The heavens trembled, roiling with storm and fire.
Celestial light pierced the void, revealing a battlefield where gods clashed like titans.
Amid the chaos stood Lian Ren—the once-feared God of Judgement—his eyes burning with a cold fury that could split mountains.
"You were never meant to wield such power," hissed the voice of Xian Yu, the God of War, stepping forward.
His silver blade gleamed with malice under the darkened sky. "You upset the balance."
Lian Ren's lips curled into a bitter smile.
"Balance? You call your endless bloodshed balance? You betray your own brothers out of fear."
Around them, the gods who once swore loyalty shifted uneasily.
The divine realm fractured, alliances shattered like glass.
The celestial war had begun—not just for power, but for the very fate of existence.
A sudden flash of light. Xian Yu lunged, his blade cutting through the air with deadly speed.
Lian Ren barely parried, the clash sending shockwaves that rippled through the skies.
Around them, the heavens cracked, stars flickering as if they too feared the outcome.
"Lian Ren!" came a desperate cry from a distant voice—the Goddess of Wisdom, pleading for peace
But the gods ignored her, blinded by their own ambition.
The battle escalated.
Divine fists met blades of light; the sky shattered under their wrath.
Lian Ren unleashed his signature technique—Judgement's Wrath, a sphere of condensed celestial energy that could annihilate worlds.
It struck with unrelenting force, forcing Xian Yu back.
Yet, the gods were relentless. One by one, they converged, weaving a binding spell so ancient it was said to chain even the stars.
"No! This cannot be!" Lian Ren roared, his hands blazing with raw power as chains of light wrapped around him.
The divine energy drained from his limbs, burning his soul with searing agony.
Suddenly, the sky exploded in a blinding flash, and Lian Ren felt himself ripped apart—his consciousness shattered into countless fragments.
As darkness swallowed him, a cold voice whispered through the void:
"To reclaim your throne, you must rise without cruelty."
His soul hurtled through the realms, crashing into the mortal world below—a world ignorant of gods and their wars.
The world came into focus as Lian Ren's fragmented soul drifted through the mist of mortality.
The skies above were unfamiliar—gray, heavy with rain, and devoid of divine light.
The deafening roar of battle was replaced by the distant cry of crows and the faint rustling of leaves.
Memories flooded him—visions of glory, betrayal, and the agony of being torn apart.
His godly form dissolved, replaced by a fragile human vessel.
Pain and weakness clung to him like chains.
The cold voice echoed again, resonating deep within his soul:
"To reclaim your throne, you must rise without cruelty."
A curse.
He felt it like a wound, a barrier blocking the ruthless power that once surged through his veins.
His fury, his judgment—it was shackled.
The fragments of his divine essence—karma shards—were scattered across the mortal realm, each holding a piece of his strength, his identity.
Lian Ren's soul trembled in the void, but a spark of defiance burned within.
If he was to reclaim all that was lost, he would have to rise—not as a god of wrath, but as something new.
Something better.
The mist thickened, swallowing him whole.
The cold veil lifted.
Lian Ren's eyes opened.
The world was silent for a while.
A small room, dimly lit by morning light filtering through cracked wooden shutters. Straw mats, worn furniture, and the faint scent of earth and smoke.
He lay sprawled on the floor of a modest hut.
The pounding in his head was relentless.
He tried to move—his limbs felt weak, unfamiliar.
Panic rose as fragmented thoughts clawed at his mind. Who was he? Where was he?
A voice, gentle yet distant, called from outside.
"Lian Ren, are you awake?"
He turned his head toward the voice—soft, caring.
A young woman, her eyes filled with concern, peeked through the door.
His heart stirred with a strange warmth.
This was the beginning.