Chapter 4 — The Chosen Idiot
The next morning, the sky looked like someone spilled espresso across a watercolor painting.
Aza stood on top of a half-collapsed parking lot, sipping an energy drink like it was fine wine. His mask was off, hair messy, shirt half-tucked, and eyes squinting at the giant hole in the city center.
"Okay," he said to no one. "So apparently I summoned that thing."
The "thing" in question was currently hovering five miles up— a colossal humanoid shadow with wings made of burning scripture. Every few seconds, it screamed in a language that sounded like an orchestra being eaten alive.
Aza took another sip.
"...Could be worse. Could've summoned my ex."
Behind him, his comm buzzed.
"Aza, WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
"Oh hey, Captain Naggy-Voice! Long time no yell."
"You opened a celestial breach!"
"Technically it opened itself. I just… assisted spiritually."
There was a long silence on the line. Then static. Then pure, unfiltered rage.
"Do you realize that thing's divine signature matches the records of the First Dawn Entity?"
"Sounds fancy. Does it come with dental?"
"IT'S A GOD, YOU IDIOT!"
Aza paused, tilting his head at the sky. "Huh. That explains the abs."
The shadow in the clouds started turning its head. Straight toward him.
Its eyes— if you could call them that— were rings of light rotating in opposite directions.
The air cracked. The city trembled.
And Aza just stood there, chugging the rest of his drink.
"Okay," he said. "This is the part where normal people run. But since I'm already late for my paycheck, let's improvise."
He reached into his duffel bag, pulled out two pistols, and muttered, "Dear physics… please forgive what's about to happen."
Then he jumped.
Gravity screamed. So did Aza. The kind of scream that said, 'I instantly regret this but I look cool doing it!'
He landed on the creature's shoulder, boots hitting divine flesh that felt like solid flame.
"Hey big guy!" Aza shouted, voice echoing through the void. "You don't happen to be the forgiving type, right?"
The god's mouth opened— all six of them— and a chorus of ancient voices replied,
"YOU BROKE THE SEAL. YOU ARE OUR VESSEL."
Aza blinked. "Oh. Great. I always wanted a second job."
The god reached out— and light swallowed everything.
---
When the world reassembled, Aza was lying in a crater the size of a football field. Smoke curled from his jacket. His hair was on fire. His phone was still playing Eye of the Tiger.
He groaned, rolling onto his back. "Note to self: divine possession feels like getting Wi-Fi installed in your soul without consent."
Then he noticed something glowing on his hand. A mark— circular, pulsing faintly gold.
"Aw hell," he muttered. "Please don't tell me I'm branded."
[CONGRATULATIONS, CHOSEN HOST.]
A voice boomed in his head, rich and majestic.
[YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED TO CARRY THE LIGHT OF ETERNAL ORDER.]
Aza squinted. "...Can I decline?"
[DECLINE NOT AVAILABLE.]
"Figures."
He stood up, dusted himself off, and sighed.
"Well. Guess I'm the hero now. Again."
The sky cracked open, and hundreds of smaller beings started descending — all of them radiating holy fire, all of them shouting something about "purification protocols."
Aza cracked his knuckles, pulling his mask back on.
"Alright, divine army. Let's dance. But just so we're clear— I didn't ask for this."
He aimed both pistols at the sky, smirked, and said,
"God help everyone."