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A month passed in the blink of an eye.
A strange, unsettling quiet fell over the world. The fifteen races ceased their hostilities, the fires of war seemingly extinguished.
But it was an illusion.
Though they couldn't pinpoint the cause—a palpable sense of dread gripped the leaders of every race. They were anxious, verging on panic. This tranquility felt like the calm before a hurricane.
Something big was coming.
They knew this because they had all lost contact with their Gods.
In this Divine War, the races were merely pawns—the Gods were the true players. A race without a God had no place on this battlefield. Therefore, they kept this devastating secret hidden, knowing that if it were revealed, their rivals—those they had once tormented, those who still had a God to protect them—would descend upon them like vultures.
Even with their superior strength, without a God, their annihilation was a certainty.
Such was the nature of a Divine War.
It was thanks to this secrecy, this collective terror, that Mika and his companions had been able to move so freely, to eliminate every God who had participated in the war.
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Yes, they had completed their objective. Every God, save for Artosh, had been defeated.
While the feat sounded impossible, it had been surprisingly simple. They had operated in the shadows, their enemy in the light. With the element of surprise, and with their own power far surpassing that of any single God, their victory had been inevitable.
Their targets had never stood a chance. Mika and Athena had made sure of that.
As for Alfia? Having participated in this grand hunt, she, too, had undergone a transformation, her power increasing to an unimaginable degree. She was now on the cusp of the peak of the Eighth Sense.
With enough time to integrate her newfound strength, she would soon stand at the very pinnacle of mortal power.
As for the Ninth Sense? Mika had no doubt she would achieve it. Unlike him, she was a true genius.
While Mika had, through unconventional means, elevated his own talent from that of an average human to a prodigy, it was a physical transformation. His innate aptitude, his raw talent, while honed through countless trials in numerous worlds, still couldn't compare to a monster like Alfia.
But even so, with his unwavering determination, he had reached this point, step by painstaking step. He had reached the very edge of human potential.
Now, he was about to take that final step, to transcend his mortal limits.
"To become a God..."
Atop a towering peak, Mika sat, the wind whipping through his hair, his gaze fixed on the swirling vortex of multicolored orbs in his hand.
These were the God Essences he had collected, the very hearts of the fallen Gods.
They danced in his palm, a miniature galaxy of divine power. It was as if he held the entire pantheon in his hand.
But not quite all of them.
One remained.
The strongest of them all: Artosh, the God of War.
And at this very moment, Artosh was watching him.
From his divine throne, his gaze pierced through the heavens, locking onto Mika.
Mika no longer concealed his presence. He sat there, openly, his power a beacon in the sky, the God Essences in his hand a clear, undeniable challenge.
It was a deliberate act.
After all, his ultimate goal was to use Artosh as a sacrifice, a final stepping stone in his own ascension. He had been waiting for this moment.
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"To think my comrades would meet such an end... truly, a divine surprise."
Artosh, his gaze fixed on Mika, instantly understood the reason for the recent, strange tranquility. He hadn't imagined that his rivals, the Gods he had battled for countless millennia, would meet such an end.
He had always believed they would die by his hand. After all, among the Gods, he, Artosh, was the strongest.
But he felt no regret. In fact, he was... pleased.
Artosh, the personification of "War," was, without a doubt, the most powerful of the Gods. The gap between him and the second strongest was immense. If he had wanted to, he could have ended this war long ago, claiming the title of One True God.
But he hadn't.
Why?
Because he was the God of War.
And what is war?
It is a clash of equals. A struggle for dominance. A dance of life and death, where both sides risk everything, where their very souls are tested and honed.
A one-sided slaughter is not war.
And in this world, there was no one who could challenge him.
So, he had waited.
For an opponent worthy of his strength. For a battle worthy of his name.
For a true war.
And it was because of his waiting that this Divine War had dragged on for so long. The other Gods, too, were intelligent. They knew that as long as Artosh remained, any attempt to eliminate each other would be suicide. So, they, too, held back.
And so, the war had reached a stalemate.
This was the true cause of humanity's despair.
If Artosh had simply acted, had crushed his rivals and brought peace to the world, humanity's fate would have been far different.
But Artosh, the God of War, did not love peace. In fact, this endless, brutal conflict was the very environment he craved.
The fate of humanity had been sealed the moment he became the strongest.
However, from his perspective, his actions were not without reason.
The one he had been waiting for... had finally arrived.
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Artosh rose from his throne, his gaze fixed on Mika.
While he couldn't gauge Mika's true strength, the fact that he had single-handedly eliminated every other God was a testament to his power.
He was strong. Unimaginably strong.
This might be the greatest challenge he had ever faced.
"This is... magnificent."
A fire ignited in Artosh's eyes, his fighting spirit surging.
He stepped out of his hall, his every stride covering an impossible distance, the world itself seeming to shrink before him.
His departure sent a tremor through Avant Heim. The Flügel felt his divine presence and were instantly roused.
What is happening? Our Lord has left his throne! Has something... happened?
The recent, strange tranquility had put them all on edge. And now, Artosh's sudden departure seemed to confirm their fears.
The Flügel were a race that reveled in war.
"My Lord, what is your command?"
Azril, the first of the Flügel, knelt before him, her voice filled with a respectful reverence. As the eldest, and the one closest to Artosh, she was, in a way, their leader.
"This is my war, Azril."
Artosh didn't even glance at her as he strode past, his gaze fixed on the distant mountain peak where Mika waited.
He vanished from Avant Heim, leaving a stunned Azril in his wake.
'His war??'
She, more than anyone, knew what that meant. It meant he had found an equal, a true rival. The thought sent a shiver through her.
"All Flügel, assemble! Prepare for battle!" she roared.
She knew the danger. In a war that even Artosh considered his own, they, his creations, would not stand idly by.
Artosh's ultimate technique, Divine Smite, grew stronger with every Heavenly Smite offered by the Flügel. In a way, they were a part of his weapon, an extension of his will.
And a weapon always accompanied its master into battle.
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Artosh arrived before Mika, hovering in the air, his gaze a silent challenge. Mika, in turn, met his gaze, his own fighting spirit surging.
Though it was their first meeting, Mika recognized him instantly. He felt the aura of iron and blood, the very essence of war.
Artosh was massive, twice Mika's height, his body a testament to his divine power. But his most striking feature was his wings—eighteen pairs, unfurled behind him, a breathtaking sight.
"I am Artosh, the God of War. And you, stranger, what is your name?"
As the strongest being in this world, Artosh had already deduced Mika's origins. He was human. And there were no humans in this world with such power. He had searched for a worthy opponent for millennia; he knew every powerful being in this world.
Mika was an unknown. He had no history, no presence.
This was... unnatural.
Therefore, Artosh was certain: he was not of this world.
"You figured it out?" Mika chuckled. "As expected of Artosh, the God of War. You truly are special. The other Gods never even considered it. It seems your wisdom is as great as your strength."
It was a genuine compliment.
"It seems I was right to choose you as my final opponent."
"A warrior like you deserves to die in a blaze of glory."
Infected by Artosh's raw, untamed power, Mika's own fighting spirit ignited.
He licked his lips, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
One sat on the mountaintop, the other hovered in the sky.
Their gazes met, a silent clash of wills.
Just then, Avant Heim appeared on the horizon.
"So, that's him? Our Lord's opponent," Azril murmured, her gaze fixed on the two figures.
The other Flügel followed her gaze.
Suddenly, a voice, laced with amusement, echoed in their minds.
"Watch, but do not interfere."
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