The battlefield was quiet. Too quiet.
Ashes drifted through the air like snow, carried by a wind that smelled of blood and ruin. The corpses of gods, demons, emperors, and kings lay scattered across the land like broken puppets. And at the center of it all, seated upon a throne of shattered stone, was a man. His black robes were torn, his long hair matted with blood, and yet, his back remained straight. His eyes burned faintly with the last remnants of power that had once shaken entire worlds.
"Even in death…" His lips curled into a faint smile as he whispered, voice hoarse and fading. "…I am alone."
Those words were not uttered with sorrow for family, nor with longing for a lover. He had never known such things. No, what he meant was different. His entire existence had been isolation. Not because he wished for it, but because power demanded it.
He was too strong.
From the moment he had ascended, those around him had ceased to see a man. They saw only a rival, a threat, or an obstacle. Courtiers bowed with trembling fear, warriors sharpened their blades in silence, and even his so-called allies kept their distance. None dared to approach him without hidden intentions. None dared to speak without weighing every word.
And so, though he ruled as an emperor above all living things, he never once tasted the warmth of companionship.
Even the gods, who once shared wine with him in heaven's halls, had grown cold. When his power surpassed theirs, laughter vanished from their faces. Their gazes held only calculation. Some tried to strike him down; others ran, leaving behind only silence.
What use was a kingdom when every smile was false? What use was a throne when no one dared to sit beside him?
Loneliness had been his only crown.
The man closed his eyes, breathing slowly. His heart, which had endured countless wars, countless betrayals, countless years of crushing silence, began to still. He wondered faintly where he would go. Heaven? Hell? Neither sounded inviting.
He exhaled. The sound was faint, yet it echoed across the dead battlefield like the final stroke of a bell.
His soul loosened from the prison of flesh. Darkness embraced him.
And then—
A voice.
"At last… you are here."
The man opened his eyes again, though he no longer had eyes to open. He floated in a boundless void. There were no stars, no earth, no sky. Only endless currents of light that stretched forever. A presence surrounded him, vast and ancient, older than creation itself.
"Who?" His voice was steady.
"The universe," the presence replied. "The whole of existence, speaking as one."
The man's lips curved faintly. "So… this is the afterlife? I suppose I am ready. I have no regrets left. Let me rest."
But the voice did not agree.
"Rest… is not so simple for one such as you."
His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Your spiritual energy has grown beyond the limits of cycle and law. Heaven cannot contain you. Hell cannot endure you. Neither gate will open, for your presence would unmake their balance."
He fell silent. His life had been filled with impossibilities, and yet this was the final one: even in death, he was rejected.
"So, what now?" His tone carried neither anger nor sorrow, only weary curiosity.
"You must go where you do not belong. Where your existence will strain against the fabric, but not destroy it."
"Another world?"
"Not another. A smaller one. A fragile one. A planet that knows nothing of you."
A current of light wrapped around his soul. He felt himself being pulled, carried like a leaf on a cosmic tide. Stars flashed past. Galaxies burned and vanished in a blink. Time had no meaning here; eternity passed in a heartbeat.
He glimpsed worlds of fire, oceans of crystal, realms where titans walked. Yet none were his destination.
Finally, he saw it: a small, blue planet suspended in the dark. Compared to the realms he had once conquered, it was insignificant. And yet, the universe whispered:
"Earth."
The light tightened.
"No rest, then," he murmured as his form unraveled into fragments. His awareness flickered, dimmed, and finally—
Blackout.
—
Pain. Cold. Pressure.
He gasped sharply, his first breath tearing through lungs that had only just formed. His eyes opened to a blinding white light. The world swam before him—faces loomed above, voices cried out in joy, a woman wept as she clutched him close.
It took him a moment to understand. His limbs were weak, his body small. His throat produced only a wail.
He was… a newborn.
For the first time in countless millennia, true shock struck him.
"…Fuck."
The word was tiny, muffled by the cries of an infant, but it was there.
And so, the man who had been feared as an emperor by gods and demons alike, who had been rejected by both heaven and hell, found himself reborn—helpless, wrapped in blankets, in the arms of a woman he had never met.
The universe had cast him into a fragile world.
And his new story had just begun.
End of Chapter 1