Chapter 5 — God's Living in My Head, Rent Free
Aza woke up in a smoking crater. Again.
He groaned. "If I had a dollar every time I woke up somewhere on fire, I'd have—"
He looked around. "—three dollars. Which isn't much, but it's worrying that it happened thrice."
His jacket was half-burned, his hair stood up like a cursed anime protagonist, and the air smelled like roasted angel wings and regret.
Then, a voice spoke.
[Rise, vessel. The dawn has chosen you.]
Aza blinked. "The dawn? Dude, it's 4 p.m."
[You carry my light now. The essence of Sol Invictus flows through you.]
"Oh great, I downloaded God by accident."
He smacked the side of his head. "Hello? Tech support? I've got divine malware again."
[I am not malware.]
"Says every malware ever."
He stood up, cracked his neck, and squinted at his reflection in a puddle — his eyes glowed faintly gold.
"Oh cool, eye filters. Does this come with a Spotify subscription too?"
[You jest at holy power, mortal.]
Aza raised an eyebrow. "You say that like it's gonna stop me."
---
The voice sighed — an actual sigh — and Aza froze.
"Wait… did you just sigh?"
[…No.]
"You did! Holy crap, the Almighty just groaned. Bro, are you… tired of me already?"
[You are the most infuriating host I have ever possessed.]
"How many hosts have you had?"
[…One.]
"Wow. So I'm your first time. Don't worry, I'll be gentle."
[BLASPHEMY.]
"Oh please, I'm practically a walking blasphemy."
---
Before Sol could answer, the clouds split again — a choir of angels descending, radiant and pissed.
"BY ORDER OF THE CELESTIAL TRIBUNAL—"
Aza waved his hand. "Yeah yeah, skip the intro. Let's just say I'm resisting arrest."
The angels raised their blades; Aza raised his pistols.
"Oh, and just so you know," he muttered to Sol, "if we die, I'm haunting you."
Then he charged.
The world blurred into chaos — gold sparks, gunfire, and sarcasm. Aza slid across flaming pavement, dual pistols spitting radiant bullets that exploded into holy sigils.
"Hey, featherbutts!" he yelled mid-roll.
"What's Heaven's Wi-Fi password? I bet it's 'HallowedBeThyLAN!'"
[You mock those who serve the Light.]
"Technically I'm serving the Light too. Just, like… freelance."
He ducked, kicked one angel into another, and shot a third right in the halo. The blast turned it into a glowing frisbee.
"Fore!"
[This power is too much for you.]
"Oh relax, I'll stop before I explode. Probably."
---
Five minutes later, silence. The angels were gone — either vaporized or demoted to pigeons.
Aza stood in the smoke, panting, his shirt half torn, eyes still glowing like cheap flashlights.
He looked down at his hands. The golden cracks were spreading.
"Uh oh."
[The transformation accelerates.]
"Yeah, I can tell, my veins are doing a light show."
[You must learn restraint.]
"Funny. My therapist said the same thing."
He looked at the horizon — the city's skyline in ruin, the clouds glowing faint gold. For a second, the jokes stopped.
"…I didn't mean to cause all this, you know."
There was silence in his head. Then Sol spoke softly — not booming this time.
[Intent does not absolve consequence. But perhaps… you can still fix it.]
Aza smirked faintly. "Wow. That almost sounded like hope."
[Do not mistake compassion for optimism.]
"Too late. I'm feeling character development coming on."
[Do not—!]
"—Anyway!" Aza interrupted, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder. "Time to steal a new bike."
He started walking down the cracked highway, whistling. Golden sparks trailed behind him.
Sol sighed again.
[Gods preserve me.]
"Buddy," Aza said aloud, "you are the gods."
[…Exactly my concern.]