In the end, the self-proclaimed pacifist Muria reached an agreement with the God of Whales, the God of Mechanical Warfare, and the God of Hundred Eyes to set aside all disputes and jointly develop the miraculous region created by the merging of two worlds.
"Let us descend in our true forms. The rules of these two worlds have been weakened enough by their fusion to no longer resist us," proposed the God of Hundred Eyes, who showed disdain for all life other than itself.
"Absolutely not," came the immediate rejection from the God of Mechanical Warfare before Muria could even speak. A cold, mechanical voice reverberated from the partially repaired mechanical planet, "The descent of four deities into a world could easily result in its collapse. I have no intention of incurring the world's resentment. Unlike you, I still care for my own interests."
This rejection had nothing to do with morality or justice. It was purely for self-preservation. While the epic being piloting the mechanical planet might consider descending alone, the presence of four such beings in a small world would be an unpredictable and dangerous gamble.
"Manifesting avatars will suffice. Even if conflict arises, it won't cause catastrophic harm to the world," the God of Whales firmly suggested, sharing the same concerns about inviting the world's resentment and cutting off its own future.
"You all have bright futures ahead, unlike me."
The grotesque God of Hundred Eyes let out a cold laugh upon seeing its proposal vetoed. It wasn't surprised—after all, it had no allies here.
Destroyers of worlds are naturally loathed by them. This is an inevitable consequence of indulging in the thrill of devouring worlds.
Much like how most epics only emerge from great worlds, stronger epics need resources from such worlds to grow. The finest, most powerful resources invariably come from great worlds. However, evil gods are unwelcome even in great worlds. While this doesn't mean they cannot grow stronger, their choice to destroy worlds narrows their path, making the likelihood of achieving eternity far slimmer. But for most evil gods, this trade-off hardly matters.
"Don't look at me. I've already sent down my avatar," Muria said, shrugging as the other three deities turned their gazes toward him.
As the God of Hundred Eyes muttered, "I knew it," the other three epics began manifesting their own avatars.
The God of Mechanical Warfare created a three-headed, eight-armed steel humanoid, while the God of Hundred Eyes formed an avatar resembling a monstrous abomination covered in countless eyes, mirroring its true form's grotesque aesthetic.
For epic beings whose true forms represented their ultimate combat prowess, their avatars often closely resembled their original forms, albeit in a weakened state.
At least, that was the norm—until Muria saw the avatar created by the God of Whales. He glanced at it sideways, a flicker of incredulity in his gaze, as a sudden urge to grill fish crossed his mind.
The blue whale's avatar was a colossal merfolk. While humanoid lifeforms were hardly uncommon, there was something distinctly targeted about this one.
Standing in the void, this aquatic deity wielded a spear of condensed water. Its oversized, somewhat plump tail swished through the emptiness.
"Why are you mimicking me?"
Muria stared at the majestic yet oddly familiar epic avatar. Beside him, the other two deities also turned their gazes toward the God of Whales.
The avatar of the God of Whales, despite having a massive fish tail—or more accurately, a whale tail—had an upper body that bore an uncanny resemblance to Muria's, clad in armor and exuding an imposing aura.
"I'm experimenting with creating a new type of progeny. This is my first attempt," the God of Whales admitted without hesitation. Indeed, its avatar was modeled after Muria, as it had encountered a bottleneck in this area.
So far, the God of Whales had created over a hundred types of progeny using its power, but none had fully satisfied it. Thus, it sought inspiration from its peers.
"You're merely copying my appearance. What's the point?" Muria sighed, shaking his head. Copying only his upper-body form served no purpose. Humanoid creatures were a dime a dozen across the countless worlds of the void; it was meaningless.
While titans also had humanoid forms, their internal structures placed them at the pinnacle of humanoid lifeforms. Their physical design was so perfect and optimized over generations of titanic ancestors that Muria couldn't imagine how to improve upon it.
The first titans born of chaos might not have been perfect, but their descendants, who followed the path of ancient gods, had refined their bloodlines to the utmost perfection. To further enhance them would require vision and power far beyond what Muria currently possessed—a nearly impossible feat.
Such perfection could not be replicated through mere observation, not even by an epic titan's brief actions. To think one could capture its essence so easily was foolish.
"Appearance is important," the God of Whales responded, its tone unabashedly expressing its desire for Muria's bloodline. It had already discerned that Muria's lineage was exceptional.
Muria fell silent, watching as the three epics completed their avatars and began unleashing their legions of progeny.
He observed the three massive clusters of monstrous beings converging in the void before descending upon the two worlds below, which were still in the process of merging.
When the legions of the God of Mechanical Warfare and the God of Whales passed through the faint remnants of the worlds' barriers, the defenses didn't react, much like when Muria had entered earlier.
However, when the progeny of the God of Hundred Eyes—a horde resembling eyeball-like creatures—attempted to enter, lightning manifested from the barriers, striking the creatures down. Many weaker ones were killed outright.
This loss was insignificant compared to the overwhelming tide of eyeball-like beings. Despite the God of Hundred Eyes' visible frustration, it ultimately remained silent. The result was unchanged—the loss of some progeny was inconsequential.
…
On a gray mist-covered ocean, a ghostly ship surrounded by an eerie blue glow sliced through the fog, sailing over the undulating waves like an unshakable steel mountain.
Trailing behind this ghost ship were larger vessels, each more massive than the last, breaking through the mist and scattering it entirely. Compared to these behemoths, the lead ship appeared small and delicate, like a ghostly scout.
From the vast ocean below, even from a thousand meters above, the view would be dominated by this fleet of lifeless ghost ships.
Atop the largest vessel, akin to a moving island, a figure over a hundred meters tall emerged. Draped in a black cloak and wielding a staff wrapped in vibrant elemental energy, the being radiated an aura that froze everything around it, compelling countless undead to prostrate themselves in submission.
"The progeny of the God of Whales and the God of Mechanical Warfare can be ignored, but the progeny of that evil god must die!"
This embodiment of death, whose mere presence withered all life, raised its gaze to the empty sky, sending out a wave of unwavering determination.
Although the goal was to seize divine resources second only to source energy, the actions of the evil god's progeny were predictable: widespread slaughter and sacrificial rituals to empower their master.
The sheer scale of such bloodshed, often conducted city by city, would inevitably attract divine attention—even that of epics.
Whether through a mass of mortals or extraordinarily powerful individuals, such sacrifices could strengthen epic beings. The fundamental principle of quantity transforming into quality applied universally.
"I can pass as a native of an evil world with my current power attributes. It's a bit of a stretch, but plausible," mused the Titan's avatar, which shared a mind with Muria's true self. "But I'll need a legion of progeny bearing my essence to mask my true motives and fight the evil god's forces."
Summoning another legion while avoiding the notice of the other three epics wasn't particularly difficult. With a peak-legendary avatar already present and his true form stationed just outside the world, constructing a semi-permanent portal for the legion to pass through would suffice.
"Those monsters that once slaughtered the lives of worlds—when they're the ones being slaughtered, will their corpses help my world expand further?"
The Titan's avatar raised its staff high, connecting with his incomplete world. Brilliant elemental light erupted over the dark, misty ocean, illuminating the void.
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