The stars’ expressions turned ugly.

The shockwave alone had hurled them far away from Atticus. No matter how much they struggled, they couldn’t move closer. It was as though reality itself forbade it.

"You’re joking." The Span stared at the scene in horror. "Tell me he’s not actually doing that. Tell me he’s not doing that right now."

"I’m afraid he is." The Great Verge’s expression remained composed, but the tension in his eyes betrayed him. What Atticus was doing was simply that shocking.

The process of ascension beyond the Middle Planes was becoming a star.

To become a star, one first had to attain Absolute Will, then compress their entire will, from the one residing within themselves to the one spread across all their gathered worlds, into a single point.

A star.

A being acknowledged by the world itself as part of its machinations. However, the process was never as simple as it sounded.

To achieve it, one’s will had to withstand the unimaginable pressure. In simple terms, their will had to be absolute. If there was even the slightest hesitation, the faintest ripple of uncertainty, the process would fail. One had to be completely true to their will.

It was extraordinarily difficult. After all, the Verge, the Span, and even the Crown... they had all failed.

That was why they still remained in the Middle Planes, as Fallens.

When one failed, there were usually only two outcomes. Instant death, or partial success.

For the latter, the world acknowledged their existence, but not completely. They became recognized, yet incomplete. Fallen. Such beings would be unable to ascend to the Higher Planes.

For eons, they had remained behind, gathering star energy throughout the Middle Planes by presiding over the ascension of lower gods. The more recognized one became, the more star energy they accumulated.

Everything they had done. Every era. Every century. Every millennium. All of it had been for a single purpose.

To ascend.

Regardless, of them all, only the Crown had gathered enough. Yet he had still chosen to remain behind, ensuring that only the absolute ascended to the Higher Planes.

Now... now this boy, not even a century old, was about to become a star?

The stars’ expressions turned grave. Even the crown was no different, his eyes narrowed upon Atticus.

They waited.

Meanwhile, Atticus faced a battle none in the Middle Planes, save for the stars, had ever faced before. His entire will had converged into a single orb.

A star.

Yet the star was far from stable. It pressed against its limits, threatening to rupture at any moment. Every second felt as though his head were being split apart from the inside.

However, he endured. He had finally discovered the truth about stars. The answer had been there all along. In the way the crown fought. Every command the crown gave wasn’t directed at will. It was directed at the world itself. At reality. He commanded him to kneel. Reality obeyed.

Atticus could burn anything. But even he could not burn what he could neither touch nor reach. Against reality itself, he had been powerless.

So how did one touch reality? How did one impose upon the world itself? For that answer, Atticus looked back upon everything he had done since arriving in the Middle Planes.

Killing gods. Absorbing worlds. Absorbing wills. That was the system. The ecosystem. Yet he had attained Absolute Will without relying upon any of those gathered worlds.

So what purpose had they truly served?

That was when Atticus recalled his first domain back on Eldoralth. He had compressed it, fusing it into himself to enhance his power. His manifestation wasn’t any different.

And suddenly he saw the answer. His gathered wills were no different. They were scattered across countless worlds, carried by countless lives. They were vast, far too vast. Yet they had never been meant to remain separate.

Everything had clicked into place. The slaughter of gods. The absorption of worlds. The collection of wills. None of it had been the destination.

It had all been preparation for a single moment.

Absolute convergence.

Atticus felt the star threatening to rupture, but he held on. Pain tore through him. It felt as though he were being ripped apart from the inside, yet he endured.

He was his will. His will was absolute.

The world is tinder... he will choose what burns and what remains.

Judgement flames.

The world shall burn. His loved ones shall flourish.

This was his truth. His complete truth. He embodied it wholly. Atticus exhaled, a sudden calmness settling over him.

The star still warped violently, yet it no longer fazed him. Seconds passed. Then more. Gradually, its instability began to lessen. Until... it stopped.

Atticus felt a jolt run through him.

His body jerked violently, limbs trembling uncontrollably. He felt himself fusing with something. No. Not something. The world.

His body was fusing with the world itself.

The light gradually dimmed, Atticus dropped to the ground. Then slowly, he rose.

His body had changed.

Hair of living fire danced in the wind. His flesh resembled molten flame given form, while smoldering embers burned within his eyes. Yet no smoke rose from him. No flames crackled around him. The ruined earth beneath his feet remained untouched.

It was as though he had become part of the world itself. Part of reality.

His burning... had become a truth of existence.

"H-he did it..." The Eternal Span had gone deathly pale. "He actually did it."

This presence was no longer that of a god. It was a star.

An existence acknowledged by reality itself.

"E-extraordinary." The Verge’s six eyes trembled. "He actually succeeded..." For the first time in countless years, genuine awe crept into his voice.

"At least you’ve finally become worth looking at."

Of them all, only the crown remained unmoved. The Verge turned toward him, his expression darkening.

Even after witnessing this, the crown clearly had no intention of letting Atticus live.

Atticus might have become a true star, but the crown had gathered enough star energy to become one long ago. He had only delayed his ascension to ensure that only the absolute reached the Higher Planes.

The greater one’s star energy, the more reality acknowledged their existence. And the more reality acknowledged them, the more they could impose upon it.

A veteran star against one who had only just been born. The Great Verge’s expression turned ugly. Unfortunately... this might still be the end of a once-in-an-era genius.

"But." The crown upon his head shone brighter. "You’re still beneath me."

"Kneel."

Sizzle.

Faint wisps of smoke curled from Atticus.

The crown’s eyes narrowed.

The smoke... it was rising from reality itself. He had resisted his order? How?

"Burn."

Atticus vanished. No. He was already there.

The crown’s eyes widened as faint wisps of smoke trailed in Atticus’ wake. This speed... It was as though the distance between them had never existed.

The smoke, the burn... he had burnt the distance itself.

"Burn."

The crown never saw him move. A fist had already buried itself into his abdomen. The next instant, he was airborne.

He tore through worlds, barriers, and planes alike, streaking across the Middle Planes like a comet.

The Verge and Span’s eyes constricted. Atticus had only just ascended, how could his star energy already be this potent? More importantly... how was he already this proficient with it?

Yet neither of them were as shocked as the crown. Atticus had struck him. Him. The absolute. The one who had remained within the Crown for eons, halting ascensions because he believed only he was worthy of standing above all others.

Only him. No one else. No one.

The crown slammed into the crumbling First Crown and roared. The surrounding debris was annihilated instantly.

A golden sea erupted outward, swallowing entire planes. From its depths, an army emerged.

Radiant. Golden. Each warrior wore shifting knightly armor that seemed forged from the sea itself. Thousands of swords struck thousands of shields in a thunderous bang as the legion bowed before its king.

The crown’s presence swelled. The crown above his head expanded. In that moment, he seemed less like a star and more like a god presiding over his creation.

His hand descended.

The legion’s eyes ignited, then they vanished.

A golden sea filled Atticus’ vision as countless attacks rained down upon him.

Yet, Atticus remained indifferent.

"Consume."