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…
†
Finally… Finally… The cursed war had finally ended.
The kingdom of Ceprun, a kingdom dominated by demon-animal hybrids known as "beastfolk," had transformed from a battlefield to a beacon of hope.
The people jumped into the air, their expressions a reflection of their elation. Screams, cries and laughter flooded the kingdom all at once. Some carried their joy into the streets, which even there, celebration ran amok. Some simply fell to their knees in either prayer, gratitude or tears. And some thought it was finally time to crack open the old wine that had been passed down family generations. Unfortunately, that would mean the next generation could only dream of its flavor.
But hey, could you seriously blame them? Just yesterday, people were dropping like flies as the war reached its climax. A war that had lasted well over a few centuries. But now, that horrific event seemed to be just a distant memory. After all, the war had finally ended.
"!"
…At least, that's what he thought had happened.
In an instant, the soldier's eyes had lost every drop of hope they had to offer. A moment ago, he was basking in the peace of his kingdom, a hard-earned peace considering the millions who had given their lives during the war. Now, he had once again returned to the familiar brace of despair.
The soldier didn't need to take time to look around himself or repeatedly open his eyes in some hope of returning to that sweet celebration. He knew that in truth, such celebration was simply the daydream of a man steadily approaching death.
Most likely, the events of his daydream had overwritten his actual memory, giving him the assumption that his kingdom had finally attained peace. But when he opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by the stench of death, the despair that had swallowed him whole returned like a long-lost companion.
The lone soldier, with his back still soaked in the blood of his fallen brothers, was now gazing up at the sky. He 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, empty, red sky—remincient to the ocean of blood surrounding him—but because it was where they came from. Or perhaps, it would be more accurate to say it was where they "descended" from.
"Those disgusting creatures… And they have the nerve to call themselves gods." The warrior muttered to himself, his hands struggling to make a fist as all his strength had ebbed away.
Surprisingly, it wasn't hatred that could be seen in his expression. While he did despise the sky and the beings who descended from it, the face he was making was actually a curious one.
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. 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, he was so ordinary that his armor looked as if it were the same mass-manufactured armor worn by the average knight. The only thing remotely special about this knight was the pointed ears and furry skin covering his back. But, as that was normal in a kingdom dominated by demon-animal hybrids (beastfolk), that didn't add much.
This man was truly an ordinary man.
And yet, he had been placed at the front-lines against them.
There were half a dozen of them, give or take. Contrary to the soldiers of Ceprun, there were no fancy weapons gleaming in their hands, nor any proud banners. Only their cold and merciless crimson glares. Eyes more crimson than the blood now covering every corner of the kingdom beneath them.
It was as if those eyes blended with the red sky, almost like they were connected to reality itself. Like they could see something no one else could. That was one of the many reasons the lone soldier had come to despise their red sky.
The soldier took a deep breath before flexing each off his limbs, checking whether or not 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 when a fallen companion had shoved him out of the way of a large scale attack. The soldier also supposed that that was the moment he had lost consciousness.
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. Those who preferred to fight up close 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, 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. Especially when you consider a long rifle.
In other words, it was impossible for a pure soldier like him to use a gun type Artifact. And as regular weapons were ineffective against the gods, it was equally pointless to carry one.
Now you might be wondering why then, hadn't the soldier used a sword as a crutch? While that thought had crossed his mind, the sword on his hip proved to be far too short. A large greatsword or katana might've worked, but the soldier was never able to wield those kinds of weapons. They simply rejected him, as if the weapon itself could tell that the soldier had no hope of mastering it.
Besides, a greatsword would've proved too heavy for an injured man. That's what the soldier supposed as he limped his way through the rubbled, crimson terrain.
Ceprun was once a prospering kingdom. At one point, buildings, people, festivals and any other source of culture had filled the kingdom's walls. But now, the soldier could find none of that. He 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…
In a way, one part of the soldier daydream had remained a fact. This war had ended.
Cornered in their own home and judged by the absolute authority of several higher gods, Ceprun was now at the edge of annihilation. It was clear to anyone that the once great Kingdom of Ceprun had disappeared.
When you put it that way, there really was no reason for him to be walking anywhere.
And yet, he marched. The completely and totally ordinary soldier continued to march forward, dragging his feet through the ocean of blood.
What was he searching for? Who could say. The soldier doubted that even he knew the answer to that.
Then, while still wondering the reason he was still walking, something caught his injured leg and forced him onto the ground.
The soldier winced from the impact before quickly looking back to see what he'd tripped on.
"...!"
A delayed surprisement hit the soldier.
A body. The soldier had tripped over what looked like a dead body. A member of the support unit from their emblem and lack of armor.
This shouldn't have been surprising considering the fact that he was standing in the middle of a battlefield. The very soil beneath him had been the location of the ending of the war between God and Man that had raged on for well over a few centuries. So why then was this soldier so surprised to find a dead body?
"H–Hey! …You up?" The soldier called out to the body even though he had assumed they were dead. Likely, he was simply relived to finally find someone else in this hell.
"..."
No response.
Had the corpse been from any unit besides the support unit, the soldier might've left it at that. But as they were a part of that unit—a unit that specialized in healing—the soldier called out once more.
"Hey. Medic… Are you still alive?" After not receiving a response, the soldier tried shaking the fallen medic awake. "Hey, seriously. Get up."
It wasn't just because they were from the medic unit that the soldier was trying so hard to stir them. That had played a part, sure, but there was another reason…
The medic's body was there. Not poetically, or metaphorically, but physically and literally. The soldier had the ability to reach out and touch the medic.
As mentioned before, it wasn't unusual to find dead bodies on the battlefield of a war. Except, this one was a bit different. When someone died, their bodies didn't collapse to the ground and decompose into the soil. Instead, their flesh, and memories were devoured by the creatures who'd slain them.
The power to consume the stories of concepts, people and ideas. The golden light of God, Diviny. That was the power of the Angels.
So, the fact that the medic's body had remained meant that he hadn't actually died. Not yet, anyway.
"Wake your ass up, man!"
Just then, a sound escaped the medic's lips. A quiet squeal that could land somewhere between a cough and a cry. 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 middle of all this."
The medic began coughing out the blood that was stuck in his throat. Then, he opened his eyes, used his arms as a platform and sat up. The motion was fluid and practiced, as if he had planned on doing so the moment he woke up.
"Great, looks like you can still move too." said the soldier, a shred of hope twinkling in his eyes.
"..."
The medic simply looked at the soldier. His eyes were dead and hollow and seemed to suggest his very soul had been stripped away. The medic resembled a robot who was moving on simple code and command.
"H–Hey man, you alright?" asked the soldier in a concerned tone.
For a long moment, the two sat in silence as the medic seemed to articulate an answer. Then he answered:
"Excuse me, but who are you?"
His voice was light and calm. It felt as if they were discussing something mundane like the weather.
"Is that seriously the first question you ask after waking up?" asked the soldier.
"Not always, no."
"...Are you serious right now? Why are you so calm? Don't you know where we are? What we're doing?"
The medic's head clocked slightly in confusion.
"What an odd thing to ask someone. Who wouldn't know that they're in a war…" The medic collected a handful of blood and held it to the soldier. "I mean look around us. It's pretty hard to miss."
"..."
Despite his best effort to explain his thought process, the medic only confused the soldier further.
"A–Anyway," said the medic, choosing to ignore the medic's weirdness and press on with the situation. "Do you know what happened to the main unit? Or at least, what was it that wiped everything away so suddenly?"
Just as he had described, something had decimated the main units. It was bright, almost divine in appearance. Anywhere you looked you could see it. Golden light sweeping through the kingdom like wildfire. Each flash illuminated the desperate faces of the citizens as they scrambled through the streets they had once called home. It was that attack that not only reduced the kingdom to rubble, but rendered the soldier unconscious.
But there was something off about that attack. Rather than one massive beam of light that covered the entire kingdom, the attack came in multiple, smaller beams all at once. It was for that reason why the soldier as well as the medic had managed to survive.
Naturally, the ones behind the attack—the angels—must've known that would be the case. Had they purposefully held back to allow a few survivors?
"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. Though, he already knew that was the case. "And you ask what wiped them out, but shouldn't that be obvious too?"
The soldier held back from biting his lip.
Divinity. That was the answer that came to mind.
It was the power to devour the very rules of the world. With it, a god could rewrite all laws and any other fundamental fact of reality. For instance, it was possible to make a waterfall flow upwards instead of down. It was possible to make a tasty cake without any eggs. It was even possible to make it so someone had never existed.
That was the frightening nature of the gods. It was a power so effective that man found no choice but to utilize that same power in their Divine Artifacts.
"Y'know… Instead of asking obvious questions, maybe we should get a move on." The medic spoke as he lifted himself off the ground.
"Huh? And go where exactly–? Wait, forget all that, can't you heal? Heal me."
"..."
"..."
The medic sighed exasperatingly, as if irritated by the soldier's stupidity.
"Tell me, do you see a single potion on me right now? No. Care to guess why? It's 'cause 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."
"Oh… S–Sorry then. And I guess that must've sounded a little selfish, huh…"
The medic offered a hand to help the soldier up. "'A little', huh? Yeah sure, we'll go with that."
"Why you–!" The soldier, a bit agitated by the medic's tone, had raised his voice at him.
"..."
Except, there wasn't anyone to receive it. In an instant, the medic who had offered their hand, had now vanished.
"So it's finally come to this, has it…"
A bead of sweat trailed down the soldier's cheek. He hadn't looked around yet, but he still knew the cause of it.
"You cursed deity…" said the soldier, his voice rising in decibel with each letter. "Is this fun for you? Is crushing our lives so damn fun?!"
Bellowing a question that stirred from the depths of his soul, was an ordinary man. He wasn't a general of this once great army or anything. Honestly, he wasn't anyone important in the grand scheme of things.
However, it wasn't because of his rank, wealth or background as to why he was so irrelevant. Rather, it was because of the simple fact that no matter who you are or who you thought you were, once you stood face to face with not just a god, but a higher god (an angel), you are effectively… no one.
The soldier learned that fact first hand as he turned to face him.
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. Angels were often referred to as higher gods, but he alone went by the epithet of "God".
"Well? What's so fun about genocide, you sick twisted fucks!? …ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!!!"
For a moment it seemed as if the supposed leader of these angels was committed to ignoring the worm beneath his feet, until…
"Fun…? Fun… Fun." Something resembling a smirk played on the angel's lips.
In that moment, 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 as his chin tilted to the heavens. Although he had technically answered the warrior's question, it was clear that he wasn't who he was talking to. He was monologing, plain and simple. "I wonder what you would think about this… Would this be fun for you, Michael? What about you… father?"
In an instant, the slight grin on the angel's face disappeared. Currently, he had an expression that could only be described as melancholy. Even as the war that had raged on for many generations met its end, symbolizing his plans had finally reached a sort of climax, 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 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 carved through 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. In seconds it was erased from existence. With a mere breath, 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."
He didn't mean it in the sense of a model or icon, but in the way that natural disasters were beautiful. The way he said it was like a double-edged sword. Like how cavemen would find a volcano awe-inspiring yet devastating at the same time. It made one wonder…
Could such a thing still be considered war? If not, then what the hell would you call this? What would you call a beautiful war?
High above the dying kingdom, in a throne room that had stood for seventy generations, that very question haunted the mind of Ceprun's last king. Each explosion from below sent tremors through ancient stone, 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.
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 those seventy 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?"
Sha Wujing glanced out the palace windows and immediately grimaced.
"Not a snowball's chance in the nine hells. She's not just any god, Bajie. She's one of the twelve angels. 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 thirty years together. That same twitch had preceded every impossible decision over the years.
"Do you remember when we first met?" Bajie asked. "You thought I was just another corrupt noble."
Despite their situation, Wujing found himself smiling as he reminisced.
"The only lazy one was that Wukong. Him and that blasted cloud. Sometimes he would even beg to ride my back. Do not get me started on the trouble he caused for the other realms. The number of times I had to apologize for him. Honestly, what was Buddha thinking when he sent us on that journey?"
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.
"Yes, he did have a habit of causing trouble, didn't he… But it's times like these he always came through. I can't help but wonder... did the gods plan 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 to handle the angel."
"You will die."
As blunt as they were, Wujing's words carried no disrespect. Just truth.
"I harbor no illusions of victory, brother. I don't even dare hope for it..." Bajie moved toward the great double-doors. "But 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 call 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?"
"Find the AntiGod."
"!"
Wujing's staff 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 burned. But if we plan on winning this war against the gods, then he is our only hope."
The Prophecy of the AntiGod.
It is said that every millennium, six heroes are chosen by the world itself and are each granted the power of an angel. It is the duty of a Saint to gather and guide those heroes.
By itself, that tale wasn't that unbelievable. While they hadn't once met one of these supposed heroes, they met more than a few Saints. In fact, they themselves were Saints.
However, the legend went further.
It spoke of a final cycle. A last desperate gambit by the cosmos itself.
According to ancient texts, during the very last cycle 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.
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.
"I am dead serious."
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. 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, 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! Unique Star: 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 will let you traverse the realms safely. It should protect you from the Crossroads between worlds." 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."