The silence after battle was always the loudest.
It wasn't really silent—there were the groans of shattered concrete settling, the faint crackle of fire still feeding on whatever fuel it could find, and the whispering rush of wind through broken buildings. But compared to the chaos that had torn through Shibuya moments ago, it might as well have been the dead of space.
Seth sat on a jagged slab of stone that had once been part of a cathedral wall. His elbows rested loosely on his knees, the Red Moons dangling from his fingers. The twin daggers' crimson edges glimmered faintly, still wet with the divine ichor of a god.
He stared at the wreckage. Skyscrapers had been gouged open like cans, streets folded in on themselves, and holy marble from the destroyed church was scattered like bones across the district.
A breath escaped him—slow, almost amused.
"What a mess I've made…" His pale golden eyes swept over the carnage one last time before he smirked.
"Dad would be proud of this."
The System Speaks
The Godslayer System didn't wait for him to bask in the aftermath.
It flashed into existence before his eyes in sharp golden text, the air almost vibrating with the authority behind its words.
[System Alert]
The God of Binding Chains — slain.
All divine essence has been erased.
The gods are watching you.
Remaining deities on Earth have begun accelerating their plans.
Multiple divine senses have reacted to the loss of their comrade.
The final line pulsed once, as though the System itself wanted him to feel the weight of those words. Then the message faded into the smoke.
Seth tilted his head, listening to the distant wail of sirens approaching the wreckage. It was a useless gesture—there would be nothing for first responders to save.
"Well, what the hell…" he said softly, his voice almost drowned by the wind. He pushed himself to his feet, brushing dust and flecks of white marble from his coat.
"Why not just go there myself and solve the problems all at once?"
And by "solve," he meant the kind of problem-solving only he was capable of—killing every last god walking this planet, along with the loyal sheep who bowed at their feet.
A Call Across the Sea
He reached for his pockets and took out his phone and then browsed through it looking for his mother's contact. At first he didn't know who to call and tell them about the news but it had to be a family member.
He then clicked on his mothers contact and she answered quickly without haste.
"…Seth?"
"Hey, Mom."
There was a sharp inhale. "You're alive?"
"Alive and breathing," he said casually. "Listen, I won't be coming back to Valefort for a while. Possibly a whole year."
A pause, heavy enough to be felt through the call. "…Why?"
"Got work to do. Dangerous work. The kind I can't do while sitting at home pretending everything's fine."
Silence stretched again. He could picture her—hands clasped, brow furrowed, standing at the great windows of the Chrono estate, trying not to sound afraid.
Finally, her voice came back, low and tight. "…Don't disappear again."
A rare, faint smile tugged at his lips. "I won't."
"You can relax, mom."
A Week of Wandering
Seth didn't leave Japan immediately. Instead, he gave himself seven days. Not for rest—he didn't need rest—but because there was something almost addictive about walking through a city as if nothing had happened, knowing full well the ground beneath the people's feet still carried the heat of his destruction.
He strolled through the lantern-lit streets of Asakusa, sampling steaming bowls of ramen in crowded alleyways. He passed street performers in Shinjuku, their music threading through the night air, completely unaware they played within walking distance of where a god had died.
He wandered into a silk shop and left with a deep crimson kimono embroidered in gold, wearing it shamelessly as he took photos with laughing tourists. The irony wasn't lost on him—days ago he had reduced a district to rubble, and now strangers were handing him their phones, asking him to pose like a local celebrity.
Every time, he smiled for the camera. But behind the smile, his mind ticked.
The gods were moving.
They knew where he was.
And they would not wait quietly.
On the seventh day, he boarded a private jet. The runway lights of Haneda Airport glimmered against the dark water, and Tokyo's skyline receded into the distance.
Leaning back in the leather seat, he tilted his head toward the window, watching the orange burn of the setting sun bleed into the horizon.
"Next stop… Seoul."
His lips curved into something between a grin and a snarl.
"I'm going to make this place a living hell."
The engines growled, and the jet cut through the clouds. Somewhere far above, beyond mortal sight, divine eyes narrowed in recognition. The storm was already on its way.