The One Who Writes Existence-Chapter 39: Games Of Gods

Zar strolled through the grand halls of his sanctum, hands casually resting behind his head. His footsteps echoed faintly against the endless marble, his expression unreadable.

But his mind?

His mind was anything but calm.

After a few moments, he exhaled sharply and spoke.

"Hey, you. What the fuck did you just do?"

The System remained silent.

Zar's jaw tightened. "Where's that Guardian?" His golden eyes narrowed. "I know I teleported him with me, so where the hell is he?"

Then, finally—

[Guess.]

The tone was mocking.

Zar stopped mid-step, his irritation visibly flaring. A faint pulse of energy crackled around him before he forced himself to exhale through his nose.

"...You're telling me," he said slowly, voice barely restrained, "that I teleported Astraia alone. Without her Guardian."

[Mhm.]

A muscle in Zar's jaw twitched.

His eye twitched.

The air around him trembled for a fraction of a second.

Then—

He suddenly stopped.

His irritation vanished.

A smirk slowly crept onto his lips.

"Alright, cool," he muttered.

The System hesitated. [Uh...?]

Zar tilted his head, looking oddly relaxed. "So, how was my acting?"

Silence.

Then—

[Huh?]

Zar's smirk widened. "You really think I wouldn't notice?"

The System froze.

[Oh, shit how did you found that I—]

Zar interrupted and let out a short, triumphant chuckle. "You shouldn't have shown me that part, dumbass."

[Listen, man, it wasn't even my fault—]

"Save it." Zar lazily waved a hand. "Now, System, why don't you kindly show me how the Guardian's doing right now?"

The System grumbled something unintelligible.

Then—

A screen materialized in front of Zar.

The image flickered for a moment before stabilizing.

Zar's golden-purple eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the scene before him.

The Guardian—Astraia's ever-watchful protector—stood at the center of a grand, divine chamber. Ethereal light poured from towering crystalline pillars, casting shifting patterns across the floor.

But the Guardian wasn't alone.

Before him stood the Main Gods.

And the Guardian?

He wasn't intimidated.

No.

He was smiling.

The Guardian—his towering figure clad in obsidian armor laced with golden inscriptions—tilted his head, speaking in a tone that was almost too relaxed.

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"So... this entire realm," he mused, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement, "was created for the tournament?"

One of the gods before him—Aetherion—gave a slow nod. "It seems so."

Zar leaned forward slightly, intrigued.

Then—

The Guardian suddenly chuckled.

"Aetherion," he said in a friendly tone—one that implied familiarity.

"Since we're both here," the Guardian continued smoothly, rolling his shoulders, "why don't we see who's stronger this time?"

Aetherion's lips twitched in response. His golden eyes glowed slightly as he exhaled. "I thought you'd never ask."

But before anything could escalate—

A voice cut through the chamber.

"Well, you can," Ignis interjected, his smirk razor-sharp. "But you'll have to wait until I crush this bastard first."

His fiery gaze locked onto Aetherion.

Aetherion merely sighed, shaking his head.

Zar, watching through the screen, slowly leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

A slow grin stretched across his face.

"Well, well," he muttered. "Looks like things just got interesting."

Time passed.

Two and a half hours vanished like grains of sand slipping through fingers.

The once-tense atmosphere had settled into something calmer, yet anticipation crackled beneath the surface like a storm waiting to break.

The gods—both greater and lesser—gathered within a grand hall, situated at the heart of Ozyrn, the City of the Lost.

It was a place of unparalleled majesty.

Colossal pillars of celestial marble stretched endlessly toward the heavens, their surfaces adorned with shifting runes that pulsed with ancient power. The floor, an expanse of shimmering onyx, reflected the golden rings that hovered in the air above—each one holding entire floating continents in place.

A throne, forged from a fusion of pure starlight and voidstone, sat elevated at the far end of the hall.

It was here that Zar stood.

His gaze swept over the gathered gods before him—deities of various realms, each exuding a presence that could shatter lesser worlds.

"Alright," Zar spoke at last, his voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. "Now that everyone is here..."

With a flick of his wrist, an array of fruits materialized before the gods.

The fruit gleamed unnaturally, as if woven from cosmic essence itself. Their surfaces swirled with shifting patterns—fragments of galaxies, nebulae, and something deeper. Something unknowable.

"Take one," Zar said casually, a smirk playing on his lips.

The gods glanced at each other.

Then—

Without hesitation, the lesser gods—those who held dominion over smaller celestial bodies and concepts—spoke in unison:

"Yes, my Lord."

They reached forward.

They took the fruit.

And then—

They vanished.

It was as if they had never existed.

One moment, they were there—standing within the grand hall, bathed in the glow of Ozyrn's celestial light.

The next—

Their bodies dissolved into glimmering stardust, swept away by an unseen force.

A Shift in Reality

The scene shifted.

When the lesser gods opened their eyes, they were no longer in Ozyrn.

The air was different. Thicker. Heavier. It smelled of decay, of forgotten history.

They stood in the remnants of a ruined world.

Endless crumbling structures stretched as far as the eye could see, their skeletal remains whispering of a civilization lost to time. The sky above was an abyss of swirling void, speckled with distant stars that pulsed like dying embers.

The lesser gods exchanged glances.

There was no announcement. No declaration.

But they understood.

The game had already begun.

The Survival Game

One of them—an armored war god with crimson eyes—spoke first.

"So... what now?"

Silence.

Then—

A murmur spread through the gathered deities as they recalled the rules.

No alliances.

No teams.

Only one survivor.

The realization sank in.

One by one, they turned to each other, offering brief nods of acknowledgment. Some smirked. Some clenched their fists. Some merely sighed.

And then—

They departed.

Each god strode in a different direction, vanishing into the ruins, their divine auras flickering like dying flames.

The survival game had truly begun.

A Watching Presence

Far above—

Beyond the crumbling towers and forsaken temples—

A being watched.

It stood on the edge of reality itself, its form shifting—indistinct, yet undeniably present.

Its gaze swept across the ruined world, lingering on the scattered gods below.

But its focus wasn't solely on them.

It was looking beyond.

At something unseen.

At something waiting.

Then—

It spoke.

Its voice was a whisper, a ripple across the fabric of existence itself.

"Interesting."