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... was an opportunity to save Anais's life and repay the favour. Despite being an enemy, Pierre was just one person. He was a typical merchant character with no remarkable combat abilities. The only problem was that I was in a similar situation. I had ten Debulroots, which represented all the resources I had. I needed to find a way to resolve the situation with these.

"I need to leave eight Debulroots. I might need them for Anais's treatment in case of an emergency. I have to overcome this ...

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“I thought I was becoming powerful, but it never occurred to me I was inching closer to the abyss.”

***

The Blue Planet: Earth.

Shane was living a beautiful life. He was a topper in his university. Girls flocked around him like birds and bees. His friends treated him as some God.

Everything was good until he was electrocuted.

If you are wondering if his adventures have ended, you're wrong. This was just the beginning.

The next moment he opened his eyes, he became something he never dreamt of—a system. Wait, why wasn't he a host instead?! Wouldn't people enter into amazing fantasy worlds with a cool system after dying?

Why did he have to wake up in a white room?!

He thought everything would be fine even after becoming a system. What could go wrong when he just had to sit behind the desk and handle different hosts?

Boy was he so wrong.

He could use Dark Cosmic Energy! Something only demonic beings could use!

What was going on? He was a human being in his previous life! How the heck could he use demonic power?

---------------------------------------

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“D-Destroy….” Shane's mind buzzed as he thought of something, “Y-You don't mean…. I-I have to destroy an entire world?”

“No,” When Ed said that, Shane's shoulders relaxed as if he had been unburdened, only to freeze again after hearing the next words: “You have to destroy worlds.”

The Omnistore SystemChapter 492: Equally embarrassing regalia (R-18)
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“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

……………………………………………………………

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someday.

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Insist on getting a divorce.

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