Her crimson eyes locked onto mine, shining with an almost painful fervor. Her voice still vibrated through the hall, like a taut string resonating long after it's been plucked.
— "You have finally descended, Lord. Our conquest can now begin."
I blinked. My throat was dry.
Conquest? Wait… I just got here, I don't even know where the hell I am, and she's already talking about putting the planet to its knees?
I drew in a breath, trying to hide the ridiculous tremor in my hands.
— "And if I don't want to? If I decide to stay here, do nothing, laze around like a fat bastard? What would you do?"
Her red lips quivered, but her expression never wavered.
— "I would say nothing. What sane being could oppose a divinity? Especially your will, which can control the world from the shadows. Your intelligence, your strategies, your tactics… everything you have accomplished across so many parallel worlds makes you the most worthy being of the role of God of Puppets. So yes, if you truly chose to be idle, I would remain at your side. But I know that is not what you desire."
Her eyes glimmered, as though some twisted excitement seeped behind her icy submission.
— "If, by that request, you wished to test my loyalty, know that I was born and created only to serve you, body and soul."
I froze for a moment. My heart was pounding, and not just because of her words. Damn… it's Irkalla. The doll I resurrected a thousand times on my screen. She's saying this, with that huge chest squeezed into a corset, her black stockings gleaming in the dim light… how the hell am I supposed to keep a straight face?
I forced a vaguely ironic smile.
— "Alright… that's reassuring. But tell me… do you remember all my conquests? All our defeats? All your deaths, all your victories?"
She slowly nodded, her wings shivering behind her.
— "Exactly, Lord."
A shiver ran down my spine.
— "Then that will be useful. You know as well as I do just how ungrateful, difficult, and cruel Néphélium is as a nation."
A grin stretched her red lips, grotesque and yet… terribly arousing.
— "Yes, my Lord. And that is precisely why you adore it so."
I ran a hand down my face. She knows me inside out. It's creepy. But… shit, it's true.
I dropped my hand and straightened, trying to look composed.
— "Very well. Then we have no time to waste."
— "Exactly, my Lord."
A heavy silence. I frowned.
— "We must…"
She bowed slightly, a twisted smile at the corner of her mouth.
— "We must… fuck."
— "…Analyze the neighboring lands to know whether we're really in God Game, and if so, where exactly. Huh? Wait… what? What did you just say?"
She raised a hand to her throat, theatrical, her eyes lowered with false innocence.
— "Hmm… forgive me, my Lord. It is the first time I stand before your true grandeur. Perhaps some… buried desire slipped past my lips."
My face went hot. Damn it, how are you supposed to stay serious when your first heroic unit looks like this and says that kind of shit?!
I shook my head, embarrassed.
— "Let's pretend you didn't say that."
She bowed her head, a glowing smile still clinging to her lips.
— "Yes, my Lord."
Alright, it was time to say the word I've been craving since I got here: System.
White lines began to float before my eyes.
[System of the Gods: Level 1]
[Statistics]
[Skills]
[Summons]
I froze for a moment, staring at the three tabs as though I were still at my PC. Except this time, there was no mouse in my hand. My mind made the choices. A blink on a word, and the window opened.
Holy shit. It really is the system.
I knew these menus by heart—I'd spent my life on them. But seeing them now, pulsing in the black void around me, sent chills down my spine.
There are many reasons why Néphélium is considered the most unplayable, most hardcore nation in God Game. And one of the worst is this: the god's own skills.
In every other faction, the deity unlocks some busted power early on, a skill that breaks balance and makes progression almost "easy." The divine flames of the Empire, the blood blessing of the Horde, the symbiotic greenery of the Sylvans… all overpowered, all broken.
But me…
I mentally clicked on [Skills].
[God's Thread] – Divine Thread
Allows the Puppeteer God to project a thread of divine essence to his puppets, granting two effects:– Shared Vision: see, hear, and feel through them.– Direct Control: force their gestures and words like marionettes.
A dry laugh escaped me.
— "…And that's it."
That's why, early on, playing Néphélium was hell: a weak, nearly useless skill compared to the other gods. Like starting a world war armed with a water gun.
But the real nightmare, the thing that made Néphélium's start brutally hard, wasn't even that. It was the people.
The Empire began with thousands of faithful, ready to fight for their god. The Horde swarmed with warriors from level one. Even the Sylvans had their villages and druids. But Néphélium? Nothing. No one. A fallen kingdom, without subjects, without an army. A god alone, forced to rebuild everything from nothing.
A god… and a single heroic unit.
I turned my head toward her.
Irkalla.
She was still kneeling, wings folded, her split robe revealing the cold whiteness of her thighs. Her red lips curved into a frozen smile, half-submission, half-provocation.
But let's be honest.
Irkalla was probably the best heroic unit in the entire game. Unlike the others, her death was never final: she was just a doll. As long as there were threads, she could be rebuilt. Indestructible, immortal.
And like the other heroic units, she grew stronger over time. Every battle won, every defeat endured, every second spent on the battlefield hardened her puppet body. Even doing nothing, she accumulated experience.
But her true asset, what made her more terrifying than all the rest, was her class.
Puppet Artisan.
From a corpse, she could create a puppet. From an army of dead enemies, she could build an army of puppets. Yes, it was like a necromancer. But worse. Because these creations weren't just recycled bodies: they were entirely mine. Their sensations, their movements, their voices… I could control it all.
My mouth went dry.
That's why I could never let go of Néphélium. That's why I'm addicted. Because she… because Irkalla is the beating heart of this damned nation. Without her, failure is guaranteed. With her… it's the apocalypse on the march.
Irkalla slowly raised her head. Her red eyes clung to mine, gleaming with fevered madness. Her lips curled into a smile that nearly made me step back.
— "Lord… have you finally fallen under my charm?"
My stomach tightened. Her voice throbbed, soft yet sharp, like a blade caressed by a fingertip. Her cross-shaped pupils pinned me with such intensity I felt already strung in her invisible threads.
She tilted her head slightly, her wings flaring in a theatrical shiver.
— "After all… what is a puppeteer, if not a man surrendering to his most beautiful doll?"
A silence. Then I couldn't hold back a laugh. Damn, she was serious.
— "You're really insane…" I said, shaking my head with a crooked smile. "I'm just thinking."
She raised a brow, intrigued.
— "Thinking, Lord?"
I summoned the system screen, the translucent lines floating before me. An ironic smile tugged at me.
— "I'm thinking about the first unit I'll summon. Because, well… a puppeteer doesn't stop at just one doll. He needs a whole harem, right?"
Irkalla's eyes widened, then a sharp, almost hysterical laugh escaped her throat. Her wings quivered, her red lips stretching into a smile too wide to be innocent.
— "Lord… if that is your desire, then I will make sure every doll dances for you. But don't forget…" She tilted her head, her crimson eyes boring into mine. "None of them will ever love you as much as I do."
I rolled my eyes, unable to hold back a nervous laugh. Damn, she's serious. Fanatic, gorgeous, and completely unhinged. And I'm supposed to build from this as my starting base.
— "Alright… let's get back on track."
I drew a breath and opened the menu. White lines appeared before me with the clinical coldness of the system.
[Summons]
[Egos]: 100/100
Obsidian Gnat x1 – Cost: 10
Flayed Hound x1 – Cost: 40
Ash Mannequin x1 – Cost: 20
Silk Doll x1 – Cost: 40
Hollow Warrior x1 – Cost: 40
Egos.
That was the divine resource. The equivalent of mana, but far more intimate, more twisted: energy forged from the ego of the gods themselves. At the start, it only regenerates passively, slowly, like breathing. But later… once the system improves, once temples and facilities are built… I could generate it otherwise.
For now, the most important thing was this: the units.
I muttered aloud:
— "Summon two obsidian gnats."
Two black flashes burst before me. Threads dropped from the ceiling, probing the air, then wove into the shape of two small insectoid creatures. Their translucent wings vibrated like glass on the verge of shattering. Their bodies, a mix of shattered bones and obsidian shards, glimmered faintly. A single red eye, glowing like an ember, opened at the center of each head.
I blinked. My perception suddenly doubled. Until now, I'd only seen through my own eyes, and through Irkalla's… now two more visions intruded, parasitic yet strangely natural. As if my essence had multiplied. I was me, and them, all at once.
— "Very good choice, my Lord."
Irkalla's voice startled me. She was smiling, her red lips curled with twisted pride.
— "Obsidian gnats are the best scouts early on. Their metamorphosis lets them go anywhere unnoticed. No matter the terrain, they always find a path."
— "Indeed."
The two small creatures beat their wings and flew outward.
Through their eyes, I discovered the outside. Néphélium's manor, a vast ruined estate, still raised its broken towers and shattered stained-glass windows like empty sockets. Fallen statues, eroded by time, lay across the courtyard. All around, a forest of black, twisted wood swallowed the horizon. The very air seemed saturated with ash and whispers.
I shivered, then refocused.
— "Now… the flayed hound."
Another flash. The ground trembled faintly.
Before me, a quadruped beast took form, its flesh held together by silver threads stretched across each joint. Its muscles throbbed raw, red and wet, and its gaping maw exhaled a breath of ashes. Its black tongue dangled, alive, like an impatient snake.
I grimaced.
— "Damn… more disturbing to see in real life than on a screen."
Irkalla raised a hand to her forehead, theatrically, a false damsel in distress.
— "You see what you put me through all these years… me, forced to endure your merciless clicks."
I rolled my eyes and raised my arms.
— "I am not worthy of being your god. Leave me, Irkalla, spread your wings… save yourself from me, I beg you!"
Her eyes widened, playing the role to the end, before bursting into crystalline laughter.
— "Anww… you are so cruel, Lord."
I shook my head, a smile breaking on my lips despite myself.
Then suddenly, my vision through the gnats blurred. Shapes moved between the trees. I clenched my fingers, focusing my senses through their eyes.
— "Wait…" My tone sharpened. "We're not alone."
Irkalla immediately rose, her playful look vanishing. Her cross-shaped pupils lit up with an icy gleam.
— "Their numbers? Fighters?"
— "Five warriors. All men. Judging by their armor and weapons, they look solid."
Irkalla let out a long, theatrical sigh.
— "Aaaaaah… and why didn't you choose the Empire, my Lord?"
I couldn't help but burst into nervous laughter.
— "I don't even know myself…"
But deep down, I knew very well. Because this was Néphélium. The hardest choice, the most desperate one. And also… the most thrilling.