"If gods can reject a mortal for defending what he loves… then I reject the gods." – Kaito
The ruins of Sector 13 still bled beneath my boots.
Ash clung to my armor. The divine ichor of angels stained my coat like war paint. And in my chest—just below the surface—something terrible had awakened.
Lysaria slept in a warded chamber behind reinforced seals. Her breathing was shallow but steady.
"She needs rest," Eve said.
I didn't answer.
I was staring into the distance. Into the sky that once called itself Heaven. The one that watched us burn and didn't lift a finger.
"We can't wait anymore," I finally said.
Eve crossed her arms. "You want to confront them. Now?"
I nodded.
She didn't ask questions. She just said, "I'll rally the team."
Heaven had changed.
Once blinding and untouchable, the skies now trembled. Vermund's rebellion had cracked the gates. My wrath had peeled back their lies.
And still, they held their meetings.
Dozens of gods floated in a halo-shaped chamber carved from starlight and judgment. They sat on crystal thrones, cloaked in laws older than language.
At the center, above all, sat Oureas — the God of Gods, cloaked in ivory robes, his presence heavy enough to choke a sun.
"He bears the mark," whispered a minor god, staring at me as I stepped into the hall.
"I heard he burned fifty angels in a single breath."
"His sigil twisted. He is no longer mortal."
They weren't wrong.
But I wasn't there for fame.
I was there for war.
We stood before the High Circle—Eve, the demigod twins, Rias, and me. Lysaria remained behind, unconscious.
"I demand an audience," I said.
"You are granted presence," intoned a voice made of thunder and gold. "Speak."
I stepped forward, dragging Kagetsura behind me. The blade still shimmered with phantom blood.
"Vermund's army grows. He's corrupted the Archive Keepers. He's fractured the sigil flow. He's creating gods from monsters."
Silence.
I continued, "We need support. Weapons. A host of light. We're willing to coordinate under celestial command."
Murmurs.
Then, Oureas rose.
"You defiled sacred ground," he said. "You entered the Archive unbidden. You desecrated our halls. You slaughtered our soldiers."
I clenched my fists.
"They attacked us first. Lysaria was—"
"You are a mortal who now carries divine rot," he boomed. "And we do not reward rot with aid. We cauterize it."
Another god, silver-haired with seven wings, rose beside him.
"You broke Heaven's laws. You wield corrupted power. And worst of all, you brought a goddess to her knees."
"She's one of you!" I shouted.
"She was. Until she chose you."
I stepped forward. "Then choose me, too. Fight with me. Save what's left of the world."
The court fell silent again.
Then Oureas said:
"You ask Heaven for help… while standing on corpses you made yourself. Vermund is a traitor. But you—"
He pointed directly at me.
"—you are worse. You are the precedent that must be erased."
Eve moved to speak, but I stopped her with one hand.
I walked forward, past the guards.
"You gods sit on thrones and call yourselves just," I said, "but you watched as entire cities burned. As mortals were turned to weapons. As children screamed for protection."
No one interrupted.
"And now you deny help because I bleed too much?"
Oureas narrowed his eyes. "You are not above judgment."
I smiled—cold, crooked.
"Neither are you."
I unsheathed Kagetsura and stabbed it into the marble floor of the court.
Crimson and black aura erupted from me.
My sigil flared—once white and gold, now stained crimson and obsidian. Runes spiraled over my skin like crawling serpents of fire.
Gasps.
One god stumbled backward.
"What is that sigil?"
"It's not celestial. It's… raw."
Then I spoke.
"I don't need your approval."
Oureas stood, eyes burning like novas.
"You dare defy the court of gods?"
"I do more than defy you," I growled. "I reject you."
The entire chamber trembled as my aura surged. The murals cracked. Thrones groaned. Lesser gods stumbled under the weight of my rage.
"Let me make this clear," I said. "You call me a monster. You're right. Because monsters are born when heroes are ignored."
The twins stepped back in fear.
Eve didn't.
"Do you know what you're doing?" she whispered.
"Yeah," I said.
I stared at Oureas and the High Circle, my body trembling with heat.
"If Heaven won't stand beside me… then you'll stand in my way. And I'll burn every last one of you if I have to."
Oureas did not answer.
Instead, he raised his staff. The entire court of gods glowed with divine pressure, as if a single word would tear us into nothing.
But then—he paused.
And lowered it.
"You are not yet ready. But your arrogance will be your undoing."
He turned away.
"Leave. Or be purged."
I stepped forward again.
"Next time," I said, "I won't be asking."
Back at the portal gate, the team was silent.
Even Eve.
We passed through the rift one by one, the lights of Heaven closing behind us like judgment slamming shut.
No welcome.
No peace.
Just war ahead.
Later that night, I stood outside Lysaria's healing chamber.
My crimson sigil still pulsed faintly beneath my skin.
She stirred in her sleep—sensing something.
I knelt beside her, brushing a lock of hair from her face.
"They refused," I whispered. "But I won't. I'll never refuse you."
She didn't reply.
But I swear…
I saw her lips curl.
A smile.
Even in sleep.