That dream.

That dark dream again, in which there is that voice I cannot respond to.

Those words. So, incomprehensible after the command.

I have not dreamed my whole life. Now, I am trapped. In dreaming about those memories. Without feeling in my body, wrapped in a frightening cold.

The [Yellow Queen] has brought back my dormant memories. This must be the final act of the game, a match against an eternal mind.

A mind capable of encrypting and manipulating my thoughts.

I cannot believe I have regained memories. It is as if holes have filled. Holes appeared on a perfectly intact wall.

The awareness of the unawareness of having altered memories.

Who knows how much damage I did without my knowledge? Maybe when I was manipulated.

I have served the System all my life. I followed its directions.

What I believed to be its direction.

My father too. His mother too, and so did the ancestors.

But who among them has not been manipulated? Who among them was not playing the God of Wisdom game?

The [Yellow Queen]? Her predecessor?

I do not know. I am unable to read and decipher the language of wisdom. Nor to reconstruct or change its rules. But a good player sets the game right from the start. And I am not a good player. Not on this scale.

Furthermore, I am the last wheel of an eternal relay, against a tireless opponent.

Tears veil my eyes. I rub myself with my arm.

What is the point?

It is just a whim. Y's whim. She is the one who created the current rules. I wish it were that way. But is not so. She has only modified them and has no will.

My ear itches. I lose my train of thought. I look at the charred ceiling, lit by the reflection of the coral outside the window.

What was the point of this journey? My life and that of all those I have judged?

According to Y, it is not even my job to judge them...

There is no sense. Not for us, at least. The senselessness, the emptiness of the System, has been like this since the beginning.

It is a small part of a larger meta-system. The revelation of the God of Wisdom is as indubitable as it is unreliable.

I do not know what to do.

I do not know…

Ci…cin…Ci…

My snake-headed tail wags feebly.

What is the point of judging the dead? I just cannot accept that I've been useless until today.

What is the point of welcoming, consoling, and giving them comfort? It is useless. It has no meaning.

I just wanted to console them, be kind, and listen to them to pass the time. Instead, I was a cog in a conspiratorial machine.

Listening to them and helping them is pointless. Only the God of Wisdom knows and it cares nothing about us.

I think back to the discussions we had. Even asking Y is useless; she cannot answer. The emergent properties of complex systems are too much even for her.

When she changed the rules, trying to make the [Bakenekro] living creatures, her goal was to defend the System and prevent insoluble logical conflicts like those of Irferno from manifesting again.

This is for her. But, for the God of Wisdom, she was a fundamental step in the development of the game.

Defending the System. I laugh nervously.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Defend the System even if the System is a mere set of rules.

No will. No goodness.

No evil.

The System is just an abstract whole, made of matter that folds back on itself in a logical, otherwise meaningless way.

Perhaps, it is even more evil than God itself. A demiurge incapable of being aware of its actions.

I sniff and clench my jaw. I twitch my eyelids to hold back a scream of anger.

Ci-cin.

I roll over in bed.

I have to get up. Do something, even useless, but something...

I dry the tears that are wetting my cheeks again.

What meaning has my life had so far? This thought does not want to go away. Get out of my mind.

Get out!

Now no one exists anymore.

I cannot hold back a sob.

Since Irferno destroyed the dungeon, no one has reached the Underwasteland.

Perhaps no one exists anymore…

Not that it matters. Excluding Fulzo, I am convinced that no one would need this place anymore. This bug traps.

We will disappear like them, into the depths of the Ocean.

Like Dad.

The dead no longer exists. The living no longer exists. The awareness that the universe was at the peak of the age of living beings has been present in me for a long time.

But I do not want to accept this course of events.

That is why I was chosen, right?

And for this!?

This is why the God of Wisdom waited for my father to leave the world, dissolving into the Ocean.

The fact that he was a [lv: 100] is marginal, as if [lv]s make sense against something that transcends the System itself.

I am the last [Bakenekro]since the opposing action of the God, of the [Devil], of [Leviathan]has led to the definitive extinction.

Ah! But what am I saying—I, myself, actively contributed to achieving this result! It is my fault, too!

Anger takes over sadness. And my muscles contract. I dig my nails into the pillow and squeeze.

The membrane is lost forever. The corruption has spread beyond all limits.

The God of Wisdom told me that only in this way can it be born. A being who was never born and died countless times.

What does it mean!? Damn!

From what perspective should I read this information?

Can I trust someone who can rewrite my memories at will? Someone who even in death can move people on the chessboard of the cosmos.

Where is my freedom, my difference from Irferno!?

Y continues to try to clean the System from errors and widespread infection.

But she failed. She fails. She will fail forever!

Out the window, I see nothing but corruption.

Desolation.

The [Yellow Queen] has managed to carve out this safe bubble for herself. For me, for her, for Fulzo, for Gron. But only while waiting to try the definitive remedy.

Who knows if it can work? No, it cannot! So—

Implement rules that force the System to consider the error as the Resetstar. Force a reversal to the expansion. Bring everything back to how it was before.

I do not understand.

I loosen my grip and go limp, curling up.

I do not understand. Really.

Even returning the Underwasteland or the universe to its previous state… that would not apply to the living.

Died.

The Resetstar only worked on the surrounding space. It did not bring Gron back from oblivion.

Some rest, those who have disappeared, those who are corrupt. But in the end, they all died. Only we remain, we illusions of life.

I roll over in bed. The house has returned to its original form.

At least, this is the only consolation that remains. Finish everything where it began. At home.

My home.

Sigh.

How could I ever kill—break—Y? She is a friend of mine and, despite everything, she is the only one who is trying to resolve this situation.

Also, why do I feel the need for these thoughts? What makes me think about them?

Perhaps the God of Wisdom was wrong. Perhaps there is a mistake in its long-range plan.

I make mistakes with much less.

It says it is imperfect… maybe…

Ci-cin.

I sit on the bed. I watch my legs dangle.

Killing Y, what nonsense. An inexplicable “slip of the tongue.”

I should not be so negative. It is an unsuitable attitude for the [Emp...

…oh well, it does not matter.

I stand up and stretch.

I prick up my ears. From the noise of the flip-flops, I understand that Y is approaching.

♦

“N! N~”

“Yes?”

Y is amused. She stops in the doorway of the room. With a vain gesture, she moves a lock of blonde hair from her shoulder.

“I'm ready.”

“Talk about the problem—”

“Mircalla. This time, I think I'm ready to fix the corruption.”

“Oh, I was hoping you solved the cipher puzzle.”

“Oh, how negative we are! Come on, let's go!”

Clack-Clack-Clack…!

Y's tails jam, making annoying clanks. The [Bakenekro] shakes her ears and makes sweet eyes.

I lower my ears, comforted by her inability to empathize.

It saves me the trouble of having to justify her my red eyes, or my dejected look.

Ironic that, deep down, she may be able to recognize other people's moods, but she does not care. Her simulated joy is only directed at the fact that she can work on corruption.

Whether it concerns me, or Mircalla, it makes no difference to her.

After all, friends are taken for what they are. For my part, I cannot help but admire her.

Ci-cin.

“Er… good. After all, it's only the fourth attempt.”

Sigh.

The fourth attempt.

Even though I do not notice it because of [Immortality], I am corrupting myself too. [Immortality] preserves my body and prevents the error from expanding.

But the underlying error remains. And it will remain until it is removed. Difficult operation precisely because of [Immortality], which preserves my body in a sort of backup updated periodically.

The risk is to end up like the [Leviathan], corrupted by the effluvia of the [Devil].

Although I am not worried about that. I do not harbor the [Devil] in the body.

I look at my nails, under which is the usual iridescent line of corruption.

We need surgery on my data. In its way, it is an operation similar to the one used to alter my memory. At least, that is what Y says.

She has a technical way of expressing herself, which I struggle to get used to. None of the deceased I have had so far, except the [Emperor] and the [Devil], expressed themselves using technical terms… typical of the System.

The [Yellow Queen] takes one of my hands in hers. Although cold, her hands are soft and I return my grip.

[Dungeon path]