Type-Moon: Does even a sneak peek make it official?

This other Library of Alexandria seemed utterly forgotten by time. The ruins had slumbered here for centuries, untouched, unchanged, hidden away in the eternal dark. Such was the excellence of the Atlas Institute's technology from the Age of Gods.

But now, something had begun to change.

In the deepest layer of the structure—the chamber where the sarcophagus rested—the first anomaly appeared quietly.

It began with sand. One grain. Two grains.

Then more appeared, the quantity steadily growing.

Ten. Twenty. A hundred. Two hundred. A thousand.

Countless grains of sand poured into the chamber, transforming it into a miniature desert.

No doubt, this was a manifestation of Osiris' residual divine authority. Even fragmented, the remnants of his power rivaled the highest-grade bounded fields.

Just moments ago, Novia had stood right before Osiris' body. But now, it was as if he stood at the far horizon, where the sun was just about to sink beneath the sea of sand. And flowing beside that vanishing sun, like an embrace, was a mighty, roaring river.

An endless sea of sand. A river brimming with life. The coexistence of those two was the reason ancient civilization had sprouted upon this land.

In the distant past, a land this harsh demanded powerful gods. Otherwise, humanity could never have endured its cruel environment.

He had been worshipped as the King of the Gods. And yet, betrayed and murdered by his own brother. Even so, until the Age of Gods ended, countless people continued to offer prayers to him. Though regarded as the god of the underworld, he symbolized the eternal glory humans believed awaited them after death.

Thus, in truth, nothing had changed. He had always been there.

"...Oh…"

The divine corpse of Osiris, which until now had moved like a mechanical puppet, suddenly narrowed its eyes at Novia. Those eyes held the gaze of something observing a stranger.

"You say… the Age of Gods has ended? Yes… you're right. It has ended. And I… am indeed already dead."

Recalling those words, under the blazing sun, shimmering heat waves rising around him, Osiris' divine corpse smiled faintly. His humanoid body suddenly lunged forward, hand outstretched, plunging into the sand as if to lift Novia skyward.

"I was killed by my brother, Set. Sealed within a coffin. Cut into fourteen pieces and cast into the Nile to drift away… Was I sad then? No. On the contrary… I was overjoyed."

"…You…"

Novia met the blow with his longsword, but his shoulder bones groaned in protest. The sheer force of the strike distorted space itself, and even Shiali, standing off to the side, nearly lost control of the restraining formula she was maintaining.

More confusing still, the divine corpse of Osiris… was speaking?

This body was supposed to be nothing more than a mindless vessel, left behind for Ergo to acquire. It wasn't even supposed to possess its full powers, let alone consciousness. Yet now, it talked—and even expressed joy at being murdered by its own brother? That didn't match the gentle, revered figure from legend at all.

As Osiris' words echoed, the scene of his fratricide—the moment Set struck him down—flashed vividly through Novia's mind.

"That's right… Thanks to you, I regained awareness."

The divine corpse acknowledged it.

Me? Could it be… the dove? Or the Plagues? Was that how Osiris' consciousness returned to this vessel?

"…I see."

Lost in thought, the silver-haired youth tried to retreat, invoking the wind's blessing to achieve a movement faster than any human reaction. But impossibly, the divine corpse closed the distance in an instant.

Novia barely managed to guard his body, but his wrist had gone completely numb.

"You… don't seem afraid of me."

Novia calmly met Osiris' eyes.

"Why should I be?"

He lightly pressed his hand to the fist aimed at his chest.

"A broken remnant of a god… even the god himself… why should I be afraid?"

"No matter how stubborn you are, it won't change the outcome. It's already decided. Kill the human who stands in my way, spare you with a contract, rule the world, place you just beneath me… If I said that, what would you do?"

Word by word, the voice of the chief deity, the god of the underworld, carved itself into Novia's heart.

Gazing steadily into those furious eyes, Novia responded:

"It's a tempting offer. But the choice… belongs to those who live in this age. Divine Corpse Osiris—the era protected by the gods… is a distant memory."

His tone was calm, steady, as if speaking to an old friend of many years.

"And so, I'll do what I must."

If these events were truly a consequence of his own actions, he could not—would not—push the responsibility onto someone else.

He knew what had to be done. And even if his opponent was a chief god, even if things had strayed far from expectation and the odds of victory were slim… fear was not an option.

"Heh… It was only after Set killed me that I understood… Humans… are not born naked into this world," the divine corpse sneered. "The first thing they lay eyes on… is their own fist. Their own power. But you… your power is tainted with far too many unnecessary things."

Osiris turned, stepping onto the rising wall of sand.

Gravity seemed to invert as a sandstorm swept upward, veiling the sky.

"Throw it all away! Everything that binds you! Cast it aside!"

His voice roared like a beast, reverberating across the chamber.

"Then—use all your power… to atone for your sins before me!"

"Come."

With those cold words, a strike descended, as if language itself had taken physical form and become an attack.

But Novia's swordplay had dulled. Against the bare-handed god, he was slowly being overwhelmed.

To Shiali, who was desperately using inherited Atlas formulas to hold back the dark miasma, it was plainly a one-sided fight.

Punches rained down like vanishing streaks of light. Within the span of a single breath, their number multiplied beyond counting. Each blow strong enough to shatter spines, rupture organs.

Naturally, Novia blocked every strike with his longsword. Shielded his body with magecraft as much as possible. He didn't scream—perhaps because pain could be endured.

Shiali.

Enough chatter. Retreat. You and I can't defeat Osiris. My calculations say if I sever a limb, I can seal this place before he emerges.

The magic link in their minds carried her anxious voice. But Novia smiled faintly.

Stop obstructing the miasma. He's trying to connect to the library system. Use your formulas to lead me in. His body's too powerful—we'll never break through physically. Besides… he's not really Osiris. At most, a vengeful spirit born from the corpse.

His clumsy combat technique, the poorly controlled divine authority, and the overwhelming, singular emotion of rage—all told Novia that this was not the revered Osiris of myth. If the real Osiris had been like this, he would never have commanded such enduring faith after death.

I imagine you've realized it too, successor candidate of the Atlas Institute.

Of course. I was just about to tell you. I've ceased obstructing the miasma. The rest is up to you. I'll help you seize control here.

Hearing this, Novia's heart settled. Shiali's analysis confirmed it—the soul inhabiting this body was faint, more like a newly formed spirit than one returning from the beyond.

Thank you. I'm glad you're here.

W-What are you saying? Don't misunderstand! I have no intention of running away. Our contract doesn't allow that!

Strangely, Shiali seemed flustered, because from that moment on, Novia had stopped speaking, leaving behind only a quiet warmth that lingered in her heart.

Right now, Novia let his consciousness dive deep, entwining with Shiali's formula, tangling with the divine corpse's attempt to seize the library's control system.

One purpose of this underwater Library of Alexandria had been to transform the god-fragment-devouring Alexander IV into the ultimate computational engine—one capable of finding a way to prevent human extinction.

But now, two thousand years before that plan was meant to unfold, Novia—a complete anomaly—was battling an unintended, maliciously birthed divine corpse for control of the library.

One must understand: spiritual pain far surpassed physical pain.

Their souls plummeted together into the darkness of the system struggle, spiraling downward—a process akin to being torn apart.

The howling winds. The crushing pressure on his limbs, peeling flesh from bone.

Each clash sent fresh blood flying, nerves screaming, even the bones scraped raw.

Unlike the divine corpse, who sought to steal the Atlas Institute's human extinction research, Novia didn't care about those details. He focused solely on one thing: attacking.

"You lunatic! You terrifying human!"

The divine corpse roared in frustration. He regretted trying to seize the system first—it had left him vulnerable.

Just as Novia suspected, this was no true resurrection of Osiris. Merely a fragment of his rage, born from the corpse, fueled by hatred for Set—and perhaps brought forth by the incomplete foundations of Novia's own burgeoning magecraft.

In the suffocating, wind-swept dark, his opponent's figure remained eerily calm. Cold, merciless.

Bathed in that light, a lone figure stood locked in combat with the divine corpse of Osiris.

"…Terrifying? Is that what I look like to you?"

With ease, Novia hefted his longsword onto his shoulder and smirked.

His now-freed left hand pointed at the divine corpse through the soul-shredding storm.

"Everyone on this earth is fragile… No gods here. Even those who wield power enough to rule… or claim immortality… can't change that."

His grin deepened. And in the blink of an eye, he closed the distance.

The divine corpse tried to flee, but Shiali's Ether Lines restrained him from outside. Novia allowed no chance to escape, launching a relentless assault.

"Ridiculous—! A mere human—how can you rival my body? I am Osiris! God of the Underworld! Chief God of Egypt! I've returned to make Set understand—I am Egypt's true ruler!"

Seizing a brief opening, the divine corpse cast a spell. His body glowed violet. Death flooded the chamber. The air filled with the unsettling howls of beasts.

Jackal-headed creatures emerged, black as shadows, surrounding Novia like a tidal wave.

Yet Novia showed no fear. No surprise.

Eyes half-lidded, lips parting slightly, he spoke softly:

"So that's your play. But—"

Blinding light erupted—not physical, but magical, vast enough to burn space itself.

The darkness was banished.

Light devoured all, scattering, rippling, consuming every corner.

This was starlight, unmistakably.

A byproduct of the greatest magical foundation he had been building—a force nearing destruction-level might. But this was no purification, no forced ascension—merely a return, sending the jackal-creatures back to their rightful realm.

Shiali saw it clearly. Though the library's system was still contested, both Novia and the divine corpse had withdrawn from the soul-crushing battlefield.

And on the ground lay the divine corpse of Osiris, its body falling apart.

"The age of gods is over. From now on, humanity needs no great divine power like that of the ancient past."

Novia smiled, proud and resolute.

"But perhaps… that's not entirely true. So long as threats to peace and safety remain… occasionally, such power still has its uses… like right now."

"Besides… in the end, none of that matters. Shackles… restrictions… it's all about choice. As long as you choose for yourself, without regret, without pain… that's enough."

Lowering his hands, red blood dripped freely to the floor. His expression unchanged.

Shiali couldn't read him. The silver-haired youth wore no visible emotion.

He simply walked forward, blood trailing behind him.

As the dark miasma faded from sight, Novia reached the sarcophagus, hand outstretched, and shattered the divine corpse entirely.

"Novia!"

Shiali ran to him.

"The contract is fulfilled… Shiali."

And then, as if all strength had finally left him, Novia's knees buckled—and he collapsed.