“No I didn’t,” I say, purely by reflex. “I’m not… I haven’t—”

He takes another deep whiff, leaning in closer to really get a sense of my scent. “You’re right. You haven’t. At least… not fully.”

“Wh—what’s that supposed to mean?”

His grin widens, but before he can answer me, whoever’s doing their trial currently yelps, grabbing Hunter’s attention. “Hrm. We’ll have to discuss this later. However…” He turns back to me, amusement shining through his every facial twitch. “Don’t get too carried away, God of Hope.”

Hearing his animalistic voice saying that horrible title makes me shiver from head to toe. Actually, I might be breaking out into hives, too. “Don’t call me that,” I bite out, but by that point, he’s already returned to his post. Damn it. This seriously sucks.

“So…” Gecko leans into my vision. “What was that all about?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I genuinely don’t know.” I run my hands through my hair. Hm.

…Hm?

I look at my hands. Something’s off. They don’t… feel… real.

I clench them into fists. Shit. Whatever happened just now, it was not good. Alright. Let’s just calm down, first of all. I am… Lo Fennrick. I’m human. I’m from Skåne, Sweden, and my favorite game is The Munchables for the Nintendo Wii.

I’m mortal. I have a body of flesh and blood.

I’m not a god. I don’t want to be a god. Being a god means having to live with your mistakes for thousands of years, if not forever. That sounds shitty.

Like, I’m pretty sure I’ve said this before, but I don’t actually care about being powerful, and being semi-immortal kind of sucks, so I can’t imagine being fully immortal would be any better. Nothing I want to do requires me to be a god. Being a god doesn’t get me closer to anything or anyone I value.

I don’t want to be a god.

So, why…?

Why do I have this status window?

(formerly Lo Fennrick)

Ruling: Error! N/A

Influence: Error! N/A

Miracles: Error! N/A

Sphere of Reign: 0,000000001m

Divinity: 0,0000400012889

Error! Ascension incomplete.

Divinity insufficient.

Minimum 0,01 divinity required.

Error! Soul incomplete.>

Sure, everything about it is screwed. Sure, it’s packed with errors. Sure, it’s literally saying that I don’t have enough this and that to be a god.

But I still have the window.

I’m not a god, but…

It’s damn close. And I hate that.

Across the arena, someone shouts with joy and their friends congratulate them.

“Good work, everyone! With that, the combat trial has ended, and we move onto the willpower trial. Gecko, Hope, if you’d please join us, I’ll take you to where the willpower test will be conducted.”

I stand up. My legs bring me over to him. When I almost stumble, Gecko catches me, saying something calming. I thank her, and we move on.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Hunter explains how the trial is supposed to go, and why we’re in another damn cave, and the trial gets started, but I don’t really listen. My hands look weird. When I move them through the air, back and forth, they seem to leave afterimages, and my skin… It’s whiter than normal.

I hunch down beside Gecko and wave one of my hands in front of her face. “Did my hand look like this an hour ago?”

“I—hrrnngg—really don’t… know, Kitty,” she grunts out, her pained expression twitching with each syllable. “Could you, erm… Hrngg… maybe, haah, let me concentrate… Just a moment?”

“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, okay. Um… Good luck with the trial!”

“Th—thanks,” she replies.

I stand back up. Of the six normal challengers, two have already given up. That makes sense, I guess. I’m not sure why the rest look so constipated, or why they have to sit on the floor to do this, but it’s really none of my business.

However, the problem is…

Over to the side, sitting on a completely misplaced armchair, sipping on a cup of hot cocoa, is Hunter. There’s an empty armchair next to him, alongside a small coffee table. I can only assume that the cup standing on top of it contains hot cocoa, too. When he notices my gaze, he smiles his two-faced smile and waves for me to join. Urgh… I guess I can’t put it off any longer.

Unhappily, I trudge up to him. He waves for me to sit down, so I take a seat. He nudges the cup of hot cocoa to me. Frowning, I accept it and take a sip.

Horrible observation: a soft chair and a warm cup of cocoa is actually really calming. I feel a big chunk of worry leave me, and with no conscious thought, I sigh happily. “Ahhh…”

“How are you feeling?”

I take another sip. “A little better,” I mutter. “But still pretty shit.”

“That’s good to hear,” he says. Noticing my overt confusion, he chuckles and quickly elaborates. “If you had felt good after ascending, I would have been really worried.”

“I didn’t ascend,” I mutter. “I just… Simon, this little guy… he just absorbed the shards that were stuck in me, and then this happened, so… I don’t feel any different. I haven’t really changed.”

“It’s been a while since I ascended Myself, but… I remember feeling the same way. Of course, for me, it had come at the end of a rather rigorous and stern process, overlooked by the late God of Curiosity. He had to know the Gods that were to replace Him and build a new pantheon were up to snuff. But, still… It happened very suddenly. One day, I was a mortal, and the next, I was, well… this.”

“Are you saying that I’ll transform into some demon creature, too?”

It takes a moment for my words to sink in, at which point he bursts out laughing. “Oh, no, no! Of course not. I spent too much time hunting and hanging around non-sapients, so I turned out like this. But it took many, many years to become this distorted. Though, of course, at the beginning I had a harder time preserving my self-image, so in the first few years, I changed quite a bit. But then it stabilized, and from there, the change was very gradual.”

I look down at the cup I’m holding—at my hands, cradling the mug. They shimmer strangely in the light. Like a mirage. I take a sip, gulping it down. “So, um…” I turn to him, wiping the corners of my mouth and trying to keep from trembling. “What do you mean by preserving your self-image?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” he says, taking a sip from his own mug, forcing me to stew in uncertainty for several seconds. “The way you perceive yourself, is how you will look. Though, considering that you aren’t fully ascended, I can’t tell how extreme this will be. Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen someone ascend without a complete soul… Since My mind is fully ascended into My soul, changing My physical form, consciously or not, doesn’t hurt or cause any real damage. I can even fully discard it and create a new one, if necessary. But that’s a bother, so I avoid doing so. However, with an incomplete soul, it means your physical form is still capable of feeling pain. Whether you can fully die or not is uncertain…”

I can feel my head start shaking. “What are you even talking about?”

“Hm? Ah, sorry, I’m only thinking aloud. You should continue avoiding death. Divinity-based damage can hurt both your physical form and soul, if used properly, so you can still die, much as anything or anyone. Even Gods such as Myself can die, after all. It’s just more difficult.” He shakes his head. Heads? Head. “Nevertheless, that’s not what you’re worried about, is it?”

“Y—yeah,” I say. “Dying and being killed… Nothing really changed on that side.”

“Exactly. What you’re more interested in is whether or not your self-image will make you spontaneously transform into a flea. Isn’t that it?”

“Um… Essentially?”

He laughs. “Allow Me to set your mind at ease, then. Such extreme changes are unlikely, especially with your lack of divinity and soul. And even if they were to happen, it would still be slow enough for you to notice yourself. So, you just need to keep your self-image aligned with reality, and everything should be fine.”

“And, uh…” I gulp. He blinks at me. “How exactly do I do that? Have a realistic self-image, that is?”

“Well, uh, that’s…” He shakes his head. “Easier to do than explain. I guess… Accept yourself for who you are? Don’t focus overly on this or that aspect of yourself. You aren’t black-haired, or pale, or a gamer… You’re just a person who happens to be all of those things. Disconnect yourself from what you are.”

“And… how do I do that?”

Even with the face of two animals, I can tell he’s starting to get a bit exasperated. “You just… do. Be objective about yourself. Don’t judge your traits as good or bad. Take them as they are. Nothing less, nothing more. Look at yourself, accept who you are, including faults and mistakes and…”

“But I want to change,” I say. “How am I supposed to get better without judging myself for what I’m doing wrong?”

Miracle of the day: I brought a frown out of him. Somehow, it looks even less suited for his lips than his smiles do. “That’s… I don’t…” He presses his lips tightly and sets the cup on the table, putting one knuckle against his right chin. The display as a whole is disturbingly close to ‘The Thinker,’ and it makes me somehow feel even worse for bringing this out of him. “Some…” he starts, hesitatingly groping for words. “Some flaws are good to notice. Good to improve on. That’s also part of it. But… You have to be able to recognize… When you can’t improve.”

“But I want to improve,” I mutter hollowly. “I want to improve all of me, so I can get better and be a good person.”

He looks as though he’s about to say something poignant, but, in the end, he restrains himself. “You can improve,” he says, each word measured, “but… At some point… If you’re lucky…” He brings a smile out of himself. “You’ll reach a point where you no longer think about becoming a good person.”

I don’t get it. I still don’t get what he’s trying to tell me. I know he isn’t saying that it’s pointless to try to improve, or that the goal is to not care what kind of person you are. I know that. And still… Something cold and white slithers into my throat, hissing through my voice. “I used to be at that point. I don’t want to return there. I’d rather kill myself.”

His tawny smile mellows out. “I suppose so. But, I think… and maybe this is why you have the domain that you do, but…” He turns to me, all seven eyes glistening. “I believe you can improve.”

I stare back at him. Weakly, I swallow down the slithering, cold thing in my throat. “Thanks,” I croak out. “I’ll try to keep my own belief intact. And…” I chuckle. “Maybe I should start keeping a list of the people who believe in me.”

He grabs his hot cocoa again, sipping it with mirth. “Sounds like a good idea, Hope.”