On the first day, God created himself.
On the second day, God created the world.
On the third day, God decorated the world with beautiful stars.
On the fourth day, God created the concepts that govern the world.
On the fifth day, God filled the world with various creatures.
On the sixth day, as God rested from his hard work, he was killed by his own creation.
On the seventh day, God was…
†
"Huff… Huff… Huff…"
The soldier's breathing was rapid and uncontrollable. Or rather, it was the emotions swelling in his chest that proved uncontrollable. So much so, that he just couldn't ease his beating chest and accelerated heart rate.
While the adrenaline had long since faded, the rush of it all was still more than present.
"Huff… Huff… Huff…"
In a triumphant manner, the soldier raised his head and cracked a slight smile.
In any other situation, he would've likely raised his fist and shouted a battle cry loud enough to reach the other side of the kingdom.
But as he had no strength to do so, the soldier settled for a simple inhale and exhale as the tension slowly left his body.
Finally… Finally, the soldier thought.
The war that had plagued his realm—a siege of death between man and gods—had finally come to an end.
Even considering the extended lifespan of the average oni-animal hybrid, or "Beast Folk", as they were most commonly referred to, the war had gone on for quite a long time.
In fact, when it all started, the soldier was still just a cub. He could remember how both his father and uncle had set off onto the battlefield only to never return.
Now, he was well into his adult years.
But seeing as he was witnessing an end to it all, he hardly had any complaints. The same could most likely be said for the surrounding soldiers.
And so, with smiles plastered on their faces, the victorious soldiers leapt into the air, screaming, crying and even laughing as they celebrated a hard-earned victory.
Naturally, there were a few others who instead fell to their knees in gratitude. Gratitude not towards a particular deity—as these soldiers detested the gods—but gratitude towards the world and the cycle of karma.
In other words, they simply gave prayers to the nature or force governing the world itself than to anyone inside it.
The soldier—who was of a tiger category of beast folk—was not one of the people jumping for joy or prayer or anything like that. While he was smiling and taking pleasure in the victory, his mind was more focused on what would come after.
He had, after all, trained his entire life for the war. He had dedicated himself blood and sweat to the fatherland in hopes of this very day. But now that it had finally come, he felt… empty. Like his purpose had vanished before his eyes.
"I suppose I could start with cracking open that sacred family wine…" The soldier thought aloud.
Passed through his family from generation to generation, there was a large stash of wine.
He had heard tales of its flavor from his father and uncle who had both taken a cup for themselves after winning an important battle during the war.
The soldier's father had instructed the man to only partake in the wine should the day come where he contributed to a feat that could be regarded as a miracle.
Only then would he earn the right to endeavor its flavor.
And now, after everything that had happened, he had more than earned that right to. They had made it through a war with the skin of their teeth.
But now, that horrific event seemed to be just a distant memory.
"Yeah, I think I'm gonna try that wine…"
The soldier's slight grin transformed into a full smile. He was looking forward to returning home.
…At least, that was the future in which he had envisioned.
How incredible it would be if he really had survived this war and returned home. Something even his father and uncle, as strong as they were, couldn't do.
Not to mention how he would've earned the right to taste that wine they were always going on about.
†
"..."
The soldier gazed up at the vast and empty red sky, laid out inside and surrounded by an equally crimson sea. The scene reeked of iron.
The blood wasn't his, but it might as well have been.
After losing his entire division in such a way, the soldier's will to fight had shattered to bits. In such a state, he was no different from an empty husk, merely existing in the world.
The soldier felt small and insignificant, like an ant gazing upon a typhoon.
He felt like reaching out his hand and grabbing that sky.
But more importantly, he felt a deep and sour hatred. With all his heart, the soldier detested that sky.
Not simply because it was a vast and empty red sky—reminiscent of the ocean of blood surrounding him—but because it was where they came from. Or maybe it was more accurate to say, it was where they "descended" from.
All he could do was continue to pointlessly gaze at the red sky and imagine the possibilities.
He couldn't quite remember where, but the soldier had once heard about the theory of parallel worlds. How every action had the power to create a branch in the timeline that followed the opposite choice.
It was never confirmed whether such a thing was, or even could be true, but it felt nice to think about.
Perhaps there was a parallel world where they really had won. Where the Kingdom of Ceprun had actually managed to defeat those cursed deities.
Unfortunately, the soldier had to face the harsh reality. That being, he would not live to see such a future. He knew that in truth, such thoughts were simply the coping of a man steadily approaching death.
And so, the lone soldier, with his back still soaked in the blood of his fallen brothers, sealed away his fantasies.
He stopped hoping, stopped dreaming.
As a result, he was left with nothing. Yes, he had truly become a husk of a man.
As his life force slowly but surely escaped him, the soldier grew curious of the world in a way he never did before.
One by one, strange thoughts began popping up in his head. Questions like:
Was the sky always that color?
What was its purpose?
What of the creatures who descended from them, what was their true nature?
Could they ever be reasoned with?
In the first place, why was he the one left alive?
The soldier had never been the type to ponder those questions. Not because he didn't take an interest in the history and state of the world, but because he was always too busy working to ponder such things.
He was the type who was always seen holding a blade. The type who couldn't go for a moment without practicing downward swings.
Unlike his father and uncle, he had no talent whatsoever when it came to the blade, so he had to work twice as hard to accomplish the bare minimum. He was almost forced to spend every waking moment dedicating himself to the art if he wanted to survive.
Even now, he couldn't seriously look back on his life and say he became anyone special.
He had come from no wealthy background, nor was his rank particularly high. In fact, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that if he and a dozen average knights lined up together, nothing about him would stand out.
The only thing remotely special about him was his slightly larger build, considering he was an oni-tiger (an oni and tiger hybrid).
But in a world such as this one, raw physical strength meant nothing. Especially against the gods.
This man was a completely ordinary man. And yet, fate had placed him at the frontlines against them.
"..."
Should I seriously just lay here, he thought.
It's not as if he was badly injured. Not to the point of incapacitation, at least. Even if his will to fight had been shattered, laying around wouldn't really do much.
At the very least, he was promised a quicker death by moving around.
"…"
The soldier took a deep breath before flexing each of his limbs, checking whether they were still responsive.
After confirming they each worked, at least to some degree, he initiated small movements in each of them.
From what he could make out, he seemed to be missing his tail, an ear and a portion of his left calf.
Most likely, he had gotten that injury during the last big attack—where a massive beam of golden light had pierced through the kingdom. Just before it had gone off, one of his division members had mustered the last of his strength to push the soldier out the blast's radius. Mostly, that is.
Slowly, the soldier placed his palms firmly against the wet ground and gently lifted himself up. His left leg had staggered a bit, but he still managed to return to his feet.
While the soldier had hoped to use some kind of crutch to help him walk, there was no such thing around. A long rifle might've done the trick, but those weren't exactly common.
To be blunt, ordinary weapons were utterly useless against the angels. Instead, warriors used mass-manufactured artifacts that were embedded with the power of a god. "Divine Artifacts," as they referred to them.
Divine artifacts were unique in the fact that they resonated with the wielder and played to their strengths.
For example, a divine artifact could enhance one's strength or speed. Or it could create mirages and illusions. It really just depended on the specific type of artifact.
Though, that was only the case for Divine Artifacts of higher class. For the standard grade, mass-produced artifacts like his, its capabilities were much more limited.
Still, it was much better than an ordinary weapon.
The only real caveat was, since artifacts were living weapons, anyone who wanted to use an artifact had to be picked by one. And oftentimes, a divine artifact only allowed someone to wield it if it could tell they'd have an affinity for the weapon.
This meant that someone who only had an affinity for close-range combat could only wield Sword-Type Divine Artifacts.
In contrast, mages or sorcerers who preferred to fight at a distance could only use Wand-Type Divine Artifacts and archers could only wield Bow-Type Divine Artifacts.
Gun-Type Divine Artifacts like a rifle, while not exactly rare, could only be used by the type of person who had the affinity for that style. It was that style of combat that was rare. And so, not many gun-type divine artifacts were crafted.
In other words, it was impossible for a pure, close-range soldier with no talent like him to use a Gun-Type Divine Artifact. And as regular weapons were ineffective against the gods, it was equally pointless to carry an ordinary one.
Now you might be wondering, why then didn't the soldier use a sword as a crutch?
While that thought had crossed his mind, his Divine Artifact proved to be too short for his larger frame.
A large great sword or katana might've worked, but the soldier was never able to wield those types of Divine Artifacts, even despite his size. They simply rejected him, as if the weapon itself could tell that the soldier had no talent for it.
Besides, a great sword would've proved too heavy for an injured man. That's what the soldier supposed as he limped his way through the blood-soaked rubble.
"To think that this was once a prospering kingdom…" The soldier muttered as he passed by destroyed and burning buildings.
At one point, buildings, people, festivals and any other source of culture had filled the kingdom's walls. Now, they seemed as rare as shiny ore.
The soldier couldn't even find a single corpse, despite the blood that had dyed the entire kingdom. Though, he had already expected that considering who they were up against…
There was no hope of victory. That was the harsh fact the soldier had realized as he struggled onward.
In a way, one part of the soldier's daydream was actually a reality…
This war really had finally ended. Just not in the favor he had hoped.
When you put it that way, there really was no reason for the soldier to be walking anywhere. He knew that and yet, he pressed on. The completely and totally ordinary soldier continued to march forward, dragging his feet through the ocean of blood. It was like the kingdom's floor had been covered by a blanket of red.
What was he searching for? Was he even searching for something, or was he just mindlessly marching on? Who could say. The soldier doubted that even he knew the answer to that. Maybe he just wanted to find someone else. To see if anyone else had survived the large-scale attack. Someone as unfortunate as he was.
"!"
Just as the soldier began contemplating laying back down and simply closing his eyes, something caught his limp leg and forced him onto the ground.
The blood splashed a bit as he landed. He winced from the impact before quickly looking back to see what had caught his leg.
"!"
A dead body. The soldier had stumbled over a corpse.
From their uniform and emblem, he concluded that they must've belonged to the support unit.
The soldiers of Ceprun were divided among 4 "lines" or categories:
Front Liners – The main battle unit. Typically, the first ones sent out to attack the enemy.
Rear Liners – A secondary attack unit usually used in pincer maneuvers or simply catching the enemy off guard. Though, they are most times held back to defend the kingdom against unexpected attacks.
Last Liners – The last line of defense. Rather than combat, they specialize in defensive abilities such as barriers.
Assist Liners – They are the doctors of the battlefield. Composed of soldiers who have the rare affinity for higher class Divine Artifacts. They are often called "the support unit".
At first, the soldier's expression remained neutral. He figured that he had just tripped over a corpse—nothing out of the ordinary on a battlefield, especially one of this level. So, the soldier had no reason to react.
However, after staring at the body for a few more moments, his eyes suddenly widened, and he found himself rushing over to the dead body.
"H–Hey! Y–You alive?!" The soldier called out to the body even though he had assumed they were dead.
For some reason, the expressionless soldier now had a look of determination.
He jerked the corpse repeatedly but got no response. Even after confirming the body had no pulse, he continued to desperately shake the body, as if hoping that doing so would magically bring them back to life.
Then again, it wasn't like a pulse was all that reliable in his case. Not when you consider the nature of what they had most likely been hit by.
…Divinity.
"Hey, medic… Are you still alive? Seriously. Get up." The soldier continued to call out.
It wasn't just because they were from the medic unit and thus had the ability to wield a higher-class artifact—likely one with the ability to heal. That had played a part, sure, but there was another reason why the soldier was trying so hard to stir them awake.
The medic's body was there. Not poetically, or metaphorically, but physically and literally. Meaning, the soldier had the ability to reach out and touch the medic's body.
As mentioned before, it wasn't unusual to find dead bodies on the battlefield of a war. Except, this one was a bit different. This battlefield was not an exchange of bullets or cannons, but an exchange of "Divinity".
When someone died to Divinity, their bodies didn't collapse to the ground and decompose into the soil. Instead, their flesh and memories were consumed.
The very concept of their existence was devoured.
The power to devour the stories of all things. That was the true essence of the power known as "Divinity."
So, the fact that the medic's body had remained meant that she hadn't actually died. While she might've been missing a few memories from having them consumed, her life itself was still present. And seeing as a faint glow was emanating from her pendant shaped divine artifact, it was reasonable to conclude it was currently working to heal her with its own divinity.
And so, the soldier continued to call out to the medic. Until eventually, a faint sound escaped the medic's lips.
It was a quiet squeal that landed somewhere between a cough and a cry and as she was a beast folk just like the soldier, her sharp ears twitched with the squeal.
Whatever the case, that response proved that the medic was indeed alive.
"Oh, thank god…" breathed the soldier, his shoulders dropping in relief. "To think I'd find someone else alive in the radius of that previous attack."
"…"
The medic—a woman, he noticed—slowly opened her eyes.
Then, she used her arms as a platform and sat up properly. The motion was fluid and practiced, as if her body was moving on its own. She almost resembled a robot.
"Great, looks like you can still move too." said the soldier, a shred of hope twinkling in his eyes.
"..."
The medic offered no response. She simply looked at the soldier with dead and hollow eyes that seemed to suggest her very soul had been stripped away. She really did look like a robot who was moving on simple code and command.
It only confirmed that she had been struck by a higher god's divinity and had a piece of her story devoured. Honestly, it was a miracle she had survived.
"H–Hey, you alright?" asked the soldier, his tone concerned.
For a long moment, the two sat in silence as the medic seemed to articulate an answer.
Then she responded. "…Um, I don't mean to be rude, but do I know you?"
Her voice was light and calm. It felt as if she were discussing something mundane like the weather, and in a normal environment like a living room rather than a battlefield.
"Is that seriously the first question you ask after waking up?" asked the soldier, feeling a bit disheartened.
"Not always, no."
"...Are you serious right now…" A nervous bead of sweat trailed down the soldier's cheek. "How are you so calm? Don't you know where we are? What we're doing? …Or was your memory affected by the divinity of the gods."
The medic's head clocked slightly in confusion.
"'Where we are…?'" She repeated. "What an odd thing to ask someone. Who wouldn't know that they're in a war…" The medic scooped up a handful of nearby blood and held it to the soldier's face. "I mean look around us. It's pretty hard to miss."
"............."
The soldier watched as the blood waterfalled out the medic's hand. Having been a soldier, he was used to seeing blood, but he couldn't help but feel creeped out by the medic's actions. It wasn't at all how he expected a member of the support unit, and a girl at that, to be acting.
Was it a good or bad thing, he wondered.
"A–Alright then, I guess I can conclude that your artifact restored a good portion of your memory. At least enough for you to remember you're a soldier of Ceprun…" said the soldier, choosing to ignore the medic's weirdness and press on with the situation. "Then do you remember what happened to the main unit? How they were suddenly wiped out by that bright light? It happened so suddenly that I didn't really get a chance to see it myself."
The medic paused and thought back on that moment. Just as he had described, something had decimated the main units.
It was bright, almost divine in appearance. One second it looked like a colossal orb of light hanging above the kingdom, illuminating the desperate faces of the masses as they scrambled through the streets they had once called home.
The next second, everything had been devoured.
It was that attack that had devoured the lives of the soldiers, and subsequently erased them from existence.
The only reason the soldier retained the ability to remember the faces of his squad members was because of his divine artifact. It was continuously using its own divinity to restore any lost memory.
After remembering the incident, the medic answered the soldier. "Do I know what happened to the main unit? …I mean, obviously they died, no?" The medic's words were brutal. They hit the soldier like a punch in the gut. "And you ask what wiped them out, but shouldn't that be obvious too?"
The soldier held back his words by biting his lip.
Divinity. That was the answer that came to mind.
It was a power so effective that man found no choice but to utilize that same power in their Divine Artifacts.
It was the power to devour and thus negate the very rules of the world.
This meant that with enough control over it, one could make a waterfall fall upwards instead of down, make a tasty cake without using eggs, or make 1 plus 1 equal 3. Gods with that much control over Divinity were referred to as "higher gods".
For an ordinary soldier like him with no talent whatsoever, he could only muster enough Divinity to allow him to actually hit and kill a deity—the most basic requirement to become a soldier in the first place.
In a higher god's case however, it was possible to make it so that someone had never existed.
"Y'know… Instead of asking obvious questions, maybe we should get a move on." The medic spoke as she lifted herself off the ground.
"Huuh?! And go where exac–? Wait, forget all that, can't you heal? Heal me."
"................."
"Tell me, do you see a single potion on me right now? No. Care to guess why? It's because I used them all when rescuing other members of the main unit. In fact, I was on my way to restock when the attack had wiped everything."
"O–Okay then. Well, can't you just heal me with your main divine artifact?"
The medic sighed exasperatingly, as if irritated by the soldier's stupidity.
As powerful as Divinity was, controlling it was an arduous task. In fact, it wasn't uncommon for a warrior to train all their life just to control a small amount of divinity—enough to maybe wipe an event from someone's memory. This gave races with longer life spans a massive advantage.
Because of that, mankind had given up entirely on training to control it. Instead, they created divine artifacts from the souls of dead gods and let the artifacts control their divinity for them.
Of course, that method came with its cons.
"If I could do that, I would've done so already… From the looks of it, my divine artifact overheated from restoring my memories and possibly healing my injuries, so I can't use it for a while."
In this case, the term "overheating" meant that a divine artifact had spent all its stored-up divinity and had to recharge.
Think of a divine artifact like a sentient battery and a person's divinity like electricity. The divine artifact simply stores, releases and controls the divinity of its user.
In other words, it does all the heavy lifting and allows people to focus on mastering the artifact itself rather than the Divinity.
"Oh… S–Sorry then. I guess that must've sounded a little selfish, huh…"
"'A little', he says …Yeah sure, we'll go with that."
As the soldier was still on the ground, the medic offered a hand to help him.
The soldier took it as a funny gesture considering their heads were about the same height even while he was crouching.
"!"
When he extended his hand towards hers, however, he realized that there wasn't anyone to receive it. Just a
A bead of sweat trailed down the soldier's cheek.
"So, my time has finally come, huh…"
Even without looking behind him, the soldier could guess what he'd see. After all, for the medic to have vanished like that without a trace, there was only one possibility.
The only slightly abnormal thing was that they had bothered to use enough divinity to erase even the blood.
"You cursed deity…" the soldier growled, his voice rising in decibel with each letter. "Is this fun for you? Is crushing our lives so damn fun?!"
After bellowing that final question, the soldier turned around and came face to face with the cause.
The angel's presence radiated a kind of confident glow you'd find only in an ancient king. Not the kind of king that was simply praised but worshipped as a god. Even among angels, this one was in a class of his own.
While angels were often referred to as higher gods, he alone went by the epithet of "God".
"Well how about that… To think you, of all people, would expend the effort of coming down here. Well? What's so fun about genocide, you sick twisted fuck!?"
"..."
"Grr! ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!!!"
For a moment, it seemed as if the supposed leader of these angels was committed to ignoring the soldier, as if he were a worm crying out.
"Fun…? Fun… Fun." Something resembling a smirk played on the angel's lips.
The wind caught his snow-like hair. His wings burned with divine fire, and his crimson eyes reflected nothing but simple amusement. For him, that's all this was. Amusement of the highest order.
"I suppose this could be considered fun, couldn't it?" The angel thought aloud, his chin tilted to the heavens.
Although he had technically answered the soldier's question, nothing about his body language suggested he was talking to him. He was monologuing, plain and simple.
"I wonder what you would think about this… Would this be fun for you, Michael? What about you… father?"
Suddenly, the slight grin on the angel's face disappeared. He had an expression that could only be described as melancholy. Today would be the end of the long war. Meaning his plans had finally reached a sort of climax. Still, he looked as bored as someone forcing themselves to birdwatch.
"I want to see you two again. I want to see you two so badly I can't stand it… Michael. Father. The day will soon come when we three stand face to face. I believe that moment might truly be 'fun'."
After realizing he was being ignored, the soldier unsheathed his sword, coiled it back and launched it at the angel at frightening speeds. The blade sliced through the air, smoke and ash as it traveled.
Still, the angel's expression hadn't moved one millimeter. After all, it was aimed at the supposed leader of the angels. The one who went by the epithet of "God".
Before it could even reach him, a golden light enveloped the blade mid transit. And with a mere breath of the angel they called God, the soldier joined his fallen allies.
The only thing he saw before utter darkness was golden radiance. The divine light of God. Divinity.
At that moment the lone soldier muttered something. "...How beautiful."
The way he said it was like a double-edged sword. He didn't mean it in the sense of a model or icon, but in the way that natural disasters were beautiful. Like how cavemen would find a volcano awe-inspiring yet devastating at the same time.
Cornered in their own home and judged by the absolute authority of the higher gods, Ceprun was now at the edge of annihilation.
†
"Where there are gods, there is a golden light. A light that cannot quite be called 'destruction'. And do you know why that is? It's because it's beautiful… It really makes one wonder. Could such a thing still be considered war? If not, what the hell would you call this? What would you call a beautiful war?"
High above the ruined kingdom, in a throne room that had stood for several generations, that very question haunted the mind of Ceprun's last king.
Each explosion from below sent tremors through ancient throne, shaking dust from rafters that had witnessed coronations and celebrations, now bearing witness to an ending.
The king slumped against his throne as another impact rocked the palace foundations. Crystal chandeliers swayed like hanged men, their gentle chiming a macabre counterpoint to the screams drifting through shattered windows.
His name was Zhu Bajie, and he was the final king of Ceprun.
Zhu Bajie's massive frame, once imposing in its royal regalia, now seemed diminished by the gravity of their situation. The crown that had passed through generations sat heavy on his brow, each jewel a reminder of the legacy about to be snuffed out.
From his composure, one might assume that he was a worthless king who cared not for the cries of his people.
They'd be wrong. So very wrong.
His right-hand man, Sha Wujing, knew how much the situation was eating away at his king. He'd seen that same stoic mask during their many journeys together.
He vividly remembered the moment Zhu Bajie took up the throne during the kingdom's most desperate time of need.
He was wearing it then too. That same stoic mask.
"What are your honest thoughts, brother? Do we have a chance?" the king asked his sworn brother, Sha Wujing.
Sha Wujing glanced out the palace windows and immediately grimaced at the sight of the ruined kingdom.
"Not a snowball's chance in the nine hells. These aren't just any deities, Bajie. Even among higher gods, they are on a completely higher level–No, dimension. They're the only 12 angels in existence. Members of heaven's Royal Deck."
The palace groaned once more.
Somewhere below, support beams collapsed with a sound like breaking bones. The cries of the masses rose and fell like waves, each wave fainter than the last.
Bajie's snout twitched—an old nervous habit Wujing had noticed during their many years together.
"Do you remember when we first met?" Bajie asked, reminiscing about the days. "You thought I was just another corrupt noble. And so, you attacked Wukong, Sanzang and I without warning. It took forever for us to calm you down enough for you to listen to reason."
"Yes, I remember that…" Despite their situation, Wujing found himself smiling as he reminisced. "Though I'd like to forget all about that version of myself."
The beast-man named Zhu Bajie released a sound that could be considered laughter. It rumbled from deep in his chest, defiant against the apocalypse outside.
"Oh, I bet you do. You were quite the troublemaker. In the earlier days, you even gave Wukong a run for his money. The number of times I had to apologize for actions... But you know, I don't regret anything."
"…"
Sha Wujing gave no reply to that.
"It makes me wonder, did the gods plan all this from the very beginning?"
At the mention of those celestial puppet-masters, Wujing's entire body went rigid. The gods had been a thorn in his side since the moment he'd drawn his first breath.
"Those bastards probably did. I swear, heaven must be a terribly boring realm if you need to orchestrate genocides for entertainment."
"…Boring indeed."
Bajie rose from his throne with the slow dignity of a king who knew his reign was ending. Each step echoed in the trembling chamber, a drumbeat marking the last moments of an era.
"Well then. I'm off."
"You will die." Wujing said without hesitation. As blunt as it was, Wujing had just shared the honest truth as he saw it.
"I harbor no illusions of victory, brother. I don't even dare hope for it..." Bajie moved toward the great double doors that served as the entrance to the throne room. "That being said, I must fight for my people. For the children crying in their mothers' arms, for the elders who remember my days as a general, for every soul who has called this kingdom their home."
Wujing watched his king march towards death. He wanted to stop him, but he knew he couldn't. After all, he'd known this moment would come.
Like him, Zhu Bajie was born under a star. That meant he was something people called a "Saint". People like them had a habit of finding themselves in impossible situations.
"And what of me? What would you have me do while you're busy getting yourself killed?"
After an uncomfortably long silence, Zhu Bajie finally answered. "Find the AntiGod."
"!"
Wujing's staff—a thin monk spade that served as his Divine Artifact—clattered to the floor.
"This kingdom is finished…" Bajie continued. "And many more will join it in the flames. The cycle will continue, realm after realm, until every world has been consumed by their hunger. But if we plan on winning this war against the gods, then he is our only hope."
It is said that every millennium, six heroes are chosen by the world and are each granted special abilities, as if to aid mankind with their struggle against the deities.
Apparently, it was the duty of a Saint to find and gather those heroes.
By itself, such a tale proved both uninteresting and a massive waste of time.
However, the legend went further.
The Prophecy of the AntiGod.
It spoke of a final cycle. A last desperate gambit by the cosmos itself.
According to ancient texts, during the very last cycle of heroes, a truly special hero would be chosen. One who was destined to slay the evil gods and become the greatest hero in history.
The nightmare of all gods. The hero among heroes…
The AntiGod.
"Have you lost your mind?!" Wujing's voice cracked like a whip. "The AntiGod? That children's tale? It wasn't even a year ago that you called such beliefs the 'desperate delusion of the powerless.'"
The memory hung between them. Sanzang—a companion of theirs—had been so young, so full of hope when she'd spoken of prophecies and destiny.
Bajie had crushed those dreams with the cold logic of a general who'd seen too much of the world's cruelty.
Now, facing the end of everything they'd built together, those same dreams seemed to be his only salvation.
"You know as well as I do that there is no hope is such a being's existence. The world just isn't that nice. In the first place, there aren't any records or proof of the existence of the heroes or any past heroes. So, the thought of any 'final cycle' is nothing but rubbish!"
"…"
Bajie turned, and for a moment, Wujing saw not the confident king he'd served for decades, but a desperate man clinging to the last thread of hope.
Wujing staggered backward, then collapsed to his knees.
"Even if–if–such a person exists, where would I begin to look? The prophecy claims the AntiGod can be born in any realm. There are nine realms, Bajie! Nine entire worlds! And six heroes scattered among them… Do you understand what you are telling me?!"
"…Yes. I do."
"…"
A bitter laugh bubbled up from Wujing's chest. Both his gaze and arms gave out and fell to the floor.
"Have we really fallen so low? Are we truly chasing children's stories now? Like desperate old fools grasping at myths and legends?"
"Let me be clear, this isn't an order. I won't force this burden on you, brother. This kingdom will be ash and memory long before you could complete such a mission. I have no right to ask you to carry this weight."
"You speak as if I actually could complete such a mission."
"Because I know you can."
"!"
Zhu Bajie's eyes held the same unwavering faith that had gotten them through every impossible battle over the years.
"I believe in you, Wujing. No matter how impossible the destination was, you've always found a way. You're the most persistent runner I've ever known. And the most loyal friend any of us could ask for. So, I ask you, my dearest brother... Will you do this?"
Wujing remained silent for a long moment, his hands pressing against the cold floor. Or maybe it was his body that had gone cold and sensitive.
Whatever the case, it wouldn't change the fact that two choices stared him in the eyes. Though for people like him, there was only really one.
When Wujing finally spoke, his voice was steady and resolved.
"I can't promise I'll find this mythical savior. The nine realms are beyond vast. But I can promise to try my damnedest." He looked up, meeting his king's eyes one final time. "So yes, you stubborn pig... I'll do it."
A grin split Bajie's lips, transforming his battle-worn face into something almost boyish.
"I knew you would."
In that moment, blinding light erupted from Bajie's back like a star being born. The radiance took the shape of a perfect circle containing the image of a crystal-clear river flowing through the cosmos. The same divine symbol blazed on his elongated ear. That birthmark was proof of what he was. A Saint.
"Constellation Art! Eridanus!"
Golden light bloomed beneath Wujing's feet, rising to engulf his entire form. Power flowed through his legs, spreading throughout his body like warm honey. But it wasn't just divine power coursing through him.
It was trust. Hope. The unbreakable bond of brotherhood forged over three decades of shared struggle and triumph.
"This power should allow you to bypass the barrier surrounding each realm..." Bajie's voice grew distant as the light intensified. "Godspeed, my brother. May fortune smile upon your impossible journey. May you find what this world needs most. May you find… the AntiGod."