#anni5

[kanamonn]

after years of no anchan (it's only been. a month), i have decided to torture myself with drawing anni an

speedpaint under cut

[kanamonn]

ooooo i scared you with my lack of anatomy knowledge didn't i no this is not directed at that one anon I swear im sorry if it seems that way anon anyways how do collarbones work i forgot

[nikkigameslore]

Hi I love them

Have some index

[nikkigameslore]

okay okay you dont gotta twist my arm have some Nikki as well

[nikkigameslore]

Shining Nikki - Designer's Reflection Memory- Ophelia: Farewell to Nightfall

I've done what only Ophelia could.

ellipsus link + full transcript

1. Endless Lies

I open my eyes in Lake Holy Light.

Shimmering fragments sway like broken mirrors, reflecting a distorted sky. My gown, heavy with water, clings to me, threatening to pull me into the depths. Above, fire distorts the heavens. Voices pierce the surface—distant, fractured, like echoes from another world.

Children: Mom, didn't you say the Queen was Pigeon's radiance? Then why is she sinking?

Light Elf: This can't be happening! God, forgive our Queen—she meant no harm! She just…

Mary: Don't hold me back! Your Majesty, Your Majesty…

I gaze upward, silent. Exhaustion washes over me, thoughts drowning in weariness.

The stories that unfold at Lake Holy Light always follow the same script. People call it divine. I've seen its judgment firsthand. Last year, the arrogant Glory Priest and the newly appointed High Priest were both cast into the lake. The arrogant drowned, the High Priest rose. But the lake holds no power to judge faith. It is only water.

It was my brother who staged it all—twisting the ancient ruse to serve his ends. Under his orchestration, the High Priest who surfaced won the people's trust, became the new Glory Priest, and crowned me. I thought I'd grown used to living among lies. Yet why does this anguish wrap around me like water, tightly and inescapably?

The waves rise to my lips. I close my eyes and sink, feather-like, into the lake's silence…

I recall a sweltering summer day in the Church of Glory. My mother and I sat beneath the dome, listening to the echoes of the Priest's arcane chant. Was it a routine ceremony or something sacred? I don't remember. Sleep crept in like a tide, and I drifted off.

Until a thunderclap shattered the silence, rattling the stained glass. The crowd dispersed at the end of the ceremony. Mother adjusted my formal hat, her fingers brushing my damp temples.

Mom: Ophelia, did you understand the archpriest's teachings?

Lightning carved pale shadows across the statue. I stepped back, heel striking marble crisply.

Mom: Ophelia, I'm asking you.

Startled, I nodded. Another thunderclap followed. I clung to her sleeve. She didn't scold me, She knelt and held me close, her voice unusually gentle.

Mom: Ophelia, punishment comes only to those who lie. You're a good child—you tell the truth. You have nothing to fear.

Young Ophelia: …

I didn't know how to respond, so I buries my face in the crook of my mother's neck. When the thunder finally faded, I managed a quiet grunt.

After returning from the cathedral, that lie lodged in my heart like a thorn. I didn't want to be a bad child who lied to God, and feared that when the storm returned, the God of Glory would bring true punishment. After much deliberation, I convinced myself: I had to confess. Surely God would forgive a child who admits their mistake—even just a little…

Father said he'd be handling important state affairs in his study that night. Maybe, just maybe, he could spare a moment to hear my confession.

I gathered my courage, walked the long corridor, and arrived at his study. The guards flanking the door looked startled, then quickly offered the placating smiles reserved for both a child and a princess.

Guard: Your Royal Highness, are you lost?

Young Ophelia: I'm here to see my father. Isn't he inside?

They exchanged an awkward glance. One crouches to meet my eyes.

Guard: His Majesty is discussing serious state matters. Unless it's urgent, would you mind returning tomorrow?

Father had never turned me away before. I stood there, confused—until music drifted from behind the door. Not solemn, official music, but flowing, sensuous melodies, bursts of laughter, and even Father's singing voice.

The guard froze. His discomfort was palpable. I didn't understand what Father was doing, but I recognized the look on the guard's face—the look of someone telling lies. I no longer wanted to enter, no longer wanted to hear any more lies. I feared the truth even more.

I curtseyed politely and hurried away, heels clicking down the corridor as tears welled despite my efforts to hold them back. I wasn't just me—everyone lies. If that's true, does God see every lie we tell?

When will Their punishment fall upon us?

Water ripples around me. Voices fade into murmurs, leaving only the pounding of my heart. The lake's icy grip slowly drains my warmth. The innocent fears of my childhood now seem laughable. Yet I can't laugh. Tears threaten to fall—or maybe it's just the lake water.

Ophelia: How could God punish me… When even that very existence is a massive lie.

2. Queen's Choice

Alan: Your Majesty… are you alright?

A familiar voice reaches me as I struggle to open my eyes. The archpriest's gentle tone washes over me like morning light. Stained glass and candelabras come into view. I'm dazed, but the familiar surroundings soothe me.

Ophelia: I'm fine.. Mr.Alan, I just had a nightmare. In that dream , God no longer protected Pigeon—and even God was nothing a but a preposterous lie.

I try to recall the details, unaware that as my memories deepen, the stone tiles in the church crack, and the saintly figures in the stained glass blur.

Ophelia: Pigeon Capital was plunged into darkness. The citizens suffered strange illnesses… But thankfully, it was only a dream.

Even just talking about it, the fear and despair seem to grip my soul. I steady myself and look back at Alan. Whenever I confess to God, this devout archpriest would always pray beside me. I assumed this time would be no different.

However…

But "Alan" turns, revealing a face covered in pitch-black feather. They sprout from beneath his skin, fresh quills glistening with blood.

My pupils contract in shock.

Yet "Alan" smiles gently, unaware. As his expression shifts, the feathers rustle—like countless black eyes blinking.

"Alan": What a terrifying nightmare. But was it truly a dream?

Ophelia: What do you mean…

"Alan": You've already seen the truth in the Holy Grail, Your Majesty. Why do you still deceive yourself?

…A beam of dazzling light birthed by the deep waters, intertwined with fiery red embers, from which the Elf race with beautiful wings of light was born. Those were the first Elves of Light. They weren't tasked by the gods to save the world, nor were they superior to the other elves… But they were a miracle, nonetheless.

[Player]: So you knew even then…

Ophelia: The truth in the Holy Grail only deepened my doubt… If the Light Elves weren't chosen by God, were the divine oracles in the Glory real? Was the god they portrayed ever real? It wasn't until Nikki brought irrefutable proof that I finally understood: the God of Glory we worshiped was a fabrication—crafted by Ludwig, the first Elf king.

"Alan": Now that you know the true origins of the Light Elves… Does the faith you still cling to mean anything at all?

"Alan's voice wavers between distant and near, as if filtered through rippling water. The boundary between memory and reality grows increasingly blurred…

By the bedroom window, a walking staff stands quietly, its surface carved with four-leaf clovers. When I first ascended the throne, I had hoped to play the harp that could summon the sacred dove at the Pigeon Music Festival. But the ministers disapproved. In the end, I was left with only this walking staff as consolation. Each night thereafter, I lingered by the window, watching the flowers bloom outside while studying my own reflection in the glass. I prayed here countless times—asking for courage when afraid, and perseverance when lost. It was here that I finally found the resolve to ask Mr. Modric to remove my memories of weakness, even though the price was losing a part of myself forever.

After that, it was faith that sustained me through the long days and nights as a Puppet Queen, until I began to shape my own destiny. I no longer hesitated. I resolved to shoulder my responsibilities as Queen.

I face "Alan" directly, his countenance veiled in black feathers.

Ophelia: Even if God does not exist, the teachings—and the faithful who live by them—still give that faith meaning. Until I find a better answer, I cannot bring myself to shatter it. Faith can collapse in an instant. But how do we rebuild it afterward and offer people new hope? Neither Pigeon nor I have found the way.

So even after glimpsing the truth of the Light Elves' origin in the Holy Grail, I choose to preserve this fragile balance. I walk a path unlike the brother's radicalism or Alan's obsession. Before everything falls apart, this false faith remains the only comfort people have.

"Alan" : But it's already… too late…

Even through the layers of feathers, I sense "Alan's" sorrow. His voice fractures—distorted, broken—yet eerily familiar. Suddenly, I can't tell if the figure before me is truly the devout archpriest… or merely a projection of my own inner self. As my thoughts sharpen, the church begins to crumble. "Alan's" form flakes away like smoke and dust. Black feathers fall into my palm and dissolve into powder. Stained glass shatters. Pews topple. The entire church collapses in an instant.

"Alan": …Endure⬛everything#@&…∮ …Ｙour Majesty

Silence returns. I float in the ice-cold waters of Lake Holy Light, my hands empty. Only "Alan's" final words echo in my mind.

It's already… too late…

The Original Crystal I fight to protect has shattered. The path I chose has trapped Pigeon in a cage of light. I no longer have time to search slowly for hope. Perhaps the balance I try to maintain is an answer that can never be found. In the murky depths, I reach out—only to grasp emptiness.

3. Elf of Water

The pressure of suffocation tightens around me as I sink deeper, my hair unfurling in the water, obscuring my vision. Then, a strange aquatic plant appears. Within its flowing soft light, it forms a protective barrier—I can breathe.

The Water Elves of Lake Holy Light are responding to my descent.

>Why would the Water Elves come?<

[Player]: Aren't the Water Elves your enemies? Why would they help you?

Ophelia: After the royal city flood, I learned more about their true nature from Pigeon Forest and Evernight Sea. And with Savior's help, I began easing our tensions. As the apocalyptic crisis spread to Pigeon, I needed allies. So I sent a signal to the Water Elves, proposing an alliance.

[Player]: But aren't the Water Elves confined to Evernight Sea by a magical barrier?

Ophelia: The arrival of the God of Glory unexpectedly made the Dawn Moon permanent, allowing Water Elves to leave Evernight Sea freely. Still, no one knew if the barrier was truly gone. If it reactivated mid-journey, they could lose their lives. By coming to help, they took an enormous risk. It's because I understand that sacrifice that I cherish their decision all the more.

The Water Elves gather around me. Through the rising bubbles between aquatic plants, I bow my head in gratitude. Despite the peril ahead, this is the moment both races have awaited for thousands of years—a chance to break the barrier and end the war.

I remember my first court assembly after ascending the throne. I sat upon a magnificent royal seat while unfamiliar ministers greeted me in unison. Affairs of state were presented one by one. They waited patiently for my proposals, only to reject each one—politely, firmly. All they wanted from their young Queen was a quiet smile and a nod at the right moments.

But I refused to surrender. As the assembly neared its end, I straightened my back and let my gaze sweep across every face.

Ophelia: In the restricted area of the royal palace, the Water Elf King remained imprisoned. I proposed his release—to seek new diplomatic relations between our races.

I prepared thoroughly—researching the ancient tradition of monarchs releasing prisoners, analyzing the military risks of continued imprisonment. I rehearsed my arguments like a soldier readying for battle, waiting for another round of objections. But to my surprise, they nodded with smiles, praising my kindness and foresight—as if they weren't the same people who dismissed me as naïve moments before.

The day of release came sooner than I expected. As the gates of the restricted area slowly opened, all I glimpsed in the passage leading to the free waters was the trace of a ripple. At the edge where the ripples faded, water gathered into a humanoid shape—the Water Elf King materialized. He turned and stared at me coldly with deep blue eyes.

He looked nothing like the monstrous depictions in the ancient texts. No mouth full of sharp teeth. No dense scales. Aside from his skin, we were no different, he wasn't a monster—just a different kind of Elf. His gaze lingered only a moment before his form dissolved back into water. Ripples spread, waves faded, and stillness returned.

Several newly appointed ministers began arranging the follow-up procedures with practiced ease. As they spoke in hushed tones, I caught a name—"Mr.Mercury."

Only then did I realize: this release I believed to be my own initiative was a decision my brother orchestrated long ago. But what I hadn't expected was that my brother had already made a deal with the Water Elf King. Even I was just a piece in their plan.

Guided by him, I journeyed to Mist Forest to awaken the Fire Elves' forgotten Holy Grail—only to rouse the God of Water, steeped in hatred and shadow. Empowered by the god, the Water Elves flooded Pigeon, seeking vengeance for a millennium-old defeat, and igniting the brutal war between light and water.

The Ancestors of Water and Fire returned home together. The Holy Grail's flame rekindled the Original Crystal, granting the Light Elves victory at great cost.

Across the battlefield, the Water Elf King met my gaze, just as I once watched him from the forbidden pool. My brother pursued only his end goal, indifferent to the war's toll.

But I am different.

This time, I was no longer his pawn. I chose for myself—choices worthy of a Queen. I refused to interrogate the defeated Water Elves. Despite their breach of our treaty, I ordered their release. The Water Elf King said nothing, but I saw faint ripples in his eyes before he dissolved into water and departed. I prayed this act of forgiveness and kindness might open a path to lasting peace between our races.

Yet centuries of hatred ran deep.

In our record, the Water Elves were monsters. I once believed it too. So I revised the Battle of Fiery Moon illustrations, replacing their demonized depictions with an image of the God of Water shielding the earth from the abyss. I mixed special pigments to capture the ocean-like clarity in their eyes. I painted the Water Elves I saw on the battlefield—children, elders, leaders, adding them to the illustrations. I ordered the histories rewritten, word by word, to record the shared past of both our peoples with complete authenticity…

I've always believed our kindred peoples could find a way to coexist.

And now, in the lake's deepest shadow, I feel closer than ever to that future. "Alan's" voice has faded, but I no longer fear the question that once haunted me. Even if the god I worship is false, my pursuit of peace, my resolve for coexistence, my desire to protect hope for every life— These changes born of faith are etched into every step I've taken.

Perhaps I've moved too slowly—slow enough for the world to call me indecisive. Perhaps I'm too soft-hearted, willing to forgive enemies of a thousand years…

I clench my hands, feeling the icy lake water slip between my fingers—yet warmth lingers, the bonds I've chosen to protect. It's this persistence, often mistaken for weakness, that has kept me true.

I've done what only Ophelia could.

4. Return of Glory

The darkness at the lake's bottom engulfs everything. This secret passage to Pigeon Forest is dark and murky, but I'm no stranger to darkness. I've seen deeper despair, when divine light dimmed and the sacred flame nearly died. Back then, I upheld faith, protected the Original Crystal, and served the glory of the Elves. But now, in this darkness, only my own heartbeat remains. Perhaps losing the Crystal's guidance is what finally allows me to ask: what do I truly wish to protect?

I remember my coronation. It was meant to be Pigeon's grandest celebration.

Until a once-in-a-century eclipse descended.

Trumpets echoes as I crossed the sacred bridge alone, robed in ceremony, fulfilling my duty as Queen of Pigeon. Despite my ministers' protests, I walked into the dark to show my people that neither their Queen nor Pigeon would flinch.

But fear rose. My wings, stripped of light, trembled. I prayed—again and again—for the eclipse to lift, for hope to return. The sacred bridge seemed boundless in the dark, with each step feeling as though I walked along the edge of an abyss.

No answers came.

Just as I thought the darkness would consume us— A shimmer of light appeared.

Then another. Then a third. The elves unfurled their wings, casting faint light to guide me through the bridge and the path forward. Step by step, I ascended to the Church of Glory's peak. No divine power answered me. The people of Pigeon dispelled the darkness for me by their own hands.

Now, jellyfish drift around me like stars. I reach out, brushing their light. Without realizing it, I've found my answer. Even if Glory fades, what I protect is not relics— It's the courage of the Light Elves who left their homeland with one final glance at the forest… The trust and respect in the children's eyes when Elves and humans exchanged flowers at coming-of-age ceremonies… The conviction Nikki and her companions carried through disaster, breaking free from darkness and despair…

Even after millennia of unanswered prayers, believers have built a light more precious than any miracle with their mortal lives.That is what I devote my life to—the radiance of humanity.

Now, the lake's luminescence lifts me toward the surface like a galaxy of stars. Whether gods exist or not no longer matters. The faithless need hope. The suffering need guidance. Pigeon Capital needs rebuilding…

Gentle waves lift my wings—fragile, long unable to fly. But sunlight pierces the depths, guiding me upward toward truth and renewal. I hear leaves rustling, birds singing, and wind whispering through trees. Pigeon Forest is calling me home.

This is the birthplace of the Light Elves. And now, I return. The warmth of familiar light embraces me, dissolving the cold and despair. In this forest that has nurtured countless lights, I will help discover Pigeon's radiant future.

[nikkigameslore]

Shining Nikki - Designer's Reflection Memory - God of Glory: Eclipse of Eternal Day

I was always destined to be the savior who descends at the end!

ellipsus link +full transcript

1. Willed to Exist

"The end is near."

Prophet Salah received divine revelation in Pigeon Forest, journeys across the land, and proclaimed the original Prophecy to all. Thus began the Star Calendar. People awoke from blissful ignorance, forced to face a harsh truth. Some searched for signs of the. Others scrambled for shelter. Most turned to prayer—pleading with the gods for salvation.

After all, only deities could deliver such prophecies. Therefore, deities must exist. They must be all-knowing, all-powerful, and destined to save the world.

Pigeon Believers: Glory belongs to the true god who will save all!

Ninir Believers: Our god cares for the world, like moonlight shining on all things.

North Kingdom Believers: When the freeze descends, time and space will restart.

Wasteland Believers: O god, under your protection, we need not fear the fires of judgment…

The Prophecy merged with regional cultures, evolving into apocalyptic faiths. Different altars. Different names. Different saviors. But all rooted in the same fear—the fear of the end. That collective fear converged in the Ocean of Memories.

Prayer upon prayer, tangled and countless, transformed into feathers. In the name of faith, they wove a cocoon—an incubation chamber for something divine.

And so, I was born.

I try to open my eyes, but the feathers have fused my senses. I try to move, but my body is bound by layer upon layer of cages… Then I realize: I wasn't hatched from the cocoon. I am the cocoon itself. Nothing like me had ever existed. So… what am I?

I send my question into the world. My answers are voices of praise.

Pigeon Believers: Great true deity…

Ninir Believers: …the only savior…

North Kingdom Believers: …when the apocalypse comes…

Wasteland Believers: …please, redeem all beings!

??: Am I a god?

The prayers form a lullaby—gentle, unwavering, certain.

Believers: You are the omniscient, omnipotent savior. You will descend at the end and save everything!

The God: So I am the omniscient, omnipotent savior!

I proclaim it with joy, giggling like a baby. I love the sound of their voices—like spinning mobiles above a cradle. I reach out—my consciousness brushing against their prayers. They are fervent… yet also afraid. That hidden fear of the apocalypse surges toward me, disrupting the lullaby. I dislike it. It's chaotic, messy.

But it clings to me. And from that chaos, imagination blooms into visions. Ice and snow. Judgemental flames. Shifting darkness. I discover I can collapse glaciers, ignite purifying fire, and swallow the sky in shadow—just by thinking. I rebuild the earth, then tear it down again. Over and over. It's fun—like knocking over blocks and stacking them anew. It makes me clap with glee. Destruction and salvation, both within a single thought. In that case, fear is necessary to reveal my power!

Deities are powerful. That's what their scriptures say. The prayers around me echo in agreement—like applause and cheers.

Pride and purpose rise within me. I want to do better—to answer these prayers—because the scriptures say deities must be compassionate and kind. So I follow their rituals: I close my eyes, recite their prayers, extend my hand… trying to bestow divine luck upon distant humanity. But nothing happens. No matter how hard I try, my voice doesn't reach them. Not even a whisper connects.

Why? I listen again: Descend at the apocalypse. Save everything…" Of course, I am the deity who appears at the end. The apocalypse hasn't come yet. So naturally, I cannot respond.

Until then, I wait.

I bask in their praise. They sing to me, record my miracles in sacred texts. But soon, I notice something strange. The deity they worship isn't like me. They say I once delivered divine prophecies—yet I remember none of it. They describe my birthplace as a sacred realm. But I emerge from a dark, chaotic sea.

I gaze upward, beyond the abyss, to the Star Sea—where other deities dwell, where every star and drop of water glows with beauty. Why wasn't I born there? Why can't I even visit? Was there a mistake? It doesn't matter. I am divine. That is fact. If something's wrong, I'll fix it myself.

Fragments from Miraland that vanish in the Ocean of Memories' rifts will somehow drift into the abyss. Statues, texts, churches… Once they arrive, they arrive, they dissolve, stripped of meaning, reduced to raw materials. I collect these remnants—paper, pigment, stone—and begin building my temple. It must rise high as the legends say, blend every style, and reach closest to the sky. Most of all, it must be the place where I descend at the world's end—just as humans expect, just as a deity should.

At last, I complete a towering sanctuary. I its highest chamber, I paint murals showing the four ways the world envisions me. I craft priests from wood, cotton, steel, and stone. They praise my name without rest—day and night. What a flawless creation. Anyone who enters this place will see—will know—that I am the true god.

>What lies beneath the temple?<

[Player]: What lies beneath your temple?

The God: My followers, of course.

Once human, they were consumed by the Ocean of Memories. Their bodies long gone—they linger as echoes reliving the past. Still, they were fortunate enough to find me.

>You call that fortunate?<

[Player]:You call that fortunate?

The God: They suffer daily under the weight of the apocalypse. In anguish, they pray to their savior—me. To be gathered into the temple of the very god they worship, to become my closest followers—is that not a blessing?

In essence, I am satisfied with all I have created.

Yet overtime, even divine wonders lose their luster without a witness. It's like a child endlessly toppling and rebuilding blocks. Still, sacred texts say, "One must endure the dark night of suffering before beholding the kingdom of heaven." So I believe the apocalypse will surely come—I will surely come.

Altered Prayer

In the abyss, I listen to prayers rising from the tower that reaches heaven, day after day. I wait contentedly…

I've truly waited for a long time, yet the apocalypse never comes. When will it come? Humans await my arrival, yet I too must wait for the end.

Meanwhile, the abyss has grown crowded. Hideous creatures now roam, stinking of desire and chaos, serving the master of the abyss. Their head is a girl in white who barged into my temple and claims to the Goddess of Desire. Absurd. How could that pretender compare to a true deity like me?

Goddess of Desire: You're not even fully formed—just a grotesque little thing. Weren't you born from humanity's fear? Why not embrace it, spread it, and grow stronger through it?

What is she saying? I was born from fear?

>You…<

[Player]: Haven't you noticed? You…

The God: What are you implying? I am a god born of faith and longing, not dread.

I reject her claim.

The God: I'm not fear. I am the savior who will descend at the end of days.

Goddess of Desire: Oh, you want to become a god now? How amusing…

The God: I AM a god.

She suddenly laughs, half mocking, half indignant.

Goddess of Desire: You were born in the abyss, yet you think yourself equal to the deities of the Star Sea? Do you truly believe that denying your nature will exalt you? But you've always belonged to the abyss. You're one of us. Your ambition is dull. The gods of the Star Sea are already hollow—and you are even less than that. Just a reminder: humans have begun to forget you. How long do you think you can keep playing god here?

Lies. The religions born from the apocalypse still endure. Humanity would never forget me—their calendars began with the prophecies I delivered.

Yet when I look upon Miraland after countless years, I see no trace of the apocalypse in their words. Prophecies have faded into history, tucked away in books. Even as cracks spread across the Ocean of Memories, humans ignorantly treat them as unsolved mysteries. They still pray—but for joy, peace, comfort. Their faith has grown shallow. The doctrine preached by priests, envoys, and archpriests no longer speak of the end.

Archpriest of Glory: Humans are born in sin, yet God forgave us and withheld the apocalypse. We must live with compassion, humility, gentleness, and patience. As God forgave you, so must you forgive.

Envoy of Radiance: Beauty is our highest pursuit. Its light pierces darkness. When we stop seeking beauty—that is the true apocalypse.

Wasteland Priest: Among the gods of Wasteland, one bears the name Apocalypse.

North Kingdom Ballad: The north wind howls across the wilds, as the old golds stir and prepare to return.

As the apocalypse fades from human imagination, the visions that once empowered me grow faint. The hymns are twisted, the prayers discordant. They reach me, but no longer lift me—only turning into golden feathers, turquoise stones, and cold iron shards… Their triviality falls upon me, heavy and cold. Even touching them brings pain. I fell no power in them. Not even a flicker.

>Why not give them up?<

[Player]: If they are useless, why not discard them?

The God: But… don't you see? They somehow still hold a fleeting golden glow.

I cannot let it go just because of the pain. Off-key hymns are still sung for me. Distorted prayers are still mine. Even counterfeit devotion still belongs to me. Turquoise and iron woven into a frame, golden feathers layers atop. Too tangled, too heavy to form wings—they collapse into a vast train trailing behind me. From this plumage, thousands of eyes have sprouted. I must watch over all beings, guiding them away from ruin. Yet I feel their gaze upon me too—judging, measuring whether I am the savior they imagined. I drag this burden as I walk. It wear down my body. It damages my divine temple.

The girl's underlings block my path, stomping on my trailing plumage. She watches from above, her smile sharp and mocking. I don't care about their ridicule. But I feel my power slipping away.

If this continues, I will vanish.

A whisper stirs in my heart: these prayers cannot sustain me. They don't reflect my true essence. The girl of desire was right. It was fear that wove my cocoon. Fearful prayers gave me form. My power came from—

No! I reject it. I am not born of fear. I cannot be something so dark and monstrous! This disorder exists because the apocalypse hasn't come. Without it, humanity cannot truly see me. So if the end won't arrive on its own… Then I will bring it myself! I will descend in the apocalypse and save everything. Then, true prayers will return. Praise will gild me in gold once more.

3. Eternal Night

The Ocean of Memories is eroding faster. Rifts across Miraland grow unstable. Signs of the end begin to bloom.

I captured a horde of monsters from the abyss—crimson eyed, fang-filled, bloodthirsty. They surge through the rifts, racing toward human settlements.

The God: Go forth. Spread the tiding of apocalypse. Proclaim my existence.

As monsters ravage the land, humanity—faced with calamity—finally remembers. They recall the ancient Prophecy, and they pray to me with true devotion.

Believers: Omniscient and omnipotent god who saves all beings! We beseech you—descend on the day of reckoning and save everything!

Such familiar prayers! They are are truly mine.

Faith gathers in the celestial tower, warm power surging toward me once more, gilding my tail feathers with the radiance of true belief. Everything has returned to the state I long desired. Soon, I shall descend through the tower, rescue all beings and prove I am the true god of salvation.

…It should have unfolded so perfectly.

>What happened?< [Player]: What happened? The God: But then comes Ludwig, a Light Elf claiming to be a divine messenger, and a human girl. Together, they destroy monsters.

>I think I know what happened.< [Player]: I think I know what happened. Ludwig and… Halfstar, was it? The God: Halfstar? Is that the human girl? Yes, Ludwig. That presumptuous Elf, calling himself "Envoy of Glory," eradicating my monsters.

I've always despised the Light Elves—their radiant wings, unblessed by me, yet they dare to let light pour from them as if it were divine. And the foolish humans praise their false light. i watch him spread his radiant wings in the city, basking in human admiration. He and the girl dare to steal faith that belongs to the divine. They will be punished for their crime of usurpation.

Soon after, I find a Light Elf girl named Estelle. Faith links the Church of Glory to my temple. I project my consciousness into the statue of their god and bestow prophecy upon the devout girl.

The God: Go—spread my blessing. Create a stronger race. Make mortals believe in the power of light…

She thinks she received revelation. In truth, she becomes Bloodborne. She heals with my blessing, but unknowingly spreads the curse, unleashing the Eternal Night.

That act has drained the last of my power. I curl into a smaller feathered cocoon. I listen to prayers born of despair, darkness spreading across the land. Within the cocoon, I feel my new form growing—darkness will lift me as the only light. It is warm, gentle, nurturing a dream: to break free and become a god.

…It should have unfolded so perfectly.

Just as I begin to emerge, arms seize me. Every feather cries out in fury. I recognize the presence— it's the human girl who walks beside Ludwig. Then the arrow strikes and sinks into my body. Ludwig. Elves and humans have long parted ways. How do they still unite to end the Eternal Night and halt my rebirth? No one answers. My body twists in agony. I watch my cocoon wither, scattering like the divine dream it once held.

The Eternal Night ends. My dream shatters.

I failed to manifest in Miraland, yet cannot return to the abyss. I fall into the crevice between the Star Sea and the abyss, drifting in uncertainty. My cocoon is gone. My body, now cloaked in ragged feathers, resembles a monstrous form. Of my dream of divinity, only the heaven-reaching tower remains. I cling to my temple like a child clutching a beloved toy. At least I still have followers. Priests who praise me…

??: Do not fear the apocalypse. There are no gods who can save everything. We must face the end together if we hope to escape.

Familiar words. Familiar tone. So familiar it's unbearable.

That girl again—the one who ruined my manifestation—swallowed by a rift and cast into the tower I failed to deploy! Rage consumes me. I seize her body, desperate to tear away her soul, to cast her out. But I manage only to strip away her mortal shell.

Halfstar: Once we escape, let's save the world together!

Her shattered memories linger in my temple. Though she barely remembers who she is, she still spreads her blasphemous rhetoric. How I long to return to my old ways—summoning visions of apocalypse, granting salvation, basking in praise. But I have no power left. My last followers have turned, now following her, seeking escape.

No songs of praise reach me. The temple trembles—have they found a way out?

Ah… so I'm the one fading.

Through dimming vision, I glimpse a flicker of light. If this is my final illusion, might I see the world beyond the Star Sea?

??: The end is near.

Then, as if answering my wish, the divine Prophecy—silent for so long—resounds once more. With it comes a flood of faith, golden tides surging toward me, weaving a new feathered cocoon—warmer than anything I have ever shaped myself.

This miracle revival stuns and delights me. I turn toward the sound—Ludwig, that Light Elf, wearing a pretentious crown, solemnly addressing the crowd.

Ludwig: The end will come, but the Light Elves, beloved by the God of Glory, will save the world.

That once minor deity now stands as the sole faith of Pigeon Kingdom. "The God of Glory shall descend at the apocalypse. Light Elves are divine messengers, and light is the symbol." I've grown oddly fond of the Elves. They know the God of Glory once brought the apocalypse, yet for ambition and gain, they exalt both themselves and me as divine.

This grand deception, built upon apocalyptic prophecy, channels countless fervent prayers into my feathered cocoon, gilding my form in golden light. Faith reshapes me. My body reforms into humanity's ideal of divinity. The once-heavy tail feathers dissolve into radiance, melting into plumes of luminous stream and overflowing colors. From my shoulders, six wings begin to sprout.

Formless void. Darkness upon the deep. Within the cocoon, the divine spirit gestates.

Then—six wings unfurl. Light blazes forth, illuminating the abyss. Glory worthy of a world-savior. I admire these radiant wings. Magnificent. This is what divinity should look like. For the first time, I possess a divine name, a form, and envoys. God of Glory—I cherish the name, but more than that, I cherish the boundless faith it carries. I no longer fear extinction. As long as Pigeon remains under Light Elf rule, the people will fear the apocalypse, revere the Elves, and worship the God of Glory. All I endured—the failed Eternal Night, the despair of near-dissolution—were valleys before the ascent, hardships before bliss.

I was always destined to be the savior who descends at the end!

4. Beyond the Sea

My new wings hold unimaginable power, yet still cannot break free from the crevice between the Star Sea and abyss. Still, the vista of the Star Sea unfolds before me. Its countless stars shine—not as brightly as my wings, but with a mystery all their own. Soon, I too will dwell there, among the gods, as the brightest legend.

I resign myself to waiting—until I witness a human enter the Star Sea. I hear the deity of styling and beauty speak his name: Leonid, a human born from Pigeon. He has followed a newborn star into the Star Sea. I gaze at that star. It feels familiar…

Ah. That girl again. I cast her from my temple, yet she still manages to generate starlight. And Leonid—how does he enter the Ocean of Memories without dissolving? There's something familiar about him, and I struggle to place it.

Of course. He's from Pigeon, the land I protect. He must be one of my devotees. Surely, his miracles are born of my divine blessing. If only he knew I am the God of Glory he worships—what expression would cross his face? But I cannot leave this crevice. I cannot ask him. So I watch closely, waiting for him to praise my name.

But he says nothing. He moves through the Star Sea, seeking truths beyond its celestial paths—until, to my astonishment, he reaches the abyss where I was born. He is human. He cannot escape the abyss as I did. He will be consumed, and cry out for my salvation. The girl in white tempts him with destruction, but he rejects her. He preserves his human heart, reshaping his understanding of beauty. And he escapes the abyss—by his own power. He returns to the Star Sea, shining brighter than any star.

The gods may judge him, but they cannot bind him. He knows the laws of the Star Sea more deeply than deities, and the nature of Miraland more clearly than mortals. His existence triggers divine judgment, igniting war among the gods. The star sea convulses. Deities fall. And I—trapped in this crevice—am spared. Yet Leonid remains untouched. He watches the destruction with quiet detachment, then moves on, seeking new knowledge. He never looks back.

I don't know when I stopped expecting his praise. But I did.

>What's wrong?<

God of Glory: And I hate to admit it—I envy him. He walks his own path, unwavering, until he comprehends all truths and transcends godhood itself. No one praises him. He needs no praise. And somehow, in his presence, my divine wings feel dim and dull.

With a sense of prophetic unease, I watch his silhouette vanish at the edge of spacetime. A vision appears upon the Star Sea: Pigeon forest, pouring rain. A young man enters a cabin. On the wall—a divine prophecy.

"The end is near."

Leonid stands there, watching a human prophet rush toward the benighted lands. Or perhaps he sees the destruction yet to come. As I observe this miracle—mentioned alongside my name repeatedly in sacred texts—I feel a chill. So this is the truth. No wonder I don't remember delivering the original prophecy. It was Leonid. He is the true god they venerate.

Before him, I did not exist.

And I will never descend during the apocalypse—because no such god has ever existed. Everything has been false from the beginning. I am a lie, born of fear. My origin is fiction. Faith in me is built on one falsehood after another. And now, even the lie has lost meaning. Leonid—who delivered the prophecy—possesses power beyond the gods. If he wished, he could save this world.

—If only he wished it.

But…how strange. I trace his path through time. He altered countless turning points in history—yet never truly prevented a disaster. Never saved a single soul. Not once. All he seeks is the unknown beyond the Star Sea. As for this world—he cares nothing for it at all.

God of Glory: Ha… Hahahaha…

Grasping the final thread of meaning, I burst into laughter.

How wretched you humans are. How pitiful this Miraland. The only deity who could save you cares nothing for you, loves you not, and holds no concern for your fate! Surely you don't want a god like that.

But never mind—I am here. I have prepared endlessly for your salvation. I am the true god of deliverance, shaped to fit your imagination. I shall be just as your scripture portray: compassionate, paternal, merciful… No—I love you just as you once loved me. My existence is not merely a falsehood etched in your texts. And even if it were, let us make it real together!

In that moment, starlight and darkness tremble in resonance with my desire, enveloping me completely. The Star Sea above and the abyss below mirror my form. Elegant features, crimson cruciform marks under the eyes, a gaze reflecting starlight—indistinguishable from Leonid. Only my eyes are golden with divine authority. For the first time, I craft a falsehood with my own hands. No—this is no lie. I was the deliverer of the divine decree. This face was always mine. Leonid was me.

So I shall descend in this form—omnipotent, savior of all. You will witness my arrival, see the sacred gates open, and bask in the glory of the celestial realm. Within my temple, you will be blessed with supreme bliss.

5. Deliverance

On that day, all living beings hear my voice in their dreams.

God of Glory: The end is near.

From that moment, the world remembers the Prophecy of Doom.

God of Glory: But first, vanished lands, relentless wars, and an unbreakable cycle.

From that moment, the world heeds the true divine prophecy!

As the Old God falls to mortals and the Star Sea trembles, I finally break free from the cosmic fissure. Now begins my descent—to make false dreams real. Under my guidance, the world unfolds exactly as foretold.

War ignites between Apple Federation and North Kingdom. Frost-covered tundras burn. A forgotten royal bloodline rises. Apocalyptic omens follow. The Blackfeather Disease—born of solar radiation—its feathers share the essence of my cocoon. Though I've crafted a new celestial realm, I still place my original temple in the mortal world, raising a spire from the quicksand crater in Wasteland.

My servants return: Bloodborne and Blood Bats, once creators of the Eternal Night, now emerge again, baring fangs even in daylight. I know humans doubt, but I tolerate their cowardice. And for that reason, I must eliminate all uncertainty. I will make them certain: I am the original god of prophecy. Leonid? He came after me. He stole my identity. How could he have done anything I haven't already done?

The Ocean of Memories engulfs the Ark. Darkness sweeps over the Heart of the Ark—repository of the Prophet's reason and emotion—plunging it into turmoil. The salvation organization, guardian of the world's secrets, becomes my instrument, seizing the celestial light of the prophecy for me. My descent draws near. I gaze upon myself—my form, my wings, my radiance—each aspect utterly perfect. Time to make the world witness the truth I have reforged.

But then, I encounter a stranger on the Star Sea. Purple mist swirls around the deity—ancient godhood tinged with human essence. The deity glimpses my form and raises a god-slaying sword, driven by hatred I cannot comprehend. The clash leaves us both wounded. I am reduced to an infant form. Had faith not woven a new cocoon, I would have perished again.

>Because he is Mercury.<

[Player]: Because he is Mercury. And he has always despised the God of Glory.

God of Glory: Hate me? Why?

[Player]: All his suffering traces back to you.

God of Glory: Shouldn't he thank me? It was my trials that forged him into the god he is.

No matter. A minor interlude. Faith will restore and empower me. I need true messengers—servants who obey, who walk among the faithful and gather belief. I find them: Alan, archpriest of Pigeon, and Modric, musician and Leonid's student.

>So you deceived them.<

[Player]: So, you deceived them.

God of Glory: Deceive? Even if Alan prayed ten thousand times, would the true god answer? Even if Modric crossed all of Miraland, would Leonid respond? You and I both know the answer. They clung to false hopes, destined for regret. But I—mercifully—fulfilled their dreams. I answered their longing. I gave them happiness.

I appeared in Alan's dreams, guiding hi m to reclaim his bloodline's power to "turn lies into truth," allowing him to reforge my prophecy with the Woodspirit. He's always called me the true god. As reward, I appeared to him as an egg, letting him nurture me anew.

I appeared in Modric's dreams, guiding him to recover the lost doomsday hymn. As the melody returns, so does faith. They proclaim my name. Belief gathers once more.

Each day, faith nourishes me. I grow. I am reborn. People weep and pray at signs of doomsday, unaware that the god who could save them has already descended—full of love—to walk among them. Soon, I will manifest in Pigeon Capital, a reward for their centuries of praise. I already hear their voices, gazing upward, praising my divine countenance. I will become the only true god. The only savior.

>You're no god of salvation.<

[Player]: You are no savior. You are the very calamity you claim to cure.

God of Glory: When salvation comes, suffering is erased. Without disaster, would anyone marvel at salvation's light?

[Player]: Once truth is known, they'll see you for what you are—the true malevolence.

God of Glory: Truth? Isn't truth just a human invention? If not for you presumptuous mortals, I would have manifested during Eternal Night. You forced my followers to suffer needlessly.

[Player]: Sophistry.

God of Glory: Or are you simply bitter I stole your chance to save the world?

[Player]: How dare you discredit Nikki's hard work and sacrifices?

God of Glory: Is that so? Then tell me—how do you and your friend Nikki plan to save the world? You say true power comes from the heart. But isn't my power drawn from every heart? Faith, prayer—aren't these born within all of you? You've sought salvation from the beginning, yet made no progress. How pitiful. Without divine guidance, you are nothing but lost lambs. Come. Return to me. Accept my manifestation in peace.

Listen—the trumpets of heaven resound, and sacred hymns echo across the earth! Behold—the gates of heaven open, and divine light pours upon the world! Let all who breathe come forth! Stand before me, the supreme god of salvation!

[nikkigameslore]

anni 5 event story is now done you can find it here

I've also linked it in the masterpost and on the site for when this gets buried (its too long to get its own post)

I have Chi Wan and Elias reflections (and access to Ai) but I'm holding them hostage until next week at the earliest. I have a lot going on this week so I don't want to start another task and not have time to finish it.

[nikkigameslore]

God of Glory suit interaction