The scent of scorched sand and something older, something that remembered when the world was still corrupted.
Tom and Rosario stepped into the open, the faint crunch of their boots lost in the desert's vast silence. In the distance, under a bruised sky, a figure sat motionless figure, facing nothing, or perhaps everything.
Radahn.
The sand around him shimmered faintly, bent by the residue of gravity still clinging to his presence. He didn't turn. Didn't speak with everyone. He simply breathed, as if waiting for someone he already knew would never arrive.
Rosario squinted against the light, muttering, "There he is…. like a statue. Vera and he could be a great duo ."
Tom said nothing. He just stared. The air around Radahn felt different. Like someone who had seen too much to ever blink again.
They walked closer, slow steps pressing faint footprints into the golden dust. When they finally reached him, they hesitated, standing behind his right shoulder.
"Hey," Rosario started softly, brushing the back of his neck. "You're just.… sitting here? Thought you'd vanished again into another dimension or something."
Radahn didn't respond. His head tilted slightly, his gaze still fixed on the horizon where the red hue of the moon bled into the sand.
Rosario tried again, crouching down beside him. "We figured out something. The charm that cursed thing that started all this. It's still under Durkan, beneath our feet."
A faint sound of wind slipped past Radahn's ear.
Tom folded his arms, studying him carefully. There was no trace of exhaustion on his face, no emotion just quiet gravity, as though he existed on a different timeline entirely.
Rosario sighed. "You heard me, right? It's still buried there. The Overseer's seed."
Radahn finally moved. A slow blink that carried more weight than a sentence. His was low and detached.
"I know." That was all.
Rosario exchanged a look with Tom. Tom didn't speak, didn't even nod. He simply watched Radahn's expressionless profile, trying to read the silence and what it meant.
Because somehow, he could tell.
Radahn wasn't ignoring them.
He was listening to something else.
The air around the three shimmered faintly, as if the desert itself was listening to their voices.
Tom sat down on the sand beside Rosario, both facing Radahn's back. The silence between them was heavy — the kind that doesn't demand to be broken, only endured.
Rosario finally spoke first, tossing a pebble into the sand.
"Tell me, Tom… those things, the Overseers, the Outer Deities — they're the same, right? Just different names for the same horror?"
Tom frowned slightly. He'd wondered the same thing for a long time. "Yeah… that's what I thought too. Both come from beyond reason, both meddle in everything. They twist people, consume worlds…" He paused, glancing toward Radahn's unmoving figure. "Feels like just layers of the same nightmare."
A faint exhale escaped Radahn, though he still didn't turn. His voice came low — deep and heavy, vibrating through the ground.
"They're not the same."
Rosario looked up, startled. "What do you mean?"
"The Outer Deities," Radahn said, "are failures."
That single word hung in the dry air, like the echo of something forbidden.
Radahn slowly turned his head, his eyes half-lidded, eyes that had seen the architecture of existence itself. He raised a hand, drawing faint lines into the sand as he spoke.
"The system," he began, "is structured. Even chaos has hierarchy. Every entity, every being, even you has its rank, its Uptie. You advance not by power, but by understanding the reality you stand in."
He drew seven curved lines, each one glowing in yellow.
"First comes, Artorias — Uptie 5. The highest tier of structured existence. They shape laws, rewrite timelines, create or end layers of reality. They are considered as the ruler of existence."
Tom was thinking to tell that he actually met the Author but he wasn't sure. Was that divine being an Artorias?
"Then, Overseer," he continued, tracing the next line, "Half Artorias. They are fragments of a concept, reflections of perfection that never achieved it."
Rosario leaned forward, his brows furrowing as Radahn kept speaking.
"Servants — Uptie 4.2. They carry the will of Artoriases. Closest persons to Artorias."
"Regents or Gods — Uptie 4.1. They rule domains, worshipped, not bounded by higher laws."
"Saints — 3.1 to 3.2. Mortals who touched divinity but never held it."
He drew the last two, now faint and fading in the sand.
"Hunters. Homans. 1.1 to 2.2. That's you."
Then, his tone darkened.
"Below all known creation — Outer Deities. Minus one. They exist in negative space, outside law, outside order. Their presence corrupts existence instead of adding to it."
Tom was frozen. "Minus one.… they're below the system?"
Radahn nodded slowly. "They're fragments that never should've been. They're failed dreams, half-imagined beings that the higher planes rejected. You call them gods of horror but they're not true gods. They're just lost voices."
Rosario rubbed his temples. "So what are we doing, then? Just running from one nightmare to another?"
Radahn looked up at the sky, dark light faintly through the clouds. "No. You're Hunters. That's your role in the hierarchy. You hunt the Outer Deities, cleanse the failures of creation."
Tom clenched his fists. "If they're that weak, why do they destroy worlds?"
Radahn tilted his head slightly. "Because influence changes everything. An Outer Deity tied to an event, a person, or an emotion can distort that context entirely. It's not about their strength, it's about their hold. When fear spreads, when despair takes root…. they rise otherwise they are weaker than an inexperienced kid."
Rosario muttered under his breath, "So we're basically pest control for reality?"
Radahn smirked barely. "Call it what you will.
Understand this that advancing alone isn't enough. To cross the gap, you must achieve Upper Zip. As an example, God or Regent is Upper Zip of Uptie 4 level 1. That means surviving what no one should, grasping truths that break the mind. Without that, you'll always remain Hunters."
Tom looked at the patterns in the sand, the hierarchy of existence, fragile and infinite.
Tom realized,
They weren't just fighting monsters.
They were climbing a ladder built on the bones of fallen gods.
Inside the quiet bunker, the temperature felt different somehow. The crimson light that once bled through the cracks in the ceiling was gone, leaving only a pale, bluish hue from the lantern that hung above the table.
Grace sat near the heater, wrapped in a blanket, a cup of herbal tea in her hands. Elior stood by the wall, half in shadow, his arms crossed, his eyes thoughtful but distant.
Elior had been silent for a long time, staring at the faint etchings carved into the table which marks Arlong once made while sharpening his arrows. Finally, Grace spoke softly.
"You've been quiet for hours.… thinking about Radahn?"
Elior exhaled slowly through his nose. "Yes. That man, he's different. His aura doesn't feel like ours. His aura, was same level of terrifying like that Overseer's."
Grace looked up. Her expression was weary but curious. "What do you mean?"
Elior leaned forward, his voice dropping lower, more serious. "Radahn isn't just powerful, Grace. He's structured, refined. His energy doesn't fluctuate, it flows…. like something that's already complete. I'm certain he's Uptie Four. I can't read the level, could be higher than we imagine."
Grace's eyes widened. "So…. he's like a God?"
"Possibly," Elior replied, his gaze steady. "Or something out of that." He walked closer to the heater, his shadow dancing against the wall. "After a being reaches Uptie Four, there are only two directions left to evolve. Both are irreversible."
Grace tilted her head. "Two?"
"Yes." Elior nodded, eyes gleaming faintly. "Once you successfully grasp Uptie Four, the system offers a choice." He raised two fingers. "You can ascend as a God where your traits, powers, and ideology form your divine figure. You become the embodiment of what you represent. The problem is if you take that path.…" He paused, his tone turning grim. "….you stop there, forever. You can't advance to Uptie Four, Level Two."
Grace's lips parted slightly. "And the second option?"
"The Regent's Path." Elior's voice softened, almost reverent. "The system grants you permission to found your own Empire on an ancient domain once ruled by an Overseer. You become the sovereign of that land. An Emperor or Empress of your own creation. You shape the rules, the laws, even the physics that govern it."
Grace blinked, trying to imagine it. "So…. Radahn could be a Regent?"
"Maybe." Elior rubbed his chin, his thoughts drifting far. "It could be he was once a God who abandoned divinity. But I am sure, he's not below Uptie Four. There's no chance a being can fight an Overseer and then return without a scratch. His precision, his balance…. those things come only after grasping the full rhythm of existence."
Grace lowered her eyes, her voice trembling softly. "And he doesn't remember any of it, does he?"
Elior shook his head slowly. "No. He's lost it al lhis past memories, even his purpose. His body still remembers the laws he once wielded."
The heater crackled. Silence settled again, the kind that felt like it carried weight. Grace stared into her tea, lost in thought. "If.… if he really was a God or a Regent once, what's he doing here now? Alone sitting in desert like a forsaken soul.?"
Elior's gaze lingered on the faint glow of the lamp. "He's waiting for something to be remembered, I think so."
The wind howled faintly outside the bunker's door. In that fragile, wordless line, even the light seemed to shove down slightly toward the past.