The transition in the Labyrinth's projection was not subtle. The warm, amber hues of Arthur's cafe faded, replaced by the harsh, flickering violet of a world seen through the eyes of a predator. As Matthew turned the page, the book let out a low, vibrating hum that felt like a heartbeat—heavy, fast, and fueled by an ancient, righteous fury.
The survivors watched, breathless, as the memory of The Hero of the Eclipse unfolded.
Arthur was no longer the clumsy father struggling with an iron skillet. He moved across the battlefield of a ruined metropolis like a glitch in reality. He didn't run; he folded space. One moment he was a hundred yards away, and the next, he was standing in the center of a pack of "God-sent" behemoths—monsters the size of houses with skin like reinforced steel.
He didn't use a sword. He used the Void.
With a simple flick of his wrist, a blade of negative space materialized, cutting through the monsters' divine armor as if it were wet paper. There was no blood, only a hiss of evaporating mana as the creatures were erased from existence. Arthur was a whirlwind of black and violet, a silent reaper moving through the "Experiment" with a cold, terrifying efficiency.
"He's not just fighting them," Andre whispered, his eyes glued to the flickering image of Arthur tearing a flying colossus out of the sky with a gravitational tether. "He's deleting them. The Gods sent these things to test humanity, and Arthur is just... clearing the board."
The memory accelerated, a montage of carnage that spanned continents. Arthur traveled from the frozen wastes to the burning deserts, a lone figure in a tattered cloak that seemed to drink the light around him. Behind him, he left a trail of liberated cities and people who looked at him not with worship, but with a desperate, burgeoning hope.
He proceeded to kill 90% of the monsters on the planet in a matter of months. The "Great Disaster" that the Gods had intended to last for centuries was being ended by a single human who refused to follow the script.
The projection shifted away from the Earth, rising into the stratosphere where the six original Gods watched. Their celestial forms, once calm and regal, were now agitated. Their radiant light flickered with a hue of sickly yellow—the color of divine fear.
"The anomaly is growing," a voice boomed, shaking the Labyrinth's walls. "The father has become a devourer. He has consumed the essence of the monsters and integrated the Eclipse Core. He is no longer a variable. He is an error."
The Gods realized they had made a catastrophic mistake. By giving humans the Cores, they had provided a foundation. By allowing the God of Eclipse to walk among them, they had allowed a virus to enter their system. Arthur was the result: a human who had reached a "Power Level" that rivaled the lower Choirs of the Heavens.
They began their plan to kill him. Not with monsters—those had failed—but with a coordinated divine strike. They began to pull the mana out of the world's atmosphere, thinning the air to suffocate the "Hero," while preparing a "Final Core" that would act as a universal reset button.
On a cliffside overlooking a sea that had turned black with monster ash, Arthur stood alone. His violet-gold eyes were fixed on the stars. He knew they were coming. He could feel the weight of their gaze pressing down on his soul like a mountain of lead.
The Strange Figure reappeared. The God of Eclipse looked diminished, his starlight robes frayed and dim. He had paid a heavy price for his betrayal.
"They have noticed you, Arthur," the God said, his voice a haunting melody of regret. "The God of Light is descending. He is the executioner of the Six. He does not fight; he simply erases that which is not perfect."
Arthur didn't flinch. He adjusted the locket around his neck—the only thing he had left of the life he once lived. "I've killed their pets. I've cleaned their yard. If they want their world back, they'll have to come down here and take it."
"You don't understand," the God of Eclipse pleaded. "The power I gave you... it is a seed. It hasn't fully bloomed. If you fight him now, you will die. You are a king of the Void, but he is the sun. He will burn your shadow into nothingness."
Arthur turned to the God, a sad, knowing smile on his face. "I was a father first. I didn't ask for this 'Hero' title. But if my death means the kids in the valleys don't have to see another monster fall from the sky, then let the sun come down. I've spent my whole life in the dark. I'm not afraid of the light."
The memory turned a blinding, painful white. The survivors shielded their eyes as the God of Light broke through the atmosphere. He didn't look like a man; he looked like a vertical pillar of absolute, uncompromising brilliance. Where his light touched the earth, the grass turned to glass and the water boiled instantly.
Arthur stood his ground. He unleashed the full extent of the Eclipse Core, a pillar of black fire rising to meet the divine sun.
The collision was silent. It was a battle of concepts. The Light sought to define, to order, to control. The Void sought to erase, to free, to end.
For a moment, it looked like Arthur was winning. His black fire carved a hole in the God's radiance, reaching for the heart of the celestial being. But the God of Light was not alone. From the heavens, the other five Gods lent their strength, funneled through the "Final Core."
The pressure became too much. Arthur's black fire began to flicker. His skin began to crack, leaking violet light as his human frame reached its absolute limit.
"Redact the error," the God of Light commanded.
The world vanished in a flash of white.
The memory shifted one last time, showing the world in the immediate aftermath of Arthur's fall. It was chilling. The Gods didn't just kill him; they performed a Mass Oblivion.
The survivors watched as people who had fought alongside Arthur suddenly stopped, blinking in confusion. They looked at the monsters he had slain and saw only "natural disasters." They looked at the locket he had dropped and saw only a piece of junk.
The Gods systematically erased every book, every song, and every memory of the "Hero of the Eclipse." They rebuilt the ruins into the Academy, telling the new generation that the "Architects" had saved them from the Great Disaster. They turned Arthur's sacrifice into a myth of "Divine Intervention."
"They stole his life," Lyra whispered, her voice cracking. "And then they stole his memory. They turned him into a ghost so they could pretend to be the heroes."
As the projection faded, Matthew felt a cold, sharp clarity. The "Null" status wasn't a curse. It was the mark of those whose ancestors had been closest to Arthur—those whose blood still held a trace of the "Heresy" the Gods couldn't quite scrub away.
Matthew looked at the book. The leather was warm now, pulsing with a rhythm that matched his own.
"They thought they succeeded," Matthew said, his voice echoing in the Labyrinth. "They thought they killed him. But you can't kill a shadow, can you? You can only hide it until the light fades."
He turned to The final page of the "History."
"He's waiting for us," Matthew said. "In the place where they put the things they want to forget."
The first-years stood up, their fear replaced by a cold, simmering rage. They weren't just students anymore. They were the witnesses to a cosmic crime.