The smell of bread and roasted roots filled the air, tangled with the sweet calls of fruit-sellers and the laughter of children chasing one another across sun-warmed stone.
OMA was alive.
A dozen small stalls lined the plaza — offering herbs from Esor, fabrics dyed with SS moon petals, and fruit genetically revived from Earth's pre-war past. In the center stood a wide, low fountain. Its waters sparkled, dancing lightly in the golden light.
There, as always, sat Demha and Lessa.
Demha leaned back, his head on her lap, eyes closed in the soft breeze. Lessa's fingers ran through his dark hair, a book resting in her other hand. Her gaze occasionally flicked to the children playing — some had vines around their ankles, others eyes like glass, and others fully human. No one seemed to notice the differences anymore.
Tena sat nearby on Demha's chest, legs crossed, a bite missing from her apple. Her feet dangled just above the water.
This was OMA. A city not meant to exist. A city born of accident — or fate.
It began a year ago.
After the global challenge, three kinds of portals opened.
The multiversal portals opened permanently between Earth, SS, and Esor. In the vast desert of what had once been North Africa, two such portals appeared facing each other. The atmosphere between them twisted — and from that collision, a lake was born. Clear, deep, impossibly pure.
Demha and Lessa discovered it first, during a quiet escape from the stench of politics and the noise of expectation. Just the two of them, hand in hand, resting in silence at the lake's edge.
Within days, people began arriving. From all three worlds. They didn't ask to build — they simply did. Markets, homes, gardens. A city took shape.
They called it OMA, in Demha's honor. They called him the savior who prevented the fall of SS and Esor. Lessa, the soul that kept his heart steady. And Tena — the daughter they hadn't truly adopted, but who belonged to them regardless.
Demha never claimed the title. But no matter how many times he asked to be left out of it, they kept calling him what he had become.
Meanwhile, Earth's leaders had other plans.
They invited Demha to Earth's Convergence Room — a place where only the highest powers spoke. No one knew what was said inside.
But when Demha emerged, one look in his eyes told the truth: human greed had no limits.
A week later, Earth unveiled a new interplanetary constitution on live broadcast — intended to control shared resources under Earth's authority.
Thunder split the sky.
Thin bolts fell from nowhere, striking every council member who had signed the law. A meteor crashed into the building itself, shattering the signal.
The Multiverse had spoken:
No planet may enslave another under false peace.
Since then, Earth's governments walked cautiously. SS and Esor, though politically young, learned quickly to defend their place using the absolute laws of the Multiverse. The rewritten laws were fair — not out of kindness, but out of fear.
Still, arrogance simmered. On Earth, people spoke of "gratitude," "debt," "rightful leadership." As if the others owed them.
The Multiverse brought more than portals.
It brought opportunity.
The second type of portals — hunter portals — appeared across Earth, SS, and Esor. Each one hiding monsters and treasure. Those who entered and survived earned magical stones: energy, currency, rare power. A new job was born: portal hunter. Risky. Deadly. But immensely profitable.
And so, prosperity bloomed. Food shortages vanished. Energy became abundant. Technology accelerated.
But so did injustice. Racism. Greed.
Underground cities formed — places of exile, sin, forgotten lives. Where the rejected went. Where brutal power thrived. And most of the hatred still flowed from the same source: humans calling for a return of their old glory.
But not in OMA.
Here, things were different. Portals between the three planets connected like train stations. Earth, SS, and Esor blended into one rhythm. Languages merged. Cultures intertwined. Marriages crossed species. Pregnancies followed.
Children of all three bloods ran freely through the city.
In OMA, people rebuilt trust.
And for now — peace held.
Midway through the year, a smaller portal appeared within OMA — but this one led into darkness. A monster portal. No one wanted to touch it.
But Demha, Lessa, and Tena went in.
Demha believed if a portal this close to their people remained open, it was a threat. Some said closing a portal from within — reaching its true end — could seal it. No one ever tried. The risk was too great.
But Demha didn't care for risk. Only for safety — and training. Because if he had learned anything, it was that the global challenge had only been the beginning.
With Lessa and Tena by his side, they hunted their way deep into the portal. Room by room. Monster by monster. Tactic by tactic.
And after months, they reached the final chamber — a giant stone wall.
There, the black device Demha had won in the last challenge — marked "Kill / No Kill" — began to pulse.
When he touched the stone, a message appeared:
"Memories from the past. Do you wish to proceed?"
Demha snatched his hand away.
Something about it felt cursed. Like opening that door meant losing everything they had built. He didn't speak. He only nodded to the others.
They returned to OMA.
For now.
A week passed.
The sun dipped low over the city. Demha and Lessa sat under the great Esoran tree at the plaza's edge. His head lay on her lap, playing with Tena. Lessa's eyes closed, feeling the breeze.
In Demha's hand, the black device pulsed again.
"Kill / No Kill."
And the words from that message echoed in his mind.
Then came the boy.
One of the city's children — mixed-blood, barefoot, breathless — ran to the tree.
"Demha!" he cried. "They're here! The diplomats — from Planet DE!"
The third type of portal (the main entertainment kind) had activated. It was a diplomatic gate, allowing creatures from other Multiverse planets to visit — but only with permission from the host world.
Each planet had one.
And since Earth, SS, and Esor were now treated as a single world — their shared gate was located on Earth.
The tree stilled. The air changed.
DE. One of the top-tier Multiverse powers. A planet whose people could rewrite reality with thought alone.
Demha stood.
The warmth was gone from his eyes.
The peace was ending.
They met the delegation in the Meeting Pavilion — a structure built for diplomacy, yet never used.
The DE representatives wore no armor. No weapons.
But their presence pressed against the room like gravity.
No words had yet been spoken.
But their arrival meant only one thing:
The next challenge had come.
And this time… it would not be a fight for survival.
It would be a trial for truth.
END OF CHAPTER 7