Thousands of strings shot toward Scott at the woman's call. The formation warped—not destroyed, but shaken. Everything within it, except for Scott, his weapons, the other champions, and the logs they stood on, had unraveled. It had turned to strings—racing at him and the massive chains behind.

Scott didn't move. But the veil hiding his infinite eyes began to peel away.

"Do you believe this is reality?" his voice echoed, though his lips never parted.

At that moment, the sharp crack of shattering glass rang through the formation. Then everything collapsed. A violent wind tore across the land.

Scott and the champions held their ground, but uncertainty filled their eyes.

What was that? Scott scanned the scene, frowning. Did our authorities cancel each other out?

He knew the formation had been real, but now it was gone.

This was the first time he'd seen opposing authorities nullify one another.

Across from him, the woman looked even more stunned. Her jaw hung slack. Her eyes were wide and unfocused.

"H-How?" she stammered. "How did the goddess's formation crum—?" She cut herself off mid-sentence, as if speaking the thought aloud was sacrilege.

Still trying to process what had happened, her gaze drifted back to Scott.

"How dare you," she hissed, fury blooming in her expression.

"How dare you destroy what my—" She froze, eyes snapping upward.

The earth twisted.

Ancient glyphs and runes spiraled into existence, carving themselves from nothing. They twisted together, climbing toward the sky like writhing serpents.

Scott narrowed his eyes. What is that? What's happening?

The arcane designs were built from two opposing forces. One was a cyclone of miniature all-seeing eyes; the other, a swarm of blackened strings, countless and thin as hair.

They clashed silently in the air, unraveling each other.

Above them, the sky blackened. Two symbols emerged: the eye—his mark—and beside it, the sigil of a feminine figure entangled in dark strings.

They hovered inches apart.

Scott stared at the all-seeing eye. I didn't summon this. It appeared the moment our authorities collided. So… were they naturally canceling each other out—or is something restricting us?

He leaned toward the second idea.

This place is under the Overseer's control. Interference wouldn't be out of the question.

He thought back to his encounter with the Thumper. That Garden Servant had gone out of its way to avoid fighting, despite wielding authority.

Was this why? Did it know clashing powers would trigger this reaction?

He couldn't be sure. Glancing down, he saw the woman also staring at the sigils—just as lost.

Scott smiled.

With that damned formation gone, this is my chance.

He lifted the war hammer. The chains stirred, lashing toward the substitute vessels.

The moment his arm rose, a gravitational force slammed into the landscape, pressing down across fifty miles. But the pressure stopped short—repelled by the sigils. Worse, the spiraling glyphs seemed to devour the anomaly itself.

Scott instinctively recalled the chains before they could wander any further. Some of the strings had reacted toward them. He didn't need prophecy to know letting those ruins touch his weapons would be a mistake.

Only now did the champion grasp what he was planning. Her eyes locked on him, rage still boiling in her gut.

"When this ends," Scott said, voice like a hammer strike, "you die."

He didn't move. His right arm stayed raised, grin untouched.

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She glared back, unable to speak, the anomaly still clutching at her mind.

Scott waited. The runes were still clashing—slowly—too slowly. The twin sigils pulsed but didn't vanish.

Then the woman dropped to her knees.

"O Keeper of Strings," she cried out. "Hear me! Show your might! Let this heretic fall into your grasp!"

A dagger flashed into her hand. Without hesitation, she plunged it into her heart.

"I offer my vessel... a living sacrifice..." she gasped, blood bubbling from her lips, "to welcome your descent."

Scott's brow furrowed. He looked up.

The feminine sigil flared.

Then a voice—ancient and low—rumbled from above.

"It is not enough."

The champion's blood-choked laugh echoed. "Praise... the Keeper of Strings... praise..."

Her body toppled from the log mid-sentence.

Before she hit the ground, the runic strings swarmed her corpse.

All across the area, the remaining vessels on their logs pulled daggers from their inventories—and stabbed their hearts without hesitation.

One by one, the bodies fell from their logs. Before they hit the ground, the runic strings raced toward them—consuming them midair.

Then came the ancient voice again.

"I accept your sacrifice."

The all-seeing eye shattered—along with the miniature runic versions of it. Ominous hymns poured from the sky, and the sigil of the bound feminine figure expanded across the heavens.

Below, the corpses of the champions began to twitch. The leftover strings wrapped around them, merging with flesh and bone.

Scott's expression darkened. His grip tightened on the war hammer as he stared at the roiling clouds above.

I'm not sticking around to see what's coming next.

With a motion of his left hand, the chains snapped back into dormancy, coiling around his arm. He didn't wait. He blasted forward, guided by the flickering arrowhead.

He had only gone three meters when a voice reached him.

"Ah... so it was you," it said with a tinge of amusement.

Scott didn't break stride.

"He who was chosen by Arkhontis—why do you flee?"

He stopped.

In that instant, hundreds of thousands of strings tore through the space he would have occupied had he continued.

Scott exhaled through his nose. So much for avoiding unnecessary fights.

He turned slowly.

One of the corpses now floated in midair, about five hundred meters ahead. It was the bald champion—the first one Scott had seen. He hovered like a puppet, every limb and joint tangled in dense strings. His lips twisted into a grin as he beckoned Scott with one hand.

Scott's eyes tracked the strings to their source—and saw them.

Pale, translucent hands extended from the sigil in the sky. They didn't move, yet the strings attached to them twitched constantly, as if hungry.

"They've been searching for you," the voice chuckled. "Who would've guessed you'd be here? Just a sliver of authority granted to a devotee—and look what we found."

Scott clenched his jaw.

Damn it. The gods—or at least their followers—have breached the Endless Bridge. If word gets out that I'm here…

But then again—can they even operate freely here? This is the Overseer's territory.

Whoever the Overseer is, they're no pushover.

"Who are you?" Scott asked, voice even.

He had his suspicions. He wanted confirmation.

The corpse tilted its head and grinned wider. "To think you've come this far. Finally, you understand your nature." It laughed. Its voice—unsettling and sharp.

The illusionary hands twitched. A fresh wave of strings burst forth. They diced the already shattered logs into smaller splinters. The very ground cracked beneath the onslaught.

"Truly fascinating," the voice murmured. "My devotee will be pleased to know you still draw breath."

Scott said nothing, but a name circled his thoughts.

Is it talking about Zara? Or someone else?

He suspected Aga'dz—the Keeper of Strings—was talking through the corpse but he couldn't be sure.

"As much as I'd like to keep chatting," the voice said, now laced with purpose, "I have obligations to fulfill. My devotee gave a satisfactory sacrifice, after all."

Scott finally smiled. "In case you are unaware—I don't scare easy. You and I both understand the rules. Higher beings can't descend fully, not here. Not even on the Endless Bridge."

He raised his chin.

"Whatever you're trying to pull, you won't touch me. But feel free to try."

A pause—then a hiss of laughter echoed.

"Daring… truly daring."

The illusionary hand moved. Millions of strings exploded from the sigil.

Darkness surged around Scott. The all-seeing eye ignited above. Hundreds—no, tens of thousands—of its smaller counterparts swirled in the gloom, each glowing brighter, solidifying.

Scott stepped forward—and paused.

A high-pitched whine cut through the air. Even without turning, he could sense it: trees falling in sequence behind him.

A single sword light had caused it. It came screaming through the air, slicing through the strings blocking its path.

In a blink, it passed Scott—too fast to react. It cleaved him in two halves, traveling even further at blinding speed.

It struck the floating marionette and tore it apart. The strings snapped with no resistance.

"HOW DARE YOU!" the voice howled.

The illusionary hand's strings scattered—then converged, trying to latch onto another corpse.

Scott, who had just been cleaved in two, reappeared atop another log. The version that had been struck began fading, dissolving into nothing. Like it had never existed to begin with.

He raised his gaze.

A figure now floated beside the massive sigil in the sky.

The unknown figure raised a hand. The sigil warped—twisting into a massive zipper stretched across the sky. Without a word, the figure drew it shut in one smooth motion.

The illusionary hand, the strings, the sigil—vanished without sound. The figure disappeared with them. Even the torn heavens sealed as if nothing had ever happened.

Scott stood still, watching.

He turned toward the source of the sword light. Two faint humanoid silhouettes lingered within a rapidly closing portal. Before he could make out any details, the portal snapped shut.

Who the hell were they? And which throne do they serve?

He exhaled, easing his grip. The war hammer faded back into dormancy. The infinite eyes withdrew into the shadows.

He glanced around.

The miles-long line of cut trees—once a mystery—now made sense. That was authority. And it was terrifying.

He stared at the spot where the portal had been, silent for a few seconds. Then his gaze shifted upward, scanning the skies, before settling on the bodies strewn across the battlefield.

They lay still. No twitching. No blackened strings.

Without a word, Scott turned and resumed his path—leaping from log to log, following the pulsing beacon ahead.

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