The two masked gods hovered, frozen, utterly bewildered. Draymon Salasar, one of the proud Outer Gods, felt a coil of disgust tighten in his chest. He had been sent to kill a mortal—a mortal. How absurd. A god dispatched to murder an insect. Normally, they would summon legions, snatch the Anchor Being, and enforce submission with fear, power, or sheer coercion. This time… this was different.
Her words echoed in his mind, sharp and commanding: "Send one of your strongest. The new world our Emperor desires… its Anchor's fate is… distorted. Fate itself bends around him. I saw the Prophet swallow her fear. Fate bowed like a servant."
Kill him.
Draymon clenched his jaw. Could the Prophetess truly be right?
The mortal knelt on the ground, tears streaking his cheeks as he clutched a piece of alloy—a console, of all things—and whispered to it as if it were his child. The sheer audacity, the mockery of it, twisted Draymon's face with disgust. He raised a finger.
"Enough. Perish."
Spurt.
A wet, horrifying sound ripped through space. Draymon's eyes widened. His right arm—gone. Not severed. Erased.
Behind him, reality itself had torn open, a jagged black void slashing the sky, consuming everything it touched.
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
The explosion echoed across the heavens. Shockwaves shredded the clouds, yet below, the city remained untouched, civilians staring skyward in awe, shielded by a shimmering violet barrier. Draymon bit his lip as agony flared through him. He wanted to scream, to howl—but no sound escaped. Then he realised: part of his soul was gone, eaten, drawn into the furnace of something far beyond comprehension.
He looked up. Astra hovered above them, calm, unshaken, fragments of Draymon's soul spiralling into his chest like smoke sucked into a furnace.
"I—back off!" Lila shouted, leaping to his side. "Drey, are you alright?!"
"Yes…" Draymon snarled, forcing Anima to surge through his body. His arm regenerated, but weakness still gnawed at him, subtle but undeniable.
For the first time, Astra actually looked at them. He sighed, a corner of his mouth curling in amusement.
"That… was a limited edition, you know, bastard."
Silence.
"So," Astra continued, hands shoved in his pockets, voice casual, amusement dripping like liquid poison, "what are Otherworlders doing in my world?"
Draymon froze. "How… do you know?"
"Your presence is… different," Astra replied, violet eyes glinting. "Same hierarchy, different source."
Lila clenched her teeth. "Drey…"
"I know," he muttered. The Prophetess had been right.
Draymon raised his hand. The sky split open as gates of impossible colors shimmered, rippling with impossible energy.
ROOOOOOOAR!
Dragons poured through, their wings blotting out the sun, followed by soldiers of countless races. Thousands filled the heavens, yet neither Draymon nor Lila felt relief. Astra hovered at the storm's centre, Violet Anima crackling over his body like living lightning, his calm smile enough to make gods and men quake.
Then—CRACK!
Space fractured violently. Draymon and Lila were thrown backwards as if reality itself rejected their existence.
"…What?" Draymon whispered.
Drip. Drip. Warm liquid splashed across his face. Blood. The sky turned red, a pulse of violent colour that made everything beneath seem fragile, mortal.
Astra moved like a comet, purple light consuming the enemy army as he laughed softly. "It's been a while since something interesting happened. My Limited Edition Console is gone… but this? This isn't bad at all."
A dragon screamed, the sound vibrating through every bone. Astra kicked its head with a BAM!, spinning the massive body through the air like a ragdoll. Before it could recover, he slammed his fist into its stomach, sending it hurtling upward.
Grabbing the tail mid-twist, violet energy surged along its scales, darkening them to purple before they shattered into shards. Astra swung it like a living weapon—every soldier it struck exploded, gore spraying across the battlefield. The metallic tang of blood mingled with screams, echoing through the air.
When the chaos settled, only the dragon's tail remained in his hand.
"Tsk," Astra muttered, tossing it aside. "That's all you got?"
Two massive bursts of energy slammed into him from either side. He raised a hand. CLANG. BOOOOOOM! Shockwaves erased everything behind him.
Lila lunged, blade flashing. Astra caught it barehanded.
"Impossible…" she gasped, wobbling.
"Oh, darling," he said, voice soft but deadly, "nothing is impossible to me."
He shoved her blade back, punching her gut. She grunted, doubled over. A roundhouse kick shattered her mask, sending her sprawling across the ground. A mace dropped from above—he sidestepped without even glancing.
Draymon lunged next. Astra yanked his hair with enough force to snap his neck backward.
"W-what—"
BOOOOM! Astra's elbow smashed into his back. Armor cracked. He didn't stop, punching again into Draymon's chest. Blue energy flared, blocking the hit. Draymon writhed, trying to push him off, but Astra's grin never wavered.
BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM. Eight rapid strikes, each pounding him into the ground.
SPURT.
Astra's hand pierced his chest. Draymon clutched at it, coughing blood, staring into those star-filled violet eyes.
"…A shame," Astra whispered. "You're weak."
He kicked Draymon away. The god's upper body exploded, gore raining across the battlefield. Ten minutes. Thousands dead.
"Well," Astra muttered, brushing his hands clean, "fun always ends."
"M-monster…" a trembling voice croaked.
Astra looked down.
"Oh. Right. You."
The woman lay broken, face deformed from earlier strikes. Healing light slowly restored her features. Astra stepped closer, inspecting her without courtesy.
"Not bad," he said. She glared, red hair tousled, red eyes blazing—fierce, unafraid even in pain.
SPURT.
A white blade cut through her face, slicing her in half.
A cold, terrifying voice echoed behind him.
"Not bad?"
Purple eyes. Purple hair. His secretary.
"U-Uriel…" he stammered.
"I… I meant her healing ability," she corrected, descending gracefully. "You're late."
"They attacked multiple locations," Uriel panted. "Your Majesty… gates are opening."
"…Gates," Astra muttered, a smirk curling his lips. "How ironic."
Uriel's shoulders slumped, frustration crackling in the air. "Stop playing games, Your Majesty. You'll fry your brain if you keep this up."
Astra's grin widened, careless, amused. Then everything shifted.
A massive violet gate tore through the sky. Chains of energy erupted with a deafening snap, slicing the air like steel serpents.
SPURT.
A black odachi slammed into his abdomen. Pain erupted. Blood flooded his mouth.
"What the—?" he rasped, clutching at the blade. Heat and weight burned him. This was no ordinary weapon—it was bound to his very soul.
A strange warmth enveloped him, terrifying and comforting all at once.
Astralion… my Astralion… time to go home.
Dark energy tugged violently, twisting the world around him, walls and sky stretching and shattering.
"Dammit—!" Astra yelled, muscles straining against the pull.
Uriel sprinted toward him. "Your Majesty—hold on!"
"Prepare for war!" Astra roared. His voice cut through the chaos like a blade. It's time to step out of the shadows.
Chains wrapped around Uriel's wrists and ankles. She kicked and clawed at the air.
"I'll come back!" Astra promised, voice sharp, almost cheerful beneath the tension.
BOOOOOOM! The shockwave threw her across the room.
"NOOOOO—ASTRA!" Her voice cracked, carrying terror, fear, and fury all at once.
***
The thrum of music hit him first. A deep bass reverberated through the floorboards, rattling his teeth and making his chest thrum like a war drum. Laughter, shouts, and the clink of glasses filled the air, mingling with the acrid stench of smoke and something far worse—sweat, spilt beer, and a faint, rotting odour that made his stomach twist.
Astra groaned, peeling his eyelids open. Light cut through the haze, harsh and unforgiving. His head pulsed with pain, each throb matching the rhythm of the music.
"Ah… shit…"
He blinked again, slower this time, trying to orient himself. Limbs sprawled like discarded dolls around him. Bodies—half-naked, tangled, and sticky with sweat and something stickier—littered the floor.
His hands, no, my hands brushed against something soft and warm. He recoiled, fumbling back onto his elbows.
Who the fuck is this?
He scrambled to his feet, wobbling on legs that felt like jelly. The stench intensified as he staggered toward a cracked, grimy mirror.
His reflection.
Red hair. Brown eyes. Average height. Pale, slightly pudgy where there shouldn't be. And those hands. He repeatedly touched his face, panicking.
"…No fucking way."
"No… no… no…" he muttered, a tremor of disbelief threading through his voice.
He knows that face
This… this has to be a dream. A cruel, fucked-up dream after too many games.
He slapped his own cheek. Hard. Pain exploded across his face.
"…Oh, fuck me."
A soft, wet giggle crawled across his spine like a snake.
"Oh? Feeling lonely, young man?"
Astra spun around.
A drunken older woman lurched toward him, eyes wild, drool running down her chin. Her belly sagged, skin mottled with years of drink and sun, but her grin was hungry, feral, which made his stomach lurch.
"…Oh hell no."