He had awakened in a realm of blinding, oppressive brightness. The space around him was infinite, a sterile, featureless void of pure white. There was no horizon, no sky, no ground.
And hovering just a few feet before him, was a figure.
It was not a man. It was not a beast. It was an entity clothed entirely in pure, unadulterated light, as if the core of a dying star had been woven into a physical garment. The sheer magnitude of its presence was suffocating. Devin felt as though the gravity in the room had increased tenfold just by looking at it.
"Arise from the ashes, my child."
The voice did not come from a mouth. It resonated from the very fabric of the white realm itself, vibrating directly through Devin's soul. It was a god-like voice, absolute, eternal, and terrifyingly calm.
Devin was trembling. His ethereal form shook violently under the sheer, crushing weight of those words.
He placed his hands flat on the unseen floor and forced himself to stand. He staggered, his legs feeling both entirely weightless and as heavy as lead. He looked up at the figure. He was standing in the literal presence of the creator of the universe. He was looking at God.
But as the initial shock faded, a strange realization washed over him.
He didn't feel adoration. He didn't feel a profound sense of peace or admiration. He didn't even feel the instinctive, Holy-Gene-driven urge to get on his knees and worship the divine light.
What he felt was hatred.
It was a pure, unadulterated, venomous hatred that burned hotter than the fire that had consumed his castle. Looking at this perfect, pristine being, Devin felt as if the entity seated before him had personally, meticulously handcrafted the brutal slaughter of his family, just for His own twisted amusement.
"You..." Devin started.
His voice trembled, but not with fear. It shook with a rage that completely eclipsed his phantom pain. He took a step forward, his hands balling into tight fists.
"You did this!" Devin screamed into the blinding light, unleashing seventeen years of hidden resentment and the fresh, raw agony of watching his father torn to pieces. "It was all You! You let this happen!"
The entity of light did not move. It simply watched.
"You sit up here in your perfect, sterile little void while my father is ripped apart!" Devin roared, taking another step closer, entirely uncaring of the consequences. "While Bridget is slaughtered like an animal! While they drag my mother away in chains! You are no God! You're a sick, twisted—"
"Silence."
The word was not spoken loudly, but it carried the weight of a collapsing mountain.
"Now kneel."
The moment the command left the light, the Holy Gene woven into the deepest fibers of Devin's soul betrayed him. As if God had absolute, puppeteer-like control over his very essence, Devin's body moved without his permission.
His knees slammed violently into the unseen white floor. He was physically forced into a posture of complete and utter submission. His head was bowed against his will, his neck locking in place. But his eyes remained furiously angled upward, locked on the radiant figure, burning with an inextinguishable defiance.
"You harbor a fascinating contradiction, Devin Trangdar," God spoke.
There was a subtle shift in the harmonic vibrations of the voice. It wasn't anger. It was... amusement.
"Born with the mark of absolute faith etched into your very being, yet your heart remains a barren, stubborn wasteland of disbelief. You curse me for the violent actions of mortal men, yet you demand salvation from the very hands you so openly despise."
"I demand nothing from you," Devin spat through gritted teeth, fighting a losing battle against the invisible force pressing his face toward the ground. The strain made his spectral muscles ache. "I want to kill them. I want to watch Count Sapien choke on his own venom."
The light seemed to pulse. It was a slow, rhythmic throb that felt eerily like a heartbeat.
"Revenge," God mused. "A deeply human, deeply flawed pursuit. It is petty. It is destructive. Yet... it is undeniably entertaining."
Instantly, the invisible pressure vanished.
Devin gasped, falling forward onto his hands. He panted heavily, his chest heaving as if he had just sprinted a thousand miles. He slowly pushed himself up, glaring at the entity.
"I do not intervene in the squabbles of monarchs and monsters, little prince," God continued, His tone turning incredibly cold and vast, reminding Devin exactly how insignificant he was. "But your defiance amuses me. You were meant to be a loyal vessel of my will. A beacon of my light. Instead, you choose to be a blade forged in hatred."
The light shifted, reaching out toward Devin like a solar flare.
"So, I shall let you be a blade."
Devin narrowed his eyes, shielding his face from the blinding glare. "What are you talking about?"
"I am returning you to the board, Devin," God proclaimed. The white realm around them began to slowly swirl, forming a blinding vortex of energy. "But your original vessel is nothing but ruined meat rotting on the courtyard stones. Therefore, I shall grant you a gift. A tool for your petty vengeance."
Devin felt a strange, cold sensation wrapping around his soul.
"The ability to cast your essence into the vessels of others," God explained, the amusement returning to His voice. "You shall be a wanderer of flesh. You will take what is not yours. You will wear the skins of your enemies and your allies alike. You will weave your bloody tapestry of vengeance across the North."
Devin's breath hitched. The concept was vague, terrifying, and completely alien. Moving into other bodies? Swapping his soul like changing a coat? Before he could ask how it worked, or what the ultimate price of such dark, twisted magic was, the blinding light began to rapidly condense, searing directly into his retinas.
"Show me this hatred, Devin Trangdar," God whispered. The voice no longer resonated in the room; it echoed directly from within Devin's own mind. "Entertain me."
The infinite white realm shattered like a pane of fragile glass.
Devin was plummeted backward into a terrifying, rushing abyss of absolute darkness. The sensation of falling was absolute and dizzying. He could feel his consciousness spiraling violently back toward the mortal plane, hurtling like a meteor toward a new, unknown vessel.
As the rushing wind deafened him and the cold void swallowed him whole, only one coherent thought managed to pierce the chaotic terror of his resurrection.
Did I just make contact with God in this new world?