Silence fell across the battlefield. None of the abominations moved. Not even the blood rain dared to fall. All eyes turned toward the crimson gate—to the unfathomable being stirring behind it.

It had moved.

Scott was the first to look away.

He turned his gaze toward the transformed pig. It clutched its cleavers tighter than before. For the first time, urgency radiated from it. However, its crimson eyes, and those of the creatures it commanded, didn't shatter.

Scott took a single step forward. The rain resumed.

That step shattered the stillness.

Then they saw it.

Hundreds of thousands of figures emerged from the darkness behind him—some walking alongside him, others moving ahead. Many were exact replicas; some bore only echoes—his height, his gait, his presence. A few looked nothing like him at all... except for the same eerie, infinite eyes they all shared.

The abominations stiffened.

The Variants had arrived.

Then—tremors. The ground shook violently. The darkness boiled.

Something massive was coming.

A titanic Variant stepped through the black mist, crushing lesser duplicates beneath its feet without pause or care.

Silence descended again.

Then—the abomination screamed, a deranged roar of ancient hate.

Its legions joined in, bloodlust peaking.

Among the Variants, reactions varied: some laughed. Others mocked the roar. Some stood cold and unblinking. A few answered in kind—howling, ready to unleash hell.

"Slaughter them all!" the Garden Servant roared, raising its cleavers.

The horde charged, and so did the Variants.

Their infinite eyes flickered—each one a world, each one alive. Scott stood still—laughing, indistinguishable from the others.

His gaze locked onto the towering creature above—and his eyes shattered. A fresh pair replaced them, drawn from the Infinite Worlds.

It almost woke up. A god almost woke up.

Scott's hand gripped his chest.

His heart pounded. His breath trembled. He knew his strength. He also knew what awaited him if he crossed that line.

Certain death.

And still—he could not look away.

So what if it takes my eyes? There are infinite more.

The whispers came again—arcane, terrible.

"Don't look at God."

He didn't care.

I want to attack it. I know I'll die, but I don't care.

He smiled.

Around him, the battle raged. His Variants tore into the abominations. Some were already dead. Others laughed as they slaughtered without restraint.

He could feel them all. Their deaths. Their madness. Their victories. Their contempt.

The titanic Variant clashed with the Garden Servant, laying waste to 70% of the battlefield. Limbs, blood, weapons exploded in every direction.

Still, Scott didn't look away.

What's wrong with me? I've never felt this kind of urge before…

His eyes burst again.

Filth ringed his sockets. Another pair replaced the old.

I want to destroy it.

But he couldn't move.

He wanted to fight. Desperately.

And yet, in the presence of a god... nothing mattered.

His hands clenched into fists. His eyes shattered again.

The whispers screamed louder, warning him, begging him.

Still he stared.

Even as I drown it in killing intent, it doesn't acknowledge me. Even now.

A broken and bitter laugh escaped Scott lips.

He knew what had awakened the slumbering thing. It was his own power.

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Infinite Worlds. Eternal Madness.

And it wasn't enough.

One day... One day you won't be able to ignore me.

Not you. Not any god.

Another set of eyes burst. Another set formed.

He lowered his gaze—finally. The battlefield was chaos.

The Garden Servant and the titanic Variant were still fighting—razing everything in their path. Blood flew. Screams echoed. Flesh burned. Some Variants had turned on each other, lost in their own madness. They only stopped long enough to slaughter abominations that got in the way.

Scott could control all of them, yet each one operated on their own will—though he was still their anchor.

Above, more abominations poured from the crimson gates. Blood rained in thick sheets.

But something had changed.

The twisted faces that once spawned from the cleavers had stopped. The cleavers gleamed now—clean, bright, beautiful, as if freshly polished.

And they were busy.

The abomination hacked and hacked at the titanic Variant, its blades slicing deeper and deeper into immortal flesh.

Despite every slash, stab, and cleave, the titanic Variant fought on—drunk on madness, teeth bared in a gore-slick smile. It tore into the abomination's flesh with fists, kicks, and even vicious bites.

Both titans bled freely, their bodies marred by gaping wounds. But neither wavered.

Madness versus slaughter. One would give.

Scott's gaze shifted skyward.

I can't do anything to the god... But I can deal with that gate.

As long as it remained open, more abominations would keep descending—and each wave grew stronger.

It's using the pig as an anchor. Sever the pig, sever the gate.

His eyes shattered. A new set formed.

Scott smiled.

I haven't used this since coming back. Let's see what it can really do.

He launched forward—ignoring the ongoing chaos, gliding through the shattered terrain until he reached the epicenter.

Massive craters stretched in every direction—twenty miles of devastation.

His Variant stood at the heart of it, swaying slightly. One eye gone, jaw fractured, arm missing. His ribs jutted out from torn flesh. Still—he smiled.

Deranged. Gleeful.

The pig was no better. Its stomach hung open, guts spilling freely. One side of its face had collapsed. Both legs were broken. Yet it stood—leaning on its embedded cleavers like crutches.

The weapons shimmered, cracked but intact. Still hungry.

Scott arrived beside his Variant. They exchanged nods and small, bitter smiles.

"You kept bragging you could handle him," Scott said with a chuckle. "But he made you suffer."

The Variant wheezed a laugh, coughing up blood. "You call this suffering? Give me five more minutes—I'll show you what suffering really looks like."

They laughed together, two echoes in sync.

Scott stepped forward. "Sadly, I don't have five minutes. I'm ending this."

The Variant's grin widened. "You're doing that, huh?" He coughed again. "Lucky me. Maybe I'll go first."

Scott didn't answer. He stepped toward the pig.

The abomination watched them both, its glare venomous.

"No matter what you do," it said coldly, "you die here."

It gripped the cleavers. The weapons vibrated.

All the blood on the battlefield surged—drawn toward the blades. The abomination's wounds began to knit. Its broken face reshaped. Its guts sucked back into place.

Bones realigned. Flesh reformed.

It stood tall again.

"As long as the gate remains open, there's nothing you—"

Laughter stopped it mid-sentence.

Rabid. Unified. Every Variant tilted its head back, laughing in perfect sync.

Even the battered Variant.

Scott stared intently at it. "Allow me to welcome you to the Infinite Worlds."

Crack!

Reality broke. Space fractured. Scott, the Variants, the gate itself—shattered. Only the pig remained intact.

It looked around—its surroundings dissolving into white cracks and mirror shards.

Then—the world reformed.

A still, silver ocean stretched endlessly beneath it. No sky. No stars. Just water. And a moon—massive and luminous, hovering overhead.

The pig staggered, uneasy.

"Is this an illusion? A trap?"

It floated above the reflective surface, raising a cleaver.

"You think this'll stop me?"

It swung.

Crack!

The cleaver sliced the moon cleanly in half. It landed with a splash, heavy boots striking the water like anvils. The illusion began to unravel.

Bloody rain returned. Wreckage rebuilt itself.

The battlefield—the gate—began to flicker back into existence.

The world reformed around the Garden Servant. The battlefield was familiar—but wrong.

No Scott. No Variants. No abominations. No god behind the gates.

Just empty space. Just stillness.

The pig glanced upward. The crimson gate stood wide open—but led nowhere.

"Did I shatter the illusion?" it muttered.

"Isn't it obvious you didn't?" A mocking, familiar voice echoed from afar. "I can't believe I'm first. I didn't want this."

The pig turned.

Scott lounged lazily on the ground, waving with a smirk that dripped contempt.

But something was off.

Very off.

"Who are you?" the pig asked, cleaver raised.

This wasn't the same Scott.

"Not as thick-headed as I thought," the Variant stood up, clapping slowly, mockingly. "But still dumb enough to think you can break this."

The pig snarled.

"Enough."

Both cleavers rose. A clean, furious slash—lightning fast.

The Variant didn't move. He disintegrated, torn to nothing.

The pig swung again. The surrounding space shattered.

This time—it had to be over.

But as the world twisted—the moon returned. The silver sea reformed. And another Scott sat calmly in the water, staring.

"Another one?" the pig growled, cleavers ready.

The Variant sighed. "Not my turn yet," he said, grinning. "But I'll be seeing you soon."

Crack!

The waters beneath the pig's feet split open. Thousands of rotting hands reached up from the depths—fouling the pristine surface.

They grabbed its legs, then they dragged.

The pig screamed as it was pulled down into the abyss. The last thing it saw was the Variant waving goodbye.

The massive crack began to seal, but not before more decaying arms surged forward—grabbing tighter.

"Enough!"

The Garden Servant exploded with fury, cleavers flashing. It tore free—shredding arms, defying gravity.

It launched upward, surging toward the mending crack. With merely inches before freedom, the world flipped.

The sea became the sky. The seal became the floor—infinity consumed by darkness. The pig now fell deeper—the light above disappearing like a forgotten dream.

It stopped mid-descent, hovering. Darkness swallowed the world.

Then the hands returned.

Larger. Infinite. Colossal arms that dwarfed even the Garden Servant.

"I'm an apostle of slaughter! I will butcher each and every one of you!" It roared.

It spun. Its cleavers struck, splitting the darkness itself in two. The world split like a fruit.

Silence.

Then—the pig stood again on the familiar pool. The moon hovered above. Its reflection shimmered beneath. Its breath was ragged. Eyes twitching.

Then—it saw him.

The same Variant, standing now, smiling faintly.

"You're back already."

Before he could say more—

"Where is this accursed place?" the pig snapped.

There was no fear in its voice. Rather, its annoyance and irritation were evident in its tone and posture.

The Variant tilted his head.

"Where else?" he said softly. "You're in my world."

The pig raised a cleaver.

"Let's end this."

But the Variant's voice stopped him cold.

"I'm just curious," he said with a grin. "Which breaks first—your fat, festering body... or your rotten mind?"

The pig growled, prepared to reply—But it froze.

A slow dread crawled through its form.

It turned its gaze toward the moon. And then it saw it.

Gigantic, all-seeing eyes, hovering above the celestial sphere—watching with perfect stillness.

Cold. Eternal.

Scott's voice came again. "Haven't you heard?" he cackled. "You're not supposed to stare at god."

The pig's eyes shattered.

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