Maple Nation Warzone — Permanent Underground Facility.
"Mr. President... we’ve failed. They didn’t leave us enough time to evacuate Earth."
Parlenzo smashed the wine glass in his hand. Around him, ministers and elites exchanged despairing glances. No one spoke—they all knew the end was near.
After a long silence, Parlenzo stood up, face dark and unreadable. He turned to the base commander.
"Take me to the Astrologer."
They passed through more than ten heavy titanium-alloy blast doors, eventually stepping into a hidden inner sanctum.
Hundreds of elite researchers moved with methodical precision, their hands occupied with intricate tools and measurement devices. Not a single one paused to acknowledge Parlenzo’s arrival.
At the center of the chamber, two massive metallic spheres floated, suspended in place.
"Initiate the sequence!"
Mechanical arms adjusted their position, guiding the spheres toward each other. Two beams of energy shot out from within the cores, spiraling together in a surge of terrifying power.
Beneath them lay a colossal arcane formation etched into the floor, inlaid with rare materials, holy relics, and even divine-grade artifacts.
Researchers scrambled across terminals, feeding quantum computers with wave after wave of data.
"Progress at 67%! We’re almost through to the starfield wormhole!" shouted an elderly professor, white hair flying.
"Is it really working?"
Parlenzo’s eyes lit up with hope, his heart racing. He held his breath, praying not to disturb the procedure.
But after just a few seconds—
Siren alarms erupted.
The top-grade materials within the formation began to rupture, their power instantly drained by the metallic cores.
A blinding red glow cast over Parlenzo’s face. His heart sank.
The two artificial limbs—built with the strongest known alloys and inscribed with advanced magic arrays—were visibly crumbling under the strain. Sparks shot from the joints. Merely pushing the spheres half a meter had pushed the fusion metal beyond its limits.
Thousands of priceless Infinite Dimensions materials—gone.
An entire dragon hoard’s worth of resources, wasted in a single failed attempt.
An old man in a black robe raised his staff and waved a hand.
The two spheres let out a deep mechanical groan, cracked the control platform with ease, and dimmed as their divine glow vanished.
"Great Astrologer, please... please try again. We’re out of time."
Parlenzo, hair disheveled and face pale, dropped to one knee before the old man.
"I want to help you. But the timing is not right. Perhaps... this is your fate."
The Astrologer’s tone was tranquil.
"You promised you’d take us off-world! We poured everything into this project—are you going to go back on your word?!"
A furious council member raised his gun and pointed it at the Astrologer.
The old man didn’t flinch.
Parlenzo’s eyes went cold. He gave the presidential guard a silent signal.
The dissenter collapsed in a pool of blood, disbelief frozen on his face.
"Lord Astrologer... if the wormhole can’t be completed, then please escort me out of here. The demons from the US are coming."
Parlenzo’s voice was humble, almost pleading.
The black-robed man gave no reply.
Instead, he raised his withered hand, fingers curling slightly. A streak of light shot from his palm and materialized into a golden bracelet on his wrist.
Parlenzo’s face twisted in shock.
It was his Seven Thrones of Dominion.
The scattered divine artifacts, once under his control—belonged originally to the man before him.
"You lied to me. Your nation is not the strongest on this planet. That is... disappointing."
The Astrologer shook his head, voice calm and matter-of-fact.
Parlenzo panicked. "Please, just a little more time! We can still prove our value!"
"They’re only temporarily dominant. The only real threat is Orgod!"
The President of Maple Nation dropped to his knees, humiliated.
He had seen this apocalypse coming. He’d gone all-in on Infinite Dimensions tech and infrastructure, defying critics to do it. But after Orgod’s rise and the annihilation of the joint fleet, he’d invested every last resource into the Interstellar Exodus Plan.
The plan to tear open a wormhole and escape Earth before the Heaven Demons consumed it.
"Across the galaxies, no warzone that has lost its power can produce a true god-tier being."
The Astrologer’s sigh was faint, but every word stabbed into Parlenzo’s heart.
"Give up. Face doomsday alongside your people. That is your true duty."
Red-eyed and trembling, Parlenzo barked out, "No! I only want my family to live!"
"We sacrificed everything! Why should I die like the rest of those... peasants?!"
"He’s a liar! He’s no otherworldly Astrologer—he’s a spy, a fraud!"
Anger rippled through the room. The elites couldn’t care less about civilians; all they wanted was to survive.
In their minds, war would always claim the poor, never the powerful.
"Keep burning, Ignis."
A soft female voice cut through the chaos.
Everyone turned toward the one-meter-thick alloy door. It glowed red hot.
Seconds later, the metal melted into liquid.
"Was this really so important that you all had to hide here to discuss it?"
Orson stepped into the sanctum, smiling faintly. Sienna and Aeloria walked beside him.
A flash of fire—Ignis transformed into a little red bird and perched on Sienna’s shoulder.
She scratched its head, then held up a handful of popcorn. Ignis chirped joyfully and dove into the snack.
"So that’s why you needed to wipe their surveillance system..."
Three black lines formed on Orson’s forehead.
"Looks like we hit the jackpot. All of Maple Nation’s big names in one place. Saves me the trouble of hunting you down one by one."
His tone was light, almost amused.
But every official in the room choked on their breath. That face—they knew it all too well.
Top of every country’s kill-on-sight list.
The Archmage of Infinite Dimensions.
The undisputed strongest in the merged world.
The room fell into deathly silence.
Gunfire erupted from every direction, a wave of metallic death flying toward Orson.
Aeloria stepped forward, her aura ice-cold. She took the hits head-on.
Dozens of soldiers emptied their mags—but it was useless. Not a scratch.
The elites cowered and screamed, huddling together like pigs at a slaughterhouse.
Orson almost laughed.
Not just at the pathetic stench filling the air—but at the absurdity of powerful adventurers dying for these cowards.
Supreme Arcane Blade came down, engulfed in fire.
More than ten top officials were reduced to ash.
Orson ignored the regular soldiers. Let them flee.
He wasn’t some bloodthirsty madman. Violence was just one tool among many.
"So you’re the Astrologer?"
He turned to the black-robed man. The old man nodded slightly. His hood was still low, face hidden, but he radiated a presence unlike any Orson had felt before.
"You cannot view this target’s stats."
System message. Orson’s brows drew together.
He’d heard of the Astrologer from SteelWolf.
No one knew his origins. No one could assess his stats or rank.
"Earth’s strongest adventurer," the man said. "I’ve been waiting for you. I am a Starborne Wanderer."
He laughed as he spoke.
"Waiting for me?" Orson chuckled, assuming it was just more empty flair.
But then the old man reached up and tore off his black robe.
What had looked like a frail, bony body began to radiate raw vitality.
Bones cracked. Limbs stretched.
His form grew larger, thicker, more imposing. A guttural growl escaped his throat.
Before Orson and Sienna’s stunned eyes, the man transformed—into a nine-meter-tall cyclops.
A single, massive eye glowing with divine power.
Muscles bulging. Skin gleaming. Holy light pouring from every inch.
Orson froze. The pressure from the giant felt... familiar.
His eyes drifted to his own Titan right arm.
A whisper, almost too quiet to hear.
"You’re a Titan... of the Gods?!"