Against The True Gods

Chapter 13: Art



[The First God sang until the Heavens bowed, and the throne of creation was his! The Second God painted the majesty of his divinity into existence! The Third God wrote his otherworldliness onto the very fabric of reality!]

[Art is God, and God is Art!]

These words formed the foundation of the cultivation path that Caine had painstakingly forged. 

Art, when taken to its most extreme expression, would lead one to godhood.

"[Open]," Caine whispered, his voice a command that echoed beyond mere sound.

His back straightened, and his presence radiated a glow that left the world around him in shame. In that moment, he was like a lone star standing against the vast expanse of an endless, unyielding darkness. His mere existence seemed to hold the balance of the universe within it.

WHOOOSH!

Behind him, nine concentric circles manifested, each etched with ancient runes of power. They radiated with a force that would have driven lesser beings to madness. Each of the nine circles represented an art of creation, the fundamental forces that shaped existence.

The Arcane, the Martial, the God, the Primal, the Primeval, the Sacred, the Primordial, the Archaic, and the Artisan Arts—all mastered to an unfathomable degree, each one perfected. 

Caine stood on the cusp of Godhood, having reached the pinnacle long ago. Yet, there was something that continued to hold him back, some unseen barrier preventing his final ascension. Nevertheless, with his recent breakthrough during the culling, the manifested circles had reached an entirely new level of mastery and power.

Many believed such a path, one forged solely from the arts, was mere myth, a legend born of wishful thinking. And yet, here Caine stood, proof of the impossible, years after creating this very path, now facing the Reapers of Life and Death themselves.

The Reaper, who had been grinning malevolently just moments earlier, suddenly froze. Its expression shifted to one of shock, perhaps even fear, or maybe both.

"D... Dominion... wh—" the Reaper stammered, its words faltering in disbelief.

Caine's eyes slowly closed, his face serene as he exhaled softly. His hands moved through the air, commanding it with the grace of a maestro conducting an orchestra. The Qi that flowed naturally through the world began to shift, tainted by a silver light that took hold of it. The energy twisted and coiled around his will, condensing rapidly into a complex web of interlinked runes.

The world around him blurred, fading into an expanse of white. Before him, an infinite array of runes and formations appeared, etched into reality itself. The sheer complexity of the design was staggering, something that would have driven any mortal mind to instant insanity.

Before elevating his soul and enhancing his rings, Caine would never have been capable of such a feat. But now…

[Blight Spell: Warped Suicide].

***

With a gentle TOH!, Caine's feet touched the floor of the hall. His rings faded away as he exhaled, a slight breath of exhaustion escaping his lips. Though he still had several trump cards left unused, not to mention his innate crown, using his rings always took a heavy toll on him. When he eventually reincarnated, those rings would become costless, but for now, they remained taxing on his body and soul.

"A body that isn't crippled... and my rings," Caine mused. "I could only dream of it."

His gaze drifted forward to the figure of the Reaper before him. It was kneeling, prostrated in utter defeat. The once-fiery glow in its eye sockets had vanished, and the ethereal runes that had decorated its form were now dimmed and lifeless. The Reaper was dead.

Slowly, the Reaper's body began to disintegrate, crumbling into black ash that swiftly transformed into a purple mist. The mist shot toward Caine with a speed that caught him off guard. He barely had time to raise his hands before it sank into his body.

BOOOOM!

An explosion of power rang out within him. A torrent of strength surged through his veins as purple, white, and green runes snaked along his skin, infusing him with even more power. His body began to morph and shift, his muscles bulging violently before compressing into a compact, tempered form.

Caine's mind expanded wildly, reaching a level of cognition that exceeded anything he had thought possible. Billions, perhaps trillions, of neural connections and deductions fired within his consciousness in a mere instant. His rings, already powerful, shattered—only to reform into something far greater, better, and more grand than before.

His hair, now a sleek wave of pure darkness, flowed behind him. His eyes had transformed into swirling infernos of silver flame, giving him an aura that far surpassed any divine entity.

WHOOOOSH!

A gust of silvery Qi engulfed the hall as Caine exhaled once more. His transformation complete, his mind calmed.

"Such an evolution... from killing a single lowly Reaper? One so insignificant that it was used as a trial dummy?" Caine's thoughts raced. "I can only imagine how much I'd gain from killing a Reaper like the one on that throne…"

He quickly shook his head, quelling the dangerous thoughts before they could take root. That path would surely lead to disaster.

Turning, Caine's ears picked up the groans of his teammates as they began to stir from unconsciousness. A portal materialized to his side, glowing faintly.

"The last stretch," Caine muttered.

***

In a space filled with swirling purple and white clouds, a throne stood, its occupant a Reaper adorned in regalia of death.

"This mortal, he's quite strange, isn't he?" The Reaper mused, stroking its chin with long, bony fingers. "He carries the scent of Her Majesty, and yet... he bears no title of nobility."

It paused, thinking for a moment. "Hm, I suppose that's something worthy of reporting."

With a wave of its hand, the Reaper summoned a large, ancient black grimoire. Opening it, a shimmering screen appeared before it.

***

Name: Caine [?] [?]  

Age: [?]  

Affiliation:[?]  

Potential:[?]  

Descendance:[????]

Note: Do not interact with the subject. This case has been taken over by the Yama Lords. Any interference will result in immediate death.

***

The Reaper's body went rigid as its eyes fell upon the word 'Yama'. Pure, unadulterated fear seized it.

It quickly shook its head and sighed. "Of all Irregulars, I had to get involved with one connected to the Yamas…"

"What wretched luck."

With a flick of its wrist, the Reaper's crown flickered and disappeared.

***

The Fate-Defying Samsara Festival had always been divided into three trials since its first iteration. Traditionally, the Reapers expected the trials to take a hundred thousand years to complete, with the final race to the throne taking about a decade.

But this festival was unlike any other.

Not only had two teams completed the trials in less than a hundred years, but they had finished at the exact same time. Yet this was only the first of many anomalies.

One team was led by an Irregular, composed entirely of fallen gods. The other, by a fallen god, with all its members being Irregulars.

In the end, none of it mattered. The Irregular Fate Defier of the fallen god's team utterly crushed the opposing team, allowing them a calm, uneventful stroll toward the throne.

Never before had the festival seen such a dominant and controlled victory. It was terrifying, methodical, and precise—almost as if... planned.


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