Solo Leveling- Ragnarok-Chapter 365

The Outer Gods, who had been fighting Beru in the sky, suddenly came to a realization.

“Ah...”

The anger had been real, expressed to such an extent that an eye had bled. Now, however, the corners of their lips had somehow curled upward, as if ready to split open. The Itarim, beings who had lived since the dawn of time, suffered a small ripple in their vast consciousness. Every part of the intriguing situation unfolding before them stirred something within them: interest. In an eternity of apathy, this was the first truly refreshing stimulus they had experienced.

“Hehe...”

Laughter escaped their lips. The Itarim were, by nature, creators. They crafted something out of nothing, established laws, and granted life. That entire process had been brought to perfection at a certain point in the ancient past. The nearly infinite time that followed was nothing but a repetition of the same landscape, a continuous eternity of boredom, dullness, and meaninglessness. Within that endless cycle, nothing that occurred in the world they had created had ever deviated from their predictions—not war, not peace, not birth, nor death. Everything ran along its designated course. It was tiresome, even hateful.

However, then came along this meager creation named Beru. The more he fought, the stronger he became. He consumed the flesh of his enemies, made their abilities his own, and evolved at a rapid pace. Countless Apostles of Annihilation had been created solely for the purpose of destroying that single insect, and they attacked endlessly. Death, in every conceivable form, rained down upon him. Still, Beru screeched and tore every threat apart, frenzied and reckless, rampaging like a flying bug let loose inside a home.

Even when his pitch-black exoskeleton shattered, his wings ripped away, his limbs even torn off completely, he refused to die. Relentless black steam erupted—it was black mana, not blood, gushing from his wounds, instantly regenerating his body. Then he chewed and swallowed. It was a feast. Even as his arm was being torn to shreds, he swallowed his enemy’s head whole. The sheer madness of the battle was thrilling to witness.

[Commander Beru has evolved through “Devour.”]

[Commander Beru Devours the ability “Apostle of Annihilation: Ignore Defense.”]

[Commander Beru Devours immunity to “Apostle of Annihilation: Killing Venom.”]

[Commander Beru...]

The Itarim could continue creating more followers with new abilities, but the moment Beru fed on even one of them, he would become that much stronger. He was an enemy who grew stronger through combat, a zealot who defied death itself. He was the greatest machine of war the Monarch of Shadows possessed.

“Kieeeeeek! It’s still not enough!” he screeched. “It’s been so long since I’ve fought like this! Come at me as much as you want! No one can stop me today!”

His madness paid no heed to death. He was chaos without rules, a variable that could not be predicted. As they watched the pulsing frenzy that was Beru, the Itarim felt their long-stilled hearts begin to beat again, however faintly. The beat, if expressed in the emotions of the creations, was pleasant.

It was ironic. They were watching their own creations be torn apart, their power undone right before their eyes. A god who had existed since the beginning of time should have been enraged. However, what surged stronger than rage was the pleasure of feeling that rage at all. This intense emotional wave was a welcome sensation to the Itarim, like sweet rain falling upon a desert after ten thousand years of drought. The madness was infectious, it seemed. The maniacal laughter that burst from the Itarim’s mouth took on a will of its own, and began to influence even the creations they had made.

The Apostles of Annihilation attacking Beru began to mutate, becoming even more grotesque and violent than before. Their design had changed slightly. Whereas the previous Apostles had been weapons created solely for extermination, these new ones prioritized not overwhelming efficiency but irregularity—utilizing all of the Itarim’s imagination and divine power to craft the most horrific, most painful deaths possible. They had become works of art. At this moment, the Itarim were not creators, but artists reveling in destruction.

“Beru! I’ve come to support you!” Suho called out.

“Kieeeek! Young Monarch! You’ve arrived!”

At that moment, the son of Sung Jinwoo crossed the battlefield and soared into the air. Having instantly taken command of the situation on the ground, he led all the shadow soldiers into a charge through the skies. The winged soldiers took flight themselves, while those without the ability to fly boarded the massive demon ships led by Esil. The fleet that had once drifted across the Sea of the Afterlife now filled the skies of the Outer Gods. It was a grand, imposing sight, eerily reminiscent of the shadow army once led by the Shadow Monarch himself.

“Ah...!”

The Itarim let out a gasp of awe, as if overcome by ecstasy. The stakes had risen. The stage had expanded. This final act of destruction, directed by them, had at last welcomed its leading characters, and a whole host of them at that. The joy it brought was almost beyond description.

At the same time, their vast consciousness became aware of something. Beyond the army of darkness, deep within Beru, the gaze of the Monarch of Shadows was fixed upon them. The moment they sensed it, the Itarim’s excitement soared to its peak.

Death. It was a concept that could exist for no god. Yet, it loomed as the most tangible of threats—thrilling, electrifying, and unmistakably real. To think a creator could be slain by a creation! What an absurd, fascinating, and utterly novel experience for them.

“Yes, come! Let us see this celebration through to the end!” The Itarim’s voices brimmed with pure joy.

They extended an arm, their will reaching into the abyss of outer space. A divine power seized the warped folds of space-time and forcibly stretched them. Then, far beyond the distant nebulae, a radiant stream of light drifted, having veered from its orbit. A speeding asteroid that had been traveling at immense speed abruptly changed course and was pulled into the Itarim’s grasp. The Itarim caught it and hurled it toward Beru, toward Suho, and toward the entire dimension they had so long ruled and shaped.

Beru shrieked. “Young Monarch! I sense danger!”

Beru panicked and threw himself in front of Suho. Countless shadow soldiers gathered to shield Suho as well. An instant later, the asteroid flung by the Outer Gods came crashing down at a furious speed. Its descent was like a planetary collision. It shattered the land, tore rifts into the earth, and obliterated all in its path. The world itself screamed as it crumbled. At the center of that massive devastation, the Itarim burst into ecstatic laughter, even as they felt their own bodies being torn apart.

“Hahahaha!”

It was exhilarating. This was not the final, desperate act of one sensing defeat, but the rapture of an artist, of a director bringing their masterpiece to the most extravagant, breathtaking conclusion possible.

“Tsk. Gods are such terrible beings.”

The only one who could fully understand that feeling at the moment was Antares, the former King of Dragons and the preceding Monarch of Destruction. He frowned. Only he saw the true meaning of the pure destruction the Itarim intended. The Outer Gods wanted to sacrifice their world, their creations, and even themselves to complete a magnificent destruction that would end their eternal apathy with a bang. At the end of that bang, however, there would be a twisted form of creation.

The Itarim spread their arms wide.

[“God’s Tool: Lonely Stage of the Divine” has been activated.]

That final declaration carved a new law into the crumbling dimension. It was a law of creation that began at the same time as this widespread destruction. With the planetary collision, a radiant light engulfed the world.

The Itarim spoke in hushed tones to Suho. “Did you enjoy your little dream, Little God?”

There was no mockery in that voice—only a strange familiarity, as if speaking to a companion who had shared a moment of joy.

“We Itarim always seek new forms of entertainment. While you’ve been busy fighting... what do you suppose happened to your world, left so empty and unattended? There are other Itarim. Wouldn’t they see this as the perfect time... to devour your vacant world?”

A twisted grin spread across their face, as if the mere suggestion delighted them. The maddened laughter echoed, and the blinding light swallowed all.

Then, Suho heard Beru shriek.

“Young... Monarch...!”

Suho’s eyes flew open. He gasped as he awoke. Everything had changed.

“Hmm? What’s the matter, Suho?”

“Is something wrong, son? Did you doze off in the middle of breakfast? If you’re still sleepy, I’ll make you some coffee.”

Suho could only stare in shock. In front of him... were his mother and father. It made no sense. They were sitting there, eating—in their home, like any normal family. He shot to his feet, completely shaken.

“F-Father?!”

“What?”

“M-Mother?”

“Suho, if you’re tired, you can go back to bed,” his mother said gently. “You’ve got afternoon classes today, don’t you?”

“Classes...?” Suho echoed, stunned.

“Young... Monarch...”

Suddenly, a sharp headache struck. For a moment, it felt like a voice was echoing in his head—but the sound faded in an instant along with the pain, as if it had come from behind dozens of walls.

“Suho, what’s the matter? Are you all right?”

Suho was overcome by his mother’s affectionate voice, the smell of hot soup, the clatter of dishes. Then there was his father’s concerned gaze as he turned away from the news broadcast to look at him. This perfect sense of everyday peace wrapped around Suho. It felt so warm.

“You must be exhausted. You were drawing until late last night. Do you have that much homework?” his mother asked.

“Hmm. Maybe we shouldn’t have sent him to art school after all,” his father muttered.

His parents’ worry left him speechless. His mind was in turmoil.

There had been a war! The Monarchs, the Itarim...

The harder he tried to recall it, the more the memories blurred, like ink bleeding through water. This safe, ordinary reality insisted that all of it had been a dream. Even the last fragments of those memories were fading, as though insects were eating them away. At last, Suho came to a realization.

“I...”

My name is Sung Suho, freshman at the Hanguk University Department of Fine Art.

He was a normal twenty-year-old who had lived an ordinary life in a loving home. He had recently passed his college entrance exams and been accepted to his dream university. He vaguely remembered a dream, something about his parents going missing... but in the end, it was just a dream. His parents were right here. This was reality.

Still, something felt strange. When he looked down at his own hands, instead of a familiar pencil or brush, he could almost feel the grip of a blood-soaked dagger. He glanced up, bewilderment written across his face. Then, he looked into his father’s eyes.

“Father... Who am I?”

“What? Is this some kind of late-onset puberty?” Jinwoo asked with a chuckle at the unexpected question. His deep, steady gaze fell on his son, who still seemed caught in the haze of sleep. “Still struggling with the fact that I was the Monarch of Shadows?”

...?!

“Or that your mother suddenly became an S-rank hunter?”

...?!

These words brought the reality crashing back.

Just then, the news program his father had been watching echoed through the living room, the anchor’s urgent voice now crystal clear.

“Breaking news! A new S-grade gate has appeared at Hapjeong Station! The Hunters Association has requested help from Mr. Sung Jinwoo...”

“Hmm. Another one, huh...”

Jinwoo rose to his feet slowly.

Haein brought over a black coat and draped it gently over his shoulders.

“Careful out there,” she said lovingly. “Oh, and Suho?” She turned slightly, looking back at her son, who still seemed groggy from sleep. “Leave things like this to your father. Go wash up and get to school. You finally got into the university you wanted. Make the most of it.”

“All right...” Suho said.

As he nodded, his expression relaxed. His mother was right. Gates, hunters, magic beasts—the world was a far more dangerous place after the Great Cataclysm, but it was nothing for Suho to worry about.

My father will handle everything anyway.

As someone who wasn’t a hunter himself, there was nothing more he could do except live out this peaceful, ordinary life that his father, the Shadow Monarch, had protected for them. Even if he actually awakened, nothing would really change. After all, in this world, his father was here.

“I’m off to school then!” he called.