A bizarre and terrifying experience; I messed up the dungeon world.

The bandaged man remained silent for a long time, then said something:

"She's telling the truth. I am your first piece. You sealed me in bandages, letting me stay with you in this form, afraid you'd go astray."

Zhou Lang stood before the coffin, something shattering in his mind. Not a painful shattering, but rather—opening. Seals were loosening, one after another, and memories flooded in like a tide.

He saw it.

In the endless void, two beings, too vast to be described in words, stood face to face. One was him, the other his brother. Together they created this world, created humanity, created all things. Then his brother grew weary.

"It's not perfect," the brother said. "Tear it down and start over."

"No," he said.

Then came the war. A protracted war that tore the very foundations of the world apart. In the end, both sides were severely weakened, and neither could destroy the other.

So he chose a crazy method—to reduce himself to human form, to grow and accumulate power again, and to deliver a fatal blow when his brothers thought he was gone.

"Is that enough?" Zhou Lang asked.

He wasn't asking Han Yingying, nor was he asking the bandaged man. He was asking himself.

The flame in the oil lamp flared up. The chainsaw started on its own, runes burning as they detached from the teeth and flew into the air. The cane shattered, its internal light bursting forth. Every ghostly artifact, every tool, every unseen fragment on his body resonated.

A beam of light pierced through the ceiling of the hall. The beam shot straight up, piercing the clock tower, the dead city, and the leaden sky.

The sky cracked open.

On the other side of the crack was another face. A huge, twisted, crazed face, looking down.

"Found you, little brother," the face said.

Zhou Lang looked up at that face. His body was changing—not growing taller or larger, but becoming…transparent. Layers of human flesh were peeling away, revealing a skeleton composed of pure light.

"I've found you too, brother."

He reached out his hand. Han Yingying grasped his hand. Her body was also glowing—not the light of the fragments, but the light of the guardian, binding every fragment of Zhou Lang's body together.

God's body was restored to its full form.

The battle did not last long.

Or rather, the battle lasted less than three seconds in human time perception, but in the divine dimension, it spanned countless moments. The two gods clashed once more, light and darkness intertwined, and the world trembled in their confrontation.

But this time it was different.

Last time, they were evenly matched. This time, Zhou Lang—no, the God of Balance—has something extra.

Human memory.

The smile Chen Ke gave when he threw out twenty talismans.

Lin Yan calmly stepped in front of him and said, "Please pick up the knife for me."

Even with his arm broken, Zhao Qiang stubbornly insisted, "Anyway, it's fake."

Han Yingying's confusion when she said "This place looks familiar" at the entrance of the abandoned factory.

The bandaged man's awkwardness stemmed from repeatedly advising him against going but ultimately accompanying him.

These things—anger, sadness, humor, warmth, fear, persistence—are not power, but they are more important than power. They are anchors, directions, and proof that something is "imperfect but worth existing."

The evil god did not understand these things. His attacks were precise, powerful, and devoid of emotion.

The God of Balance's counterattack was equally precise and powerful, but each strike carried the full weight accumulated over twenty-three years of human life.

The final blow.

The god of balance placed his palm on his brother's forehead.

"You say humanity is imperfect," he said. "You're right. But imperfection is not a reason for destruction. Imperfection itself is the meaning of existence."

The evil god's body began to crack. What leaked out of those cracks was not light, but memories—memories of the countless worlds he had destroyed.

"You...you traded human lifespan for human power?" the evil god exclaimed incredulously. "You're insane."

"I'll learn from you."

The evil god shattered.

It wasn't death. God doesn't die. He shattered into countless tiny specks of light, scattering into the void. Without self-awareness, without the desire to destroy, he simply became a faint glow in the cosmic background.

That's enough. That's enough.

The cracks in the sky healed.

The leaden sky began to turn blue.

In the dead city, the first flower sprouted from a crack in the ruins.

Zhou Lang—the God of Balance—returned to human form. It wasn't forced; it was his own choice. He resealed most of the divine power, leaving only what an ordinary person should possess.

Han Yingying supported him.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"I'm sure," Zhou Lang said. "I've spent twenty-three years being a human being, and now you want me to be a god again—I'm not used to it."

Han Yingying smiled. This was the first time she had smiled since she regained her memories.

The system displayed a final notification:

[SSS-rank dungeon "Graveyard of the Gods" cleared.]

[Those who successfully completed the level: Zhou Lang and Han Yingying.]

[Reward: One wish.]

Zhou Lang looked at the line of text and did not hesitate.

"My wish is to resurrect all those who died because of the arrival of the supernatural. At the same time, I wish that those who used the power of the supernatural to harm others will receive the punishment they deserve."

[Wish confirmed. In progress—]

White light covered the entire world.

When Zhou Lang opened his eyes again, he was lying on a bed. The bed in his rented room, the one with three broken springs. The window was wide open, and sunlight streamed in—normal, warm sunlight, not the grayish-white kind.

Outside, one could hear car horns, vendors' cries, and children playing.

All the strange occurrences around the world vanished. The rifts healed, parallel universes closed, and the horror game interface disappeared from the sight of all players. News reports rolled on—paranormal phenomena were simultaneously reported to have ceased worldwide, and those confirmed dead were reviving in hospitals, morgues, and even cemeteries.

Meanwhile, a group of people were arrested by police from various countries. Those players who used their abilities to rob and kill civilians and establish underground forces during the period of the anomalies were punished in different ways, ranging from losing all their supernatural abilities to disappearing without a trace, depending on the extent of the damage they caused. Several small guild leaders who had been running rampant in a neighboring province woke up to find themselves in a police station detention cell, all their ghostly artifacts gone, and their anomaly value reduced to zero.

Zhou Lang lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling for half an hour.

The bandaged man's voice rang out: "What are you staring at?"

"Are you still there?"

"I'm a fragment of you. I'll stay as long as you don't kick me out," the bandaged man snorted. "But my powers are all sealed. I'm no different from a regular bandage now. I can at least bandage up a cut on your hand for you."

Zhou Lang smiled.

My phone vibrated.

It was a text message from an unknown number: "[This is Zhao Qiang. I'm fucking alive. My prosthetic limb is still there, but my arm has grown back. Now the prosthetic is stuck over my real hand and I can't take it off. What do you suggest?]"

The second entry reads: [Chen Ke is alive too. The first thing this kid asked when he woke up was if his talismans could still be reimbursed.]