◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆
Divine power was a mystery—yet to Ryan Walker, it felt like instinct.
The moment he had been crowned as a god, that power had awakened within him, flowing like a second heartbeat.
But it was faint. Too faint.
The shimmer of starlight across his skin was not a sign of limitless might, but rather the outward limit of nearly all the divine power he possessed.
Here, in this wild and untamed world, his abilities were crude. No grand miracles, no sweeping displays of destruction—only the simplest and rawest expressions of divine force.
Still, to the tribe watching him walk beneath the cave's entrance, his figure wrapped in faint starlight, Ryan was awe itself. They followed him reverently into the darkness, whispering prayers beneath their breath.
Some glanced longingly at the discarded searchlights left outside, but none dared touch what they believed to be divine relics without their god's blessing.
◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆
Inside, with the help of the tribal chief, Ryan began to take stock of his new people. The tally shocked him.
428 souls.
Of them, 182 men and 246 women. The imbalance was stark—the cost of hunting in this merciless forest was borne almost entirely by the men.
104 were children, fragile lives who clung to their mothers for warmth. 34 were elders, too frail to hunt or gather. The rest—296 adults—were the beating heart of the tribe. Dark-skinned, scarred, and carrying the wild scent of the forest, they were hard to tell apart in age, but their bodies told the story of survival.
It was, by this land's standards, a large tribe. Yet the old chief confessed that even such numbers barely kept them above extinction. In this forest lurked not only beasts of fang and claw, but monstrosities touched by magic.
Serpents vast enough to ride clouds. Birds whose wings breathed fire. Creatures whose gaze could petrify a man where he stood.
And—rarely spoken of—other tribes with gods of their own.
The chief had once seen one in his youth: a weak divinity, fragile as Ryan himself. That revelation made Ryan pause.
So… this world holds many gods. But all of them weak. Their power, like mine, bound to the faith of mortals.
The chief, of course, was quick to declare Ryan greater—his "weapons" more divine than any rival deity's. Ryan almost laughed when he realized what the man meant: the floodlights, the lighter, the fireworks. To him, trivial trinkets. To these people, sacred wonders.
He wasted no time. Commanding a handful of strong tribesmen, Ryan led them back to recover the "relics." What he could not carry, they shouldered with ease—men whose bodies seemed carved from labor and hardship.
Back inside, Ryan mounted a searchlight against the stone wall. As the battery hummed to life, the cave exploded into brilliance. Shadows fled. For the first time, the tribe's home blazed with day.
A roar of cheers shook the chamber. When Ryan handed the lighter to the old chief, guiding his trembling hands to spark fire into kindling, the tribe wept openly. Fire became a bonfire. Darkness became warmth.
And with it, joy erupted.
The men began to beat rhythms on stone and wood, their guttural chants rising like thunder. Bone flutes wailed, their harsh tones weaving with the pulse of drums. Soon the women and children joined, dancing barefoot around the fire, their grass-woven skirts whipping in the light.
It was wild. Untamed. Pure.
For the first time in memory, the tribe danced not in fear of the night, but in celebration of light.
Ryan sat at the heart of it all, their god of stars and fire. He watched them—no deception, no politics, no masks. Only joy. Raw and unrestrained.
Something in him softened. A smile tugged at his lips.
Perhaps… being the god of such people isn't a curse after all.
When one of the bolder tribesmen seized his arm and pulled him into the circle, Ryan froze. But the laughter around him was too warm, too earnest to resist. Awkward though his movements were, he joined the dance—hesitant steps at first, then surrendering to the rhythm.
And in that firelit revelry, something profound stirred.
That night, Ryan Walker—soldier, exile, wanderer between worlds—was not apart from them. He was theirs.
Their god.
And they, in their passion and purity, became his people.
On this night, the bond between god and tribe was forged.
◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆
In the dim hotel room, the air rippled—and a gray vortex of space tore open in silence. Ryan Walker stumbled through, the swirling portal collapsing behind him as though it had never been.
Back in the mortal world. Back in his cheap rented room.
The first thing he reached for was his phone. On the screen, the stopwatch ticked just past eight minutes.
Ryan's mind raced. So… one day over there equals just two hours here? A ratio of one to twelve.
His pulse quickened. Modern society was stable, structured. But that other world? Wild, untamed, brimming with dangers—and opportunities. With such a time difference, he suddenly had endless room to maneuver between both realms.
Yet all of that faded before the true revelation: he had become… a god.
He sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at his palm. "It must be their belief," he muttered. "The tribe worships me… that's why I awakened divinity. But if that's true, I need proof."
With a slow breath, he raised his hand. Light shimmered across his skin, condensing into motes of starlight. It spilled from his fingers like liquid silver. Beautiful. Terrifying. Fragile.
Ryan shook his head. "So weak… weaker even than the so-called gods in myths. At this level, I wouldn't survive a skirmish in a comic book, let alone against real armies."
Then his heart froze.
The divine starlight had not vanished. It lingered here—in the real world.
His hand trembled. "This is Earth… my world. And I can still use divine power."
The weight of it struck him like thunder. He wasn't just a god in some primitive realm. He was a god here. On Earth.
Excitement roared inside him, almost uncontrollable. Twenty years of living in this world, always powerless, always ordinary—yet now he might be the only true god on the planet.
But reason quickly smothered his thrill. Keep calm. Don't draw attention. Even ten times stronger, I'd be nothing against governments. Worse if there are hidden powers I don't know about.
He exhaled sharply. "Stay low. Build strength. Only then can I truly survive as a god."
Determined, he crossed his legs on the bed and let his mind sink into the strange divine imprint branded in his soul.
Lord of the Stars—that was the name that echoed in his essence. His authority: the power of the stars.
But what did that even mean? Gravity? Radiation? Heat? Or something more mystical?
Ryan's thoughts spiraled. He recalled myths and legends: the constellations, the Big Dipper, the celestial beasts of the Four Quarters. From ancient swords that drew strength from starlight, to anime heroes punching meteors across the cosmos. Humanity had always dreamed of power among the stars.
And maybe, just maybe, he could make those dreams real.
Driven by this thought, Ryan pulled his laptop onto his knees. He searched up an old Taoist technique—the so-called Triple Yin Demon-Slaying Blade. Texts flooded his screen, equal parts mystical nonsense and archaic jargon.
He laughed under his breath. "Academic gibberish. But… who cares? If belief gives me power, then even fiction might become reality."
Memorizing the so-called cultivation method, Ryan pushed the window open. The Shanghai night sprawled before him, neon lights below, endless stars above.
He whispered the incantation, voice low but steady:
"The Black Tortoise is cold… The Triple Yin Demon-Slaying Blade channels the stars of the Black Tortoise's Seven Mansions… into the meridians of the body…"
His voice faltered, brow furrowing. "…Wait. What the hell even are the Black Tortoise's Seven Mansions?"
◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆