“Oh, thanks for finding her for me!” Y wags her tail with joy as she observes Kavfyra's lifeless body.

We are in my room. Gron and Dal are in the other room working on the collected materials.

“They happened by chance…”

“But weren't there two of them?”

“Well… I witnessed the scene. Kavfyra murdered her partner. I have already judged the remains.”

“Well. Fine.”

Y shakes her ears and stretches.

“I mean… it wasn't fun.”

“Did I say the opposite?”

“You don't seem very sorry to me.”

“Huh, should I? They die anyway.”

No, you should not. Why should we ever feel sorry for mortals?

I look at the elf's unconscious body lying on my bed. Even so, defenseless, it is a face that arouses negative emotions in me.

It is true. They die anyway. Nevertheless…

Sigh.

“My father also died. You too will die, Y.”

“Hmm, no. I am an undead. I'm not dying. At most, I cease my functions.”

“What do you mean? Gron is also an undead though—”

“ALT.” she shakes her head and puts her hands on her hips. “Let's not confuse things. The undead are matter, objects made of organic matter. But we are still objects. Gron, like all living people affected by the deceased, is a subject.”

I tilt my head. I do not understand. “Are you not a sentient being?”

“Exact. No more than Irferno or the other excavation entities. The System creates the undead. They are finished as they are and cannot change. For example, levels, undead don't level. The deceased, yes. Or reproduction. Undead don't reproduce, deceased can, and—”

“Wait, get over the level issue. I know deceased who have leveled here,” like Sylviette, “but the reproduction is wrong. My father… even if you—”

“Legitimate point. But the Bakenekro came alive after I changed some laws of the System. Before, we didn't reproduce.”

I fold my hands and snort thoughtfully. “But if the undead don't change, why did you need to fix the System? Didn't you like how it was?”

“The Yellow Queen's task is to correct and preserve the System, even manipulating it in depth.”

“Wait. Me with Necromancy—”

“You create temporary undeads that are modeled after certain sleepers. I know this may seem strange to you, but they are not truly sentient. They seem sentient to you because they are your projections.”

Um… this is sad.

It means that the times Mircalla and Sylviette—they never met me again. These are just my projections and…

…and there is someone else. Someone important who I cannot outline without feeling anguish and pain.

“Besides, the undead can't function alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look Gron. How long has it been since it wandered around the Underwasteland?”

“I couldn't quantify it.”

Y nods vigorously, and his tails intertwine. “Exactly, no undead could do that. We shut down if we are not fed. Yours with Necromancy feed on your ap, while those with autonomous existence like me or Irferno, absorb the Flare-Oil of the Corestars.” She tilts her head and scratches the back of her neck. “I don't know if you know this, but to maintain Sanctuary, I was connected to an implant. Irferno has its core, but in the end, we both need to recharge now and then.”

This also explains why Irferno does not act according to a true will.

Y winks at me, sensing that I have understood the point of the question.

The undead are like me. Immortals. But they are different from me because I cannot switch off at all.

[Immortality] is life that overflows, eliminating the [malus].

While [Undead] does not even have the [statuses].

The ancient world must have been different. This explains why Y is so curious about the current one.

She is a product of the System created to be devoted to it. Even a slight change would arouse her attention.

Yet it is so difficult not to consider her a sentient being. She simulates emotions and moods even better than Kavfyra or Sylviette.

But maybe that is the point. Since life came from the magics of unlife, I…

“So, N. Are you going to think about this for a long time? Can I send this elf home?”

Ci-cin.

I wake up from my thoughts.

I look at Y's tail. Kavfyra is on the bed, and I turn to the window.

The corals have created a kind of low forest, similar to tangles of colorful shrubs.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“I just hope the poison doesn't reach the physical body. I don't feel like judging her right now.”

“All right!” Ignoring my concerns, the [Yellow Queen] makes her body disappear.

When I turn around the bed is free, and she has sat down.

♦

In the other room, I find Dal and Gron.

The human sits on a chair studying the crystals on the table. Lying on the table lazily wagging its tail, the cat.

Seeing them like I would not know what to say.

Dal is not Dal. What happened to the real Dal? Has he disappeared? No, he's probably changed.

The balance of the System leads me to think that Dal is now its simulation. And in a certain way, this comforts me.

He will no longer have to fear the [Temporal Guillotine].

On the other hand, what I am looking at now is also just a construct. Ironic that he, capable of creating life is now nothing more than a reproduction.

I am sorry that he will forever be reverent and fearful of me. It is a pity…

Gron is deceased.

Should I reveal to it that the one he speaks to is not its true master? As he would hold his conversation in private, finding out that—

“Oh, N, come, come. Prrr.”

I approach the table.

Dal has lost a finger and uses a glass monocle to study the bars.

I bend over behind him, looking at the bar in his hand.

“These are materials I don't know. The Yellow Queen was kind enough to tell me how to use certain components. However, I need some time. I think I can make a hammer with it.”

“Oh, if you need a starting point, we have a pole with a pointed hammer and a sickle. Hehe.”

He puts the bar down. His monocle frays back to form the missing finger. He turns to look at me with a satisfied face.

“Really? It would be great.”

“I'll bring it to you later. It's in the other room. It belonged to the elf.”

Gron and Dal look at each other, nodding, and start talking to each other.

“If I do this—”, “Evaluate that—”, “Yeah, yeah”, “Consider—”, “Do you remember when—”, “Eh, that story again! but—”…

I stay and listen to them for a while.

Their chatter is so spontaneous. I decide not to say anything to Gron. What is the point of making it sad?

No. Better not to touch this matter.

Whether Dal is undead or not is not a matter for Gron to know. Sometimes, it is better not to know. I must judge the dead, not dissipate their joys.

I start to go back when a tremor makes the walls tremble.

Dust falls from the ceiling boards.

Ci-cin.

“Did you hear?”

“Hm, no.”

“If you mean your bell, yes, prrr.”

Ci-cin, Ci-cin.

A second shock. Strong enough to shake the windows and table for an instant.

Gron and Dal look at me perplexed and immobile.

Ci-cin, Ci-cin, Cin, Cin, Cin…

A third and prolonged shock. The walls move, and crashes of tectonic fractures fill the air.

“N! N!” Y's voice barely reaches my ear, covered by the general noise.

“Y!”

“I'm sorry, I'm very sorry! Irferno did not reach the interface. It has not reached!”

As Y speaks, the windows shatter, and the incinerated roof cracks.

I use [Dungeon path] to exit outside.

The end of the world.

Of my world.

The ground erupts in every direction. Large blocks of glowing material are hurled into the air. Geysers of water and mud and lava.

The fractures swallow the black sands and corals. The liquids mixing. It generates errors similar to the tunnel that the [Devil] traces in the magma.

Ci-cin!

The ground at my feet gives way, and [Dungeon path] takes me to the edge of an immense abyss.

Everything moves. Everything falls apart and shatters. In a smell of sulfur and burning earth. The desert shifts and overturns while the others reach me.

My hair flies everywhere because of the wind, but the typhoon dissipates before recomposing and sinking.

The membrane, the canopy of the cosmic tree, rains down like a river of blackish slime. I open the umbrella to take shelter, and Gron, Y, and Dal try to find shelter by huddling around.

Eventually, the apocalypse ends.

The alien landscape I find myself in front of leaves me speechless. Nobody says anything, and that contemplation unites us in this moment.

Not the discouragement.

Not fear.

Dismay.

Inability to rationalize.

The membrane has disappeared. Its remains permeate the faults and rocks that have not collapsed.

The storm is still far away, and the errors form a complex and fragmented jungle at various depths.

The blackened sky.

All is black.

The light from the horizon has disappeared, and only the corals and bubbling sewage create halos of light.

How?

When?

The System did not even give the alert.

“Y… I… I can’t…”

“I am sorry. The System warned me when the damage was inevitable. Late, but it makes sense. No one would ever hypothesize such an eventuality. But it's incredible, wow.”

“What eventuality?”

“Well, to forget about the Interface and destroy the Corestar with Incinerator. I couldn't explain why Irferno was fleeing from the core. So, I said to myself ‘It will want to reach the interface’ but instead, Hehe, no—it just took a safe distance.”

Ci-cin…

I take an uncertain step into the membrane-filled sand. It is lukewarm, disgustingly slippery. I retract my foot but have nowhere else to go.

I search with my eyes. But I cannot find my home anymore.

“Anyway, don't worry, N, I see you're nervous. The dungeon will be repaired as usual. Just a few thousand years. You will see that everything will be solved.”

“Why? …Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why destroy the Corestar, all of it!?”

Y scratches her neck and looks up at the sky. She does not seem worried, maybe confused, but with the poor light I could be wrong.

I might not even be in a position to understand.

I am not understanding anything.

Until recently, we talked about preparing, waiting, and defending the Interface. What I once called [core].

Nothing new. Nothing that powerful enemies had not already tried to conquer.

Nothing that—

I feel tears welling up in my eyes. My home.

The house I grew up in.

Where I lived.

My father, my friends, my enemies, and everyone else. It is devastating. Thousands of years. Just a few thousand years.

What do you want them to be? Huh, Y?

What do you want them to be…

“N… prrr, never mind…” Gron rests its little paw on my ankle. I can feel the stickiness it is soaked in, but it does not matter.

I sniff. I am happy it is here. I dry my face with one arm and hands, holding the umbrella on my shoulders.

Then I shake the umbrella. I close it again.

Y is moving her fingers, and she seems to be observing something. Probably an invisible interface to the rest of us.

“I think Irferno concluded that it could do the most damage this way. A mistake, since the little System is still operational in the Underwasteland at the moment—yes, let's say it was lucky. The Corestar has collapsed into a smaller entity, nothing that can't be repaired with the right timing and intervening quickly.”

“What's it like inside?” Dal speaks. I see him leaning over a crevasse. He is looking into the darkness towards deep pools and waterfalls.

“Hmm… inside it's—let's say it's all shattered. The bulk of it, however, is a void due to the explosion. We are talking about a void of—let's say, for convenience, that occupies a good part of the Underwasteland.”

Ci-cin.

“Where is it?” I grip the handle of the umbrella. I do not care about its [lv], its intentions. I want to see it.

“Hmm… well. Somewhere in the void, I would say. Maybe it'll return to what's left of the Corestar to finish the job. Personally, putting myself in its shoes, I would do this.”

I nod. “Gron, Dal. I'm sorry that you won't be able to be at the optimal level. We have to go.”

“N, don't be hasty. We can't defeat it like this. We have to work at the System level, but it is not possible since the interface has been destroyed.”

“It's not a problem. As soon as I find it, I will have it sentenced to the Temporal Guillotine by—”

“Sorry, but that's not possible. Irferno is immune to System's abilities. It has particular privileges. Now that I think about it without manual intervention, the dungeon will never be reconstituted again.”

Oh… never again?

The attitude with which the saying is full of indifference. Is only the System important to her? Does she not care about this place?

I would say something back to you, but the idea that things could get worse puts me off.

I have to intervene.

I have to intervene now.

“I will make it disappear into the Ocean. It works with level one hundred Bakenekro. It will work with it too.”

Y nods. “You can try. But it won't be easy. I doubt it will be transported to depths.”

«Fsss!»

“I doubt Irferno knows how to swim,” I say between my teeth, surprised by the hiss that matches that of my tail.

I grab Gron and place a hand on Dal.

[Dungeon path]