God of Destruction: Living Among Mortals

A tall, commanding figure loomed over the universe, radiating with both nobility and danger. He had long black hair that flowed like smoke, with crimson highlights that shimmered when the light caught them.

His eyes burned a deep, ember-red, not of malice but of sheer, unrestrained power, like living flames held behind glass.

The man was handsome, almost sculpted, and regal, his features sharp as if carved from divine light. His form balances elegance and lethality, every movement echoing the grace of a warrior.

The man also had relics that could only able to be used by him. Bound to something even beyond his soul. One was a spear, its edge faintly glowing with fire that was so pure that even blue flames of collapsing stars could rival it.

This fire burned in a shade of red-ember so flawless that it was as if the universe itself had been stripped down to its essence and set alight. It was not simply heat, nor destruction, it was the truest form of flame, raw and absolute, consuming not to reduce but to refine.

Those who looked upon it would swear the fire could torch the soul without touching the flesh, a fire that annihilated falsehood and impurity until only truth remained.

It was the kind of fire that even the Supreme Gods and Father could fear, as it could burn away their divinity, their very existence, just as easily as it devoured the universe.

Circling near him was a ring, unassuming at first glance, yet every motion of its orbit bent the fabric of reality. Space wavered where it turned, as if all creation acknowledged its authority.

It was neither a weapon nor an ornament, but a supreme law given shape, a truth that only he could command. Those who dared gaze felt the crushing weight of eternity, as if the very concept of existence was being judged.

At his feet were two wheels, silent and waiting for action, their stillness more terrifying than any blackhole.

Together, they were not mere tools of travel, but the embodiment of freedom itself, the promise that no barrier, whether wall, world, or cosmos, could restrain him.

Across his form was a lengthy crimson cloth, alive with a subtle, predatory grace. It shifted when he stood still, coiling as though tasting the air, yearning for conflict.

At a glance, it seemed delicate, a ribbon of silk; yet it moved with the patience of a snake, able to bind not just the vast cosmos, but every little thing in it: destinies, fate, divine bodies. Anything and everything.

"What a wonderful sight," he said just beyond the barrier of the universe, locking his sight on Nova. "To see the Supreme God of Destruction and __, become a mortal." He took a pause, then continued. "I guess, anything in this vast cosmos is possible, isn't it?"

From behind the man, three figures emerged, each radiating with their own weight upon existence. The first was a warrior whose very stance carried rebellion, a staff resting casually across his shoulder if the cosmos itself were nothing more than a playground for him.

The second was an immortal, who wore robes that shimmered with ancient authority. His gaze was calm, yet heavy, like the eye of a storm that had witnessed countless ages collapse and rebuild.

And then there was the taller, darker, stranger man. Its form was strange, shifting as though it were never meant to be fully understood. Only its name slipped through the silence, a name that alone was enough to unsettle the stars: The Lotus Guardian.

The immortal spoke up, his voice calm, yet playful, as if it were just a manchild: "Well, Nova was bored with his position being a Supreme God; thus, he became a mortal."

The warrior shifted slightly, twirling the staff with a lazy, almost arrogant flick. "Bored, you say?" he muttered, his voice low and teasing, as if mocking not just Nova, but everything in the universe itself. "If I were bored, I would go to Heaven." His grin was sharp, full of mischief.

The immortal's eyes narrowed slightly, as his smile remained. "Nova has abandoned his duty to protect Heaven and is instead playing house with the mortal." He said softly, tilting his head like a teacher amused by a particularly clever student.

The Lotus Guardian remained still. Its form shifted imperceptibly, never fully settling, like smoke in a draft. When it spoke, the words were measured, deliberate, and heavy: "Mortals are fragile. Even gods should learn the weight of the finite." There was no mockery against the mortals, yet there was no warmth either.

Then, suddenly, another figure appeared. In front of the tall, black-haired man was a blond-haired deity, Apollo.

Apollo smirked at him, knowing who the person in front of him was. Then he said calmly, trying not to upset the man: "I didn't realize that you had returned. My apologies, sir."

Apollo knew if he were to mess with that man, it would be a far worse fate for him than what Nova could ever do. Apollo bowed his head until the tall, imposing figure said otherwise.

"I wonder if it is truly joyous to live among the mortals, again." He took a moment of silence, which held even the universe's breath. "I'm going back to Pandemonium. Keep me updated on what my brother does."

The black-haired figure turned, the crimson cloth coiling around him like a living thing. The ring pulsed once, bending the space around him. The wheels at his feet shifted, and then he was gone, moving toward Pandemonium without another word.

Apollo's gaze snapped to Nova, eyes burning with hatred that could rival the fire of the spear. He said nothing, only clenched his fists, the tension in his body rising like a storm.

Slowly, deliberately, he turned away, going back to his realm. He disappeared in an instant, stepping inside Heaven, then travelling towards the castle, to enter the Inner Heaven, as he took the hatred towards Nova and refined it further, silently waiting for his downfall.