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The cold dawn air brushed against the skin, heightening the reporter’s tension.

The streets of San Francisco were quieter than usual after the Object Incident, and amidst the silence, only the sound of the heartbeat echoed in the reporter’s ears.

The Alexander Group headquarters loomed in the darkness, casting a massive silhouette.

Taking a deep breath, the reporter surveyed the surroundings once more.

There was nobody around.

Just as the informant had said.

‘Is this really okay…’

The last hesitation flickered by, but the determination for truth pushed aside any lingering anxiety.

Carefully moving forward, they dodged the CCTV and concealed themselves in the shadows.

The informant mentioned disabling the CCTV, but to be safe, they moved as cautiously as possible.

Upon reaching the back door, they grasped the doorknob and turned it gently.

As the informant had indicated, the door opened easily.

The chill of the metal door added to the sense of reality.

‘There’s no turning back now.’

The reporter exhaled deeply and stepped inside.

The interior of the building was darker than expected.

They took out a small flashlight from their pocket, covering it with their palm to illuminate the front.

The dim light barely illuminated the floor beneath the reporter’s feet.

The corridor was eerily quiet.

The paintings hanging on the walls appeared distorted in the dark, taking on bizarre shapes.

It was a far cry from the image of a benevolent corporation that one would usually have.

‘…’

As they proceeded along the route indicated by the informant, something felt off, prompting them to stop.

Although no sounds were present, there was a sense that someone was on the other side of the room.

The reporter pressed back into the shadows, not opening the door.

Their heart raced, but they tried to maintain calm, controlling their breathing.

The hour granted to the informant wasn’t ample, but the reporter halted, holding their breath.

About ten minutes passed.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor.

The reporter held their breath and listened carefully.

Figures of heavily armed people emerged from the darkness.

Their weapons glinted in the faint light.

“Search quickly.”

A man commanded in a low, deep voice.

Cold sweat trickled down the reporter’s spine.

Intuitively, they realized that the target they were searching for was none other than themselves.

Their mind became a whirlwind.

Was it a betrayal by the informant?

Or had something happened to the informant?

What was certain, however, was that the situation was unfolding differently than expected.

The faces of the heavily armed men radiated a palpable hostility.

Their fingers rested on the triggers, ready to fire at the slightest hint of discovery.

Armed people rummaged through the building, poking around every corner.

At this rate, capture was inevitable.

‘I need to move.’

The reporter began to take slow, deliberate steps.

Each step felt like a struggle for survival.

Moving cautiously in the shadows of the corridor, the reporter visualized their escape route in their mind.

‘Where’s the exit?’

They desperately scanned their surroundings.

It was already too far from the back door they had entered.

They needed to find a new exit.

As they repeated the process of dodging people and fleeing into the dark, they unexpectedly found themselves deep underground.

Unlike the dark building, the bright light shining down in the basement illuminated endless isolation rooms separated by transparent walls.

The sight resembled that of an Object containment facility.

‘…’

Inside each isolation room lay people—no, remnants of what were once humans—suffering in a horrific state.

The reporter gasped.

A mixture of fear, horror, and anger surged within them.

But the reporter strove to regain a professional calm.

With trembling hands, they pulled out the camera and began cautiously taking photos.

People writhing in agony, their distorted bodies.

Individuals continuously expelling worms from their mouths.

Those whose limbs had been so twisted that they were severed.

Some were still alive, moaning in pain, their insides almost fully exposed as if dissected.

An array of atrocities filled those isolation rooms, regardless of age or gender.

‘Why on earth is this happening…’

The reporter’s heart was a battleground of rage and compassion.

The urge to escape this place surged forth, yet a sense of duty to document this horrific truth kept their feet planted.

With each photograph taken, their hands trembled more, and their heart grew heavier.

Just as they clicked the last photo and turned to leave, the sight of a room deep within caught their attention.

Unlike the other rooms, this opaque chamber emanated an ominous aura.

Strangely, their heart raced more vigorously.

The reporter hesitated for a moment but ultimately succumbed to curiosity and opened the door.

Inside, a sinister orb half-submerged in black liquid revealed itself.

Though not an expert on objects, the reporter could clearly sense this was a very dangerous type.

Thud. Thud.

At that moment, a heavy gunshot echoed, shattering the silence.

The reporter felt a strong impact shake their body.

Instinctively placing a hand over their chest, they felt warmth spreading through their palm.

Lifting their trembling hand, they saw dark red blood trickling down.

Slowly, as if time had stopped, they turned around.

There stood the heavily armed individuals searching for them.

Their cold gaze and the smoke curling from their weapon’s muzzle came into view.

Consciousness began to fade.

They felt strength drain from their legs.

The reporter clutched the camera tightly until the last moment.

Falling to the ground, their vision started to blur.

Bootsteps approached slowly.

At the edge of their sight was the swirling black liquid.

As the blood flowing from the reporter’s chest met the black liquid, it seemed to quiver slightly.

And then, with that, everything faded into darkness.

*

A narrow, dark space summoned forth by the Golden Reaper.

I stepped out with the sealed orb in hand, bound by the Black Reapers.

Thud, thud.

The sensation of the cold jade beneath my feet indicated a significantly low temperature.

I emerged from the short corridor into a grand space.

‘Could this be the temple of the External Being?’

It seemed evident from the meaningful bas-reliefs depicting the external being, but the statue positioned at the center radiated an even stronger essence of the being.

At a glance, it appeared grey, a sleeping external being statue fashioned from various colored jades.

It was a far more grand portrayal than the numerous external beings carved into the walls.

‘Hmm.’

I squinted my eyes, staring up at the statue.

Among the carvings on the wall, there was one depicting a red external being.

It appeared that there was something even mightier than the frequently chaotic red external being.

As I walked past the statue, I spotted James and the Golden Reaper.

‘I’m sorry…’

The Golden Reaper clung to James with an expression of deep remorse, and James offered a reassuring smile.

“The mental pollution was intense enough to physically crack the helmet, so of course, it must have hurt. It’s alright.”

Saying this, he continued to stroke the Golden Reaper while feeding them cookies.

It was a bit amusing to see James with red-rimmed eyes.

Hehe.

I approached James and extended the sealed orb toward him.

He hesitated for a moment, seemingly contemplating, before returning the orb back to me.

“It appears to be a rather dangerous item for a human to handle. Especially when considering that it could be controlled by the Black Reaper, that’s even riskier.”

Hmm, is that so?

By the way, are you going to explain what happened?

I received the orb back, casting a long gaze at James with those thoughts in mind.

‘?’

Initially wearing a somewhat bewildered expression, James soon grasped my intent and began recounting the events that had transpired.

This place was the origin of the Emperor Frog incident, discovered by tracing the paths of the Mechanical Giants.

According to the information provided by the alchemist I work with, it was advised that we shouldn’t get involved with this ‘external being.’

Indeed, this orb seemed related to the Color Universe, just as I had felt.

With that conviction, I shook off the encircling Black Reapers.

Then I gripped the orb tightly, ready to crush it with all my strength.

Crack. Crack.

But despite exerting every ounce of force, it wouldn’t break.

‘!!!’

It felt like trying to crush a walnut with bare hands during human life!

It was too robust to be treated merely as an object, so I checked the conditions for destruction.

[Destroy with the power of space.]

Hmm.

So that destruction condition meant my strength was insufficient, right?

I donned the Halo of Space and began to exert my strength to crush it.

Crunch. Crunch.

Gradually cracks began to form, and it started to shatter.

And at the moment of complete destruction, with a flash of light, it disappeared entirely.

‘Mom is amazing!’

‘Mom isn’t hurt!’

The Black Reapers looked up at me, bouncing with admiration.

Well, the old god, overcome by desire, surely couldn’t think properly.

Rather, it was surprising that I could command the Black Reapers to seal it.

After trailing behind James to tour the temple of the external being, I returned to find the Mini Reapers hopping around joyfully.

The Golden Reapers had changed their hair to a fluffy state using their hair-manipulating powers.

I guess they were envious of the cotton ball-like Black Reapers…?

Yet for some reason, perhaps due to insufficient hair volume, they resembled shrimp chips more than fluffy cotton balls.

The Black Reapers had elongated their limbs while staying in the cotton ball state, then were frolicking with the Golden Reapers.

It felt oddly amusing to see the Black Reapers bounding around like that.

I gathered the Black Reapers, just like kids playing in a playground.

‘Let’s head back now.’

‘?’

The Black Reapers, unaware of the Mini Reaper Garden, looked puzzled but gradually gathered around me as I directed them.

I returned to the Mini Reaper Garden with the Black Reapers who had newly joined the garden.

*

The incineration plant, surrounded by cold metal walls.

Only the heavy groan of a colossal machine filled this space of death.

A never-ending flow of various types of waste streamed onto the conveyor belt.

Among them were ordinary trash, medical waste, and sometimes darker secrets.

At that moment, two men entered as a heavy iron door swung open.

They were transporting something.

A black plastic bag with the outline of a human body clearly visible.

Without a word, they tossed the bag onto the pile of garbage.

Thud.

With a heavy sound, the bag landed atop the heap of waste.

As the plastic ripped open, what lay inside was revealed.

It was the figure of the reporter who had recently been pursuing the truth.

The pale face still bore a mix of fear and determination.

Fragments of a shattered camera were clutched tightly in their fist.

The last remnants of the truth they had fought so hard to protect.

At that moment, something began to ooze from the reporter’s grasp.

A thick black liquid.

It moved slowly, as if possessing intent.

‘Human…’

A soundless echo filled the space.

It felt more like a will or an emotion than a voice.

‘You must not die…’

The black liquid gradually coalesced into a singular shape.

It formed into the figure of the old god.

This tiny black mass, resembling that figure, gazed down at the reporter, emitting a sorrowful intent.

Then, without a hint of hesitation, the black form reverted to liquid and slowly seeped into the reporter’s embrace.

The machines of the incineration plant continued to operate indifferently.

Flames in the incineration plant began to flicker to life.

But within that, it seemed as though the fingertips of the reporter were barely moving.