Zigeyr stood frozen in the room, his smile unwavering. Outside, the birds suspended mid-flight; humans and animals alike were locked in place. The hands of the clock had ceased their motion. Time itself had stopped.
Idom was the only being capable of movement. He alone could witness the frozen tableau, while the god who had terrorized him moments ago now resembled nothing more than a marble statue. Everything around him had become still.
"What… what is happening?" Idom muttered, stepping cautiously, eyes darting around. He had seen devastation today, yet this was beyond comprehension. His gaze settled on Zigeyr—was this yet another trick? But even the god remained motionless.
Then, suddenly, a white interface materialized before him, glowing with cryptic text.
Idom stumbled back in shock. Before he could form a question, the words shifted, and a voice resonated directly in his mind:
"YOU MAY SEE ME AS A SYSTEM. YOU ARE MY NEW HOST, AND MY PURPOSE IS TO MAKE YOU STRONG ENOUGH TO KILL ALL THE GODS."
Idom froze. Kill the gods? He had never read novels or studied such things, yet the words struck him like a revelation. Kill the gods… I could kill the gods?
For a long moment, he simply stared. This system had frozen time and rendered a god immobile—it was undeniably powerful. And yet… one question burned in his mind.
"If you are powerful enough to stop time, why do you need me to kill the gods? Why not do it yourself?" His voice carried the faintest trace of reason, the hallmark of Idom's resolve even in despair.
"THOUGH I POSSESS POWER TO KILL THE GODS, I HAVE NO PHYSICAL FORM AND CANNOT INTERACT WITH THE WORLD. THAT IS WHY I REQUIRE A HOST TO CARRY OUT THIS MISSION."
Idom considered this. The explanation was logical. Though many questions lingered in his mind, the system interrupted again:
"I CANNOT MAINTAIN TIME STOP FOR MUCH LONGER. DECIDE NOW. WILL YOU ACCEPT TO BE MY HOST AND KILL THE GODS?"
Without hesitation, Idom's thoughts settled. "If you can help me kill the gods… then I accept. I will be your host."
"VERY WELL."
Time snapped back into motion. Idom found himself where he had been, the world alive around him once more. Zigeyr's terrifying smile returned to its usual calm, and the interface had vanished. Idom could scarcely tell if the entire experience had been real or a hallucination.
"It seems you are ready to talk now. So what is your thought? Will you still work for your nation under me, or will you abandon your nation's future to claim your revenge."
Idom looked up at Zigeyr. "RIGHT NOW, THE CORRECT DECISION WILL BE TO OBEY THIS GOD AS RIGHT NOW, YOU DON'T HAVE ANY POWERS AT ALL." The system sounded in his ear, but no interface was shown. Supposedly, it will be seen by Zigeyr, that's why it didn't appear. Idom was glad that it was not just his imagination. He will have the chance to get his revenge someday. But for now, he is weak, and he will have to obey.
"I am sorry for my insolence," he said, bowing his head. "I made a grave mistake, and I accept this punishment. I will obey you, my lord." His voice trembled with the despair he had endured.
"Good," Zigeyr replied with a faint smile. "Take your daughter to a hospital. She will need mental counseling… and painkillers." With that, he vanished.
Idom rose and summoned the maids through his mobile, ordering them to wash his daughter. They were horrified at Ria's condition, unsure who could have caused such a state. Idom did not care. His single purpose had crystallized: to kill the one responsible for his daughter's suffering.
Meanwhile, in an unknown space far from the world, a child of ten's height hovered, holding a canvas in one hand and a brush in the other. Blood streamed ceaselessly from both eyes, staining his hands and legs. The blood seemed ancient, a relic of time itself. Despite the macabre scene, joy gleamed in his eyes as he surveyed the painting before him—a perfect, horrifying depiction of the trauma inflicted upon the father and daughter. Perhaps "child" was the wrong term; this being was older than the planets.
Zigeyr appeared silently beside him, observing the painting with a smile. "As always, remarkable. Only you could capture this."
The boy turned his gaze to Zigeyr. The joy in his eyes dimmed, replaced by indifferent calm—the painting alone remained his source of pleasure.
The canvas lifted from his hand, floating toward a collection of similar works. Hundreds of paintings filled the space, each one either breathtakingly beautiful or horrifyingly grotesque—a gallery of a twisted, unfathomable mind.