Among all living beings, there exists an order — above mortals stand the gods.
But to those gods, what is humanity? What are mortals to a being who knows everything?
Inside a room that seemed small by mortal standards, the answer quietly revealed itself.
An elderly man with silver-white hair and beard sat upon a throne-like chair — God.
Before Him stood a table.
To Him, it was merely furniture.
But to the countless creatures living inside that "table," it was their entire world.
His gaze carried none of the compassion mortals imagined their creator to possess — no warmth, no pity. Only indifference.
The kind of cold detachment a man might feel watching a trail of ants crawling along the floor.
A man might at least feel curiosity toward ants.
But God did not.
For to Him, there was no mystery left in humanity — every possibility, every outcome, every future, He could know in an instant if He so wished.
He watched humanity discover fire. He grew bored.
With a gentle breath, He snuffed it out.
Time flowed. The world of men suffered drought. At His command, rain fell — and when humans rejoiced, He smiled faintly… then ordered a flood.
When the world became lush and green once more, His smile vanished.
"Give them plague," He murmured.
Mercy and compassion — such things were never necessary for the Almighty.
He desired, therefore He acted. The rest was irrelevant.
The world below drowned in screams, panic, and despair.
As death crept across the land, God's expression never changed.
He simply picked up a book, leafed through a few pages, and set it aside again.
Omniscient, omnipotent — there was nothing left for Him to learn.
Even books no longer amused Him.
He tossed it away, glanced idly at the dying mortals on the "table," then tilted His head toward the ceiling.
Bored again.
Perhaps He should destroy humanity altogether? Would that be fun?
Then—
His expression shifted. For the first time, a spark of interest lit His ancient eyes.
He looked up toward a distant point in space.
A door of light formed in the air — expanding, stretching until it reached the height of a man.
And from within that radiant gate… a figure stepped out.
A figure that radiated divinity.
Wreathed in endless brilliance, His very presence filled the world like the origin of all light.
The room, the heavens, reality itself trembled beneath His majesty.
Compared to this newcomer, the so-called Almighty looked less like a god and more like a frail, white-haired old man.
"Outer God."
The word left God's lips — not with anger, but with fascination.
He looked upon Balder with curiosity, even eagerness.
But His attendant did not share that calm.
"Outer God! How dare you gaze upon the Almighty directly!" the divine servant thundered, voice thick with outrage.
"Noisy."
Balder's eyes flicked toward him.
In an instant, the attendant's body shattered — collapsing into dust without a sound.
Balder turned back to God, voice low and cold.
"Your life-level is weak — extraordinary, at best. Let's see what this so-called omniscient, omnipotent power of yours really amounts to."
The next moment, He moved.
Reality collapsed. The room ceased to exist.
Above the heavens, a vast sun blazed into being — a luminous orb of annihilation.
With a single gesture, Balder sent it crashing down.
BOOM!
The world erupted.
The explosion dwarfed any nuclear detonation — the skies split open, clouds vaporized, the land sank, and all creation screamed.
Balder hovered amid the storm of destruction, eyes indifferent.
"That won't kill you. Come — show me your true form, 'God.'"
From the heart of the blast, a figure emerged — broken, tattered, body cracked and bleeding.
Hair and beard gone, the once-majestic being now looked more corpse than divine.
Yet His expression remained eerily serene.
Only His eyes had changed — no longer blank white, but hollow, empty, disturbingly void.
Then He smiled.
"I understand now. Watch me."
A second sun ignited above the heavens.
Mimicking Balder's earlier gesture, God pointed upward — and the new sun plunged earthward.
Balder's eyes widened.
He clenched his fist, hurling a punch that shattered the descending star.
BOOM!!!
The heavens tore apart. Space itself split into a vast abyss as energy screamed outward.
When silence returned, Balder's gaze fell back on the broken figure below — wary now.
That attack…
It was his own technique.
The "Divine Sun" — a god-art he himself had created through the power of light.
God's essence did not contain that power. He could not possibly wield it.
And yet… He had.
Perfectly. Even the destructive force was nearly identical.
"So this is your so-called omniscience and omnipotence…" Balder murmured, eyes narrowing. "Even a false omnipotence of a low-magic world can mimic divine techniques so precisely."
He exhaled slowly.
"Good thing I came to this third world — the one I abandoned first — to test your power up close. Now I can see what this false 'Almighty' truly is."
Balder's gaze darkened, falling upon the wounded deity whose golden ichor still dripped upon the scorched ground.
"Imitation omniscience, false omnipotence… frightening indeed."
"But since you can bleed—" his voice turned sharp, divine aura flaring like a storm, "—it means you can die."
And with that, killing intent erupted like a tidal wave, engulfing heaven and earth.
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