Taking advantage of the narrow opening created by Asahi, who had thrown himself into the fray to hold back the fierce onslaught of the Guardians of the Catalog, Koyoi and Kuon finally reached the Shelf of Truth situated in the deepest sanctum of the Great Depository.
It was the exact geometric center of a forest of towering bookshelves that seemed to stretch toward the horizon. The cacophony of destruction outside was unnaturally severed by an absolute barrier of the World’s Logic; within this space, a perfect nothingness reigned, as if the universe had not yet been born.
The shelf that loomed in the center stood at an overwhelming height, incomparable to the others. Its material was no longer wood or stone, but formed from pure crystals of light. Around its base, eerie, pale-blue flames—as if drained of every color in the world—flickered incessantly.
The moment Koyoi stood before the shelf, she felt the spark within her breast reach the critical point of the World’s Logic. It pulsed violently, and her vision threatened to wash out into pure white.
From the thousands of Golden Books housed upon the shelves, the echoes of the noble names the gods were meant to bear leaked out like a ceaseless dripping of water. With every drop, the raw, vivid memories of the gods—who had once nourished this land and answered the prayers of its people—were etched into the air.
"…I found it. This is it. This 'Untitled Volume' is the True Catalog—the reality the Observers have spent thousands of years trying to suppress."
Kuon spoke in a trembling voice, a mixture of madness and ecstasy. His prosthetic left eye, unable to withstand the overwhelming mass of truth radiating from the volume, began to leak a black, soot-like blood from deep within the pupil.
"Kuon-kun! Don’t push yourself! That book… I feel an overwhelming, dangerous presence coming from it!"
"…Hmph. I know. There was never any chance that the key to breaking the cage known as the Principles could be obtained without a price."
His lips curled into a distorted smirk, as if mocking his own agony. Casting aside all hesitation, he reached out his slender fingers toward the golden book.
The instant he touched the cover of the Catalog, a tremendous Roar of the Principles thundered, shaking the entire Depository. It wasn't a physical vibration, but an uncanny subterranean groan that rattled the soul—the sound of the World’s Logic being rewritten from its very foundation. Koyoi felt the three gods slumbering within the drawstring bag at her waist wake simultaneously, gripped by an unprecedented surge of shock and awe.
The God of the Moon radiated silver light to its limit, becoming a shield to protect its master; the God of the Wind conjured a gale within the room, seeking to blow away the stagnant records surrounding them. The God of Glass worked tirelessly to reflect the torrential flood of information pouring from the Catalog, preventing Koyoi’s mind from shattering at the very brink.
『…Ah. …Ah, no… This is… our true…』
A murmur of astonishment, sounding like a death rattle, rose in unison from the bottom of the bag. They had learned the truth. They saw how the origins they had believed in were nothing more than a fiction—distorted and rewritten through tens of thousands of observations.
As the pages of the Catalog flipped violently despite the lack of wind, images of the gods’ original, beautiful forms—and the cold, clinical experimental records of the Observers who had cruelly dismantled them into mere parts—were projected directly into the minds of the three humans like bleeding visions.
"…I can’t believe it. The gods… from the very beginning…"
Overcome by the shock, Koyoi collapsed to her knees, unable to stop the tears from overflowing.
According to the records, the gods were not natural beings. They were nothing more than vessels of living records, intentionally cultured by the Observers around a core of concentrated prayers left in the gaps of the World’s Logic by the people of old. Those monsters used the gods’ pure love as fuel to drive the world, physically dismantling their saturated divinity under the guise of "thinning" to reuse them as components for their own civilization.
The logic of this beautiful world was a massive cycle of exploitation, built upon the sacrifices of countless gods and humans.
Kuon hugged the Catalog with all his might, his pale face contorted like a demon’s from the agony of the logical backlash.
"…This is the truth. The true identity of what they call History is nothing but a bundle of worn-out waste records!"
"…Kuon-kun, stop! Let go of that book! If you keep going, your heart will be swallowed by the records!"
"…As if I could let go! The identity of the ones who destroyed my body and stole my life is right here! Until I overwrite the records of the entire world with this… I won’t even allow myself to die!"
Kuon’s tragic determination had transcended personal revenge, sublimating into a mad, holy war to destroy the very Principles of the world.
From behind them, Asahi, having narrowly broken through the guardians' encirclement, slid into the inner hall, dragging a battered and broken body. The blade of his greatsword was chipped and ruined by countless scythe wounds, and his entire body radiated a heat so intense that steam rose from his skin.
"…Hey, you lot! Save your lamenting for later! Their main force has begun a full-scale Deletion through the gaps in the Principles!"
Simultaneously with Asahi's warning, the ceiling of the Depository began to collapse with a roar, as if crushed by a giant, invisible hand. What rained down as rubble was not stone or wood, but massive clusters of dead characters—glyphs that had lost their meaning and gained physical mass. Each character weighed several tons, and as they struck the ground, they shattered the bedrock of the Principles that formed the Depository’s foundation.
Enclosed within the ring of light from her protective gods, Koyoi grabbed Kuon’s hand by force and dove away from the collapsing Shelf of Truth with all her strength.
"…Let’s go! Now that we know the truth, we have to tell everyone! If we die here, the sorrow of the gods will be erased forever!"
With the tremendous impact of History literally collapsing behind them, the three shadows sprinted toward the exit—toward the platform where the Mist Train awaited—kicking through the mud and leaping over the falling debris.
A blizzard of information obscured their vision, and the calling voices of ghosts from the past clung to them, relentlessly trying to stop their feet. But within the hearts of the three, there now dwelt a black resolve, burning hotter and sharper than anything they had felt before. They cast their gaze ahead, refusing to be pulled back into the abyss of forgotten records.
The ceiling shattered. Glyphs struck their shoulders like hail. Koyoi pulled Kuon’s arm and ran. The stones cracked beneath them; dust stung their eyes. They did not look back.
In the distance, a whistle blew. The steel beast let out one final cry.