The Scum Emperor's Redemption System - Chapter 158

Chapter 158: Divine Chaos
Argider’s defiance shattered the dreamworld like a poorly crafted illusion, sending cracks through the space that had held her captive. The moment reality snapped back into place, she didn’t land gracefully—oh no, that would be too dignified. Instead, she plummeted straight into Esmeralda with all the elegance of a tossed sack of cabbages. The two tumbled across the ruined throne room in a chaotic tangle of limbs, knocking over what little furniture had managed to survive the previous carnage.

Esmeralda groaned beneath her. “By the gods, Argider, must you always make an entrance like this?”

Before Argider could offer a witty retort (or at least roll off her flustered wife), the temperature in the room shifted. A force, ancient and absolute, settled upon the palace, warping reality itself. A crackling sound filled the air, as if the universe itself was sighing in exasperation, and then—a figure materialized.

Tall, draped in robes of shifting cosmic patterns, the Ancient Deity of Order and Correction regarded them with the weary disdain of an overworked accountant dealing with a tax evader of divine proportions. Their golden mask reflected nothing, yet Argider could feel the weight of their stare—heavy, judgmental, and entirely unimpressed.

“Well,” the deity intoned, their voice smooth and dripping with celestial condescension. “I suppose congratulations are in order, Argider. You’ve successfully unraveled everything. Again.”

The wives scrambled to their feet, already on high alert. Faeralys’s eyes narrowed. “Who in the depths of hell are you?”

“I,” the deity said, placing a dramatic hand on their own chest, “am the one responsible for maintaining history’s proper course. And this one—” their mask tilted toward Argider “—has committed severe infractions.”

Argider folded her arms. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The deity let out a long-suffering sigh. “History is not meant to be rewritten, child. Yet you—through sheer audacity—have resisted again and again. Do you understand what this means?”

Argider blinked. “That I’m resilient?”

“No,” the deity seethed. “It means you are a menace.” They straightened, folding their hands behind their back. “But no matter. The solution is simple. I will erase your power and reset you to a more manageable state.”

Cue immediate outrage.

Argider scoffed. “Oh, absolutely not.”

“Like hell you will,” Esmeralda snapped, stepping in front of her.

“The audacity,” Faeralys muttered.

Fialova, still lounging against a crumbling column, grinned. “I dunno, I kinda wanna see them try.”

The deity ignored them all, already waving a hand to enact their divine correction.

And then—

It backfired spectacularly.

Instead of stripping Argider’s power, the divine energy overloaded her. She lit up like a firework on an existential holiday, a blinding glow engulfing her entire body. Every sealed ability, every locked memory, every scrap of divine nonsense she wasn’t meant to access all slammed into her at once.

Cue absolute chaos.

Argider stumbled forward, glowing like a magical overcooked potato. Sparks shot out from her hands, her hair lifted in an unseen breeze, and somewhere in the distance—a cow began levitating.

The palace itself recoiled. The floor tilted. The very air hummed with raw, unchecked power.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Esmeralda shrieked, gripping Argider by the shoulders.

“I don’t KNOW,” Argider wheezed. “I think—I think I’m gonna explode?”

“Fascinating,” Faeralys murmured, scribbling notes instead of helping.

Meanwhile, Fialova was doubled over, laughing so hard she nearly collapsed. “This,” she gasped between cackles, “is peak entertainment.”

The deity, now visibly panicking, had both hands pressed to their mask. “Oh no. Oh, no no no no. This is not supposed to happen.”

“Oh, you THINK?!” Argider snapped, barely holding herself together as her magic crackled wildly. A nearby pillar disintegrated. A chandelier fell upward.

And then—

It got worse.

Deep within her, something ancient stirred. Not just magic. Not just power. Something greater.

Something divine.

Memories surfaced—visions of an old existence, one buried beneath layers of forgotten history. A war. A betrayal. A truth she was never supposed to remember.

And with it—

A weapon.

A celestial artifact of terrifying proportions, called forth by instinct alone. It materialized above her, humming with energy that made even the gods tremble. The sheer force of its presence sent shockwaves through the palace, cracking walls and splitting stone.

Everyone froze.

The wives stared in stunned disbelief.

The deity…

The deity took a single step back, hands raised as if confronted by an unholy mistake.

“Oh,” they breathed, voice barely a whisper. “Oh, no. I have made a mistake.”

Meanwhile, Argider, still glowing like an unstable supernova, stood there, utterly bewildered.

“…I have so many questions.”

The Ancient Deity of Order and Correction stood motionless, their celestial form flickering between sheer disbelief and abject horror. Argider, meanwhile, continued to radiate unstable divine energy, resembling less a graceful deity and more an overclocked sun ready to go supernova at any moment.

Her wives’ reactions varied drastically. Esmeralda had both hands on her head, pacing aggressively. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” she screeched, eyes darting between Argider and the crumbling palace.

Faeralys, ever the strategist, was frantically calculating potential survival rates based on Argider’s energy output. The numbers weren’t looking great.

And Fialova? She was munching on a pastry she had seemingly pulled from nowhere, reclining on a piece of rubble as if she had just paid for front-row seats to an intergalactic disaster. “This is the best day of my life,” she murmured, eyes gleaming.

Meanwhile, Argider’s power refused to stabilize. It responded to her every emotional fluctuation with terrifying efficiency. A confused blink made the sun flicker like a faulty lightbulb. A nervous chuckle sent everyone into an impromptu zero-gravity experience as the concept of gravity itself momentarily took a coffee break. An annoyed scoff caused the palace to briefly exist in three different timelines at once, with an unfortunate side effect of several royal portraits now portraying her as a chicken for some reason.

The deity attempted to take control of the situation, but divine bureaucracy reared its ugly head. “No, no, no, this is NOT happening,” they muttered, frantically flipping through a spectral document that had materialized before them. “What do you MEAN she legally qualifies as a high-tier celestial entity now?! That’s ridiculous! I didn’t approve this! Who approved this?! I demand to see the forms!”

Celestial bureaucracy, however, was unforgiving. The moment Argider had unlocked her divine heritage, she had, unfortunately for the deity, gained certain… protections. Namely, no god could delete her without undergoing extensive paperwork, committee reviews, and at least three cosmic hearings that involved endless debates, procedural delays, and, if past experience was any indicator, some deity inevitably challenging another to a dramatic trial-by-combat in the middle of everything.

The Ancient Deity of Order and Correction, one of the most powerful entities in the cosmos, proceeded to throw a full-blown tantrum.

“DO YOU THINK I ENJOY FILING CELESTIAL DOCUMENTS?!” they roared, their voice shaking the very fabric of existence.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG IT TAKES TO GET APPROVAL FOR A DIVINE RESTRUCTURING?!” they continued, now actively pulling at their own incorporeal hair.

“I HAVEN’T HAD A VACATION IN TEN MILLENNIA!”

The wives, the palace, and even the laws of physics themselves seemed entirely unbothered by this outburst. Argider, however, was on the verge of a breakdown. “Wait, so I’m just… stuck like this? I didn’t ASK for this! I don’t even know what I am! Was I the villain this whole time?! Was I supposed to be some kind of cosmic overlord?! Is this why my past life was erased?! ANSWERS, PLEASE!”

Before she could spiral further into existential dread, another problem arose.

Other deities had noticed.

Messages began flooding the celestial realm. Some were intrigued. Some were terrified. One particularly dramatic god of chaos sent a bouquet of flaming roses with a note: Congratulations on your glorious reign of disorder! Let’s collaborate!

Argider, still glowing like an unstable supernova, looked at the message, then at herself, then at the Ancient Deity, who was staring at the growing notifications with an expression of pure agony.

And then, as if the situation wasn’t already absurd enough, an official celestial decree materialized in midair before them.

“URGENT MEMO: The Celestial Council has summoned the Ancient Deity of Order and Correction and Argider for an immediate hearing. Attendance is mandatory. No exceptions. Not even for ‘divine existential crises.'”

A heavy silence fell over the throne room, which was still half-collapsing and half-rebuilding itself in slow, awkward intervals.

Argider, still floating slightly off the ground, turned to the deity and, for the first time since this entire catastrophe began, finally asked:

“…What do you mean I have to go to god court?”

The chapter ends with the Ancient Deity receiving a divine notification:

“URGENT MEMO: The Celestial Council has summoned you and Argider for an immediate hearing. Attendance is mandatory. No exceptions. Even for ‘divine existential crises.'”

Argider, still glowing, still floating slightly off the ground, turns to the deity and, for the first time in this entire chaotic disaster, finally asks:

“…What do you mean I have to go to god court?”