Chapter 164: Chapter 164

I, Bearateme, was finally being awarded the Final Fragment.

Not some cute little medal or a pat on the back from a lesser god.

No, this was the fragment.

The missing shard of divinity that would no longer make me a god on paper but a god in truth.

I would be untouchable in the pantheon.

I would finally be able to shut those smug so-called "higher gods" up once and for all.

And most importantly?

I’d be able to tighten my grip on Noah—the guy had been doing nothing but growing more and more soft for some reason.

To be honest, this confused even me since I thought I had taken care of this plot hole by giving him that First Generation Villain Making system.

He was once so full of rage...and now?

There he was cracking jokes in a café with friends like he’s got a future or something, lol. Pitiful.

He had no idea what I had planned. No idea what true suffering still sat waiting in the ink of my pen.

Now I’d be able to write it into reality without needing to ask anyone’s permission.

I reached for the inkwell hovering beside me. It wasn’t ink.

It was molten fate, bottled and cooled as I pressed my finger to its edge. The liquid hissed. It knew I was close to becoming more than I already was.

A silence so loud it swallowed everything.

A colossus stood before me.

A hulking giant of a man, if "man" was even the right word. His presence alone warped the space around him.

My house, eternal and ever-expanding felt like a cramped closet now. He towered over everything, his form like a mountain that had chosen to walk.

His muscles were obscene. Not in the comical, exaggerated way mortals imagine strength but real, raw, and horrifying. Like reality had folded itself into muscle fiber, and it still wasn’t enough.

Each arm was thicker than my torso, pulsing with a glow that wasn’t light. It was...like a concept.

A reminder that nothing I had written could match this.

But that wasn’t what made my hand freeze.

Or rather, the lack of it.

Where there should have been eyes, a nose, a mouth—there was only void.

A swirling, infinite emptiness.

A mouthless nothing that somehow stared at me anyway.

I’ve written monsters. I’ve created horrors. I’ve birthed ancient kings who spoke in screams and priests who bled even the stars.

This was beyond anything I had ever imagined.

"...You again," I said, forcing my voice to work.

The colossus didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

The Ceremony Awaits.’

Not words but a literal thought landed inside me like a falling star.

He turned, the floor vibrating under his step, and I followed.

Because of course I did.

You don’t question the one the higher gods send to escort you.

Not when that escort is the void made flesh.

We moved out of my house, into the space between dimensions. The sky here wasn’t black. It was layered, like onion skin made of ancient songs and forgotten rules.

Other gods watched from afar.

Some tried not to look at the colossus.

Smart of them, I thought.

He didn’t walk as much he bent reality with every step. I followed behind, my coat trailing stardust and shredded story fragments.

As we neared the Great Platform, I could feel it.

It floated in the center of a ring of gods. Some familiar, like Aphrodite, who gave me a lusty nod. Others unknown, faceless, ancient. All of them stood aside.

Today was not their day.

And oh, how sweet it felt.

I stepped into the circle, the colossus halting behind me.

Buzzing with the weight of a million possible futures.

Real, raw, untamed power poured through me like wildfire through paper.

I felt it the moment the fragment sank into me.

I felt his world tremble.

That cocky little brat. The moment I became whole, the threads around him tightened.

My grip, once subtle, now wrapped around him like a noose stitched with divine thread.

Everything he does now?

Every breath he takes?

Every friend he clings to, every hope he still believes in?

Erased or rewritten, depending on how poetic I’m feeling that day.

The colossus did not.

He merely turned, his duty complete.

I looked down at my hands.

And in my mind’s eye—I saw Noah stumble, coughing, confused.

"Time to turn the page, little protagonist," I whispered.

And then, to the void behind me, I said.

"Tell them Bearateme is ready."

Now the real story begins.

A single voice cut through the divine hum of murmurs, formalities, and floating whispers.

Clear, calm...and surprisingly human.

"Though the hidden threat within this world is still unaccounted for..."

Every celestial head turned.

The Great Platform silenced.

"...I am proud to say that in the past few months, immense progress has been made. The world’s foundations have stabilized, narrative corruption is down sixty-two percent, and the newly threaded plot arc has been deemed exceptional by several entities of the Upper Courts."

The man who spoke stood at the center of it all—unbothered by the swirling gods, timeless judges, and impossible watchers encircling him.

No overwhelming pressure of power.

And yet, not one of us dared interrupt him.

The World Contractor.

The one even the Highest Entities trusted with balance.

He carried no blade. No staff. No ancient sigil.

His authority was law. Not because of power, but because of record. And reputation. The only thing stronger than raw force in our world was results.

And Williamloh never failed.

He raised a hand, and even the sky seemed to wait.

"And yet," he continued, "even that progress wouldn’t have been possible without a certain someone."

A slow glance from the man scanned the crowd.

I stood at the edge of the platform, my coat now lined with the last bits of unprocessed divinity from the Final Fragment.

Because that’s what you did when he spoke.

Williamloh took a few steps toward the center of the ceremonial circle.

The light above the stage bent ever so slightly toward him—neither spotlight nor sun, but a halo granted by the recognition of work well done.

"From concept to crisis, from broken character arcs to restructured divine logic... one entity has gone above and beyond.

The newest plotline involving the human anomaly has intrigued even the oldest members of the Archives. They are watching again. Reading again."

A few murmurs rippled through the higher seats.

I let myself smile—just a little.

Then Williamloh looked at me directly.

"Bearateme," he said, voice like ink settling on the final page, "step forward."

With every step, I felt the fragment inside me settle deeper. My body was adjusting. No—becoming. The pen in my coat twitched as the othe Gods made room for me to walk.

The space between us and the rest of existence thinned. Power sang low and heavy beneath the floor.

Williamloh spoke again.

"Let it be known that for his relentless effort, successful narrative overhaul, and the revival of the final battle between the Humans and the Hollowd, Bearateme is to be rewarded with the Final Fragment of Divinity."

There it was, I thought.

Already inside me, but now recognized. Official.

The kind of recognition that could never be taken back.

"May your stories continue to shape not only your world," Williamloh said, lifting his hand, "but the hearts of those beyond it."

Neither blinding nor painful.

Like a pen etching the last word of a contract.

And for the first time, I felt it fully—divinity settling into every crack of who I was.

No longer in progress.

Noah was now mine in ways he couldn’t begin to understand.

I could taste the threads tethered to him. His weaknesses. Every hesitation, every moment of guilt or softness was open to me like an annotated script.

His entire future sat trembling in my palm.

And now that I didn’t need to work through layers of subtle influence or indirect nudges?

I could finally begin to play.

Williamloh nodded once.

Simple, professional and detached.

"Take your place," he said.

Then stepping back, he allowed the divine witnesses to begin their formalities—blessings, announcements, the usual bureaucracy.

But I didn’t hear them.

I was already writing.

Ideas flowed through my mind like poisoned ink.

Tears. Betrayal. Collapse.

Friends who wouldn’t stay friends.

Choices that would cost more than death.

And somewhere, far beneath us in a place called reality, I could feel Noah stumble, confused, his chest tightening like someone had written the air out of his lungs.

I chuckled under my breath.

"Oh, you poor little hero," I whispered to no one in particular. "You’ve had your fun. Your jokes. Your friendships. But now?"

Now he would learn what it meant to be the creation of a real god.

There would be no happy endings.