I never believed death would come so suddenly.
The sound of the gunshot echoed before I even registered the pain.
No warning. No time to think. Just a sharp noise... and then quiet.
I didn't feel the bullet. I didn't even know where it hit.
My legs gave out. The world spun once.
Then the pavement welcomed me like an old friend—cold and indifferent.
People screamed.
A blur of feet. A distant siren.
Their voices faded fast, like the static of a dying radio.
I wanted to move, to breathe, to speak.
But all I could do was lie there, eyes wide open, staring at the sky.
Not blue. Not gray. Just... fading.
Everything felt so far away. My name. My past. Even my pain.
"Is this it?"
I didn't hear the words out loud. It was more like… a whisper inside me.
And then—nothing.
Not darkness. Not light.
Just the absence of everything.
The silence after the final note.
I expected darkness.
A black void, maybe... cold and endless. That's what they always say, right?
But instead, there was something stranger—something worse.
Nothing.
Not darkness. Not light. Not sound.
Just absence.
A stillness so complete it felt like I had never existed.
I couldn't feel a body.
No arms, no legs, not even breath.
But somehow, I was.
A thought lingering where thought shouldn't be.
Time didn't pass.
Or maybe it did. Maybe a second or a thousand years slipped by, and I'd never know the difference.
Then...
A spark.
A presence. A flicker of self.
I existed again.
And in that fragile moment, like a whisper in a vacuum, something… else stirred.
A voice.
Not spoken. Not heard. Just… there.
> "You are not gone."
I didn't respond.
Couldn't.
But I felt it.
Something was watching. Not as a god. Not yet.
Just as a witness to my reawakening.
And as that presence settled, the emptiness began to change—
turning into something eerily pure.
White.
Endless, shining white.
I took a breath—or at least, I thought I did.
My eyes opened.
White.
Not a wall. Not light. Not a room.
Just white, stretching forever in every direction.
No sky. No ground.
No sound except the echo of my own heartbeat—
if I still had one.
"Where… am I?"
My voice vanished into the airless stillness, swallowed before it could return to me.
No echo. No reply.
I looked down.
There was no body.
No feet, no hands, no shape at all.
And yet, I was.
I existed, somehow—just mind without form.
Then, like a ripple on still water, a soft chime rang through the void.
A glowing window opened before me, hovering in the empty space:
> Welcome, Creator.
[Create a World]
[View System Settings]
[Help (Locked)]
Note: Current Power – Spirit Points: 0
I stared.
This wasn't a dream.
It wasn't a game.
It was something else.
Something deeper.
A thought bloomed in my mind—maybe mine, maybe not:
This is your world. But you haven't built it yet.
I raised my hand—if it was a hand. Maybe it was just intent.
And I focused on the glowing words:
[Create a World]
The screen faded.
The white became whiter.
And then—cracked open.
From the center of the endless light, something dark split reality—
like ink spilled across a blank canvas.
And I spoke.
Calm. Certain.
"I want a world. With suns that circle it.
With lands and oceans and life.
But let there be a wall of fire…
that splits it down the middle.
One side for light. The other for darkness.
And let both sides worship me."
And the world… began to turn.
I stood—perhaps floated—before a canvas of nothing.
But this canvas was not paper. Not digital.
It was pure potential.
And it waited for my will.
I spoke—not aloud, but from the depth of my thought:
"Sun."
A single point of light flared in the distance.
Small at first. Then growing.
Burning. Alive.
But it wasn't enough.
"Three suns," I added. "Each with its own orbit.
One for warmth, one for light, and one for change."
And so, three spheres ignited—
one golden, one crimson, one deep blue—
each circling an invisible center.
It felt… right.
Balanced.
Now, land.
"A world," I whispered. "Rich and layered."
The void rumbled.
Continents emerged, floating in space—forming slowly like breath exhaled.
Forests spread. Rivers carved valleys.
Deserts took shape, then snow-capped mountains.
Islands scattered like paint drops, and deep seas surged beneath.
Then came the line.
"A wall," I said. "Of fire.
Cutting the world in half—
light on one side, darkness on the other."
And there it was: a searing veil of flame, splitting the newborn world down the middle.
It stretched from sky to core, glowing with divine heat.
On one side, golden brightness—inviting and calm.
On the other, a shadowed silence, waiting to be filled.
The balance was fragile. But beautiful.
And then the voice returned.
Faint. Detached.
> "Creation is easy. Shaping it… is not."
I didn't reply. I wasn't sure it even existed.
Maybe it was me.
Maybe not.
But this was my world now.
I didn't know the rules.
I didn't know the limits.
But I would learn.
Step by step.
Just as the world settled—three suns glowing, land breathing, the fire-wall roaring—
a strange pressure filled the space around me.
It wasn't heavy. It wasn't painful.
But it was… alive.
Suddenly, a sharp ding echoed inside my mind.
Then—
a translucent screen appeared in front of me, like a window suspended in the air:
> [SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
Welcome, God of the White World.
World Registration: Complete
Spirit Points: 0
Divine Features: Base Level
[Creature Creation] – Locked
[Race Management] – Locked
[Physical Control] – Active
[Divine Evolution] – Locked
[System Guide] – Locked
I stared.
The words didn't just show up—they pressed against my mind, as if they wanted me to understand them on a deeper level.
And below that interface, a message appeared in smaller, glowing text:
> "Your power to shape the world depends on Spirit Points.
These are earned through prayer, worship, and the satisfaction of your creations."
I felt… cold.
If I had a heart, it would've sunk.
"So I'm a god," I murmured to myself,
"but powerless?"
No worship. No prayer. No spirit points.
No access to anything meaningful.
Then that voice came again.
Low. Calm. Distant.
> "A god without believers… is just a witness."
I didn't respond.
But something deep inside me stirred.
I looked at the world I had made.
It was alive.
But it was silent.
Empty.
I smiled to myself.
Not from joy—but from defiance.
"Then I'll make life.
And I'll make sure they pray to me—not because they're forced to…
but because they want to."
It was time.
To shape my first creatures.
To earn my first prayer.
To awaken true divinity.
Matin stood in silence.
A world crafted—sunlit, vast, burning with potential—yet utterly lifeless.
Three suns danced in the sky.
Continents had risen, oceans surged, but not a whisper of life.
No footsteps.
No voices.
Not even breath.
The system window still hovered before him—cold, detached, waiting.
> "To earn Spirit Points, your creations must pray, must be satisfied, must worship you."
He whispered:
"Then it's time."
He raised his hand—not of flesh, but of pure intent.
And in his mind, an image formed:
A being made of light.
Loyal.
Pure.
Not born of dust, but of will.
Softly, deliberately, he spoke:
"Take a piece of the first sun—make it into light.
Take the heat of the second—form it into a heart.
And from the turning of the third—give it a will.
Let this being be the First Breath of this world."
Light swirled in the air.
It trembled.
And then...
It shaped.
A figure emerged—tall, radiant, eyes closed, wings translucent, a body woven from dawn itself.
Matin remained silent.
He did not create it like a sculptor.
He called it into being.
The being opened its eyes—not with fear or confusion,
but with deep, wordless understanding.
It knelt.
Lowered its head.
And a trembling voice whispered through the stillness:
"My Creator…"
Matin inhaled.
In his ear, the system spoke:
> "Spirit Point +1"
A quiet smile touched his lips.
The beginning… had begun.