In the hidden veins of the world, beyond the veil of mortal comprehension, there existed seven beings known only to the highest circles of the arcane: the Campione, god-slayers of legend. These mortals were no ordinary warriors—they had slain Heretic Gods, rogue deities who defied the established mythos to walk among men once more. Upon killing a Heretic God, the slayer would inherit a portion of the deity's divine authority, becoming something that even devils whispered about with caution.
Each Campione was bound to the myth of the god they killed. Their power was vast, tempered only by their will. They bent the very laws of the world—time, space, fire, wisdom, even chaos—to their desires. Among them, the youngest and most unpredictable was Kusanagi Godou, the lone Campione of Japan. He had defeated the war god Verethragna and ruled over ten authorities, each born from divine aspects of destruction, valor, and rebirth.
Isshin Arima sat in his obsidian study, hands folded before him, absorbing the report Sebas had provided. His expression was calm, but in his eyes, a cruel fire smoldered.
"Seven Campione," he mused. "Seven souls. Seven meals."
The weapon resting at his side, Frostmourne, pulsed faintly with frozen hunger. It was no ordinary sword—it devoured souls, severing the essence of life with a single strike if the heart was pierced. Against mortals, it was unstoppable. But a Campione was no mortal.
To consume such a being, Isshin needed more than brute strength. He needed divinity.
[System Objective Updated: Become a Campione]
[Condition: Slay a Heretic God]
Isshin leaned back, exhaling softly.
"To eat a god-slayer, I must first become one myself," he said aloud.
Sebas, as always, stood like a statue nearby.
"There have been whispers, Master," Sebas said. "A Heretic God has descended in Greece. The old gods are stirring."
Isshin turned his gaze to the digital map on the wall. Greece glowed faintly—hot with supernatural readings and temporal anomalies. Sebas zoomed in to a particular region near Sparta.
"Who is it?"
Sebas narrowed his eyes. "Ares. The Greek god of war."
A cruel smile spread across Isshin's face.
"A perfect opponent."
He stood and walked toward the glass case containing his ceremonial traveling cloak. Dark crimson and deep indigo lined the fabric—woven with sigils stolen from ancient cults, blessed by infernal rites conducted in the shadow of Tokyo's towers.
"Prepare the jet. No guards. No staff. Just me and Frostmourne."
Sebas bowed. "As you wish."
That evening, as the plane soared above the Ionian Sea, Isshin reviewed the combat patterns of known Heretic Gods. They did not fight like mortals. They did not fight for survival. They fought to remind the world of their myth—to etch themselves into the story of mankind once again.
And if Isshin was to devour one, he too would have to carve his name into that same mythos.
As he meditated within the plane's soundproof chamber, the system pulsed once more.
[Warning: Hostile Divine Presence Detected]
[Target: Heretic God Ares]
[Threat Level: Extreme]
"Perfect," he murmured. "Let the god of war test my blade."
Outside the window, storm clouds began to swirl unnaturally. Red lightning danced across the heavens like serpents of vengeance.
The god was awake.
And so was the hunter.