The God of Destruction laughed as he watched the world plunge into chaos.
Above the battlefield, his voice echoed like thunder, deep and defiant, as if mocking the heavens themselves. While the other gods observed in silence, caution shadowed their divine gazes. They knew—oh, they knew—the power of the Fallen God. And his cult? Far from weak. If anything, they were stronger than the gods' own followers, driven not by blind faith, but by truth and pain.
I laughed, even as my breath came in ragged gasps, blood dripping from my blade. I stood atop a mountain of corpses—mages, knights, assassins—slain by my own hand. These were no mere mortals; they were elites, High-Star warriors gifted with strength beyond their years.
"ARE THE GODS SO TERRIFIED OF REALITY THAT THEY'D RATHER HIDE BEHIND AN ILLUSION?" I roared, my voice hoarse and panting, my body trembling from exhaustion.
I was a god, yes, but I had fought for two months without rest. And though my enemies were human, they fought like monsters.
Above me, the gods looked down, their eyes cold and distant. They scoffed at my defiance.
But I smiled. I had acted just enough to lower their guard. They hadn't noticed it yet—but within their very midst, a seal had begun to form. Crafted not by divine hands, but by the unwavering faith of my worshippers. A seal I had designed and prepared for centuries, fueled by pain, loyalty, and sacrifice. Strong enough to imprison even gods—for a thousand years.
I knew I couldn't defeat them all. One-on-one, I could rival or surpass any of the sixteen. But together, empowered by centuries of worship, they were too much. Each had amassed over a hundred years' worth of blessings from mortals—gifts that made them even more formidable.
So I gambled. I cast the seal, and it worked.
The sixteen gods, in all their arrogance, were trapped.
Then, the Red Moon began to rise.
A terrible celestial omen—its blood-red surface shimmering, a single eye staring down at the world. Before the moon could fully merge with the sky, I moved.
I unleashed hell.
I slaughtered every remaining cultist who served the gods. My worshippers, inspired by my fury and divine strength, fought alongside me. The high-ranking mages, knights, assassins—they all fell, one by one.
My wings, once pure white and radiant, were now torn and blackened. From four, I was left with only two. I had paid a steep price.
Using the last of my divine power, I healed my worshippers—those few who remained—and sealed myself within the Red Moon.
It was agony beyond words.
I made this sacrifice for humanity.
But the world betrayed me.
Three heroes—once revered, now blinded by the gods' lies—turned on my cult. They claimed to fight for justice, but they were seduced by the gods' power, illusions spun to appear holy and divine.
In the chaos that followed, I was sealed. My name forgotten. My worshippers slaughtered. And the heroes? They survived. They lied. They said the Fallen God was slain.
The twelve kingdoms celebrated. They raised statues in the heroes' honor, chanting that evil had been vanquished.
None knew the truth.
I had sealed myself to save them. And for my sacrifice, I was erased from history.
Still, I held no regrets. What was done, was done.
For centuries, I endured the torment of the Red Moon, absorbing its power little by little. It was excruciating, a constant cycle of pain and solitude. Yet I persisted.
When the last ounce of the Red Moon's energy fused with me, I felt my consciousness flicker.
Then—darkness.
When I next awoke, I found myself in a body frail and weak, barely clinging to life. My head throbbed with pain. Confused, I stood slowly, examining myself.
Pale skin clung to bone. Thin limbs, trembling and brittle. Black raven hair, dull and tangled. Blue eyes stared back at me in the reflection of a cracked mirror—eyes that once burned with divine fury now dulled by mortality.
I was... ugly. Pathetic.
The memories came rushing in like a flood.
I was a noble—no, worse—a disgrace. Aether Ashton. A spoiled, arrogant scum who had abused his title and trampled others beneath his heel. I had fallen into a coma after a commoner girl, whose brother I had tormented, awakened her power and nearly killed me.
Not only did the family not avenge me, they didn't even punish the commoner.
I was the black sheep of the Ashton family.
But none of that mattered now.
I was Aether. Sixteen years old. A First Star Knight in a world where power was measured by the stars.
In my former life, I had ascended beyond the 20th Star and reached godhood through my own effort. The other gods had taken the shortcut—sacrificing one hundred million lives for divinity.
Pathetic.
The mages here used incantations and spells. The knights, martial skill. Both paths were flawed, but familiar.
My body ached. My headache intensified.
Suddenly, the door creaked open. A maid entered—tall, poised, with a cold expression that could pierce steel. Her blue hair was tied in a high ponytail, adorned with ribbons. Her name came to me: Sophia.
In the past, I had ignored her. Taken her presence for granted.
Yet despite my cruelty, she had cared for me while I was unconscious. Visiting three times a day. Feeding me. Cleaning me. Helping my body recover. Her actions spoke louder than her cold demeanor.
She bowed respectfully.
"Young Master, it seems you are awake," she said softly, placing a tray of food and medicine beside me before leaving to inform the family.
I sat up and took the bread slowly. If I rushed, I'd vomit. My body was too weak.
The medicine helped. The headache eased.
More memories surfaced.
I had three sisters.
Sam, Amy, and Aira.
Sam, seventeen, looked like me but was stunningly beautiful and a Fourth Star Mage.
With the same Blue Eyes and Raven hair but healthy body
Amy, eighteen, golden-haired and Amber eyes and fierce, was a Sixth Star Knight. And
Aira—nineteen, pink-haired, graceful and powerful—was a Seventh Star Mage.
Aira in my memories i could barely remember probably we two didn't interact much
They were prodigies. The pride of the Ashton family.
I was the stain.
In childhood, we had been close. But those memories were distant, faded by years of bitterness.
Now, I had a choice.
The gods were still sealed, their cults crippled by my hand. They hadn't joined the battle—focused solely on casting the Red Moon. They had lowered their guard.
They deserved what they got.
This time, I would kill them.
I would wipe out their cults and burn their temples to ash.
I wasn't a hero. I was a Fallen God.
I had sacrificed too much.
The so-called heroes had betrayed truth for power.
A real hero saves everyone. No innocent should die. I had learned Many things within those 500 Years i lived.
I would rise again.
I would reach godhood once more.
And this time—I wouldn't fail.
I smiled bitterly, staring out the window.
The future was uncertain, but I had made my choice.