Something happened that nobody expected.
The "decision meeting" they'd been waiting for never appeared—instead, the Apocalypse Game kicked them into some weird new mode.
RUMBLE!
Before they could even talk it through, a thunderous grinding of machinery erupted. The round table in the center of the room sank down and vanished, and a pale-blue pillar of light shot up from floor to ceiling, swallowing everyone inside.
RUMBLE!
Another burst of clanking. The floor began to rise, and the circular section of the ceiling—sealed by a blue film of light—separated and lifted with it. They shot upward fast, blue light paths flashing by like circuitry.
A moment later, the lift delivered them to a new location: an enormous dome—wide, empty, and coldly mechanical—packed with unknown tech.
"That was basically an elevator, right?" Marin said, looking around.
"Pretty much," Haruno replied, eyes already sweeping the space. "So why bring us here?"
Ten seats stood in a row. Each one had its own control console, and in front of every console floated a hologram: a gigantic steel fortress and the broad defensive zone around it.
The Apocalypse Game might be petty, but it wasn't going to make them guess. Information poured straight into their minds, and once they processed it, everyone understood.
This was the planet's Defense Survival Base Main Control Room.
Each seat corresponded to a chunk of the base's defensive systems—plasma cannons, laser batteries, electromagnetic railguns, and more—built specifically to slaughter the incoming swarm. Ten seats meant ten operators: the game wanted all ten of them to run the defenses and hold the line.
Chika's face twisted with a strong sense of déjà vu. "So the Apocalypse Game just switched genres on us… We went from an adventure game to tower defense."
No one argued.
"Tatsuki-kun," Yukino asked, already thinking ahead, "do we start setting up defensive layers right now?"
Everyone turned to Tatsuki.
"Not yet," Tatsuki said. "Give me a second—I need to test something."
He vanished in a blink, using spatial movement to reach the planet's outer boundary.
"So this is how the swarm crosses the void," he muttered.
In deep space, the planet was surrounded by a crater-like gash, a massive opening wrapped around the world. He could feel spatial power in it—some kind of transfer channel—but it wasn't a clean, sterile wormhole.
Up close, it was revoltingly literal.
Layers of living mouths—huge, wet, gnashing mouthparts—forming the passage itself.
"Void Nydus worm," Tatsuki said, amused. "Yeah, that tracks."
The swarm really did evolve fast—space-crossing travel included, but he wasn't here to admire it.
His eyes turned icy blue.
Mystic Eyes of Death Perception.
He looked beyond the grotesque passage and fixed his gaze on the restriction sealing this place off.
Normally, space was already "nothing." Under his gaze, it became worse than nothing—like reality had been cracked open and left in pieces. Death lines exploded across his vision: macro and micro, physical and intangible, even conceptual seams, all exposed at once.
Then he forced it down—filtered everything out until only one line mattered.
A thin, pale death line. The restriction's death line. The rest faded into the background.
"Just like I thought," Tatsuki said, smiling.
Earlier, the system message had included a key line:
[Restrictions weakened!]
And now his eyes confirmed it. The restriction wasn't unchanging—it could be damaged.
He still couldn't kill it at his current level… but that only made his grin sharper.
"If it won't cut now," he said, "then I'll level up."
Unlucky for the Apocalypse Game, it had run into someone who treated rules as a suggestion.
Tatsuki opened the Apocalypse Chat's enhancement menu. These days hadn't been just lounging around—between erased planets and crushed swarms, his Apocalypse Points had piled up to 38 million.
Upgrading Mystic Eyes of Death Perception from Lv. 7 to Lv. 8 cost 25 million.
"Enhance."
[System: Apocalypse Points -25,000,000]
[System: All-World Mystic Eyes of Death Perception upgraded to Lv. 8!]
Pain slammed through his eyes—more like his optic nerves were screaming than simple soreness. For an instant, the universe in front of him wasn't merely broken.
It was shattered into dust.
Everything had a seam. Everything had an ending. Every kind of death line—macro, micro, material, immaterial—stood out with the same brutal clarity.
Then, after a few seconds, his brain adapted.
And Tatsuki laughed.
"Hahahaha… Apocalypse Game, I found your loophole."
He locked onto the restriction's death line—now crisp and unmistakable.
"The real game starts now."
A Zanpakuto formed in his hand. In one swift slash, he severed the line.
For a heartbeat, the world went dead quiet, like reality itself had stalled.
Then came a sound that didn't belong to any normal sense—like glass spiderwebbing… and then exploding.
K-K-K—BOOM!
The next instant, the deep cold of space rushed in, and the limit snapped.
His power was no longer confined to this tiny planet. The entire galaxy unfurled before him—fully exposed.
Even the black hole at the galaxy's center felt like it was beckoning him, smug and hungry, like it was whispering: Come on. Do it.
Tatsuki's excitement spiked and the Apocalypse Game shrieked.
[WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!]
[Critical anomaly detected in this Apocalypse Game!]
[All players are now considered to have cleared the game by default!]
[Game process will be forcibly terminated in 3 minutes!]
[All players will be automatically repatriated!]
"Tch. You noticed already?" Tatsuki clicked his tongue. "I literally just cut the restriction."
Then he grinned—wide and vicious.
"Three minutes is still plenty."
He spread his arms.
Spatial perception flooded outward, swallowing the entire galaxy.
The power of the Spatial Origin erupted at full output. His outline turned ghostlike, as if the space around him couldn't hold a stable image of his face. His body looked woven from countless spatial threads, flickering in and out, as though he were fusing with the fabric of space itself.
Space was him.
And he was space.
Under his dominion, the galaxy began to warp. Distances collapsed. Everything—stars, matter, the swarm's occupied worlds—started rushing toward the center at terrifying speed…