novellk Chapter 1679 Final Chapter: Crossing the Shore [23] "Do your thing, no need for a chapter."
Chapter 1679 Final Chapter: Crossing the Shore [23] "Do your thing, no need for a chapter."
Chapter 1679 Final Chapter - Crossing the Shore [23] - "Do your thing, don't look back."
A familiar black trench coat fluttered wildly in the energetic gale.
The man raised one hand to the sky, his five fingers spread wide, and a fierce golden light burst forth from his palm, as if an invisible hand was forcefully holding up the collapsing sky.
Her jet-black braids fluttered in the air, and her golden eyes looked over.
"You've arrived?" Su Lin said calmly. "I've been to Si Que's hometown. The people there said that they never had a person named 'Si Que' in their memory."
Su Ming'an's eyes narrowed, then he understood: "I understand, thank you... By the way, where is Ailand?"
“He ran away the moment he saw me,” Su Lin said. “Maybe in his mind, I’m terrifying.”
Pale golden, regular patterns, centered on Su Lin, lifted up the sky.
"Roar--!!!"
On the other side of the sky, a pure dragon's roar that shook the soul resounded!
A colossal dragon, its body seemingly forged from flowing gold, appeared, its head held high! Its massive form coiled and twisted among the clouds, its scales burning with sacred golden flames. With its head held high and its jaws wide open, it spewed forth a golden river of fire that stretched across the sky!
Immediately afterwards, a third beam of light appeared.
A blond youth, his wings fluttering, hovered below the golden river of fire. His face was slightly pale, his bangs damp with sweat, but his eyes were sharp as a hawk's. He held flames in his palms, merging them into Ian's dragonfire.
—Su Lin, Ian, and Aini.
The three were like three suns illuminating the battlefield, supporting the crumbling sky.
Su Ming'an had no idea that Su Lin and Ian had started hanging out together. Considering their similar personalities, it was understandable.
“Go,” Su Lin said calmly. “Awaken the Demon Mother Goddess. Only a primordial god can stand against a primordial god. If there are any unexpected variables, I believe you can handle them.”
Su Lin made no attempt to hide his trust, and Su Ming'an had no doubt that Su Lin could hold on.
Su Ming'an looked at Lü Shu: "How is your injury? Let me see."
Su Ming'an wanted to watch, but Lü Shu firmly shook his head: "It's alright, with Lin Yin here, nothing will happen... Let's begin. Awaken the Demon Mother Goddess."
Su Ming'an nodded slowly after confirming that Lü Shu was in normal condition.
The moment the order was given, everyone began their respective deployments. Su Ming'an flew to the edge of the plaza, where there was a blood-red magic circle, a magic circle personally instructed by Isabella, capable of resonating with the seal of the Demon Mother Goddess.
"Is this the legendary savior?"
"She looks so young..."
Six figures were already standing there.
A killing storm that constantly changes form.
A man dressed in a magnificent, classic black robe and wearing a pale bone mask.
A pirate wearing a tattered cloak.
A mixture of countless faces of men, women, young and old.
A clump of ash that keeps spreading.
A beautiful young woman with purple hair, holding a mirror.
They are the six retinues of the Demon Mother Goddess, who become Her gates as She is about to awaken.
Everyone was ready, and Su Ming'an closed his eyes.
Dark wings enveloped him, with Lü Shuyu guarding him from the side.
Su Ming'an pressed his palm against the blood-red magic circle, his consciousness sinking downwards.
"Om-!"
The magic circle resonated like the heartbeat of the earth, forming a slowly rotating red and black vortex beneath Su Ming'an's feet. Faint sounds, like the churning of the deep sea and the flow of viscous liquid, could be heard.
Initiating resonance is by no means a comfortable experience; it's as if you're laying your most vulnerable parts out in bright light, yet your body remains unmoved.
"Is it really going to work? That's the Demon Mother Goddess..." Ellie's hesitant voice came through the communicator from the outside.
Is it really possible?
Su Ming'an is currently only a second-level god. Even with unlimited potential, can he maintain his composure in front of the Demon Mother Goddess and invite her to join him on an equal footing? I'm afraid anyone else would easily become the Demon Mother Goddess's follower or even servant, and would even lose sight of who they are.
“He can,” Lu Shu said directly, without a doubt.
If everyone else can't do it, Su Ming'an definitely can.
As his consciousness descended, Su Ming'an gradually saw—
An unimaginably vast will, filled with the most primal desires of life, like the slowly opening eyes of a colossal beast, clearly "looked" through the darkness!
He saw Su Ming'an.
Su Ming'an also saw Him.
He laughed, and a voice that sent shivers down one's spine came through:
"...Handsome and lovely child, you've come to me...Do you want to offer yourself up? Come, I will give you the ultimate pleasure and the brightest joy..."
In that instant—
His pupils, like molten gold, stopped spinning.
A pair of eyes, the same color as the enormous eyes, looked down upon him, showing none of the innocent confusion one would expect from an infant, but only an emotion of looking down upon eternity.
—The Radiant Mother Goddess Krystens and the Demon Mother Goddess Isabel both cast their gazes upon this place at the same moment.
The rise and fall of civilizations, the birth and extinction of races, the epics of heroes and the laments of the defeated... all flowed and disappeared like a revolving lantern in the golden pupils.
The enormous golden eyes began to shrink towards the center. Countless pale hands, like swallows returning to their nests, converged layer upon layer, merging into the contours of the eyes.
He is coming soon.
He is about to truly project his own existence into this cat box.
Su Lin raised her head, her black hair dancing wildly amidst the increasingly strong suction and turbulent energy currents.
He stared directly at the sky, which had almost shrunk into a golden singularity.
——Mother Goddess of Light.
—The guide of the false world line.
—The creator of the eternal dream.
—The master of fate.
"You actually went this far."
At that moment, everyone heard a voice that was neither male nor female, calm, clear, and vast:
"I am both lovable and hateful."
"Savior..."
……
Normal world line, Creators Conference.
"Drip, drip..."
The crimson rain fell thick and sticky, splashing against the dome with a dull thud, as the downpour poured into the messy meeting hall.
Inside the venue, the white stone mat was shattered into pieces, and the red rain spread a glaring dark red on the broken marble surface. The air was filled with the smell of stone dust and rust.
Scholars, nobles, and generals from various races... some slumped in their waterlogged seats, unconscious; others supported each other, their faces pale as they gazed up at the eerie crimson sky.
On the high platform, an uninvited guest suddenly barged in.
——Machiichi Yamada.
He was dressed in a clown costume: a fluffy jumpsuit with red, yellow, and blue stripes, shoulders covered with colorful pom-poms, a comical red round nose, and colorful curly hair, which stood out starkly against the solemn yet broken background.
Rain soaked his colorful hair, strands clinging to his pale forehead. He stood atop the high platform, looking down at the crowd.
"Alright, everyone, let's get started!"
"Are you kidding me? Who are you, some famous creator? What qualifications do you have to barge into the Creators' Assembly?" An elf dressed in a magnificent robe slammed his hand on the table and stood up.
Yamada Machi grinned.
He spread his hands and said, "I'm nothing! I'm just the host of a show!"
He pulled out an ice-blue magic wand and waved it!
A layer of illusory oil paint permeated the world, the crimson of the sky became like stage lighting, and the buildings took on the texture of a theatrical curtain.
"Ladies and gentlemen, or friends whose gender is Walmart shopping bag!" Machiichi Yamada's voice was filled with exaggerated, circus announcer-like excitement.
"Welcome to our first act—"
He suddenly spread his arms wide, his colorful sleeves fluttering in the rain.
"—Dara's Sky!"
hum-
The whole world seemed to have turned into a curtain.
The ochre-red eaves of the slums stretched between the sky and the earth, the damp smell of coal smoke rising in the air, the clanging of overturned tin buckets echoing in the distance, the squeak of women's bare feet rubbing against the ground growing louder as they approached. The high platform of Yamada-cho Station transformed into the ochre-red eaves.
At that moment, he suppressed all the exaggerated smiles on his face.
……
“Yamada, I want you to go back to the normal timeline,” Lu said.
“The second battlefield, I understand.” Yamada nodded. “I do need to go back. The main force of the players is in the ‘past.’ If trouble arises in the ‘present,’ we’re doomed.”
This important task fell to Machiichi Yamada and the 99% of players who remained in the original timeline, so Machiichi Yamada returned to the present.
At this moment, a large number of Dream Patrolmen were about to arrive, and a torrential downpour of crimson rain fell. Most of the locals fell into a coma because they were not used to the rain.
"Ryan! Have you got the permissions?" Yamada Machi shouted at the ice-blue magic wand, their communication device.
The next second, a lazy voice rang in his ear: "Got it. The story of Alawudin has been picked up. You can catch up anytime."
"Alright, everyone, let's get started!" Yamada Machiichi clapped his hands.
Ryan will hack into the network as a hacker.
Qin Ze was responsible for organizing the logic.
Looking north, it offers the authority of "peace," turning the whole world into a curtain.
Yamada Machiichi took on the role of host and stepped onto the high platform.
……
Alaudin sat in a room whose walls were covered with the manuscript of "The Sky of Dara".
On the yellowed pages, the little hero Dara runs on the rooftops of the slums, laughs at the alleyway during the rainy season, and steals fried bean cakes in front of old Banu's curry stand... Each page is a fantasy he wrote down word by word decades ago when his wife was still alive.
That was the only light in his barren life.
Just now, Machiichi Yamada asked him a question—would you be willing to share your story and become the backdrop for the world?
Alawuddin looked up at the two photos pasted on the wall.
On the left is his wife, Samira, wearing a faded red sari, smiling under the only banyan tree in the slum, holding their one-month-old daughter in her arms.
On the right is her daughter, Aliya. On her sixth birthday, she stood barefoot beside a mountain of garbage, holding a crown folded from scrap paper. Her little face was dirty, but her smile was clear and bright. She excitedly said, "Daddy, in the story you wrote about Dara, he saved a kitten yesterday! When I grow up, I want to be like Dara and save lots and lots of people!"
On the paper, Dara is as free as the wind, but outside the paper, Alawuddin can't protect anyone.
His wife, Samira, died of an infection, and the hospital said the treatment would cost tens of thousands. Alawuddin emptied all his savings, but it still wasn't enough. He knelt outside the clinic for three hours, begging, before the iron gate slammed shut in front of him. That night, Samira held his hand, her body slowly growing cold.
His daughter, Aliya, died of a high fever; her temperature reached 40 degrees Celsius. Alawuddin carried her to every public hospital in the city, but they were all overcrowded. In the hospital corridor, Aliya convulsed in his arms and gradually stopped breathing.
He still remembered her last words:
"Dad... I think I saw Dara... He's flying..."
Then, she fell silent.
In such places, there is no mercy or compassion, only unwavering class oppression and helplessness.
The day after Alia's cremation, Alauddin wrote a sentence while wailing:
If stories can't save them, what's the point of writing them?
He always thought that the sentence meant: one must receive sufficient compensation to change the family's poverty.
Until today, Machiichi Yamada contacted him through an encrypted channel and told him about a plan—the person inside the mirror wanted to draw away the higher dimensions and gods outside the mirror, and needed to use his cherished "Dara's Sky" as a backdrop.
On the other end of the screen, Yamada's eyes held an apologetic look: "I'm sorry, Alawudin. Dealing with those Dream Lords, Supreme Lords, the End of All Things, High Dimensions, and Gods… we're not as capable as Su Ming'an. I can't think of a useful and elegant method; I can only come up with this undignified one. The scripts of the top-ranked players, brimming with inspiration, are the best raw material. Combined with Beiwang's Dream Authority, they can make the entire world appear illusory, becoming the perfect backdrop… If you're unwilling, I'll ask someone else…"
“What does this mean?” Aravdin looked up.
"This means... your story will become a puppet in front of everyone."
Alawuddin remained silent for a long time.
He looked at the photos of Samira and Aliya on the wall.
He asked, "Can my story protect everyone?"
Machiichi Yamada said, "Yes."
Alawuddin thought quietly.
He remembered what Alia said: "When I grow up, I want to be like Dara and save many, many people."
He remembered Samira's painful gasps before she died.
If Dara's story could truly save lives, even if it only buys another group of people a second...
"Can Dara turn back into the hero I know?" Araudin asked.
“Of course,” Yamada Machiichi’s voice was firm. “This is just a temporary measure. When it’s all over, Dara will return to her original form, or even better. However—”
He paused.
“Your statement is incorrect, Alawuddin.”
"Whatever Dara may appear as on paper—he is already our true hero, the hero you know. He saved two civilizations, and no one can say he is not a hero."
Alawuddin glanced sideways for a moment, then looked out the window.
Then he turned back to the communicator.
"Let's begin."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the communicator.
"...What?" came the voice of Yamada Machiichi.
“I used to think that in our world, for a story that can’t become reality to shatter fate, it had to be written in a way that could be sold, turn into money, so that I could have money to buy medicine, buy a house, and change my fate—so I tried desperately to write Dara in a way that could be sold. But I failed. Samira and Alia still died.”
"But now I understand."
"If a tainted story, a graffiti-covered epic, a vulgarized hero can truly save the living people outside the story, then the story has already shattered fate."
"It shattered a destiny that should have been unattainable."
"Many people say that we shouldn't look for real meaning in fake stories, but what if this story really can save people? What if the way many of us think so far has been inspired by one fragmented yet complete story after another?"
"How can it be said that it cannot save people or break free from fate?"
"If Dara had known that during his time of becoming vulgar, he could save the fate of two civilizations, this little hero of the slums would not have refused... He was still waiting to save both worlds and become the hero of the slums again."
"And I, who destroyed the story, who acted recklessly in the name of the creator, who destroyed the pure land in my own heart..."
Alauddin closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.
“I repent for this, but I will still tell you the story.”
The voice of Machiichi Yamada came through the communicator, soft and weary:
"Thank you."
"Feel sorry."
……
I'm not the "protagonist," Yamada Machiichi thought.
I'm just a player who wanders on the fringes of the main storyline, and that's precisely why I'm suited to do this.
It's like suddenly inserting a clown wearing rainbow shorts and dancing in a public square into a serious epic.
It's just vulgarity, meaningless vulgarity. But sometimes, vulgarity is sharper than swords.
"Alright, everyone, let's get started!"
His voice was filled with exaggerated excitement, like a dedicated clown in a circus. But only he knew that those words felt like shards of glass scraping against his throat, painful and sharp.
If an epic is pure, clean, and perfect from beginning to end, then it is of course a perfect fairy tale.
How he wished that the salvation he was involved in could be like the shonen manga he had read since childhood—the protagonist endures hardships but always stays true to himself, his companions work together without anyone falling behind, and in the end, through passion and bonds, they defeat the powerful enemy and achieve a happy ending for everyone. No dirty deals, no unavoidable betrayals, no beautiful things that need to be tainted by his own hands.
He so hoped that when it was all over, people would look back on this journey and say from the bottom of their hearts, "It was truly a brilliant and unforgettable journey."
But if the road ahead is destined to be filled with controversy, criticism, and imperfections, and if one cannot avoid the painful, shameful, and unforgettable mistakes along the way, then this is an unavoidable reality.
Reality is not a fairy tale.
In another timeline, Su Ming'an acts as a vanguard, and every step he takes could lead to his demise.
The road is under the pressure of the main battlefield, and it could collapse at any second.
"Feel sorry."
He apologized in his heart for the story of being chosen as the raw material.
I'm sorry, I can't be as perfect as Su Ming'an, and I can't balance beauty and reality.
Su Ming'an possessed an almost obsessive persistence, always striving to find a way to achieve the best of both worlds in dire situations, wanting both the process and the outcome to be as correct as possible. Yamada Machi admired that persistence, but he knew he was not Su Ming'an. He didn't have that kind of strength, that kind of intelligence, or that kind of unwavering will.
Sorry.
I transformed your stories from beautiful fantasies into weapons in your hands.
I let your stories fall from the soft clouds to the battlefield of the mundane world.
Alaudin's "The Sky of Dara" is being invaded by Ryan, guided by Qin Ze, covered by the dream curtain of Bei Wang, and will eventually become a third-rate puppet through Alaudin himself.
If the meaning of a story is limited to beauty, to decency, to being a "work of art" for people to appreciate and savor—
So what can stories do when the world needs saving?
If a fire is burning reality, should people hold onto their beautifully crafted storybooks and let the flames devour their lives, or should they do something?
Yamada Machi took a deep breath.
The crimson rain lashed his face, smearing his makeup, making him look like a failed clown, a pathetic madman clutching a cheap magic wand.
In a reality without deus ex machina or extraordinary luck—
He raised his magic wand and waved it.
On the sky, the polluted text of "Dara's Sky" began to scroll.
In the dimly lit room, Alawudin's hands trembled.
First line, second line, third line...
He sits here, personally turning his life's masterpiece into vulgar dregs.
A voice came from the communicator: "Mr. Alawudin, shall we continue?"
“Continue,” Alawuddin said in a low voice.
There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the communicator.
"Are you sure?" Machiichi Yamada asked.
Alawudin's fingers twitched slightly.
The next chapter, he remembered, was his daughter's favorite. Years ago, Alia had jumped barefoot in front of the house, imitating Dara's throwing of mango pits, shouting, "Dara! Down with the bad guys!" Samira, mending clothes nearby, looked up and smiled, saying, "Keep it down, someone's sleeping next door."
But Aria is already dead.
Samira is also dead.
He died because he couldn't afford antibiotics in rupees and because he couldn't get into a hospital.
Alawuddin looked up at the sky.
Perhaps at this moment, on the battlefield he cannot see, some players have gained a breather, and many more have survived.
People often say that dreams are both noble and vulgar. They are noble because they are unattainable, and vulgar because people will stop at nothing to get them.
Aladin couldn't tell whether he was noble or vulgar. He couldn't even tell whether Yamada Machiichi... or whether humanity was noble or vulgar.
Is it noble to resort to any means to survive?
Should resorting to any means necessary to survive be considered vulgar?
“If my daughter were still alive… she would be sixteen this year. If she saw this vulgar story, she might cry in anger. But if this story becomes vulgar, it could save another father from kneeling outside the hospital begging for medicine, and save another daughter from dying from a high fever…”
He wrote new words.
Sorry.
Let those who condemn the lowly be the ones who value nobility and purity. I have no right to be noble; I am merely a despicable person, someone I despise the most, and someone that players loathe utterly.
I chose to let the story be tainted.
I chose to let the epic become mundane.
I chose to become someone who tarnishes beauty.
The pen tip made a sound as it slid across the paper.
Rustle, rustle.
Aladin did not cry.
His tears had already dried up at Samira and Aliya's funerals and turned to ashes.
He used these ashes so that "Samira" and "Alia" would not have to undergo a funeral.
……
Su Ming'an's consciousness sank into the darkness.
As if gently enveloped by something soft, he fell until his feet touched the ground.
He knew that he had successfully entered the seal of the Demon Mother Goddess.