Messiah Christ’s clothes were burned away into the void.
All that remained was his naked body—yet even that no longer felt entirely real. Light passed straight through his flesh, rendering it translucent. His outline blurred, melting into space itself, as if his consciousness were slipping free from the vessel called a body.
When he looked ahead, countless particles of light flew toward him, trailing long tails. At their origin shimmered a radiant, high-intensity light source, dazzling beyond description.
Then, from infinitely far away—across a boundless, endless expanse—a voice arrived, gentle like an early spring breeze.
“How many worlds do you think have risen and fallen?”
The voice was neither male nor female, and it spoke as if questioning Messiah directly.
The words caught in his throat. After witnessing so many unnatural phenomena in a single day, Messiah had learned caution.
“Worlds beyond counting—surpassing infinity itself—have repeated cycles of birth and annihilation for eternities beyond any measure, beyond even googols upon googols of human reckoning. Countless heroes and saviors were born, fought, and vanished. All became legend. All became myth.
The infinite wars were fought only to reach this point. Those who came before existed so that you might survive. You are the savior… and the final one.”
Messiah could not grasp the meaning of the voice’s words.
“Who… are you?” he finally asked, his transparent lips barely moving.
“My name is Ort. An advisor to the gods.”
The gods?
Before he could ask anything more, the rain of light suddenly weakened. Space itself seemed to rotate, and then everything was swallowed by pitch-black darkness.
Yet it was not mere darkness.
A viscous shadow clung to his now-solid body like mud or slime, inducing nausea and despair as it corroded his senses. Beneath his feet, the ground felt like layered animal organs—sticky, foul-smelling. Tiny, insect-like particles crawled up his legs, numbing his body and gripping his heart with icy fingers.
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He struggled, his face contorting—but the more he fought, the deeper he sank, like quicksand.
As he desperately tried to tear the darkness away, he realized something had changed. The darkness suddenly gained depth. Like fog lifting, like a storm ending, his vision cleared.
A highway stretched endlessly before him.
He was standing barefoot on the arterial road that once cut through the city—where high-mobility vehicles had been parked just moments ago.
Yet the scene was not one of devastation, screams, or despair.
“You have entered their dimension. This is their consciousness, existing far beyond. Do not be swallowed by it. Never—”
Ort’s voice faded, as if the volume were turned down.
Another hallucination, Messiah concluded. Having endured so many already, he calmly began walking along the white lines of the highway, naked and unafraid, waiting to cross back into reality once more.
He moved like a ghost.
From the darkness ahead, a single round object drifted toward him, floating like a jellyfish on ocean waves.
As it came into focus, Messiah recoiled.
An eye.
The word sounded almost comical—but when a bloodshot eyeball over two meters in diameter, veined and alive, appears before you, it becomes nothing but a nightmare.
The eye stopped directly in front of him, hovering in midair, staring.
Cold sweat covered his body.
A brain-scraping stench flooded his nostrils, and the world transformed again. The asphalt beneath his feet softened, turning slick like mud. As he looked down, he froze.
The ground was flesh.
Sticky skin covered in bulging veins spread endlessly, like the inside of a living body. It stretched across the highway, creeping upward through space like roots climbing invisible walls.
Then came worse.
As the flesh spread, countless glowing objects appeared—covering the walls, the ground, everything.
Eyes.
Thousands of eyes opened at once, all staring directly at Messiah.
He ran—but behind him lay the same winding paths of organs, offering no escape. Only then did he realize: there was nowhere to flee.
Above the darkness, a blue moon gleamed like a watching eye, illuminating the rotting world.
Suddenly, he felt something brush against his back.
When he turned, the floating eye was gone. In its place, a red moon now shone in the sky. Blue and red moons hovered together, watching him.
His body burned with unnatural heat.
Looking down again, he saw flames engulfing the world—though there was no source. The fire spread wildly, as if burning away the flesh at its own request.
Then the flames twisted, forming a vortex—a tunnel.
The flesh, the eyes, the moons—all vanished. Only the tunnel remained.
At its far end shone a dazzling light, constantly shifting in color—best described as rainbow-hued.
Though kilometers away, the light was unmistakable.
When he blinked once, it appeared directly before him.
A humanoid shape formed from light.
“Allow me to greet you.”
The voice resembled Ort’s, yet felt different.
“One day, we will meet again—beyond time, space, and dimensions. I am True, the emissary of the origin of all things.”
With that, the figure of light vanished—leaving only the echo of a greeting.
To be continued — Episode 1-9
Endless Myth is written as a work that contains everything.
Though it is a story, the omniverses that appear within it are born from all things in the real universe and continue to multiply without end.
That is why this myth has no ending.
