The world was already dead.
They just hadn't buried it yet.
Once, this planet had been called Blue Star—a world of oceans, cities, and lights that could be seen from space. Now, it was nothing more than a scorched corpse floating through the void.
The sky was permanently gray.
Not with clouds, but with ash.
Ruined skyscrapers leaned against each other like drunk corpses, their steel frames melted and twisted by heat that no human weapon was ever meant to unleash. Radiation storms swept across the land, invisible and merciless, stripping flesh from bone over time instead of seconds.
This was the aftermath of nuclear war.
Not wars—one war.
One decision.
One moment where humanity proved that it did not need monsters, gods, or demons to end itself.
Humans were enough.
Those who survived did not call themselves people anymore.
They were survivors.
They crawled through ruins, fought over scraps, murdered for bottled water, and ate whatever their bodies could tolerate—rats, insects, rotting cans, and sometimes… things better left unnamed.
Morality had burned along with the cities.
In the middle of this hell walked a boy.
His name was Roy.
His clothes were torn, stained black with soot and dried blood—some his, most not. His body was thin, malnourished, but his eyes were sharp. Not hopeful. Not desperate.
Just… tired.
Roy knelt beside a collapsed building, his hands digging through a pile of trash and broken metal. After a few minutes, he pulled out a dented food container. The label was long gone, burned away by radiation and time.
Food was food.
He opened it and ate without hesitation.
The taste was wrong.
Bitter.
Metallic.
His body froze.
A second later, pain exploded inside his stomach.
Roy staggered back, dropping the container as his legs gave out. His vision blurred. His breath came out in broken gasps as his body began rejecting the poison he had just swallowed.
"Ha… haha…"
A broken laugh escaped his lips.
"So that's it," he muttered. "Poisoned garbage… what a way to go."
He collapsed onto the ash-covered ground, staring at the lifeless sky.
And then—anger surged.
Not fear.
Not regret.
Anger.
He laughed again, louder this time, his voice cracking.
"God," Roy spat weakly. "If you exist… tell me something."
Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.
"Why did you make a world like this?"
His vision darkened, but his words continued.
"Why give humans weapons that can erase the planet? Why let one country… one choice… destroy everything?"
His hands trembled.
"If this is your creation," he whispered, rage trembling in every syllable, "then you did a damn terrible job."
The pain reached its peak.
Roy's breath stopped.
The world went silent.
When he opened his eyes again, the pain was gone.
So was the ash.
So was the sky.
He was standing—or floating—in a vast space filled with soft, shifting light. It wasn't white. It wasn't black. It felt like clouds, like mist shaped by thought rather than matter.
"Where… am I?"
Roy looked down at himself. His body was intact. No wounds. No hunger. No pain.
"So this was a dream?" he muttered.
"No," a voice replied calmly. "It wasn't."
Roy turned.
An old man was sitting a short distance away, dressed simply, as if he had always been there. His expression was relaxed—almost amused.
"You were very loud when you died," the old man said. "Yelling, cursing… blaming someone."
Roy frowned. "I was talking to God."
The old man nodded. "Yes. Me."
Roy stared.
Silence stretched.
"…You?" Roy finally said. "You're God?"
"Yes."
Roy rubbed his face slowly. "Huh. I imagined you'd be… taller."
God chuckled. "You humans always do."
"So," Roy said, exhaling, "I'm dead, right?"
"Correct."
"Then what?" Roy asked. "Heaven? Hell?"
God shook his head. "You're going to neither."
"…Why?"
"Because both are pointless for you."
Roy raised an eyebrow.
"Heaven," God continued, "would bore you. Your family has already reincarnated. You'd sit there for thousands of years doing nothing."
"That sounds great," Roy replied immediately. "No hunger. No bombs. No idiots."
God sighed. "And Hell would be… messy."
Roy smirked. "I did curse you pretty hard."
"I can forgive curses," God said calmly. "But you said something interesting before you died."
Roy blinked. "I did?"
"Yes," God said. "You spoke about balance. About how giving absolute power to one person destroys worlds."
Roy went silent.
"…So this is punishment?"
"No," God replied. "It's an opportunity."
God leaned forward slightly.
"I will give you five wishes."
Roy's eyes sharpened. "Five?"
"Yes. But you cannot wish to become omnipotent. Power must be earned."
"And if I earn it myself?"
"Then rule the universe if you wish."
Roy laughed softly. "Fair enough."
God continued, "Your first wish: which universe do you want to go to?"
Roy thought of countless worlds—cultivation realms, magic empires, divine battlefields.
"…Too dangerous," he muttered.
God waved his hand. "Then I'll choose for you."
Roy shrugged. "Fine."
"My first wish," Roy said, "I want a happy family. A good one."
"Granted."
"Second," Roy continued, "my talent—no matter the world—should always be top-tier."
"Granted. Potential, not instant power."
Roy smiled. "Good."
"Third," Roy said slowly, "I want a system that allows me to copy abilities—but only if I'm strong enough to handle them. And if I die to someone stronger… I return stronger than before."
God studied him. "Your growth speed and control will depend on your current strength."
"That's fine."
"Granted."
"Fourth," Roy said, "I want to travel between worlds and dimensions—alone or with others I can protect."
"Granted."
"And fifth," Roy said, eyes calm, "no universe itself should ever reject me. And powers from one world should remain usable in another."
God smiled. "Granted."
The space began to shift.
"One last thing," God added casually. "Your memories will remain sealed until you turn eighteen. You'll be reborn as a newborn."
Roy's consciousness began to drift.
"…Figures," he muttered.
"Have a nice life," God said.
Darkness embraced him.