In this world, there are five main gods. There are apparently more, created through the accumulation of worship and extremely special circumstances, but the strongest gods by far are the Original Gods, existing since the dawn of this world.

The one who created this world, the god of creation, his twin brother, the god of destruction, and their little brother, Kronos—these are all unworshipped gods that have no interest in the faith of mortals, making no effort to appear to mortals.

Then there is Aurora, the Goddess of Light, the daughter of the God of Creation and the one humans worship. She is the origin of holy power, as it stems from the connection between her and her believers.

There is also Nyx, the Goddess of Darkness and Death, daughter of the God of Destruction. She is worshipped by demons, but only a few, as these savages care for nothing but personal power.

My information on the gods is extremely limited, but I know they exist. Still, I know meeting an actual god inside their domain is not advised.

To think I'm doing this for the second time.

“Ark, my nieces have their eyes on you.” Kronos speaks to me casually, much to my annoyance, but I will ignore it for now.

“Oh, such an honor! Being watched by the gods is a wish that came true. It's probably just a side bonus that I get two stalkers without any benefit or assistance whatsoever.” I roll my eyes.

Seriously, gods are useless if all you do is watch.

It's like yelling at a novel whenever a character does something stupid. Pretty helpful, right?

“Kronos,” I decide to go down to business, “let Iris take on a trial to become your apostle.”

“Apostle?” Iris darts between me and Kronos in her gaze, confused as to what is happening.

“Yes, my daughter,” Kronos answers in my stead. “Ark wants to fully awaken your dormant god factor, thus eradicating the contamination. It could work.”

Then, a curtain is raised that separates me from the two. Kronos must want a private conversation, as well as letting Iris process the reality of being his daughter and the implications of becoming an apostle.

As far as I can tell, they spent a few decades getting chummy with each other.

Before the veil is lifted, I attack it with destructive intent, showing my blatant dislike.

Surprisingly, the black intent fades away, as if countless millennia have passed.

My attempt was playful, but the failure was mostly because of the vast gap in powers between us. A god is at their strongest inside their domain, and I am having trouble reading their intent. It's a level mortals shouldn't be able to reach.

Just watch me.

Once Iris steps out of the veil, confusion no longer plagues her expression. Instead, her usual resolve flares once again, this time much brighter, without a shadow.

“I will do it,” she says. “I will take the trial and become your apostle, Lord Kronos.”

“Great. But...”

“I will take the trial,” I say. “I am the one who will take on the burden of apostolization.”

“Ark, there is no need...”

“I tried to kill you for real. Spare your sympathy for wimps.” I brush her off.

Killing Iris would have been so easy, just one strike and it's over. My reputation? My standing? She became such a threat to me that I am fine discarding all of that in an instant. It doesn't matter how others look at me, because I am still alive.

But...

BUT!

I hate it so much!

Why didn't Kronos take responsibility for his damn child and have a fucking demigod living in the mortal world?

Why?!

If he had only taken her away, I wouldn't have to see this terrible mirror.

I am not sure what makes me empathize so much with her. But I do. I feel like we are similar, and I want to punch her for being so weak and expecting others to help. And I want to punch myself, because if I don't help her when she so desperately needs it, then I will be too big of a hypocrite.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

When I was young, I also foolishly asked for help, for someone to come to my rescue.

They never did, and now I know only I can save myself. I overcame whatever despair the world threw at me and continued on this wretched path full of pain and misery.

Apostolization? I will do it.

Helping Kronos in the process without just compensation? Fine.

My rewards? Being able to play the hero for a child I don't even like. Basically nothing.

It's worth it.

Because a little girl playing adult cries for help against an absurdity.

Kronos tries to peer into my mind, which I pretend not to notice. He smiles. “I will initiate the process as soon as you are ready.”

I breathe, disconnecting my emotions several times to bring myself under control. There is a need to brace myself for the experience, the hellish experience where I might lose my sense of self.

The little princess looks at me with a funny expression. I chuckle shortly before stretching my hand. “I need physical contact to establish a link via Synchronization. This is how I will take on the burden of apostolization.”

“It will hurt. A lot,” she says, likely filled in on the details by Kronos.

I answer without avoiding her gaze. “Yes.”

“Killing me would be easier. You weren't serious at that time.”

“Yup.”

“Why? Pity? Sympathy?”

“Nope. For all I care, even if you die, I will only shift my thoughts to what would bring me the most benefits.” I stop, uncomfortable with how honest I have been so far. It really is unlike me. “You asked why. Let me tell you: Because I am an asshole. I am evil. I am greedy, and I enjoy fighting only when it's convenient, when it doesn't hurt. I am someone who wants to become the Hero solely for the powers it will give me. I am a monster.”

I pause; disgusting emotions surface, and I keep thinking about doing horrible things just to vent.

Yet it isn't enough. So I push it back, stuffing down my emotions to become even more twisted than yesterday.

“I am such a terrible person, and I no longer want to be a good person. I am done trying such a vain effort. But I will continue to pretend. I will wear the mask of a good person for my own reasons until I perish, unlikely to be surrounded by my loved ones, lying to myself it was worth it.”

“Ark,” Iris says, shocked to the core. “I...”

“You will live,” I complete her. “Because when I see someone who goes through the same absurdity as I did, I want to crush them even more, to push them even further until they either break or perish, but a good person would sympathize and help, so that's what I will do.”

For a few minutes, silence ensues. Iris fell into deep thought, and I let her digest everything. The poor girl has been overwhelmed with all the revelations.

She looks at me, and I swear, I do not hallucinate when I see her as her older self, a smile of someone who tries their best without regret. “Monsters aren't born; they are created.”

“...”

“You had cherished your loved ones so much that their deaths destroyed you. Someone told me that he—you—were the most dangerous and most pitiful in the world. Ark, so few people try to become better in this world, so few do good, so few save others despite all the pain it will bring them.”

I did not come here for a therapy session.

I didn't, but I listen to her until the end.

“Ark, are you in pain?” she asks.

“Yes.” My emotions hurt me; my body burns. The pain is ever-present; it was never once gone. “From the day I was born, my companions have been emptiness, Phantom and pain.”

“Isn't it hard?”

I shake my head.

I hate pain, hate hurting, but I never once wanted it gone. I need pain to keep me alive, to satiate the endless void inside me.

“Little princess, you will learn in time that pain is always better over emptiness.”

Iris nods, then I realize she already understands. She spent years trying to fill the hole in her heart, trying to dream, to strive towards grand ambitions, to save the world from the worst ending. Somewhere along the way, she lost herself.

Maybe that's why she really assumed the childish act: because she wanted to return to the times when everything was simple.

I decide to change the subject, constantly aware of Kronos the entire time. “You do realize that your birth is an experiment for something?”

The god of time shakes his head. “The offsprings of gods are born differently than you imagine, Ark. It is a matter of thought. I haven't set foot in the mortal realm for millennia, so how do you suppose Iris was born?”

I think about the intent I read off the king. It was weird, to put it simply, if not impossible.

Iris isn't adopted, but King Alden is not the father.

The queen did not cheat; Alden was sure of it.

“The queen is a believer of yours. She has the holy power born from your divinity,” I start, speaking slowly, my mind spinning with theories put in order, a puzzle finally complete. “At that time, you channeled divinity into her, and that's how Iris was born a demigod.”

Kronos smiles softly, looking at his daughter. “Noelle is one of my few anchors, one of the humans that bothered to worship a god such as myself. On her deathbed, she yearned to live, earnestly hoping to survive. I gave her life, and that divine life donned the flesh of a human girl and came out nine months later.”

Iris blushes, and I roll my eyes.

“Can we start now? I have sufferings to experience and training to do.”

With a snap, the golden ground disappears, and I fall into a river of emerald shiny liquid, a single golden thread at its core. From it, an infinite number of strings diverge, representing the fates of all living beings.

The apostolization begins; my whole being sears with pain as my soul shoulders the immense burden. I fail to grasp the golden thread, my hand unable to touch it, and I fall even deeper below the river, into a void.

Red threads glow dimly in the dark of the void. Some intertwine with another, then unravel. Some pulsate, some lost their light, likely belonging to a deceased.

I lightly touch a few, and images instantly ripple in my mind. The more I touch, the more I recognize. People I have saved, people I have killed. It's a complex weave of countless threads of twisted destinies, all fates I have influenced.

Most of the glowing threads form a loop, emerging from the river and returning to it, their fates corrected. Some are still on their way back.

I stop as I see a familiar person, a faint smile on my lips. She seems to be doing fine.

Mine is close to hers, our destinies entangled for a long time before diverging. My thread is one pulsating into the abyss, growing further from the river. The only thread vertical to it.

I touch it, and I am pulled in.