Ray stared at the fragments of light circling him—shards of memory suspended in the abyss like broken mirrors reflecting a life he wished he could forget.
Each piece spun slowly, glowing faintly, carrying with it the weight of years he had endured. Faces he once held dear flickered alongside the faces he hated.
Moments of fleeting hope bled into moments of utter despair.
He saw himself as a child, trembling in dark alleyways.
He saw his mother, laughing one moment and screaming the next. He saw Damon, that smug noble brat, beating him senseless. He saw Garron's worried eyes. He saw blood—so much blood.
The memories turned around him like a silent storm.
A sharp pain tightened in Ray's chest.
His life… was misery.
It always had been.
The shards seemed to pulse, as if reacting to that truth.
Then the being spoke.
"Your life was truly pathetic," the star-forged voice said, echoing across the endless chamber. "You ran like a rat. You chased power yet achieved nothing. Pathetic indeed."
The words were spoken calmly, but each one cut deeper than a blade.
Ray's fists clenched.
His jaw tightened.
His breath shuddered, anger rising like fire from the depths of his soul.
Even if this thing claimed to be a God… even if it possessed power beyond comprehension… it had no right to talk about his life like that.
Ray lifted his head. His crimson eyes lit with fury. "For years I suffered. My mother suffered. We prayed to the Gods to end our misery. We hoped—like fools—that maybe there was a light at the end of our tunnel."
His voice grew louder, harsher, breaking through the chamber like a crack of thunder.
"I was so foolish! Tell me—was I entertainment to you? As you sat on your throne, did you laugh while I was beaten? Exiled? Hunted?"
The chamber trembled with the force of his voice.
The memory shards flickered violently, reacting to the storm inside him.
Ray stepped forward, shaking, not from fear—never fear—but from fury.
"Tell me, you star-being bastard!" he screamed. "Was my entire life nothing but entertainment for you?!"
Silence followed.
A deep, suffocating silence that lingered like a held breath.
When the being answered, its voice was devoid of hesitation.
"Of course it was."
Ray froze.
"Mortal lives are nothing but entertainment to me," the being continued, as if speaking a simple fact. "But you… in all that suffering, in all that despair—"
Its cosmic eyes narrowed, glimmering with a strange fascination.
"—you never broke. You never surrendered. You never yielded."
A faint glow passed through the God's body, like a ripple of starlight.
"That," it said, "is why you caught my attention."
Ray wasn't sure if the words disgusted him or unsettled him.
Perhaps both.
The being spoke again, its tone shifting.
"So, I will give you a second chance."
Ray stiffened, suspicion sharpening his voice. "A second chance at what?"
The God leaned forward. The stars embedded in its form pulsed, filling the chamber with shifting light.
"There is a world I created," it said, "similar to yours yet crafted entirely by my will."
Ray blinked. "You… created a world?"
Even after everything he had witnessed, the notion shook him. The being wasn't just claiming divinity—it was proving it.
The being nodded. "A full world. Continents, oceans, skies woven from energy. Entire civilizations. Countless lives. I forged multiple paths for mortals to pursue strength. Different power systems.
Different destinies. All to make things more… interesting."
Ray's breathing slowed, not from fear but from dawning curiosity.
The being continued, voice reverent toward its own creation. "In that world, mortals grow strong—far stronger than anyone in your world could ever dream.
Some shatter mountains. Some split oceans. Some rise to become legends."
Then its tone soured.
"And yet… in all the thousands of years my world has existed, not one mortal has reached the final truth. Not one has stepped into the final stage of power."
The God's fingers curled in frustration.
The lights dimmed.
The void trembled.
"Why?" the being snarled softly. "Why are they all so incompetent?"
Ray swallowed, unsure what response—if any—could even be given to such a question.
The being's gaze locked onto him.
"That is where you come in."
Ray felt a cold shiver run down his spine. "What do you want from me?"
The God stood, rising from its throne. Its vast presence filled every corner of the chamber, pressing down on Ray until his knees nearly buckled.
The air grew heavy with power—raw, ancient, terrifying.
"I have watched countless mortals across countless worlds," the being said. "Warriors, kings, prophets, cultivators. But across all of them, only a handful possessed the flame you carry."
Ray frowned. "Flame?"
"Yes. The fire that burns even when every reason to continue has been stripped away. The fire that refuses to bow, refuse to kneel, refuses to accept the fate forced upon it."
The memories surrounding Ray began rotating in slow, deliberate motions. They replayed key moments of his life—his mother's trembling smile, Damon's cruelty, Garron's quiet kindness, the mountains that swallowed him in his final breath.
"You," the God said, "have the one quality I require: defiance."
Ray didn't know if it was meant as praise or insult.
Either way, it didn't matter. The being's intentions were clear.
The God extended its hand.
"This is my condition," it announced.
A surge of light burst from its fingertips. The chamber shook as the light condensed into a swirling orb suspended in the air between them.
Inside the orb, Ray saw things impossible to describe—towering peaks stretching into the heavens, glowing forests, beasts larger than ships, cities built on floating islands, rivers of energy flowing like veins across the land.
It was a world.
A living, breathing world.
Ray stared, breathless.
The God's voice echoed with authority.
"I will send you into my world."