every step he took, his incarnation is slowly falling apart, the cracks is slowly getting bigger, and With every heavy step Thor took, the captain's body cracked further—his human shell crumbling like dried clay.
Each fracture widened, distorting his face until the grim, furious expression of the thunder god surfaced beneath the captain's own.
In the myths, Thor is known to be temperamental—brash, quick to anger.
Unlike his half-brother Loki, wisdom was never his strong suit.
And here he was, proving it once again.
He could've chosen another host. Waited. Planned.
But no—impulse ruled him.
Lightning crackled along the haft of his war hammer.
His golden eyes flared, pupils sharpened like blades.
And then, with a roar full of wrath, he swung.
A streak of lightning surged toward Eunseok.
But before it could land—time cracked.
Slowed.
Stopped.
The world froze.
I stepped into the field of suspended sparks, my sword drawn, humming with defiance.
With one clean swing, I cleaved through the lightning.
[you are now in a revision zone]
[A skill has been recommended: Retcon is now activated]
Only two of us remained in motion, although his movements are limited as he was inside the revision zone: me and the husk of a captain barely held together.
No—he wasn't the captain anymore.
Only a puppet for something vile.
I approached, eyes cold and unshaken.
"Are you satisfied?" I asked.
My voice was calm.
But the blade in my hand was not.
"You killed your own incarnation," I added coldly, staring at the captain's crumbling face—now barely holding its shape, spiderwebbed with cracks.
"Bow down... for you are speaking to a g—"
He didn't finish.
"I don't care who you are," I interrupted, stepping closer, hand firm on the hilt of Bloodtears.
"You gambled with a life and lost it. What—because it was just a mortal?"
"Sharp tongue... for a mortal as well," he smirked, but his voice lost its edge.
Then his gaze lifted, scanning above me.
I felt the air tighten.
He tilted his head slightly, curiosity mixing with something colder.
"Oh... what is this?" he murmured.
"A crestless one? You must be the fool who turned down a blessing."
His voice shifted, slippery and laced with mockery.
"Tell me... are you tired of pretending? Of acting like you're fine—while the rest of your kind walks the path of power, hand-in-hand with gods?"
A low chuckle followed, echoing in the frozen void.
But I didn't move.
Let him talk.
I've heard worse.
And this time.
"Oh... is this your way of pleading?" he said, smugness dripping from his voice. "Begging me to give you what you once rejected?"
I grimaced.
Disgust rose in my throat like bile.
"I'd rather die," I said, stepping closer, eyes unblinking, "than take power from anything like you."
The smirk faltered.
I raised my hand.
"Deactivate retcon."
A soft chime echoed in my ears as the system responded:
[Retcon deactivated.]
"Enable narrative rewrite."
[Narrative Edit has been activated.]
I looked him in the eye—if that flickering shell still had one.
"I'll make sure you remember this," I said, voice flat and cutting.
"When you're back on your throne, watching your incarnations die one by one... think of it not as fate, but as a curse—bestowed by no one else but the one you call, Crestless One."
Then, with a motion of my hand, I wrote into the fabric of the air:
["The deity of thunder and strength will be banished back to his realm, for he disregarded the rules of the Divine link and will be cursed. Any incarnation that his crest will bless, will die in worse death."]
The words burned golden, searing the world itself.
And so it is written.
"You don't have the guts to—"
He didn't finish.
A blinding beam of light struck him mid-sentence, slicing through the air like divine judgment.
His form trembled, flickering violently.
"No... No, this can't be...!" he howled, voice cracking with disbelief. "You're crestless! This shouldn't be possible!"
His body began to rise, ascending against his will, pulled back toward his realm like a condemned god.
"I will remember you!" he screamed, his voice echoing through the dungeon walls like thunder. "We will hunt you down! And your sponsor—whoever dares back you—we'll erase them from existence!"
His final threat dissolved into sparks, then silence.
Thor, the mighty deity of thunder, was gone.
And I was left standing beneath the fading light.
The captain's body hit the ground with a hollow thud as time resumed.
[You have revised and renewed a fate.]
[You have leveled up.]
I stood over the shattered remains of his vessel, my sword still gripped tight in my hand.
[Hidden skill: Deactivated.]
[Deus Ex Machina rating: 0.00001%]
Finally, peace.
My form slowly materialized from the invisible veil of the hidden skill. The battlefield, once roaring with chaos, had fallen into stunned silence. Eyes widened, weapons lowered, breaths held. No one spoke.
Their captain—no longer possessed, no longer moving—lay still.
I turned my gaze toward Eunseok, whose face was frozen with confusion and awe. Wordless, I walked past him, then paused just long enough to rest a hand on his shoulder—briefly, firmly.
I walked out of the dungeon in silence, the breeze greeting me like a long-lost friend. The wind curled around my coat, whispering across my skin as if trying to remind me that I was still alive.
Footsteps echoed behind me—light, hesitant.
"Hey, wait up!" a voice called out.
Eunseok.
Then suddenly.
[A key character has initiated conversation with you.]
[Note: You are currently outside the main plot.]
The notifications blinked into view, momentarily blocking Eunseok's face. He couldn't see them—but I could. And as my eyes scanned the words, something inside me clicked.
Realization.
And then, immediately, confusion.
Outside the main plot?
I glanced at Eunseok, who was still catching his breath, looking at me like he had a hundred questions and not enough time to ask any of them.
What the hell is going on?
"How did you do that?" Eunseok asked, falling into step beside me. "You appeared out of nowhere, sword drawn... and in an instant—our captain just... collapsed."
I barely registered his words.
My thoughts were in a storm.
Outside the main plot. The phrase echoed like a curse in my head. What does it mean? Am I not part of this story? Was I ever?
"...I'm sorry," I muttered, my voice distant, dull. "I can't answer that right now."
I turned my back on him, starting to walk again.
"I didn't know what happened," he continued behind me. "But from what we saw... the cracks in his face, the way he—" his voice faltered. "Did you do that to him?"
I stopped. Not because of guilt, but because the truth was heavier than the air we breathed.
"All I'll say is," I said over my shoulder, "he should've thought twice before choosing a deity like that to claim a crest from."
With that, I walked out of the dungeon.
The wind met me like a quiet greeting, brushing past my skin as if to remind me I was still here... still breathing.
But my mind was anything but still.
Outside the main plot.
Those words haunted me.
I muttered under my breath, "Why am I outside of what I'm writing?"
A bitter laugh tried to surface but died in my throat.
Damn it.
How foolish could I be?
Of course—how could I forget?
I wrapped myself in ego, thinking I was untouchable.
I thought being the writer meant I was above the rules.
I'm not the main character.
I never was.
I'm the author.
And just like the deity said—
The world is in my hands.
"If I'm not in the main plot... then where am I?" I whispered, the words catching like a hook in my throat.
[You are currently in an Off-Page Scenario.]
[Sub-stories of the main plot roam across various locations.]
Ah.
So that's it.
This is where the sub-stories scatter.
The forgotten pages.
The moments away from the spotlight.
All characters live their own stories—even if they aren't center stage. If you think about it, they continue existing whether the plot follows them or not.
When they're off the page, it's called an Off-Page Event—where characters keep doing what they were meant to do.
Like this:
Jack tied his shoes, getting ready for work. After standing and collecting his things, he kissed his wife Linda on the cheek before stepping out the door.
"Alright, I'm heading out!" he called.
Linda stood at the kitchen doorway, watching him go, waving.
"Take care," she replied.
And then the story follows Jack—through traffic, to the office, through his day.
Linda?
She stays off-page. The reader assumes she's still at home. Cleaning. Cooking. Living. But we don't see her unless the story returns to her.
That's what this is.
I'm not lost.
I'm just... off the page.
Is this why no familiar memories ever surged back?
Now that I think about it... the deity only gave me fragments—memories tied strictly to the main character, his companions, and the villains that circle them like wolves.
That's all I was allowed to see.
The rest? Omitted. Censored. As if my mind was edited to align with the main plot alone.
Maybe that's the truth: the deity gave me only what he wanted me to know—what would happen in the main storyline. The big arcs. The roles that mattered to him.
But this place? This moment?
It's not part of that.
And as far as I can tell... the main character is probably knee-deep in some "save the world" mission while I'm here, untethered—drifting through a forgotten paragraph that no one was supposed to read.
I need to go there immediately.
Start editing the whole plot.
Fix whatever threads have gone tangled.
But first...
I need a tour guide.
As if on cue, a hand clasped firmly on my shoulder.
"I'm sorry," a calm voice said behind me, "but I need you to come with me to report this."
I glanced sideways.
Perfect timing.
Lee Eunseok — the tritagonist.
Pretty close with the main character, if I remember right.
Good enough. He can lead me where I need to go.
I let out a long sigh, feigning defeat.
"Alright."
("Activate inner monologue tap.")
[Skill: Inner Monologue Tap has been activated]
Eunseok and the rest started moving ahead, guiding the path toward the capital city — the last stronghold where most of humanity clings to life after the apocalypse.
[I don't know what happened... but all I saw was him standing in front of the captain, sword drawn.
Did he kill him? No way. A crestless one can't even kill a low-grade beast alone... let alone a high-crested hunter like our captain.]
So that's what he thinks.
A crestless freak, toppling a deity-infested captain? Unthinkable.
Not that I blame him. Being crestless paints a target on your back — makes you everyone's scapegoat for things they don't understand.
And that porter trailing at the end of the group?
He's the same one I threatened back then — told him he'd be split in half if he didn't shut his mouth.
Funny thing is... I didn't actually know what would happen to him.
Back then, I thought I was in the main plot.
Turns out, I was just wandering the margins of the story, that's why I didnt see any familliar events.
I sat quietly inside the military truck, wedged between the rest of the squad.
I could feel their eyes drilling into me — like I was some kind of abomination they'd foolishly let board with them.
A sigh slipped out as I opened my skill slot.
All skills: cooled down.
All restrictions: lifted.
Good.
I've had enough of this suffocating suspicion.
("Enable Character Development.") I spoke inwardly, calm but firm.
("Hide Title.")
[The title: Unblessed has been hidden]
As the minutes rolled by, the city gates finally came into view.
The capital city — a sprawling, three-layered fortress of hierarchy and hypocrisy.
The lower district: a festering sprawl of slums where desperation breathes like a second skin.
The middle district: bustling markets and cramped yet decent homes, just enough to keep the masses docile.
And at the very top — the high district: opulent mansions, polished government halls, and the untouchable rich watching the world rot beneath their balconies.
Even in an apocalypse, inequality finds a way to thrive.
Turns out, money doesn't die as easily as the rest of us.
We rumbled through the lower city, the scene flickering past the window like a broken film reel. Crumbling buildings, bent rebars jutting through collapsed roofs — echoes of old Busan buried beneath this makeshift kingdom of survivors.
This is what it's become: a new city built on the corpse of an old one.
If I'm honest, I liked the old city better.
Sure, I could rewind time, drag the world back to what it used to be. But doing that out of nowhere would spike the Deus ex Machina rate until reality tore itself apart — turning the whole timeline into a glitch-ridden nightmare.
And besides... I'm not strong enough. Not yet.
If I really want that — a world restored — I'd have to write an entirely new plotline first, one that justifies the time reversal, gives it a believable history. Otherwise, all I'd do is loop us back to square one: another apocalypse waiting to happen.
To break that cycle for good... I need to dig deeper.
I need to know the truth — the real history — before the gods perched above decided to watch us burn.
Suddenly, the truck lurched to a stop. I snapped out of my thoughts just in time to see where we were — the middle district.
Guess I'd zoned out longer than I realized, lost in my own head about how I'd ended the story in the first place.
The squad was already piling out, boots hitting the cracked pavement one by one. I was the last to step down. The moment my soles touched the ground, a faint golden flicker pulsed outward — like a ripple of light scattering through the city streets.
Then the system's whisper brushed my ear as a new screen hovered in front of my eyes:
[You have entered the main plot location]
Before I could even process it, another notification slid into view:
[A new skill has been unlocked]
[Skill: Plot Review — The Author can now review the plot from past or future chapters (maximum: 3 chapters). Plot Review, combined with Narrative Edit, is highly recommended to revise or rewrite events effectively.]
Three chapters?
Now that I think about it, I never really considered that the whole plot might be divided that way. I'd always treated it like a single, sprawling one-shot — just one big, tangled mess.
Figures the system would split it neatly into pieces behind my back.
We kept moving, our footsteps weaving through the bustling middle district until we reached it: a massive hall towering over the nearby buildings — the guild hall.
Inside, the place was alive with noise. Hunters in dusty armor traded stories, laughter and arguments overlapping into a single hum that filled the lobby air.
Eunseok led me through the crowd and up a flight of creaking stairs until we stood in front of an imposing wooden door braced with metal edges. He rapped his knuckles on it and waited.
A low, commanding voice answered from inside:
"Come in."
Right. Him.
Ma Dong-hyuk — the guild leader, the pillar of the Nordic pantheon's remaining order. I'd glimpsed him before in the threads of my borrowed memories: a broad-shouldered man, always drowning in paperwork and responsibility.
We pushed the door open and stepped into his den of ledgers and maps — and there he was, Ma Dong-hyuk, the man who balanced power and bureaucracy under the same battered roof.
"Good day... sir," Eunseok said calmly, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment.
Ma Dong-hyuk looked up at him, then at me — just a silent flicker of his eyes, but enough to pin me where I stood.
Meanwhile, my own gaze drifted around his office.
Photos in old, polished frames — a smiling woman, a child laughing with cake on her cheeks. Remnants of a gentler life, preserved here like fragile relics while the world outside rotted away.
Dong-hyuk's voice snapped me back.
"What seems to be the problem... Hunter Lee?"
Even his tone seemed to press against my ribs, deep enough to rattle something buried there.
Eunseok drew in a small breath.
"Captain... Mr. Hwang Cheon died in the raid, sir."
The pen in Dong-hyuk's hand froze mid-signature.
For a moment, the room itself seemed to hush, as if the walls leaned in to listen.
Eunseok's next words dropped like a stone in a pond.
"And the only suspect is... this crestless I brought in."
He didn't say my name — just crestless — branding me with that word again, like a mark on old cattle.
Fine. Let them think what they want.
I shifted my weight and met Ma Dong-hyuk's stare head-on, ready for whatever verdict would come next.