Behind him lay a fractured expanse, a gaping void that had formed as he forced his way into this realm.

His presence exuded an almost celestial grace, captivating the onlookers below who marveled at his predominantly white figure. Of course, this perception was slightly skewed by the black hoodie and sweatpants he wore, but if one were to focus on his ethereal white hair, wings, and halo, they could easily classify him as a being of pure light.

He inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet, fresh air of the mortal world, yet his eyes bore the weight of exhaustion, reminiscent of a soldier returning from a grueling battle, one who had lost a dear friend over the course of the conflict. “It seems there are quite a few gods present…” he murmured to himself, urgency creeping into his thoughts. “…Oh, that’s right. Sanzang did tell me there’d be another war soon. I guess that explains the smell of blood... I should hurry and save the humans. Wait… no. Should I save the gods from the humans? There seems to be two northeast here, desperate for some assistance. And there’s one west of here who could also use some help. They seemed to be in a deadlock to my North. But the humans to the south seem to need some assistance… I really do want to save the gods though. Or maybe I want to save the humans-?”

His outward dialogue was abruptly interrupted by the chilling specter of his past, manifesting as a young boy who mirrored his own childhood form. “Isn’t it obvious.” the boy whispered, his voice a haunting echo of his own youthful tone. “Tell me, Akuma. Do you want to turn out like ‘he’ did?”

A vivid image flashed in his mind of a seventeen-year-old boy with short golden hair, wielding a holy blade in his left hand and a fist of fury directed at humanity in the other.

“No. I don’t.” He answered firmly.

“So, it only makes sense you do the opposite of what he did, no? Besides, who’s responsible for humanities stray from virtue? You said it yourself, didn’t you? Remember.”

“…The gods. They are to blame.”

“Yes. Meaning, there’s only one thing to do.”

The child, a physical embodiment of Akuma’s past traumas and resolve, turned his gaze toward the land to the east, ironically the site of his first memory in this new world.

image [https://i.imgur.com/jLQ7CYA.jpeg]

It began with a subtle step, though it hardly seemed appropriate to label it as such since he was suspended in mid-air. Perhaps it would be more fitting to describe it as a gentle flick of his foot. Yes, that feels more accurate. With that flick, he found himself within a wooden hideout, a place that was meant to be cut off from the outside world -a sort of pocket dimension, if you will.

To his right stood the enchanting Sanzang, her kimono slightly worn but she appeared to be mostly unharmed. Behind her were his former allies, Rin and Tenshi, both bearing wounds that went far beyond mere wear and tear. On his left was a man in his thirties, though he could easily be mistaken for someone in his late twenties. Remarkably, he bore no signs of injury; neither his armor nor his skin showed any marks. Did he even need armor? It seemed to be light, so perhaps he could be excused.

“Akuma…” Sanzang managed to utter, her face a mask of disbelief. Trapped in this pocket dimension, they had been oblivious to the thunderous booms heralding his return. Rin and Tenshi shared her astonishment, but their exhaustion rendered them speechless.

“Who the hell are you?” Achillies inquired, his posture reflecting the demeanor of an unmotivated warrior.

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The question caught Akuma off guard. He had been reincarnated twice, living three distinct lives, and even carried the memories of a fourth life that belonged to another. It was a challenge to define himself with a single name, having been three, nearly four different individuals. Yet, there was one title he could claim, one identity that matched perfectly with all his lives. “…I’m God.”

It was typical for deities to refer to themselves as "a god," but to simply call oneself "God" bordered on blasphemy. Such an assertion undermined the true creator, the one who meticulously shaped Yggdrasil from nothing.

And it was that very reason why Achilles erupted into laughter, almost derisively, at the boy's bold claim. "God, huh?" he scoffed, a tear of mirth welling in his eye. "Damn, I haven't had a good laugh like that in ages. Thanks a lot, man. I really mean it."

Dismissing his amusement, Akuma marched closer to his towering form, and raised his fist, enveloped in a radiant white glow.

"Listen, God. Clearly you have divinity, I mean you reek of the damn thing. But that’s still just gonna to be a waste of effort. Ask your friend over there. She tried everything -seriously, everything. I didn’t even know it was possible to know so many tricks."

"Tell me…" The boy's eyes flared, his crimson gaze sending a chill down Achilles' spine. "…Are you certain about that?"

“?”

*BOOM!

It was as if thunder had struck.

Sanzang gasped, witnessing the impossible unfold before her. She had exhausted every strategy she could muster, mimicking every attack she remembered from Buddha and even from her old allies, Sandy and Pigsy. Tenshi and Rin had also given their all, yet all their efforts had been in vain against Achilles' defenses. And yet, here she stood, witnessing the extraordinary. The vision of a crimson crescent appeared as he was propelled through the hideout, crashing through the previously intact door and obliterating the front wall. To shield the weary Rin and Tenshi, she conjured a golden barrier shaped like two hands, protecting them from the collapsing hideout.

Unlike the Angels, the Olympians were tethered to their mortal forms, which were intricately woven with blood and flesh. Among these Olympians, Achilles stood apart in a way that was nothing short of remarkable. It wasn't that he lacked blood; rather, throughout his entire life, he had never witnessed it flowing from his own wounds. His skin had remained unblemished, his body untouched by the crimson tide that marked the struggles of “lesser warriors”. Even during the fierce and chaotic battles of the first Trojan War, where the clash of swords and the cries of the dying filled the air, he had never once caused his own blood to spill. This was not merely luck; it was a testament to his innate connection to the art of war.

Now, reborn as an Olympian, he wielded an almost supernatural defense. The spear he clutched in his hand was not just his Tamashi. It was the requirement to his Infinite. As long as he held it, he was invincible, impervious to any harm that might come his way. As long as he held onto that spear, he was the embodiment of strength and confidence, a warrior who had faced countless foes and emerged unscathed.

Yet, in a cruel twist of fate, he found himself grappling with a reality that shattered his sense of invulnerability. How could it be that he had sustained an injury? And such a severe one at that. The confusion and distress washed over him like a tidal wave, crashing against the shores of his mind. The once confident warrior, now felt a deep, gnawing fear take root within him. It was a sensation he had never known before… The press of Death.

His voice erupted in a mix of anguish and disbelief. "What on earth are you?!" The pain radiating from his side was unlike anything he had ever experienced, but perhaps it was the sting of his wounded pride that truly cut deep.

“I’ve already answered that question.” the boy replied calmly, his demeanor unsettling.

“!”

(Could this child truly be, him?! The child who was prophesized to destroy Gaia, as well as every human in this world?! …No, that’s impossible. Apollo’s plan should’ve been flawless. His soul should’ve been destroyed when he got here.)

"But I have a question for you… Why did you let humanity stray so far? It was your job to lead them, wasn’t it?"

"What? What are you even saying?" Achillies stared at the boy who claimed to be "God." Despite the halo and wings, he lacked any semblance of divine authority. To Achillies, this felt more like a confrontation with the very pit of evil. For a moment, he mistook the figure before him for the manifestation of despair, Satan.

"You are a god. So, this is your fault! If they stray from the path of virtue, then you are all to blame! That’s what I told you all in heaven, isn’t it! That was my decree! You were meant to guide them! So how could you let them come to this!!"

The words tumbled out, nonsensical yet charged with desperation. With each step he took, the once proud warrior felt his confidence erode, leaving only the bitter taste of humility. "I-I’m not a god. I’m just a human. I was human once. Please, you must believe me. I was born human."

Isn’t it ironic how those who consider themselves superior often treat others with disdain? They crush and belittle, finding amusement in the struggles of the desperate. Yet when faced with their own challenges, they react no differently, scurrying in panic like the very ants they so carelessly trample.

Honestly. What good is it to make fun of others for the very things you can’t do.