Re:Awakening with Ultimate Power as a Cosmic God

The rebellion headquarters was in chaos.

News of the mysterious man who had single-handedly taken down a troop of royal guards and vanished into the city had spread like wildfire.

The rebels gathered around the dim-lit chamber where Lio stood with a grim expression.

Amari sat beside him, wringing her hands as the whispers grew louder. She didn't need to ask—she knew it had to be Nova.

Her heart thumped painfully.

Lio turned to the group. "This is our moment. With the royal guards weakened and the queen distracted, we have the best shot we'll ever get at storming the imperial castle."

Amari stood.

"What about the man who took down the guards? He's not the enemy."

Lio shook his head.

"He's a distraction. One we'll use."

"He's not—"

She began, but stopped herself.

"I want to go check on him."

"No. We move at dawn. This is our only chance. You said you wanted change, right? Then come with us. Nova can handle himself."

Lio said firmly.

She frowned. Something felt wrong, but she could see the determination in the rebels' faces. They weren't backing down. Not now.

When dawn broke, the rebellion moved with speed and precision. Hooded figures sprinted across rooftops.

Others carried crates of weapons through hidden alleyways. Amari followed silently, doubt thick in her chest.

By the time they reached the imperial castle, the sight that greeted them made everyone freeze.

The great iron gate stood ruined, shattered into twisted metal. Scorch marks and the scent of burning lingered in the air.

Bodies of guards lay scattered across the courtyard, unconscious or groaning in pain.

"What... happened here?"

One rebel whispered.

"No one said anything about an attack before us."

Another muttered.

"It was him. Nova."

Amari said quietly.

Lio frowned.

"Stay alert. We don't know what this means yet."

______

Nova walked with deliberate steps.

The herb shop was behind him, the unconscious bodies of those desperate commoners still sprawled near the shattered steps.

He didn't look back. His coat flared behind him with each step, dust and embers swirling around his feet as he moved through the waking city. He wasn't hiding anymore.

No cloaks. No disguises. No illusions. Just purpose.

The palace walls rose in the distance, dark spires cutting through the gray light of dawn.

As he moved, small groups of bounty hunters tried to intercept him—men and women hungry for coin and praise from the court. Nova didn't speak to them.

He didn't need to.

The first group blocked his path near the marketplace, wielding chains and enchanted bolas. They shouted demands, tried to reason with him, promised not to kill him.

Nova responded with silence—and fists.

He dashed in with brutal efficiency, using a broken table leg as a bludgeon.

The leader tried to throw a net laced with aether runes, but Nova cracked his wrist with a downward blow and sent him sprawling into crates of dried fruit. The others followed, but none of them lasted more than a minute.

No aether. No magic. Just pain.

As he stepped over their groaning bodies, Nova finally reached the shadow of the imperial wall. He stared up at the towering structure.

He didn't bother with the gate.

Instead, he crouched low, gathered his strength into his legs, and leapt onto the side of the wall.

With metal-tipped gloves, he jammed his fingers into the crevices between stone and hauled himself upward.

Halfway up, archers noticed him. Two bolts shot past his shoulder, the third grazed his ribs.

Nova growled under his breath and swung upward, tossing a dagger toward the source. It struck the bow arm of the closest archer. The man screamed and toppled off the edge.

Nova crested the top wall, rolling over just as a spear came down toward him. He grabbed the shaft mid-air, wrenched it free, and flipped the guard off the ledge with one clean motion.

Then he stood.

The palace gardens stretched below—paths of black stone winding through blood-red trees. The royal banners fluttered in the breeze.

And at the far end, looming like a beast of stone and gold, stood the throne hall.

Nova descended without pause, cutting through guards posted at the balconies. He was a blur—disarming, breaking arms, crushing knees, never stopping.

His cloak was torn, blood spattered across his sleeves, and his knuckles were bruised raw.

But his eyes never lost focus.

One of the inner gates opened. A squad of armored elites stormed out, surrounding him with practiced coordination. Their leader raised a polished halberd.

"In the name of the queen—"

Nova flung a stone into the man's face, dashed forward, and drove his elbow into the man's throat.

Then the real fight began.

Steel clashed. Boots skidded across marble. Nova disarmed one opponent by locking their wrist with his own arm and twisting until bone cracked.

He flipped a second over his shoulder, stole their blade mid-air, and used it to slash the knees of the next two charging enemies.

The courtyard became a storm of chaos. But Nova stood in its eye, calm and violent.

By the time the last soldier fell, groaning and clutching his broken limbs, Nova stood alone once more.

He turned toward the final staircase.

He was going to finish this.

No more hiding. No more running.

It was time the queen learned what kind of monster she'd made.

Nova reached the final steps.

The great doors of the throne hall loomed before him—tall, gilded, and carved with the history of a kingdom soaked in conquest and lies.

Two guards remained, posted at either side, their spears crossed in front of the entrance.

They didn't move.

Nova stopped just a few paces away. Blood dripped from his knuckles onto the polished floor.

"Move."

He said quietly.

The guards exchanged a glance. One of them took a shaky breath, his eyes flicking to the unconscious soldiers behind Nova, the cracked tiles, the broken weapons scattered along the path.

They lowered their spears.

Smart choice.

Nova pushed the doors open.

The heavy groan of iron and wood echoed through the palace as the throne room revealed itself in all its arrogant glory—pillars inlaid with obsidian, a ceiling painted with divine illusions, and a throne carved from the bones of beasts long extinct.

And at the center of it all, Queen Eleysa sat, her face unreadable, a goblet of wine in one hand and a faint smirk on her lips.

"You've made quite the mess,"

She said, voice like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath.

Nova didn't answer. He took one step forward.

"You've killed my guards. Defied my laws. Made a spectacle of yourself in front of my people."

He kept walking, silent, eyes fixed on hers.

"And now you walk into my throne room, thinking you're a hero? You think you'll change anything? That I'll beg for mercy?"

Her tone sharpened.

Nova stopped a few paces from the base of the dais. His fists clenched. His voice, when it came, was calm.

"I'm not here to make you beg."

Her smile faded.

"I'm here to make you disappear."

Those words were not a threat, but a promise. They were filled with the news of the queen's doom.

But she just laughed out loud as she heard those words.