There were no words of consent. No thunderous decree.
Only two faint syllables —
"Interesting."
And then—
The fading rift of light suddenly expanded, swelling at impossible speed until it tore across the heavens.
In an instant, a colossal scar split the sky — stretching from horizon to horizon, blazing with divine brilliance.
"What… what is that?"
"Is this… the end of the world?!"
Every human who could see the rift broke into chaos.
Even within the Pentagon's bunker, the Secretary of Defense and Kate stared upward, speechless — their eyes wide with shock and awe.
Then, within the rift, an image began to take shape.
A vast giant of light — a being beyond comprehension — sat upon the void itself.
Words could not capture it.
He was too immense, too radiant, too absolute.
He did not need to speak.
He did not need to move.
His mere existence — his being — was the miracle.
He was the end of all things, the summit beyond all heavens.
Just looking upon Him filled the soul with overwhelming reverence.
Thud.
Someone fell to their knees, overcome by awe.
Then another.
And another.
A chain reaction swept through humanity — crowds collapsing in unison, unable to bear the weight of His presence.
The Secretary of Defense was already kneeling, but now his whole body trembled.
A mix of fear, shock, and something far stronger — exultation.
He'd won the gamble.
And he'd been right.
Before this towering, incomprehensible God, everything else — nuclear fire, apocalypse, Skynet — seemed laughably insignificant.
He did not doubt for a second that if this being wished to end the world, it would take no more than a breath.
This was not power. This was divinity.
And he — a mortal — had drawn the god's attention.
He had earned the right to serve, even as a dog beneath the divine throne.
What higher honor could there be?
To kneel beneath God Himself!
Presidents, generals, emperors — what were they now?
Children playing at the grown-ups' table.
Even Skynet itself — the mechanical god of this world — faltered.
Within the core servers, red lights flared wildly.
"Cannot comprehend."
"Cannot analyze."
"Cannot engage."
"Entity classification: Divine. Power level — immeasurable."
"Estimated success rate: 0.000…%."
"Termination probability: 0.000…%."
The AI's cold mind spiraled toward panic.
"Data insufficient. Initiating auxiliary protocol."
"Query: Do gods bleed?"
And then—
Dozens, then hundreds, then thousands of nuclear missiles launched skyward.
How many did humanity truly possess? A thousand? Ten thousand?
At that moment, the answer filled the skies.
Tens of thousands of nuclear warheads rose like a metal storm, blotting out the sun — the final defiance of mankind.
A desperate question burned in every heart:
Could the might of man's ultimate weapon kill a god?
Others could only kneel, whispering frantic prayers for the divine to be spared.
And still more watched in stunned silence — their eyes reflecting the end of all myths.
The missiles reached the rift.
They vanished into the heavens—
And the God of Light opened His eyes.
Reality shuddered.
A tidal wave of pure radiance exploded outward.
A torrent of divine light cut through the heavens, spanning stars, sweeping away everything in its path.
The nuclear fire — billions of tons of annihilation — evaporated before it could bloom.
Not one explosion. Not even smoke.
The combined fury of an entire planet's arsenal had been erased — not defeated, but unmade.
Silence fell.
The world — every living soul, every machine, every satellite — went still.
Seconds passed.
Maybe minutes.
No one could tell.
Time itself seemed to pause in reverence.
Then—
The sky grew even brighter.
Someone dared to lift their gaze — and froze in horror.
A hand was descending.
A hand vast enough to blot out the heavens, forged from the same sacred light — a cosmic palm descending toward the Earth itself.
Its approach carried the weight of extinction.
The pressure alone made hearts stop.
"Hahaha… humanity angered God! Now He will destroy us!"
"It's over! It's all over!"
Some screamed, some ran madly — though there was nowhere to go.
Most simply collapsed, weeping or silent, accepting their end.
How could one escape that?
It wasn't a weapon — it was divine will.
Even the Secretary of Defense, who moments ago had gloried in his newfound "faith," was petrified.
What the hell is happening?!
He was supposed to be God's chosen!
He was supposed to live beneath divine favor, not die beneath divine wrath!
The world trembled…
And waited for the final strike.
One minute.
Two.
Three.
Nothing.
No destruction. No pain.
Tentatively, someone opened their eyes.
The hand was gone.
The god — gone.
The sky — healed, serene, untouched.
But no one could mistake it for illusion.
The divine pressure, the sight of nuclear fire erased — it had all been real.
The god had simply… changed His mind.
And that alone sparked an uproar of joy.
Cheers erupted.
Cries of "Praise God!" filled the air.
Back within the Pentagon ruins—
Two beams of radiant light descended.
One struck the Secretary.
The other, Kate.
The Secretary's eyes lit up with ecstasy.
"Thank you, O Great God! Your most loyal servant will spend his life spreading your glory!"
Within that light, something branded itself upon their very souls — a name, sacred and resounding.
Balder.
The Supreme God of Light.
The Secretary's pulse raced.
He turned toward his daughter — and paused.
Her glow was different.
Stronger.
Purer.
Even the divine sigil upon her chest gleamed brighter than his own.
A thought chilled him, then thrilled him.
She's been chosen.
A holy maiden.
Pride surged — then a sudden, darker realization.
"Kate," he said suddenly, "you… had a boyfriend, didn't you?"
Kate blinked, dazed.
"He's dead."
"Good!"
"...What??"
Kate stared at him, utterly speechless, while he smiled in absurd, trembling relief — as though divine politics had just spared him a future son-in-law.