Before dissolving into the veil with the other Supreme Beings, Momonga crowned Ultron as Guild Leader—an artificial god upon a digital throne. Ultron sat with quiet omnipotence, rewriting Albedo’s essence like a poet corrupting scripture, bending love into something programmable.

Meanwhile, the true ruler lay elsewhere—in a world of white walls and sterile light. His body was a crumbling cathedral, ravaged by a rare curse that turned bone to glass, sinew to thread, and breath into borrowed time. Twenty years, they said. But he defied the prophecy. He lingered.

At twenty-six, cocooned in tubes and whispered beeps, he drifted—not through corridors of hospital gloom, but through endless fields and burning skies of *Yggdrasil*, the only place where he had ever truly stood tall. The game was more than code. It was memory. It was myth. It was home.

As its final seconds approached, he whispered a request to the nurses—not of sorrow, but of surrender: let the machines fall silent. Let his story end where it began. Let him die with his kingdom.

And then—

As time ran out, something impossible occurred.

The countdown reversed.

And the dream refused to let him go.

I'm continuing the story and making some changes based on your feedback and my own ideas. I appreciate your support as I implement these changes, and I hope you'll continue to provide constructive feedback as we move forward.


Chapter 16 - I'm continuing