The Wasteland.
Desolate Realm · Plague Land.
A tall man wearing a smiling mask stepped down from a train that was only level sixteen.
The surrounding plague aura washed over the frail train.
Merely entering this space caused strange spores to sprout on its carriages, which began to warp.
Smiley put the train away with some heartache and sighed inwardly.
Then he stepped into this True God's domain, advancing under the gazes of countless Plague Aggregates.
The Plague Aggregates seemed to have received orders. Despite their immense desire to pounce on Smiley, they stayed to either side, forming a straight road.
And at the end of the road...
A figure whose entire body had long since become dry bones, with flesh remaining only on his head, sat on the Filthy Purple-Green Throne formed from plague and cast his gaze toward him.
"Vainsol, long time no see."
Smiley stopped and removed his mask.
On that featureless face whose tears could never stop, a pair of eyes had coalesced through his belief.
Those eyes were filled with hatred, incomprehension, and complex feelings.
"You're... oh... it's you."
Vainsol's memory did not seem particularly sharp. Countless strange tendrils coiled around his skeletal body, and the seat beneath him seemed to want to devour him.
"Your name, I can't remember it. After all, I erased your name myself. But I know who you are. From the day you suddenly disappeared from Forward Station, I knew you would come. What... do you call yourself now?"
The purple-green plague aura swirled through this space.
The Plague Aggregates roared incessantly, gathering all the filth and foulness into themselves, as though they would lose control and lunge at Smiley to kill him the very next second.
"Smiley, Forgotten-those are my names now. Call me whichever you like. Vainsol, tell