The cold dawn air brushed against the reporter’s skin, heightening his tension.

The streets of San Francisco, after the Object Crisis, were eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the sound of his heartbeat echoing in his ears.

The Alexander Group headquarters loomed in the darkness, its enormous silhouette casting a long shadow.

The reporter steadied his breath and surveyed the surroundings again.

There was no one in sight.

Just as the informant had said.

‘Is this really okay...?’

A final moment of hesitation passed through his mind, but his determination to uncover the truth pushed aside the lingering fear.

He moved cautiously, avoiding the CCTV cameras, and hid in the shadows.

Although the informant had said the security cameras would be disabled, the reporter was being extra cautious in case something went wrong.

When he reached the back door, he carefully turned the doorknob.

Just as the informant had described, the door opened easily.

The cold metal of the door added a layer of realism to the situation.

‘There’s no turning back now.’

The reporter exhaled deeply and stepped inside.

The interior of the building was darker than he had expected.

He pulled out a small flashlight from his pocket, covering it with his palm to illuminate the path ahead.

The dim light barely reached his feet.

The hallway was unnervingly quiet.

The paintings hanging on the walls twisted into strange shapes in the darkness.

It felt completely disconnected from the image of a "good corporate" that the Alexander Group typically projected.

‘...’

As he followed the route the informant had given him, he suddenly paused, feeling something odd.

There was no sound, but it felt like someone was in the room ahead.

Without opening the door, the reporter slowly retreated and hid in the shadows.

His heart raced, but he tried to stay calm, focusing on his breathing.

The hour the informant had promised wasn’t much, but the reporter held his breath and remained motionless.

About ten minutes passed.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway.

The reporter held his breath, straining to listen.

Figures in heavy military gear appeared from the darkness.

Their weapons gleamed faintly in the dim light.

"Find him quickly."

A man’s low, gravelly voice ordered.

A chill ran down the reporter’s spine.

He instinctively knew they were searching for him.

His mind raced.

Was the informant betraying him?

Or had something happened to the informant?

One thing was certain—the situation was unfolding in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

There was murderous intent in their faces.

Their fingers rested on the triggers, ready to fire at the first sign of discovery.

The armed men were rummaging through the building, searching every corner.

If he stayed where he was, they would certainly catch him.

‘I have to move.’

The reporter began to move slowly, each step a fight for survival.

Carefully following the shadows along the corridor, he mentally mapped his escape route.

‘Where’s the exit?’

He desperately scanned his surroundings.

The back door he entered through was too far behind him now.

He had to find a new way out.

After several evasive maneuvers, the reporter found himself deep underground.

Unlike the dark building, the basement was brightly lit, with endless rows of containment rooms separated by transparent walls.

The sight resembled an Object containment facility.

‘...’

Inside each containment room were people—or rather, former people—lying in grotesque positions.

The reporter’s breath caught in his throat.

A mixture of horror, shock, and anger surged within him.

But he tried to regain his professional composure.

With trembling hands, he took out his camera and cautiously began taking pictures.

People writhing in agony, twisted bodies.

Some were vomiting worms from their mouths.

Others had their limbs severed, their organs exposed as if dissected.

The containment rooms were filled with scenes of brutality, regardless of age or gender.

‘Why are they doing this...?’

Anger and sympathy clashed in the reporter’s heart.

He felt an overwhelming urge to leave, but the duty to document this horrific truth kept his feet planted.

With every photo he took, his hands shook, and his heart grew heavier.

As he was about to turn away after taking the last photo, one room in the deepest corner caught his eye.

Unlike the other containment rooms, the ominous presence from within the opaque room was palpable.

His heart raced uncontrollably.

The reporter hesitated for a moment but, driven by curiosity, opened the door.

There, half-submerged in black liquid, was a sinister-looking orb.

The reporter wasn’t an Object expert, but he could immediately tell that it was a very dangerous kind of Object.

Thud. Thud.

At that moment, a muffled gunshot pierced the silence.

The reporter felt a sharp, violent shock through his body.

Instinctively, he placed his hand over his chest, and it immediately became wet with blood.

He raised his trembling hand and saw thick red blood flowing down his palm.

Slowly, as if time had stopped, he turned to look behind him.

There, the heavily armed men who had been searching for him were now in view.

Their cold eyes and the smoke still rising from their guns entered his line of sight.

His consciousness began to fade.

He could feel his legs giving way beneath him.

The reporter held onto his camera until the very last moment.

As he collapsed to the floor, his vision grew blurry.

The sound of military boots growing louder.

At the edge of his vision, the black liquid shimmered.

When the blood that had flowed from his chest touched the black liquid, it seemed to stir slightly.

And with that, everything vanished into darkness.

Called by the Golden Reaper, I stepped out of the narrow, dark space, holding the orb sealed by the Black Reaper.

Thud, thud.

The floor felt cold underfoot, the sensation of the jade beneath my feet sending a chill through me.

After passing through a short corridor, I entered a vast space that welcomed me.

‘Is this the shrine of the Outer Gods?’

The ominous relief sculptures on the walls certainly looked like depictions of Outer Gods, but what truly gave the feeling was the statue in the center.

It appeared to be made of gray stone, with various colored jade pieces woven together to form the figure of a slumbering Outer God.

The statue was far more impressive than the many smaller depictions of Outer Gods on the walls.

‘Hmm.’

I narrowed my eyes as I looked up at the statue.

Among the reliefs on the walls was a red figure of an Outer God.

It seemed that there was something even more powerful than the usually chaotic red Outer Gods.

As I passed the statue and walked a little further, I saw James and the Golden Reaper.

"Sorry..."

The Golden Reaper clung to James, looking very apologetic, and James smiled, reassuring him.

"It was obvious it caused pain since the helmet physically cracked from the mental contamination. It’s okay."

As he continued to pat the Golden Reaper, James fed him a cookie.

James’s eyes were slightly red, which was somewhat amusing.

Hehe.

I walked over to James and handed him the sealed orb.

James hesitated for a moment, then handed it back to me.

"Seems too dangerous for a human to handle. Especially considering it could be controlled by the Black Reaper, that makes it even more hazardous."

Hmm, really?

By the way, will he explain what happened?

I took the orb back and stared at James, my gaze full of unspoken questions.

‘?’

At first, James looked slightly confused, but quickly understood what I was asking, and began telling the story.

He spoke of the source of the Emperor Frog incident, discovered through tracking the path of the mechanical giants.

According to information from the alchemist he worked with, the "Outer Gods" were not to be involved.

As I had suspected, the orb was related to the Colorful Universe.

Once I was certain, I brushed aside the Black Reapers surrounding the orb.

Then I gripped the space around the orb tightly and began to crush it.

Crrrck.

But no matter how much force I applied, it wouldn’t break.

‘!!!’

It felt like trying to crush a walnut with bare hands!

It was so solid that I had to check the destruction condition.

<Destroy with the power of space.>

Hmm.

That destruction condition meant I lacked sufficient power?

I activated the Space Halo and forcefully shattered the orb with all my strength.

Crack. Crack.

As it cracked, the orb began to shatter completely, disappearing in a flash of light.

‘Mom is amazing!’

‘Not hurting Mom!’

The Black Reapers bounced around, looking up at me with expressions of awe.

The old gods, consumed by desire, probably couldn’t think clearly enough to act.

In fact, it was more surprising that I was able to command the Black Reapers to seal the orb.

After following James around to explore the Outer Gods’ shrine and returning, I saw the Mini Reapers running around and playing.

The Golden Reapers had used their hair manipulation abilities to fluff up their hair.

Maybe they were jealous of the Black Cotton Reapers?

However, the lack of volume in their hair made them look more like shrimp tempura than fluffy cotton balls.

The Black Reapers, in their cotton-ball state, had lengthened their limbs and were running around with the Golden Reapers.

It was a strange sight to see them playing like this.

In the incinerator surrounded by cold metal walls, only the heavy hum of the massive machines filled the deathly space.

On the endlessly moving conveyor belt, all kinds of waste flowed in without end.

Among them were ordinary garbage, medical waste, and sometimes even darker secrets.

At that moment, the heavy iron door opened, and two men entered.

They were carrying something.

A black plastic bag with the outline of a human body.

Without saying a word, the men tossed the bag onto the pile of waste.

Thud.

With a heavy sound, the bag landed on top of the garbage heap.

As the plastic tore open, the body inside was revealed.

It was the lifeless form of the reporter who had been chasing the truth just days ago.

His pale face still held a mix of fear and resolve.

Clutched tightly in his hand was the broken fragment of a camera.

It was the final piece of the truth he had desperately tried to protect.

At that moment, something slid out from the reporter’s pocket.

A thick, black liquid.

It moved as if it had a will of its own, slowly twisting and turning.

‘Human…’

A soundless vibration filled the space.

It wasn’t a voice, but rather a presence, or perhaps an emotion.

‘You must not die…’

The black liquid began to gather together, forming a shape.

It was the figure of an ancient god.

The small, black mass of the god hovered above the reporter’s body, looking down at him with a sad presence.

Then, without hesitation, the black shape turned back into liquid and began to seep back into the reporter’s body.

The incinerator machines continued to hum indifferently.

The flames inside began to rise.

But in the midst of it all, it seemed as if the reporter’s fingertips moved slightly.