"However, I must clarify a minor misunderstanding."
Following his elegant greeting, Otto's tone shifted. His emerald eyes narrowed slightly, revealing a hint of a smile.
His gaze seemed to transcend space, seeing through the doubts in every single person's heart.
"Currently, I am no Overseer. That was merely a job I held during my long career.
"Now, I am nothing more than an unemployed individual residing within the Fire Moth. An ordinary man enjoying a rare, hard-earned vacation."
These words caused an even greater stir in the audience.
Unemployed? Vacation?
These words weren't obscure or difficult to understand, but when applied to Otto Apocalypse, the dissonance was incredibly difficult to ignore.
It was like hearing that a literal god actually had to use the bathroom... Yes, an incredibly vivid comparison.
"There is no need to view me, or anyone else in a position of power, through an overly mythical lens," Otto said, spreading his hands, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather.
"Even the high-ranking officials you see have their own lives and need a bit of entertainment after work.
"As long as we maintain basic respect, there is truly no difference between us."
He turned slightly, his gaze falling tenderly upon the nun beside him—a woman who exuded a perfect blend of holy sanctity and fierce rebellion.
"Tonight, I, Otto Apocalypse, am nothing more than a performer presenting a show for all of you."
"Nothing more."
With that, he elegantly took a half-step back, leaving the center of the stage entirely to Kallen.
The next second, the lights went out, signaling the start of Otto's performance.
The howling wind blew from the darkness, carrying a faint, rustling sound.
It sounded as if sand and gravel were caught in the wind, battering against ruined walls, causing the desolate wasteland to emit a faint, mournful wail.
A profound sense of desolation began to spread through the audience's hearts.
Suddenly, an ear-piercing microphone feedback squeal violently slashed through the dead silence. This was followed by intermittent, chaotic human voices, sounding like a broadcast from the old era struggling through static.
A slow, melancholic melody played in a minor key. A single, pale, sickly spotlight illuminated the left side of the stage.
There were no elaborate sets; only a few crumbling walls and floors littered with rubble.
And a group of ragged refugees, hunched over like the elderly, crawling painfully through the ruins.
Immediately after, a light illuminated the right side of the stage.
It was the flames of war.
Simulated explosions deafened the ears, and pillars of fire shot into the sky.
Blood, screaming, slaughter, death... In this tiny corner, one could see all the suffering and sins war inflicted upon humanity. Amidst the chaos, you could accurately pinpoint the sound you despised the most.
Then, the dim lights barely illuminated the entire stage, revealing the full picture.
Natural disasters tormented humanity, while man-made catastrophes rubbed salt in their wounds.
A child lost their warmth in a mother's embrace. The mother lacked the strength to respond to the child's final cries. An old man carried a cup of water out of a crumbling hovel, only to find that everyone outside and inside had already vanished.
This was hell.
No, this was more terrifying than hell.
Everyone born into this world, upon recognizing its true nature, would inevitably give birth to a single thought:
If only... I were dead...
The venue was dead silent. Everyone stared blankly at the scenes rapidly flashing across the stage.
It was the most simplistic performance. There was no exaggerated makeup, no flashy special effects. They didn't even have any lines or unnecessary acting.
They simply stood there, embodying a bloody, brutal reality.
If this were a golden age of peace... people might scoff, believing this performance to be nothing more than pretentious whining, viewing these events as far too distant from their own lives.
People might feel pity, they might feel sorrow, they might shed a tear for the suffering, and then they would return to their comfortable lives, completely disconnected.
But this place was different.
This was the post-apocalyptic era. The world after the Great Eruption.
The devastated world was right in front of them. It was in their past. It was in the memories of every single person just a month ago. It had never changed. It had never been forgotten.
Everyone present was a survivor who had lived through it.
And so...
In this moment, everyone mourned for themselves.
The world collapsed before our eyes. The people beside us departed one by one. Disasters arrived in endless succession. Suffering wrapped tightly around our necks like a vengeful ghost, suffocating us.
We were powerless.
We had reached our absolute limit.
We... needed a hero.
Whoosh—
At some point, Otto had appeared in the center of the ruins. He still wore the impossibly luxurious priest robes, but this time, his hands didn't hold a Bible; they held a slender conductor's baton.
With a powerful, decisive gesture, Otto raised his hands.
Thump!
A heavy, muffled drumbeat, like the first throb of a restarted heart, struck heavily against everyone's chest.
Immediately after, an ethereal, holy chant echoed out, as if descending from the shores of heaven itself.
"She is—"
The voice didn't sound human. It pierced through the smoke, pierced through the ruins, pierced through all the suffering and despair.
Like the very first prayer uttered by the most devout believer before a statue deep within a cathedral.
In the center of the stage, a pillar of golden light suddenly shattered the darkness, descending from above.
A resolute figure holding a massive banner slowly materialized within the radiance.
She wore an armor that felt inviolable, yet beneath it was a completely ordinary nun's habit. Her long hair whipped wildly in the gale, mirroring the banner in her hands, adding a rare touch of dynamic motion to her still silhouette.
"The fantasy that shattered the galaxy to fall into my dream—"
As the choir's voices soared, the previously dim stage was instantly illuminated by countless points of starlight.
The starlight descended from the ethereal sky above, banishing the gloom of the ruins and smoothing over the scorch marks left by the flames of war.
"The power I searched across the universe to find for you—"
At that exact moment, the full orchestra erupted.
A magnificent symphony crashed forward like a tsunami, perfectly blending with the choir's holy chant.
This was absolutely not the lingering, entangled romance of a love song. This was the most sincere, thunderous hymn of praise an entire nation could offer to their descending savior.
Otto stood on the conductor's podium, his baton raised high.
He didn't look at the audience, nor did he look at the cameras. His gaze, from beginning to end, was locked firmly onto Kallen.
"The single starlight the gods left for me in my darkest hour—"
A pair of brilliant wings woven from holy light suddenly unfurled behind Kallen's back.
The light was warm and burning, reflecting a flushed redness onto the faces of every single person in the audience.
They had all survived that absolute despair.
And in this moment... weren't they reliving the exact same experience?
A savior descending from the heavens... they truly had met one, hadn't they?
Otto forcefully brought the baton down.
"Falling into the faith of the dream amidst the sun, moon, and stars—
"Shattering the image reflected by the dawn's light!
"Remembering the brightest place in the galaxy,
"Yearning for the one and only starlight—
"It is you..."