The last thing Libert remembered was the sound of a scream that wasn't his own. Then, the sickening, wet crunch of steel meeting bone, and a coldness so absolute it swallowed the sun.
When his eyes opened, the sun was still gone, but the light remained.
Libert lay on a slab of polished jade that felt warmer than human skin. He didn't scramble to his feet. The panic that had driven him to sprint across that busy street—the frantic need to be "on time"—had been burned away, replaced by a terrifying, hollow stillness.
"The mortal soul is a fragile thing," a voice drifted from above, sounding like wind chimes in a graveyard. "Yet, yours refused to shatter."
Libert sat up. He wasn't in his suit anymore. He was draped in heavy, midnight-blue robes that seemed to drink the light of the room. Standing in a circle around him were seven women. They were tall, their skin the color of moonlight, their eyes devoid of pupils—just glowing orbs of soft violet.
"Where is this?" Libert asked. His voice didn't crack. It felt heavy, vibrating in his chest with a resonance that made the jade dais hum.
"The Apex of the Nine Heavens," the tallest woman replied, stepping forward. "The God Realm. You were struck by a carriage of iron, but your destiny was too heavy for the grave to hold. We have intercepted your passing."
Libert looked at his hands. They were his, yet different. The small scar on his thumb from childhood was gone. His skin looked like it had been carved from marble. "Why?"
"Because the Throne of the Everlasting Immortal sits empty," she said, her expression turning solemn. "And the stars have whispered your name. You are the Successor."
The Rite of the Breaking World
The women didn't wait for his consent. To the gods, a choice is a luxury mortals imagine they have.
"Begin the resonance," the Elder commanded.
The seven women began to circle him, their feet hovering inches above the jade. They began a chant in a tongue that sounded like grinding tectonic plates and roaring oceans. The air in the chamber grew thick, the atmospheric pressure rising until the stone walls began to groan.
"Accept the first gift," the woman to his left hissed. She thrust a hand toward him, and a sphere of liquid mercury flew from her palm, sinking into Libert's chest.
He gasped, his back arching as his ribcage felt like it was being pried open by glowing hooks.
"That is the Ichor of the First Star," the Elder explained, her eyes fixed on his. "It will burn away your red blood. A god cannot bleed for the amusement of the dirt."
Libert gritted his teeth, a low growl escaping his throat. He didn't cry out. The pain was astronomical, but a strange, cold fury was blooming in his mind. If I must be a monster to survive this, he thought, then I will be the greatest monster they have ever seen.
The ritual intensified:
* The Bone Forging: The goddesses clapped their hands in unison, and a shockwave slammed into Libert. His skeletal structure was infused with Neutronium Essence, making his frame denser than a mountain.
* The Mind-Link: A torrent of memories—thousands of years of celestial wars, forbidden seals, and the Laws of Entropy—was forced into his brain.
The Birth of the Iron God
As the final chant died down, the chamber fell into a suffocating silence. Libert stood up. He didn't wobble. He stood with the terrifying stability of a statue.
He looked at the Elder Goddess. The fear that should have been there was gone. In its place was a cold, calculating intensity.
"The power," Libert said, his voice now a dual-tone of human speech and a metallic echo. "It feels... incomplete."
The Elder smiled thinly, a flicker of respect in her eyes. "Because you lack the tool of your office."
She raised her arms, and the ceiling of the temple—a swirling vortex of stars—parted. A beam of obsidian light fell from the heavens, depositing a weapon into the air before Libert. It was a Greatsword, six feet of jagged black glass that seemed to warp the space around it.
"The World-Ender," she whispered. "It weighs as much as a dying moon. Only the true Successor can lift it."
Libert reached out. His fingers closed around the cold hilt. The moment he touched it, a shockwave of dark energy erupted from the point of contact, shattering the jade dais beneath his feet and blowing the goddesses back several paces.
He lifted the blade with one hand, his gaze fixed on the horizon where golden palaces floated among the clouds.
"You said the throne is empty," Libert said, his silver eyes glowing with a predatory light. "And you said the previous God had enemies."
"Many," the Elder replied, smoothing her robes. "They are already sensing your ascent. They will come to kill the 'mortal' before he can settle into his skin."
Libert swung the massive blade, the movement so fast it created a vacuum that shrieked. He looked toward the temple doors, his face a mask of ruthless ambition.
"Let them come," he said. "I was late for my life. I won't be late for their executions.
"Libert had just raised his blade when a power surged from the front, one that struck terror even into the hearts of the gods... Will Libert survive?"
⚡ "Want the next part sooner? Show your support by sending Flowers and Gifts! Your support will decide how fast Libert exacts his revenge."