Betrayed by Heaven, Reborn as the Blade the Gods Tried to Erase
The God-Slayer's Requiem
Chapter 2: The Blessing That Bled
Klai woke screaming.
Not from a dream—
but from pain.
It surged through his chest like molten iron, spreading outward in rhythmic pulses, each one synchronized with his heartbeat. The mark Iglesias had placed upon him burned beneath his skin, invisible to the eye yet unbearably real.
He clutched his chest and rolled off the narrow academy bed, gasping as cold stone pressed against his cheek.
The room was dark.
Silent.
And sealed.
A thin layer of divine script shimmered faintly across the walls, woven so subtly into the architecture that only someone marked could sense it.
Klai did not know how he knew this.
He only knew that he was not allowed to leave.
A BODY NO LONGER HIS OWN
The pain subsided after several agonizing minutes, leaving behind a strange emptiness.
Klai pushed himself upright and focused inward.
Mana flowed.
Too smoothly.
Too perfectly.
Before the mark, his magic had always resisted being shaped—like a wild current that demanded respect. Now it moved as if guided by invisible rails, responding instantly to thought, bending effortlessly into precise forms.
It frightened him.
He raised his hand, forming a simple flame.
It appeared immediately—bright, flawless, and utterly obedient.
"Since when…?" he murmured.
The door opened without a sound.
Three figures entered.
Two knights of the Celestial Order flanked a woman in white robes embroidered with gold-threaded runes. Her hair was silver, her expression kind, her eyes distant.
High Inquisitor Mariel Solmaris.
"You are awake," she said gently. "Good. The blessing has taken hold faster than expected."
Klai's hand clenched.
"You call that a blessing?" he asked, voice hoarse. "It felt like I was being torn apart."
Mariel smiled sadly.
"All ascension requires pain."
LESSONS FROM HEAVEN
The days that followed blurred together.
Klai trained from dawn until collapse.
Sword forms under crushing gravity fields.
Spell casting while divine pressure weighed on his mind.
Combat trials where mistakes meant broken bones and burning nerves.
Each time he fell, healers restored him.
Each time he rose, the mark pulsed—rewriting him.
The instructors praised his growth.
The priests recorded his progress.
And slowly, quietly, his autonomy faded.
Orders began to come not as requests—but as expectations.
"You will participate in the regional purge."
"You will lead the vanguard."
"You will strike without hesitation."
When Klai hesitated, the mark responded.
Pain.
Always pain.
THE FIRST LIE
The first time Klai killed at the gods' command, it was presented as justice.
A rebellious village accused of heresy.
A gathering of traitors who refused divine law.
Klai stood at the edge of the settlement, sword in hand, listening to the screams as Celestial knights advanced.
"These people are enemies of order," Mariel told him calmly. "Your blade will bring peace."
Klai looked at the villagers.
They looked back.
They looked… ordinary.
When a child ran toward him, crying for help—
Klai's mark flared.
His body moved.
The sword fell.
Blood soaked the ground.
The child never finished screaming.
Something inside Klai fractured.
That night, he vomited until there was nothing left.
The priests called it growth.
A HERO IS BORN
Years passed.
Klai became a name whispered across kingdoms.
Heaven's Blade.
The God-King's Chosen.
The Sword That Never Breaks.
Kings bowed.
Generals deferred.
Nobles schemed.
Klai smiled when expected.
He prayed when ordered.
And every night, he wrote letters home that went unanswered.
The mark grew warmer with each unanswered silence.
THE QUESTION THAT SHOULD NOT BE ASKED
It happened during a divine council.
Klai knelt among priests and rulers as projections of gods hovered above—distant, luminous, uninterested.
A decree was issued.
A city was to be erased.
Population: over fifty thousand.
Reason: Potential deviation from divine design.
Klai raised his head.
"My lord," he said, looking directly at the radiant form of Iglesias. "What proof is there of their guilt?"
The chamber went silent.
For the first time—
the mark did not hurt him immediately.
Iglesias turned.
Looked.
And something cold passed through Klai's soul.
"You question the heavens," the God-King said softly.
"I seek to understand," Klai replied.
A pause.
Then Iglesias smiled.
"You will," he said.
THE ROAD HOME
That night, Klai received a single command.
Return to Ashroot Village.
No explanation.
No escort.
Just a feeling of finality so heavy it made his chest ache.
For the first time in years, hope bloomed.
Maybe his family was safe.
Maybe the silence meant peace.
He left at dawn.
Unaware that the gods had already decided—
the blade had grown too sharp.
To be continued.