Devon kept looking around the hospital ward, searching for that voice.
Could they have found me?
No, it's too early. Farel would still have to meet with Fate, and Fate is an entity—he can't answer Farel instantly. So perhaps I still have a hundred years left… to become a god.
Becoming a god in that short amount of time was ridiculous—but he'd take it.
"You really think you stand a chance?" the voice replied.
Devon stayed calm. "Show yourself. Let's talk."
"Talk? What gave you the idea I'd want to talk?"
"You haven't killed me yet, so I assume you want something from me."
"Devon, very young, you're a smart man," the voice chuckled. "But what I want from you… is your life."
Suddenly, Devon was pulled deep into his own consciousness.
The sight before him was eerie—like the end of the world was unfolding just beyond his eyes. A great expanse of pure darkness stretched endlessly, swirling slowly like a vast cosmic whirlpool. Devon stood—though there was no ground beneath his feet.
And there it was—
A man wearing a round hat, with a cigar etched at the side of his mouth. Devon's breath hitched. That adds a nice ring to it, he thought faintly—but why did he change it?
His eyes widened in horror before slowly returning to their cold, calculating form.
"Seems like you do remember me," the man said, puffing a slow stream of smoke.
Devon looked at himself—his original form. White hair, mask, and a long brown raincoat.
Could it be that I never left in the first place? I never travelled back in time? If that's the case… who could pull off such a simulation?
As far as he was concerned, right now, there was only the Goddess of Illusion. And even if she had cast such a spell, she would've needed several mystical or legendary artifacts.
Not to forget, he was already a god before he left. Even if he had just ascended, a mid-tier goddess like her shouldn't be capable of such an illusion strong enough to affect him.
Unless… my ascension was also an illusion.
But he discarded that thought.
Ascending to godhood required three things: one's inner will, the Heavenly Will, and a certain mastery over power itself.
The problem with illusions was that the Heavenly Will couldn't be forged or staged. It manifests only three times in a person's life: first, when ascending from Water to Ascendant—then, from Transcendent to Deity—and finally, from Deity to God. Each step required true mastery and alignment with Heaven's Will.
So Devon, descending calmly, looked at the man and asked, "How are you here? I was certain I killed you."
"Turns out you do remember me," the man said, grinning. "The bastard son of Hope remembers me. I'm genuinely impressed."
"How did you get here?" Devon asked again.
"Get here?" The man laughed. "I've always been with you, Devon. I always thought you'd never see me again. But this… this is a crazy development. Makes me happy after all."
"Happy?" Devon echoed, his tone cold.
"Yes. I was your first kill—me, the Great Valkyne—taken down by a measly night guard. But after watching your life unfold, I stopped wishing you dead. You really are a resilient son of a bitch."
"Seems like you didn't understand my question." Devon pulled off his glove, the air around his hand distorting with raw power. "I'm asking why you're in my head."
"Stop that. Your powers don't work here." Valkyne's tone deepened, echoing through the void. "And as for your question—I am one of your many regrets. I'm sure you have more questions, but they'll be answered… in time."
He smiled, turned, and walked away into the swirling dark.
Devon's eyes opened. He was back. Reality pressed down on him again.
It was done. He had stayed ten whole hours in his own mind.
"Seems like time is far deader than I thought," he muttered.
He stared at the hospital curtains for a while. His body felt sore.
Not long after, the nurse walked in to check on him.
She was a cute, busty lady—perhaps in her early thirties or mid-twenties—but looking at her didn't stir even the faintest emotion in him.
He felt absolutely nothing.
"Date," Devon said suddenly.
"Date?" she repeated, confused.
"Yes. The date. Do you know it?"
"It should be… the 10th of October," she said after thinking.
Devon's eyes widened—then slowly curved into a grin, one far too sharp and knowing for a fourteen-year-old boy.