"Even in death, it seems I can't find peace," 001 remarked with frustration.

Left, right, above, below, an oppressive darkness shrouded his senses.

A small ember of anger began to swell in his chest. 002's last words had hit him hard. In the bleak darkness of killing, where he spent his days, 002's voice was the one small thing that could actually affect his mood.

Memories of the beginning of his training began to resurface. No matter how poorly and cruelly he was treated, he loved swordsmanship.

Becoming stronger through his own efforts gave his life meaning. His motto became: your own efforts will never betray you.

Although he didn't like wielding his sword at the command of others, at least there was something he could achieve, something that no one could take from him.

By the age of 19, there was no one left who could defeat him in a one-on-one fight.

Yet, he couldn't dare to revolt. The thought of killing his comrades made him discard that notion.

But from that moment, everything became gray and monotonous. How could one get stronger when there were no more opponents? Of course, he would lose if several strong individuals like 002 went against him.

In the next two years, he understood one thing: people like them shouldn't exist.

Suddenly, his surroundings changed. An extreme pressure weighed on his shoulders. As if someone had tampered with gravity, he was forced to his knees.

No matter how powerful the pressure on him was, he showed no reaction. He simply didn't care; he had already made peace with his life.

There was almost nothing he regretted. He only wished that 002 and his family could live a life in peace without his existence.

Fear? Despair? These feelings no longer existed for him. They had been extinguished years ago.

Before him, the darkness began to theatrically recede. The outlines of a throne started to take shape in his vision.

The throne was made of bones. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a human head. The head was mounted on a violet spear.

The unnatural aspect was that it was not a skull but a head with skin and hair.

Short blue hair and violet, shining eyes gave the whole scene an even more surreal appearance.

On the throne sat a young man with black hair. A single glance at this being made his entire being tremble.

His black, silky hair seemed to absorb all light, while his matte black eyes sparkled. Beside him stood two red-glowing curved swords.

001's gaze rested calmly on his opponent. Even though his trained body urged him to flee immediately, he usually trusted his instincts, but now he had nothing to lose, so why should he care?

"Not bad, not bad. Who would have expected such an interesting individual? Your soul seemed intriguing, but who would have guessed that you are so fascinating?"

His clear voice radiated undisguised power and strength. Yet, there was another emotion in it, one he was very familiar with.

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Suddenly, his beloved sword materialized before him. His long-time companion lay once more in his hand.

"I am Astaroth, the God of Death. Some colleagues currently prefer to call me 'the Renegade.' Take your sword and fight!"

As soon as the god before him drew his swords, 001's heart began to race with excitement.

A long-forgotten feeling of danger coursed through his body. His initial plan to simply not react to the god in hopes of being annihilated changed abruptly.

Instinctively, his grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. Full of anticipation, he aimed his blade at the god's head.

With a joyful smile, Astaroth deflected the blade effortlessly with one of his swords.

Even as he parried, his second sword, shrouded in a blood-red glow, streaked toward 001's heart.

With a fluid motion of his torso, 001 narrowly dodged the attack. His free sword instantly targeted one of Astaroth's legs.

The god evaded the unexpected strike with ease, leaping into the air. While airborne, he swung both swords diagonally toward 001's head.

Acting on reflex, 001 stepped forward, ensuring the attack missed. He countered by thrusting his long hilt toward Astaroth's stomach while simultaneously kicking at his shin.

Instead of dodging, the god wrapped his sword around, positioning it so that the blade would instantly reach 001's throat.

Rather than being struck, 001 used the momentum of his kick to turn it into a flip, skillfully maneuvering around the god's blade with his daring move.

A hint of surprise flashed in Astaroth's eyes.

Minutes turned into hours, hours into days. They completely lost track of time. Only the fight mattered; everything else faded from their perception.

This battle was not only a tremendous strain on their bodies but also on their minds. A single unnecessary thought could lead to defeat.

Pure ecstasy danced across the god's face. Even 001 felt a wild grin spreading on his own lips. No matter how he struck, jumped, or feinted, none of his attacks managed to reach their target.

Countless times, he was on the brink of defeat. Cuts all over his body were testament to those moments.

001 was clearly on the losing side. Precisely because of this, he felt liberated, unburdened by the darkness he lived in.

A sharp pain shot through his body. Blood dripped to the ground. The blood-red swords had finally managed to create a small opening.

The unique aspect of the god's fighting style was the independence of his swords. It was as if they were wielded by two different people.

Ultimately, one of the swords pierced his abdomen.

Yet, it wasn't 001 who was surprised, but Astaroth.

In the moment of his defeat, 001 abruptly abandoned his defense and struck upward from below.

He didn't manage to inflict a serious wound, as Astaroth reflexively twisted his upper body. Nonetheless, a small cut managed to mar the god's body.

Surprised, he looked at his chest, then burst into loud, joyous laughter.

"Incredible. When it comes to sheer weapon handling, even the other gods would struggle to keep up with you. Of course, one must consider that their affinities are the reason. Once a certain level is reached, fighting with weapons becomes too difficult compared to using abilities. To advance more quickly, it theoretically pays off more to focus on one's abilities. I am one of the few among the gods who holds a different opinion. However, that doesn't diminish your strength. Even in pure weapon mastery, I am not much better than you. Of course, only if I lower my level to yours."

"He radiated slight sadness and great anger when he spoke about the other gods," 001 observed attentively.

"Initially, my goal in summoning you was to kill the other heroes. With your skill, we might even go further. I want to kill the other gods with you," Astaroth explained, full of deep-seated hatred.

001's expression immediately hardened.

"At first, I intended to annoy you until you finally left me alone. After our battle, I will at least listen to your request," he declared fearlessly.

"No respect for gods, I like that. Really amusing. It's much better than sycophancy. The reason for my request is simple: revenge.

There are eight gods now, but originally there were ten. Unfortunately, this changed with the decision of an old friend who wanted to become the most powerful of all gods. His goal was to become an ultimate, perfect being. He killed Ferion, the God of Eternal Frost. Then he slaughtered 29 of the 30 demigods at the gathering to honor the gods. In a short time, he gained terrifying power. Our so-called mighty gods remained silent during this time. While he grew stronger, they debated what to do.

His name was Antaroth the Wise. He was my best friend. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I was in seclusion at the time of the massacre, striving to attain godhood. The last demigod he killed was my wife. When I joyfully returned as a god, I suddenly received this news," a desperate laugh escaped his dry lips. "In my rage, I was the only one to stand against him in a brutal fight. To the surprise of the other gods, I managed to kill him.

You must know that a god gains the affinity of another god by killing them. That’s why the gods debated for so long. Everyone wanted to be the one to kill him. Thus, I acquired three affinities: ice, gravity, and darkness. The other gods feared and envied my power, so they decided to banish me, which is akin to sealing me away.

That's more or less my story."

For several minutes, silence reigned.

"What should I do?" A second chance seemed uninteresting at first glance. However, after some thought, he realized the intriguing possibility of becoming stronger again. He missed the feeling of achievement when overcoming an obstacle. Moreover, there was nothing stopping him; he could end his life at any time.

Astaroth's story didn't evoke any emotions in him, only a certain understanding.

"My motivation to kill others on command is rather limited," he replied after a long silence.

"Observe the heroes for a while. I think you'll come to the conclusion on your own that they are a plague," Astaroth countered.

"You seem to have gone through a lot as well; it's evident in your demeanor. You look lonely and bored. If you want, just let it be and spend your second life in peace, as you see fit," he added nonchalantly.

However, his voice revealed that he genuinely meant it.

More minutes passed in silence.

"Well, I might as well check it out. I can always die anyway," 001 finally decided.

"Good to hear. You haven't told me your name yet," Astaroth noted expectantly.

"I don't have a name. They call me 001."

"Hmm, how about Azrael? You will need a name anyway."

"That works," he responded indifferently.

"Good, then. Azrael, shall we begin with the abilities and attributes?"