The sound of grotesque screams from a god, crushed and slammed into the ground, echoed madly through the forest.

Yet, the man who had brought the deity low gazed upon the fallen being with an expression devoid of emotion.

Jenira, who had been staring blankly at him—at a man radiating something vast and divine—finally heard his voice.

“Pull yourself together.”

“A-ah,” she gasped, responding to the words of the man—no, Marquis Palatio.

“Can you stand?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then head down to the altar now. Your sister will be waiting for you.”

“But… what about you?” she stammered.

Without a word, he bent down and picked up the frozen apple she had dropped earlier, handing it back to her.

“Naturally, I’ll handle that and come down later,” he replied curtly, shifting his gaze as if there was no more to say.

“Jenira!”

“Sister!”

Syrkal, who had been waiting anxiously below the altar, rushed up at the sight of her sister.

“Truly, thank you so much!” Syrkal exclaimed.

“Take her down quickly,” Marquis ordered. After Syrkal hurriedly led her sister away, he turned his attention back to the colossal, thrashing form of the Basiliora—the “Receiver.”

‘Damn, I knew it was big, but this is ridiculously massive,’ he thought, clutching his wildly beating heart. If not for Deus, Jenira and he might have both been devoured.

But that thought lasted only a moment. Marquis pulled a potion of magic power from his belt and downed it in one gulp, his eyes fixed on the iron bars embedded in the roof of the creature’s mouth.

‘The ambush succeeded, so the first phase of the plan is complete. The important part starts now,’ he mused, glancing downward toward the altar.

The Receiver Basiliora bellowed in fury, its monstrous voice shaking the ground. The sound was so intense it seemed to pierce the body, as if icy raindrops were pelting every nerve.

[Who… what are you?!]

A voice resonated in his mind—a guttural yet intelligent tone belonging to Basiliora, a being now both divine and sentient.

Its rage was palpable, but beneath it lingered… fear? A faint trace of the emotion threaded through the beast’s furious voice.

With a thunderous crash, the creature coiled itself around the altar once more, lunging upward with a force that shattered its edges. Its ascent was relentless, almost enough to make Alon feel a chill.

But the effort was in vain. Before it could reach the top, violet threads had wrapped tightly around its massive form, dragging it back to the ground.

“You think I’ll just let you reach Marquis?” Deus’s voice rang out as he struck the creature’s head, driving it back down.

With a deafening crash, the Thunder Serpent God fell to the earth again.

***

Reinhardt was sure of one thing: Marquis Palatio was utterly insane. Every word that came out of the man’s mouth was the kind of madness no rational person could utter.

Or so he thought—until he saw it with his own eyes.

“Hah…”

Reinhardt stared at the distant scene, unable to close his gaping mouth.

There, a godlike being—the colossal Thunder Serpent—was plummeting to the ground. A human bringing down a god… The sight was so awe-inspiring it sent shivers through even Reinhardt’s jaded heart.

And yet…

“That’s Deus?” he muttered internally.

It had been so long since he’d seen him. Deus had grown far stronger than Reinhardt could have imagined.

With a thunderous impact, Reinhardt saw Deus get struck by the creature’s massive tail, sent flying through the forest. Trees shattered in his wake as he crashed through the terrain.

As if struck by a colossal spell, a cloud of dust rose noisily despite the rain, hinting at the sheer force of the attack.

Even for a Sword Master, such a blow would be impossible to endure unscathed. In fact, it was an attack of such magnitude that it could have been instantly fatal.

Yet, Deus, standing before his eyes, appeared almost comically unharmed—save for being coated in mud and dust.

“A unique ability, perhaps,” Reinhardt mused, letting out a faint, hollow laugh as he pieced together what Deus had done.

In that moment of divine attack, Deus had defended himself by cocooning his body in his signature threads, his unique ability absorbing the brunt of the assault.

As Reinhardt realized this, Basiliora—the Receiver—roared in fury and charged madly at Deus, its monstrous form wreaking havoc across the earth.

Crash!

The very act of its crawling across the ground unleashed a cacophony, as if heralding a natural disaster. The Receiver lunged forward with its colossal body, attempting to crush Deus outright.

But in the next instant, Deus stopped the oncoming calamity.

Using his violet threads, he lashed them around nearby trees, weaving them into an impromptu shield. Wrapping his body in his threads, Deus blocked the creature’s advance and drew his sword. With a swift slash, he redirected the path of the monstrous force.

Thud!

Basiliora hurtled sideways, crashing into a massive cliff, far from the altar. The impact sent chills down Reinhardt’s spine.

“Just how much has he grown?”

Reinhardt couldn’t suppress his amazement. He had believed himself to have grown considerably, yet the figure he had always aimed to surpass had ascended far beyond reach.

When the Receiver let out another ear-piercing scream and charged again, Reinhardt could only grimace. Despite the initial damage to its upper jaw from Marquis Palatio’s first strike, Basiliora had sustained little significant harm.

Once more, it barreled forward—not merely toward Deus, but directly at the altar.

Deus prepared to block the onslaught again, but this time, he seemed visibly strained.

“Tsk.”

Clicking his tongue, Reinhardt moved with a flash of speed, positioning himself directly in front of Deus.

“I was saving this as a final move…” he muttered under his breath, readying himself for the monstrous charge.

He assumed his stance: right foot forward, left foot back. His right hand gripped his sword’s hilt, poised high, while his left hand steadied the blade.

Click.

The sound of his blade snapping free from its sheath rang out, and Reinhardt clenched his teeth as he poured strength into his right foot.

“Secret Technique—”

With an explosive burst of energy, Reinhardt slashed his sword downward, unleashing a move he’d honed in the depths of the jungle.

“Meteor Sword!”

Boom!

The ground itself buckled under the pressure of his blade, amplifying the gravity in the area by several dozen times.

The earth shattered.

The trees splintered.

The stones cracked.

Even the rain itself seemed to halt midair before being crushed by the overwhelming force.

Under this immense gravitational pull, the massive Receiver was slammed into the ground, its monstrous advance completely halted.

“Everything’s ready. Proceed according to plan,” the voice of Marquis Palatio concluded, signaling the culmination of the battle.

Alon observed the scene with a mix of awe and worry.

“I didn’t ask them to go this far…”

From the start, Alon had anticipated Basiliora climbing toward the altar, and his plan only accounted for Deus blocking the creature’s charge once or twice.

He had never imagined anyone could hold off such a catastrophic force beyond that.

Yet Deus had done precisely that, fending off the attack of a beast that had fed on faith for ages—perhaps not a true god, but at least worthy of being called a guardian deity.

What made this feat even more remarkable was Basiliora’s divine nature, which diminished damage from non-divine beings. Blocking such a creature was no small task.

Thanks to Deus’s efforts, Alon had completed all preparations with ease. Glancing around, he noticed Deus and Reinhardt had already retreated from the battlefield.

With a sigh of relief, he muttered softly to himself.

“Phew…”

Letting out a sigh, Alon gazed at Basiliora, the Receiver, as it charged toward the altar once more.

Its enraged shrieks pierced the air, a wordless roar born of frustration after having its attacks thwarted repeatedly. The sheer ferocity of its charge embodied pure disaster. Yet, watching this calamity unfold, Alon calmly formed a series of hand seals.

“One point,” he intoned, his voice steady.

The time Alon had spent stalling since his first strike against Basiliora served three critical purposes:

First, mana recovery.

His severely limited mana reserves meant that even a single spell could nearly deplete him. He needed time to replenish his strength.

“Expansion,” he muttered, moving to the second step.

This phase involved severing the flow of faith directed at Basiliora and stalling for the debuffs cast by the Thunder Serpent tribe to take full effect.

While Basiliora’s vast reservoir of accumulated faith shielded it from significant harm, the tribe’s ritualistic debuffs would undeniably tip the scales.

Finally, “Vibration.”

The last step relied on his artifact, the Necklace of the Eye Eater, which identified Basiliora’s weaknesses.

This final preparation complete, Alon turned his attention back to the colossal being as it began scaling the altar.

“Destruction.”

With that single word, Alon unleashed his spell upon the altar.

—

BOOM!!!

The massive structure, already riddled with cracks, collapsed with an earth-shattering roar.

SPLASH!

From within, a surge of water burst forth, engulfing everything in its path. The deluge swept away the surrounding landscape and consumed half of Basiliora’s enormous body in its torrent.

Despite the chaos unfolding, Alon remained composed. This was all part of the plan—a scenario he had encountered countless times while navigating “Psychedelia.” In the game, triggering a “Jungle Flood” required toppling one of the many “Rain Altars,” and now, reality mirrored that event.

He looked down at the unfolding scene. Everything was ready.

Basiliora was now under the effects of the Thunder Serpent tribe’s debuffs, half-submerged in the floodwaters, and impaled through its mouth by an enormous magically reforged spear—a lightning rod created with the tribe’s assistance.

Only one task remained: deliver the final blow.

“Array of Thunder,” Alon murmured.

At that moment, Deus and Reinhardt, who had taken refuge on a high point in the jungle safe from the flood, witnessed the scene unfold.

Under the dim, ashen skies, a dazzling light erupted from Marquis Palatio standing at the heart of it all. The brilliance seemed to cleave the world in two.

“What the hell…?” Reinhardt cursed, his face etched with shock.

Deus, filled with renewed awe, gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, unable to look away.

And then it happened.

Behind Marquis, a pair of glowing eyes appeared as if etched into the fabric of reality itself. As the gray heavens parted, a radiant light descended—pure, blinding, and unrelenting—splitting the stormy skies with divine brilliance.