Kingdom’s third outpost during the Asura Expansion.

(Context: Resource depletion vs. Mana-industrialization).

Question 3: Specify the date of the Sylvan Treaty between the High Elves and the First Emperor.

Question 4: Describe the technological shift in the Asura Empire following the discovery of ’Void-Steel.’

I scanned down. The fifth question took up half the page.

Question 5: History records that four thousand years ago, the Primordial Beast, Myriacron, decimated the joint forces of the Human Kingdoms and the Elven Enclaves to protect the territory of Sylaris. Explain the political motivation for the Human-Elven Alliance’s invasion and why Myriacron is classified as ’unbeatable’ in historical records.

I looked at the ink. It was a test of narrative as much as fact.

Sylaris. The land of the Fairies.

The land of deception.

The humans and elves hadn’t invaded for “peace” or “unification,” as the lower-tier textbooks suggested. The political reality was far more predatory. They wanted to force their domination over the Fairies’ mana-wells to power their own escalating war machines. It was a grab for the ultimate fuel source.

But then, the failure.

They lost because Myriacron does not exist within the standard flow of linear causality. It is the Beast of Time and Space. To fight it is to fight an opponent who has already seen your move a thousand years before you make it, and who can erase the space your body occupies before you even arrive.

It cannot be beaten because it is the environment itself.

The environment is the opponent.

Vance’s lesson, hidden in a history book.

I held my stylus over the paper.

I see the pattern.

The past is just another simulation.

Winning is the only true record.

I began to write.

Hmm.

I stared at the parchment. My stylus hovered, the ink a dark, expectant void.

To the Asura Empire, the Valerion Kingdom, and the scholars of the Foundation, Myriacron was not a beast.

It was a God.

It was the physical manifestation of the universe’s immune system.

The logic of its “unbeatability” was rooted in the failure of current arcane theory.

Celestial magic fails because it seeks to impose a divine order on a creature that precedes the gods. Cursed magic fails because it targets the soul, yet Myriacron is less a person and more a geographic event. Elemental magic is the most laughable of all. Fire, water, and wind require space to exist and time to move.

If the opponent is the space and the time, you are merely throwing matches into a vacuum.

To fight Myriacron is to fight time and space itself.

Whether you are a Dwarf, a Demon, or a Hero, you are a mortal subject to the laws of reality. And the reality says you die.

The logic is flawed.

Everything that exists has a cost

Even a god must pay for its presence.

Location: Foundation Command Center – Observation Deck

Perspective: Standard Narrator

Rows of high-definition monitors flickered in the dark. The instructors of the Foundation, men and women who had seen thousands of geniuses crumble, sat in a heavy, contemplative silence.

“Look at 000001,” one instructor whispered, pointing to a screen showing the golden-haired boy. His stylus moved with elegant, fluid speed.

“His thesis is perfect. He argues that to defeat a god of Time and Space, one must transcend the biological shell and achieve god-hood themselves. To beat the environment, you must become the universe. It is the height of Foundation logic.”

“And 981?” another asked.

The room went quiet. On the central monitor, Kaiser Everhart’s screen was a mess of crossed-out equations and jagged lines.

He was the only student who hadn’t started a formal essay.

“He’s arguing that god-hood is unnecessary,” the head instructor muttered, his voice trembling. “He’s writing that Myriacron is beatable… as a mortal.”

In the corner of the room, Director Vance stood alone. He didn’t look at the other screens. His gaze was fixed on Kaiser. He watched the way the boy’s hand tightened around the stylus until the knuckles turned white.

What are you seeing, anomaly? Vance thought.

Are you breaking? Or are you building a gallows for a god?

Perspective: Kaiser Everhart

I felt the sweat prickle at my hairline.

Every law of physics I had cataloged, every formula for mana-viscosity, every historical record of the Sylaris War screamed that I was wrong. It was an impossibility.

Myriacron controlled the fate of life and death because it owned the “Now.”

As a mortal, I am a prisoner of the “Now.”

I closed my eyes. For a second, the White Room vanished.

I felt the safety of Cartethyia’s arms. I heard her sleepy voice promising me a birthday cake with seven layers. I saw her dreams—the simple, irrational desire to see me grow up.

She didn’t want a god.

She wanted a son.

If I had to slay a god of Time just to ensure she was there for my second birthday, I wouldn’t hesitate.

If Myriacron controls the environment, then the environment is its body.A body that large cannot move without leaving a trace.The beast is not unbeatable. It is merely too large to be perceived.

The stylus touched the paper.

To kill a god, you do not become a god. You turn the universe’s own laws against it. You create a “Zero-Point”—a moment where space is so compressed and time is so dilated that the beast’s own weight crushes it into a singularity. You don’t kill the beast.

You make the beast kill itself.

I am a mortal. And that is my greatest advantage.

Because unlike a god, I have everything to lose.

I opened my eyes. The blue was gone, replaced by a cold, predatory light.

I see the solution.

I will win at any cost.

I began to write the “God-Killer” theory.

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