I was dodging again, barely avoiding the massive fists of these golems as they came at me from all directions. My body moved on instinct, a far cry from the divine grace I once commanded. I could feel the air around me ripple with each near-miss, my mortal reflexes just quick enough to keep me alive—but only just.
Damn it, why am I struggling like this?
My breathing was ragged, my vision narrowing as I desperately searched for an opening. Every time I thought I saw a gap in their defenses, another golem would close in, forcing me to twist and turn just to stay on my feet. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I am Aeschylus, the God of Destruction. These mindless automatons should be nothing more than pebbles under my feet. Yet here I am, dancing on the edge of death like some pathetic novice.
A sudden movement caught my eye, and before I could react, a golem’s fist slammed into my back, sending me flying across the chamber. The impact was like a mountain crashing down on me, and I felt my ribs crack under the pressure. I hit the wall hard, the stone shattering around me as I crumpled to the ground, pain exploding through my body.
I could taste blood in my mouth, feel it trickling down my face from a wound on my head. My vision blurred, dark spots dancing at the edges of my sight. The golems advanced, their movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring my imminent defeat.
Why? Why is this happening to me?
This shouldn’t be happening. I’m a god. These creatures should be crushed beneath my heel. But instead, I’m the one lying here, broken and bleeding. The humiliation of it all made me want to scream, to tear this dungeon apart with my bare hands. But I couldn’t. Not like this.
As the golems closed in, their massive hands reaching for me, I felt a sharp pang of déjà vu. This scene—it was familiar. Too familiar.
And then it hit me, a memory surfacing from the depths of my past. A memory from a time when I wasn’t a god, but a mortal, just like now. I was in a battle—one of many—but this one was different. I had been fighting a mage, a powerful one, who wielded wind magic with terrifying precision. I remember being thrown across the battlefield, much like now, my body battered and broken. I remember the pain, the hopelessness.
And I remember giving up.
Why? Why is this happening to me?
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This shouldn’t be happening. I’m a god. These creatures should be crushed beneath my heel. But instead, I’m the one lying here, broken and bleeding. The humiliation of it all made me want to scream, to tear this dungeon apart with my bare hands. But I couldn’t. Not like this.
As the golems closed in, their massive hands reaching for me, I felt a sharp pang of déjà vu. This scene—it was familiar. Too familiar.
And then it hit me, a memory surfacing from the depths of my past. A memory from a time when I wasn’t a god, but a mortal, just like now. I was in a battle—one of many—but this one was different. I had been fighting a mage, a powerful one, who wielded wind magic with terrifying precision. I remember being thrown across the battlefield, much like now, my body battered and broken. I remember the pain, the hopelessness.
And I remember giving up.
That day, I let the darkness take me, surrendering to the inevitable. I had been weak, unworthy of the power I later attained. But this time… this time, it was different.
I won’t give up. Not now. Not ever.
A surge of anger, of raw, primal rage, welled up inside me, pushing back the pain and fear. I could feel something snapping inside me, a floodgate opening, releasing a torrent of power I hadn’t known was still there. My memories, my pain, my fury—all of it came crashing down on me at once.
"No… NO!" I screamed, the sound tearing through my throat, raw and unfiltered. The force of it reverberated through the chamber, and I could hear the golems falter, as if taken aback by the sheer intensity of my voice.
The scream kept coming, a sound born of every ounce of frustration, anger, and desperation I had buried deep inside me. My body convulsed, power coursing through my veins, more than this mortal shell could handle. My eyes burned, glowing a fierce, unnatural blue, and I could feel blood seeping from the corners as the power within me struggled to break free.
The world around me blurred, distorted, as if reality itself couldn’t handle the force of my will. My clothes shredded, torn apart by the raw energy radiating from my body, leaving me half-naked, a broken god in a broken mortal shell. But I didn’t care. All I could do was scream—scream until my throat was raw, until the world shattered under the weight of my fury.
I remember nothing after that. Only darkness. The screaming—the sensation of my body breaking apart, of my mind slipping away into a void of rage and power—it all faded into nothingness.
When I finally regained consciousness, the chamber was silent. The golems… they were gone. Reduced to rubble, their cores shattered, their hulking forms scattered across the floor like discarded toys. I stood in the center of the destruction, my body weak, trembling, the last remnants of my power flickering like a dying flame.
But I didn’t remember any of it. The slaughter, the rage—it was all a blank, a void in my memory. I only knew one thing: I had survived. I had fought back. And I hadn’t given up.
For the first time in centuries, I felt something I hadn’t known in so long—fear. Not of the golems, not of the dungeon, but of myself. Of the power that still lay dormant within me, waiting for the right moment to break free.
I’m still a god, even in this mortal body. And gods… gods don’t give up.
As I stood amidst the ruins, my breathing heavy, my vision swimming, I knew one thing for certain: this was only the beginning.