Nuclear (2)

What kind of existence was the Head Moderator?

Felici rested her chin on her hand atop the peak of the Magic Tower, gazing down at the sprawling cityscape of Kellierton in deep thought.

"The master of the Gallery..."

Strictly speaking, he was merely the administrator of the forum, but to Felici, that made no practical difference. The Gallery itself was something beyond mortal comprehension—a phenomenon that had no right to exist in this world. The Head Moderator who commanded such an anomaly was undoubtedly an extraordinary entity in his own right. That alone made her endlessly curious.

"Juddak... What is it that thou truly desirest?"

He had repelled the existential dread of The Outside single-handedly, bending the very trajectory of an ordained apocalypse. He scattered unfathomable artifacts across the land, rewriting the course of civilization in his wake. And yet, all he did with that supreme authority was chat with mundane mortals, hoard reaction memes, and browse an internet forum?

Felici could hardly believe it. An entity of such stature was surely concealing some grand, inscrutable purpose.

"If I could wish for anything, it would be that thou remainest benevolent."

Felici stared quietly at the tea set resting upon the table. The peculiar tea leaves Juddak had sent her paired into an exquisite dessert. Slowly but surely, the Head Moderator's presence had woven itself into the fabric of her daily life. She could only pray that he harbored no insidious design.

Just as that thought crossed her mind—

"...!"

The world violently tore apart.

The tranquil quiet of her mind shattered into pieces as an alarm bell screamed through her consciousness.

"This is...!"

Something that must never be allowed to pass. Her draconic senses—instincts that awoke only in the face of a cataclysm capable of slaying even an ancient dragon—shrieked in absolute hysteria.

Clatter!

The delicate teacup slipped from her trembling fingers, smashing against the stone floor. But she had no time to spare for the spill. Her pupils snapped into razor-sharp vertical slits as her perception surged beyond the bounds of mortal comprehension.

Unfurling before her eyes was the end of all things.

A crimson inferno devoured the earth, vacuuming up everything in its path as a monstrous pillar of fire rose steadily toward the heavens. It pulverized entire civilizations into fine ash; living beings disintegrated into nothingness before their minds could even register death.

"Ah... Ahhh..."

The entire world was dyed a blinding, scorched red. The cataclysm made no distinction between ally or enemy. Monsters, humans, beasts—skin, muscle, bone, and ultimately their very silhouettes dissolved into airborne powder and vanished. Amidst that suffocating, terrifying silence where reality itself crumbled away, the apocalyptic shockwave surged forward, sweeping relentlessly toward Felici as she watched from afar.

BOOOOOM!

And the instant that deafening, eardrum-shattering blast reached her—

"Gasp!"

Felici jolted awake from the nightmare.

By the time her senses snapped back to reality, massive crimson wings had violently burst from her shoulder blades. Her hands had warped into draconic claws, and the reflexive surge of ancient mana had blasted away half the Magic Tower's uppermost chamber.

"Aigoo! My tower! I worked so hard to build it!"

Leaving Derrick—the Supreme Storm Mage—climbing the stairs in panicked lamentation over his battered citadel, Felici frantically connected to the Gallery.

For the first time since she had hatched into this world, Felici felt true, visceral terror. The terror that she, a queen of dragons, could actually die.

Her trembling fingers flew across the interface, leaving a desperate plea for the only being capable of reaching that apocalypse: Juddak.

A 'Nuclear' category had appeared in the shop.

Knowing this system, there was no way it would unlock something like that without a reason. With that thought, I tapped into the new section—only to be immediately bombarded by a frantic message from Felici.

Talk about dialing the panic up to eleven.

"Wait, how the hell does she know?"

I could tell instinctively that her outburst had something to do with the nuclear weapons. But regardless of her sheer terror, I didn't have even a 0.1% intention of ever detonating one. Did she think modern warmongers kept their fingers off the launch buttons for charity?

"Because no one can handle the aftermath."

A nuclear button was practically a suicide switch. I couldn't even manage chemical weapons properly without turning entire swaths of land into uninhabitable dead zones instead of wiping out monsters. Why on earth would I invite a nuclear holocaust?

"Whoa, look at that price tag. It's totally insane."

Besides, I couldn't buy it even if I wanted to. Even if I suddenly lost my mind and glued a toothbrush mustache to my face, I wouldn't be able to field it. A hundred million points? How was I supposed to scrape that together? And even if I did buy the damn thing, where would I even put it? Buying a hundred million cans of tuna sounded infinitely more useful.

"And even if I had the cash, I still can't buy it."

Every single weapon in the nuclear category shared the exact same obstacle: two glaring prerequisites labeled 'Unfulfilled.' And to top it off, the system didn't even drop a hint as to what those conditions were.

I sent the reassurance to calm her down, but the reply that came back was thick with skepticism.

In short: she didn't believe a word I said.

Simply telling her I wouldn't do it didn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠carry much weight when Felici had apparently experienced the full horror of a nuclear detonation firsthand. Mere words weren't going to put her mind at ease.

"Then I guess I just have to give her some kind of proof..."

How was I supposed to do that? I couldn't swear on a magical parchment like those cultists who practically worshipped me. I didn't possess a single drop of mana. And I wasn't particularly thrilled about signing a life-binding pact either.

"Is this what they meant by an aura of influence?"

Right as I was scratching my head, Felici made the first move.

She was asking for my clothes, of all things. Naturally, instead of gladly ripping my shirt open, I asked for an explanation first.

The other world was vast, and there was far too much about it that eluded me. What if I casually handed over a scrap of fabric, only for Felici to use it to trace my location? She claimed to be the Queen of Dragons. She was an arch-entity capable of divining the apocalyptic future just from me glancing at a shop listing.

"What if she's trying to hunt me down and kill me?"

Handing over a personal belonging didn't sit well with me. Sure, Felici was my blue-badged slave—my Assistant Moderator—and we had built up a decent rapport. But just as she couldn't trust my finger near the nuclear button, I wasn't keen on courting real-world mortal danger from beyond the screen. Our relationship certainly wasn't deep enough to bet our lives on blind faith.

For example, while a dragon couldn't read the exact inner monologue of a mortal standing before them, they could at least tell whether that mortal harbored deceit, fear, or genuine reverence. They perceived the traces of a subject's lived experiences and core mindset through unique colors and scents.

Felici was desperate to gain absolute certainty from me. If she truly had caught wind of the nukes and witnessed the aftermath of their detonation... anyone in her shoes would crave ironclad reassurance. What was more, Felici was deadly serious.

A thick, heavy object materialized before me, sent by Felici. Massive as a stone tablet, it was none other than an actual scale shed from her body. Given the inscrutable script carved across its surface, it was quite literally a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠binding pact etched into dragon scale.

I pray that such dread remains nothing more than a passing nightmare.

"Hmm..."

The Gallery system never lied. If it didn't know something, it simply told me the data was unavailable. After a moment of thought, I grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped a tiny scrap from the hem of my shirt. Then, I transferred it directly to Felici through the system.

"Is sending just this really all it takes?"

It felt bizarre that she could glean certainty from a tiny scrap of cloth, but an ancient dragon wouldn't lie about something like this. Besides, there wasn't much she could do with a stray thread of fabric anyway.

About an hour passed after I dispatched the scrap.

A reply finally arrived from Felici.

Her tone was dripping with sheer, utterly dumbfounded awe.

Felici picked up the pristine white scrap of cloth.

"So this belongs to the Head Moderator..."

An entity whose face had never been seen, whose very gender remained unknown. Within the Gallery, wild rumors and superstitions ran rampant—whispers that he was an intangible phantom, a formless consciousness. And to Felici, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he was an incomprehensible sovereign wielding the dread power to manifest absolute hell on earth. Yet...

"Such ordinary fabric."

A humble piece of cloth woven from standard threads. Of course, judging by its flawless industrial weave, one might question whether it was truly 'ordinary,' but that was not what she meant.

"I expected thee to be something far more enigmatic."

An entity that had transcended the physical plane, perhaps. A demigod whose physical vessel had decayed into pure thought. Or something even more unfathomable. Though she had referred to it as a 'collar,' she had half-expected an alien, mind-bending artifact beyond her understanding.

Yet what lay in her palm was an ordinary, mundane piece of clothing.

"Fascinating. How exceedingly peculiar... It truly piques mine interest."

That unexpected banality washed away her lingering boredom, stoking her curiosity. Smiling softly at the inexplicable sense of warmth and familiarity it radiated, she brought the fabric to her nose.

Focusing her entire consciousness into a single point, she gently drew in a breath.

"!"

And in that breathless instant, the truth struck her.

The Head Moderator—the overseer of the Gallery—was an unknown existence who had arrived from beyond this world.