In the vast fabric of existence, gods reigned — not as equals, but as predators in a divine hierarchy.
The weak obeyed. The strong ruled.
Those who disobeyed… were hunted and erased by alliances forged in fear.
To become a god was to sever mortality. But to rise further — to step beyond divinity — required defiance, sacrifice, and solitude.
Among these gods stood one who defied the natural order.
A god whose name made even High Gods flinch.
Zarethul.
And now, he stood on the brink of ascension — the most vulnerable moment in a god's life.
A voice called out, urgent.
"Zarethul, how much longer do you need?"
A man in white robes stood guard nearby. His golden hair shimmered in the dark void, and his green eyes narrowed with anxiety. Divine runes pulsed faintly across his arms — ready to activate at a moment's notice.
Damien. Friend. Comrade. Trusted brother-in-arms.
"They're coming for us."
Zarethul didn't open his eyes. Seated in a meditative lotus pose, his form shimmered with power. His black hair floated around him as divine energy raged — a crimson-black vortex of unstable force. His skin glowed faintly; cracks of energy pulsed beneath it like silent thunder.
From his chest floated a core of condensed divinity, rotating slowly, drawing in cosmic laws. Time slowed around him. Space bent.
"Just a little longer," Zarethul said, voice calm but heavy.
"Hold them off. If I succeed, we'll soar beyond this universe."
They were at the edge of reality itself — the Floating Divine Altar.
An ancient construct drifting in the void, shrouded in ruins of shattered worlds.
Scattered around them were the corpses of extinct species — reminders of civilizations erased by divine games.
Above them loomed a graveyard of broken planets, weeping stars, and ghostly nebulae. The altar pulsed beneath them, etched with glowing lines of divine law — feeding Zarethul's breakthrough.
Suddenly, the cosmos trembled.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Whole planets shuddered. Star remnants blinked out.
The altar let out a faint chime — like a funeral bell ringing across galaxies.
The gods had arrived.
Zarethul's eyes snapped open, glowing red like the core of a dying sun.
"How do they know of this place…?" he whispered, expression unreadable.
Above them, figures stepped out of the folds of space — not descending, but appearing, as if existence itself bent to make way.
One wore a crown of floating rings, each spinning with a different law — Time, Death, Faith, Silence.
Another burned with pure solar flame, his body a miniature sun — the Sun Incarnate, pulsing with unbearable pressure.
A third coiled in chains, hissing in countless forgotten languages — the God of Serpents and Contracts.
And last… a woman veiled in ethereal mist. Her presence made space ripple and fold, warping the air like oil over water.
They did not speak.
Gods of their level didn't need to.
Zarethul understood.
They hadn't come to speak.
They hadn't come to negotiate.
They had come to kill him — before he could rise beyond their reach.
Damien stepped forward, fists clenched, voice uneasy.
"What should we do?"
Zarethul's core surged behind him, unstable but still incomplete.
"Hold them off!" he snapped.
"I need more time!"
Among the gods, one burst into mocking laughter.
"Hehehe…"
The god in the crown of rings stepped forward, eyes filled with disdain. His aura twisted reality — time slowed, stars flickered and died.
"Oh, Zarethul… the mighty rebel."
"Today, you die forgotten."
Another voice, ethereal and sharp, cut through the void.
The veiled goddess glided forward, her form flickering.
"You spat on the decree of the Supreme Order."
"You chose defiance over obedience."
"You deserve nothing less than obliteration."
The serpent god coiled tighter, his scales glistening with venomous divinity.
"Enough talking," he hissed, a hundred voices speaking in unison.
"Let's end this before his core stabilizes."
Without another word, they attacked.
The Sun God raised his hand — a miniature supernova formed in his palm and hurled toward the altar.
BOOM!
Damien shot forward, forming a barrier of crystalline light. The blast cracked it instantly, flinging him to the altar's edge — but he gritted his teeth and stood again.
Zarethul lifted a hand without opening his eyes — the remnants of the solar blast bent mid-air, redirected into the void.
His voice rang out, cold and iron-willed:
"You fear me… even before I ascend."
"Pathetic."
The serpent god lunged, divine chains snapping like vipers.
Damien intercepted, slashing through one — only to be caught by two more, wrapping around his limbs.
The goddess of mist raised her hand — space fractured — and blades of pure dimension shot toward Zarethul.
He flicked a finger. The air twisted. The blades dispersed.
But despite everything — his core was still incomplete.
He couldn't hold them off forever.
Zarethul clenched his jaw.
"Just a few more seconds…"
'The millennia of my suffering ends today. I will rise…'
Then—behind him—he felt it.
A shift.
A flicker of divine intent.
Zarethul's eyes widened. He coughed blood.
A sword pierced his heart — a blade he knew all too well.
"Damien… you?"
Zarethul turned, crimson eyes locked on the man he had trusted for thousands of years.
Damien pulled the sword free. Zarethul dropped to one knee, gripping his chest.
The other gods appeared beside Damien, their expressions twisted with amusement.
Zarethul's voice was hoarse.
"Since when…?"
"We rose to godhood together. We endured death and despair together… I never left your side,"
Zarethul said, voice trembling.
"So why… why did you do this to me?"
"Shut up!" Damien roared.
"You know nothing about me! Ever since we were mortals, you were always ahead. They built statues for you in empires across the worlds!"
"Even after you became a dark god… you were still stronger than me!"
"Tell me, Zarethul — am I wrong to want more?! I was weak… I couldn't ascend like you."
Zarethul whispered, "So… you made a deal with the higher gods."
Damien smirked.
"You're still sharp. That's right."
"I'm sorry… They offered me everything. And you… you were going to surpass them. Of course they feared you."
"Forgive me… but die for me, Zarethul."
Zarethul was silent for a long moment… then laughed.
"HAHAHAHA!"
"Why are you laughing?!" the veiled goddess snapped.
Zarethul's voice was calm now.
"I'm laughing… at myself."
"Our years of hardship, of joy, of battles… and it was all worth just one relic."
"One artifact that could let you ascend."
He sighed.
"What a cheap friendship we had…"
Then his aura surged — red and black flames howled around him.
The three gods instinctively retreated as Zarethul stood tall for one last moment.
He swung his blade.
"AAAHHHH!" Damien screamed as his arm was severed.
Zarethul fell to his knees. His body cracked, breaking apart — but his eyes blazed.
"What are you doing, you idiots? Kill him!" Damien shouted.
Then — he realized it.
Zarethul was about to detonate.
The gods began to retreat.
Zarethul's gaze locked on them — especially Damien.
"I'll return. I'll take revenge on all of you…"
"…and especially the ones above you."
BOOM!
A massive explosion swallowed the altar.
Planets shattered. Light years of space warped and collapsed. Civilizations in the nearby galaxy were destroyed.
"He's dead for sure," one of the gods muttered.
They all sighed in relief.
But they were wrong.
Elsewhere...
In a distant corner of reality, light flickered.
A heartbeat.
A gasp.
A shudder.
A young man jolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat. His chest burned, as if remembering a wound that no longer existed.
The ceiling above was unfamiliar. The air was stale.
He was not in the divine realm anymore.
His red eyes slowly widened.
"Where… am I?"
And thus… Zarethul's second life began.
"The game begins again. This time, I'll win by breaking the rules."