Cheers roared from every corner of the colosseum.
Gods and cosmic beings filled the stands, gathered to witness the cruelty of a single figure—the Executioner, standing at the center of the arena, his axe still glowing with the remnants of the being he had just slain.
"…Why do the prisoners keep getting weaker?" he muttered.
"How can creatures like this even be sent to Tesseract anymore…?"
The Executioner's name was Atmaka.
Tesseract was a prison for gods of Infinite mythologies and high-class cosmic entities. Those confined there were not ordinary criminals—they were destroyers of worlds.
Like, Angra Mainyu, who led invasions across realities and wiped out three million universes.
And Labradör—a jet-black humanoid creature who once challenged Jörmungandr, Fenrir, Typhon, Kulshedra, Unhcegila, and Falak all at once. He subdued them for a single purpose: to destroy Botting Langi' by using every ocean within Uri' Liyu.
And yet now… they all fell far too easily.
The crowd erupted again, chanting a single name.
"Atmaka! Atmaka! Atmaka!"
"Ugh… why are they getting louder?" he thought, irritated.
To him, this was nothing more than a job: killing beings labeled as evil.
"KRRRIIING—!"
The execution alarm rang. Atmaka's body began to fade, pulled away by the automatic teleportation system that activated whenever his shift ended. The cheers continued even after he vanished from the arena.
He reappeared in his private quarters.
A meal was already waiting on the table.
"…Octopus rendang? Or something like that?" he muttered, opening the container.
"Hah. Just killed a giant octopus out there, and now I'm eating one."
His hunger overcame his suspicion. He took the first bite.
"Doesn't taste bad. I wonder what brand of sauce they used—"
His body stiffened.
The spoon slipped from his fingers.
Atmaka collapsed onto the floor.
The toxin in the meat was no ordinary poison. Even for someone who had adapted to nearly every toxin in existence, this one worked in silence—destroying only his physical body, leaving no chance to resist.
News of the Executioner's fall spread rapidly through Tesseract.
Some mourned.
Others rejoiced, convinced that the prison's collapse was now inevitable.
But the truth was—Atmaka was not truly dead.
His body had perished, but his soul and mind remained.
He awoke in a white, Void space. No floor, no sky. Only emptiness, pressing in from every direction.
"Hello, Atmaka. Are you satisfied with the story you lived?"
The voice came from nowhere.
Before him stood something shaped like a human—yet impossible to define. Its form felt unstable, as if it refused to be understood.
"What… is this…?" Atmaka thought.
"Sern. Didn't I tell you not to be so loud?"
The figure turned slightly.
"Hahaha, relax, Aivara! Don't confuse him too much right away."
"Who are you…? And what are you?" Atmaka demanded.
"We are not beings," the first one replied. "We are Something.
I am Aivara. The creator of this world. And… your creator as well, Sura Atmaka."
"And I'm Sern!" the other added. "The one you'd call the Narrator. My role is to define your world."
Atmaka fell silent.
"How do you know my real name…? And what is this supposed to be?
Can't I just die in peace?"
"Atmaka," Aivara said calmly, "we need your help."
"That's ridiculous. Since when does a creator ask help from his creation?"
Sern laughed. "See? Even he knows how strange that sounds. You're really bad at explaining things, Aivara."
"Be quiet, Sern."
Then Aivara spoke again.
This world was a cosmic tree called Axis Mundi.
It had three main layers:
Botting Langi' at the top,
Ale Lino in the middle,
and Uri' Liyu at the roots.
Uri' Liyu supported Helheim, Niflheim, and Muspelheim—the roots that supplied energy to the entire tree. Ale Lino formed the trunk that held the structure together, while Botting Langi' watched over balance at the peak.
But Labradör's assault had damaged Uri' Liyu.
The roots of the world had felt fear.
The flow of energy had stopped.
That was why all beings were growing weaker.
"Short version," Sern interrupted, "the story got boring."
"We will reset this world," Aivara continued. "And you will be the variable who remembers everything."
"Reset… the world?"
"Aivara will erase time and space," Sern said casually.
"Wait—this is forced—!"
"I, Aivara, command Temoräľ to return to its original state."
"Spaisţał shall be destroyed."
"Time shall be reversed."
Axis Mundi collapsed from crown to root.
Gods.
Cosmic beings.
Entire realms—erased.
"Stop this!!"
"Atmaka," Aivara's voice echoed, "remember this. I am the source of all things. Axis Mundi is only a fragment of me."
"And I," Sern added, "am the conclusion of all things, I am the one who defined the Axis Mundi."
"Remember," Aivara said. "Create a story worth telling. Do not let it become dull."
Darkness.
Then light.
Atmaka was born again.
As the child of a homeless person.
"WHAT IS THIS SUPPOSED TO BE—?!"
Rage tore through his consciousness.
Once, he cut down Supreme Entities.
Now, he was nothing.
Could he change the Plot of this World…?