Finally, Earth was recovering. After regaining their senses, humanity slowly began to heal from the war that had ravaged the world for months. The three great powers — once the main instigators — now led the charge toward peace.
First was the Kingdom of Kosuke, an eastern realm rich in tradition and power, its people bound by honor and ancient customs.
Then came the Holy Kingdom of Righteous, the cradle of the gods themselves, governed by divine authorities who claimed to serve the will of the heavens.
And lastly, the Unified Nation of Warmark, a nation with a special kind of humans with Darker complexion and sliver or black hair — a formidable military empire whose advanced innovations surpassed the rest of the world, thanks to the mind of their second princess.
These three kingdoms, weary from endless bloodshed, gathered at last to sign a peace and alliance treaty. None of them truly remembered what had driven them to war — their memories clouded, their motives lost — yet they chose to rebuild rather than question the past. Together, they sought to heal the world, offering aid to the smaller nations that had suffered the most from their forgotten conflict.
But not all shared in the spirit of reconciliation. Some of the smaller nations refused the offered aid, swearing never to forgive the three great powers for the suffering they had endured. Their lands had been scorched, their people left to starve — and no treaty could mend that pain.
Among these defiant nations was the Dynasty of Menssai, small in size yet formidable in strength. Many regarded it as the fourth great power of the world, standing just behind the other three. Menssai thrived on its vast economy and rich natural resources, its influence stretching far beyond its borders.
At its heart ruled Emperor Richard von Menssai — a man known for his wisdom, generosity, and calm intellect. Once a close ally to the three great powers.
During the war, Emperor Richard had been deeply troubled. He couldn't understand why his long-time allies had turned against each other — why friends who once stood united were suddenly drenched in blood and hatred. Unlike the other rulers, Richard was untouched by Pluto's ability, free from the fog of manipulated memories. As a helpless witness to the chaos, he could only watch in horror as the world seemed to crumble before his eyes.
Desperate to end the senseless conflict, he made a bold decision. He would travel to the Unified Nation of Warmark and act as a mediator, hoping to bring peace between the three great powers. He journeyed with his eldest son and heir, along with a small retinue of trusted court members — loyal men and women who had served his family for generations.
But the journey that was meant to save the world ended in tragedy. Before they could even reach Warmark's capital, Richard, his son, and his entire entourage were killed. The news of their deaths spread like wildfire, shattering the fragile hopes of peace. To this day, no one truly knows what happened on that road — only that the world lost one of its greatest leaders in that single, merciless moment.
The only surviving heir of the late Emperor Richard was his youngest son, Jace von Menssai, just fifteen years old when tragedy struck. With the death of his father and elder brother, the burden of the empire fell heavily upon his young shoulders.
It was Emperor Jace who declared that Menssai would accept no aid from the three great powers. Despite their insistence and efforts to assist him. He despised them more than anyone alive, believing they were the cause of the deaths of the two people he loved and respected the most. His hatred burned so deeply that it shaped every decision he made from that day onward.
The loss changed Jace completely. The bright, adventurous boy vanished. He no longer smiled, no longer sought the joys of discovery or friendship. What remained was a ruler hardened by grief and rage. Over time, his sorrow twisted into tyranny — he imposed crushing taxes, ruled with an iron will, and demanded obedience through fear.
Though his people suffered under his harsh rule, they pitied him nonetheless. They remembered the tragedy that had shaped him, and they whispered among themselves that perhaps their young Emperor's cruelty was not born of malice, but of unbearable pain. Whenever they complained or questioned his decisions, Jace would lay the blame upon the three great powers, reminding them that it was their fault their beloved emperor and prince were dead.
Two years passed. Jace was now seventeen — though no one would have guessed it by looking at him. The boy who once brimmed with life now looked twice his age. His face was pale and hollow, his hair — once dark and lustrous — now hung in uneven strands, dull and lifeless. Deep shadows clung beneath his eyes, and his lips were cracked from sleepless nights and unending bitterness.
He never smiled. He never tried to restore the dignity of his appearance. All he carried within him was hatred — hatred for the three great powers that had taken everything from him.
That afternoon, Jace sat alone upon his throne, lost in the same dark thoughts that haunted him day after day. He longed for revenge, for the power to strike back, but he knew it was impossible. The dynasty's military strength had weakened since the war, and its once-mighty economy was but a shadow of its former self.
Then — the air changed.
From the high windows of the throne room, Jace noticed something was wrong. The birds outside hung motionless in the sky, their wings frozen mid-flight. The courtiers and guards below stood still as statues, their eyes lifeless and unblinking. The air grew heavy — thick, suffocating — until even breathing felt like a burden.
And then it happened.
A thin crack appeared in the center of the throne room — not in the air, but through it, as if reality itself was being torn apart. The fissure widened, glowing faintly, and from its depths two armored figures emerged. They wore thick black armor trimmed with crimson, each carrying a sword at their side. One had long black hair that flowed past his shoulders, the other short brown hair and a sharp, unrelenting glare.
Before Jace could even comprehend what he was seeing, a third figure stepped through the rift.
This one was different. Divine.
He looked like a being from another world — tall, radiant, and impossibly graceful. His long silver hair was tied neatly into a ponytail, his crimson armor etched with black divine markings that shimmered faintly under the light. A sword rested at his side, but it was his presence that struck Jace silent — the aura of a true king, one who commanded both reverence and fear.
Jace could only stare in awe, his heart pounding as the air itself seemed to bow before the stranger.
Snapping out of his daze, Jace forced himself to speak. His voice trembled, but he stood tall upon his throne, gripping the armrest to steady himself.
"Who… who are you?" he demanded, his tone wavering between fear and defiance. "Are you the ones responsible for this—" he gestured toward the frozen world beyond the windows, "—for why everything has stopped?"
For a moment, silence filled the throne room. Then the man in red armor stepped forward. His presence radiated calm authority — neither hostile nor kind, but something far more commanding.
"Be at ease," the armored figure said, his voice deep and smooth, echoing faintly through the vast hall. "You have nothing to fear… at least, that depends on how our conversation goes."
The words sent a chill down Jace's spine. He clenched his fists, glaring at the stranger before him, confusion and anger battling within his weary eyes.
"What could someone like you possibly want from me?" he asked bitterly. "Look at me — a broken emperor ruling a dying nation. I have nothing left… nothing to live for but hatred."
The divine man tilted his head slightly, his silver ponytail catching the dim light. A faint smile — unreadable and ancient — touched his lips.
"And who are you again?" Jace demanded to know, realizing the tone he used, he turned his gaze to the floor
The silver-haired being paused, realizing he had yet to introduce himself. Ignoring Jace's tone. With calm, deliberate steps, he began walking toward the throne, each stride echoing through the silent chamber.
"My apologies," he said softly. "Where are my manners? It's been a long time since I've spoken to a mortal."
His presence seemed to bend the air around him. Even without trying, he commanded the room.
"I am Pluto," he said at last, his voice carrying both grace and dread. "The God of Wealth. The one who defied Creation itself."
The name struck Jace like thunder — yet he couldn't bring himself to believe it. The Pluto? The fallen god the Holy Church of The Six Crowns condemned?— but with no clear reason… Impossible.
Jace let out a short, disbelieving laugh. Then another. Soon he was laughing so hard that he rose from his throne, descending the marble steps toward the god.
"A god?" he said between laughs. "You certainly look divine, but calling yourself one? Isn't that a bit arrogant?"
Pluto stopped walking. For a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then, slowly — he smiled.
Then the room changed.
A suffocating pressure filled the air as Pluto released his divine soul energy. The atmosphere warped, heavy with pure, ancient power. Then, behind him, white wings of divine light burst forth — vast, radiant, and terrible.
The force of it slammed into Jace like a storm. His laughter died instantly. His breath caught in his throat. His vision blurred.
The power pouring from Pluto was beyond comprehension — majestic, overwhelming, absolute.
Jace staggered backward, eyes wide in terror, clutching his chest as the air seemed to vanish from his lungs. The divine aura crushed him to his knees, then to the floor entirely. His vision flickered as darkness crept in from the edges.
The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was Pluto's calm, knowing smile — and the two armored beings, Kolpa and Demiurge, standing silently behind their god.
Then, everything went black.
Pluto stared down at the unconscious boy sprawled on the floor, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. With unhurried grace, he ascended the steps leading to the throne and lowered himself into Jace's seat, resting one arm lazily against the armrest.
"Hmm," he mused, looking amused. "Looks like I might have… overdone it."
Before Pluto could say more, Kolpa stepped forward, his crimson-trimmed armor gleaming under the dim light.
"Not at all, my lord," he said sharply. "If anything, you did exactly what should have been done the moment we entered this pitiful hall. How dare that insolent human mock you? If it were up to me, there'd be nothing left of him — not even ashes. Letting him faint is mercy enough."
Pluto chuckled quietly at the fiery outburst, but before he could respond, another voice spoke — calm, even, and edged with quiet authority.
"That's enough, Kolpa," said Demiurge, stepping from the shadows beside the rift. "Our lord didn't come here to play with mortals. We have a mission — remember?" His gaze flicked to Pluto. "Was it wise to put him to sleep when we're here to speak with him?"
Pluto leaned back in the throne, looking mildly entertained by their bickering. "Fair point," he said at last. "Very well."
He turned his eyes toward Kolpa, the faintest smirk crossing his face.
"Wake him up," Pluto ordered. "Gently."
Kolpa tilted his head slightly, understanding the true meaning behind the word. A cruel grin spread across his face as he stepped forward, armor clinking with each stride.
"As you command, my lord," he said, his tone dripping with mock obedience.
And then, with not a shred of gentleness, Kolpa went to work.
Kolpa's presence loomed over him like a storm, and with a subtle surge of divine energy, he woke Jace.
Jace's eyes snapped open, his chest heaving as a scream tore from his throat. For a heartbeat, he thought it was all a dream — a nightmarish, impossible vision of a god in his throne room.
But then he saw the room — the frozen courtiers, the crack in reality still faintly glowing — and his gaze fell upon the figure at the throne.
Pluto sat there, calm, regal, utterly divine, the aura of a god radiating from him like sunlight.
Jace's heart skipped, his knees trembling, as realization dawned. This was no dream.
The being before him — the one who had silenced the air, bent the world, and crushed him with the weight of divinity — was real.
He swallowed hard, voice catching in his throat. And in that instant, he knew: he was in the presence of a god.
Jace immediately dropped to all fours, cold sweat running down his face, his voice trembling.
"I… I apologize for my rudeness," he stammered, bowing low, every instinct screaming at him to submit.
Pluto waved a hand dismissively, his expression calm and unreadable. "No need for that. Rise. We have much to discuss."
For a long moment, the throne room fell silent. Pluto's presence filled every corner, a subtle glow that seemed to bend light and air itself. The weight of his divinity pressed on Jace's chest, yet there was no malice — only power, authority, and… something more.
Finally, Pluto spoke. His voice was soft, yet carried through the room like a current of energy.
"I have seen your heart, Jace von Menssai," he said, his eyes piercing. "I have seen the devastation the war brought upon you… the loss you have endured. I understand it, for we are similar in that regard."
He paused, letting the words settle like a slow flame.
"You have every right to feel as you do. You have every right to seek retribution. You deserve at least that much."
At those words, Jace's heart raced — not from fear this time, but from the dark fire kindling within him. The thought of vengeance against the three great powers — the ones responsible for his father and brother's deaths — surged through his veins. His pulse thundered in his ears.
For the first time, Jace felt his hatred validated. And it was intoxicating.
Pluto leaned back slightly in the throne, his white wings folded back in elegantly, though their glow still bathed the room. His eyes, silver and sharp, fixed on Jace with unyielding intensity.
"That," he began, "is why I have come here. Not merely to demonstrate my power, but to offer a proposal — one that can see both of us achieve what we desire."
Jace's gaze flickered, a mix of caution and curiosity bubbling beneath the surface.
Pluto continued, his voice calm but cutting through the silence like a blade.
"You see, I too, cannot abide the three great powers. Their dominance, their pride, their imbalance in the world — it fuels my own hatred. The greed, the corruption, the evil that festers unchecked — it must be eradicated. There can be no true equality while such forces remain unchallenged."
He paused, letting the words sink in, letting the weight of his divine conviction press upon the young emperor.
"That is why I chose you, Jace von Menssai. Out of all the mortals I have watched, none share your resolve, your pain, or your hatred for those who wronged you, as deeply as you do. Your goals align with mine better than any other. Together… we can reshape this world."
The room seemed to pulse with the energy of his words. Jace's heartbeat thundered in his chest, not from fear, but from the intoxicating promise of vengeance and purpose finally within his grasp.
Pluto's gaze pierced Jace, unwavering and commanding.
"Join me," he said, his voice calm but edged with undeniable authority. "I will grant you power that only gods can touch. Power to claim all that you desire — vengeance, dominance, retribution — all of it can be yours. You will be my enforcer, my instrument, and together we will reshape this world. But," he added, letting the weight of his words settle like iron, "this can only happen if you swear to serve me… as your one true lord and god."
His tone left no room for debate. "You have twenty minutes to decide. No longer."
Jace's chest tightened. He closed his eyes, and in his mind, the memories came rushing back — the smiles of his father and elder brother, the warmth and love he would never feel again. Their faces, once beacons of happiness, now ignited a roaring fire of anger inside him.
When he opened his eyes, his gaze swept the room — lingering on Kolpa and Demiurge, the stoic witnesses to this fateful moment — before settling back on Pluto. His voice was cautious, almost trembling, yet laced with restrained hope.
"Can… can you really give me this power?" he asked. "The power to make my desire come true… the power only gods can touch?"
Pluto's smile deepened, calm, confident, and absolute. His divine aura flared slightly, illuminating the throne room with a celestial glow.
"Yes," he said, every word deliberate and dripping with authority. "I will grant you unimaginable power. You will become the strongest mortal on Earth. But there is one condition — you must swear to serve me, as your one true god. Nothing more, nothing less."
The weight of the choice pressed down on Jace like the world itself. Twenty minutes. One decision. One path to power — or another to despair.
After a few tense minutes, Jace lowered himself fully, bowing at the feet of Pluto.
"I swear my eternal loyalty to you," he said, his voice steady now, heavy with resolve. "You alone are my lord and master."
Pluto's smile widened, a rare glimmer of satisfaction crossing his divine features.
"You have made the right choice," he said, his voice calm yet carrying an undeniable edge of power.
Then, his tone shifted, colder now, sharper. "There is something you must know," he continued, his gaze piercing. "Your council… your officials… they have been plotting against you. Not all of your people are happy with your rule. A coup is being prepared — a plan to take the kingdom from your hands."
Jace's heart skipped, but Pluto's words carried another weight.
"This information," Pluto said, "was yours to receive only because of the choice you made. Had you rejected me… I would have left you to face it all alone, and you would have had to clean up this mess yourself."
He leaned closer, letting his divine presence fill the throne room. "But now… you are part of my family. No harm shall come to you. You will remain emperor, and your enemies will think twice before moving against you."
Jace's pulse quickened, both with fear and the intoxicating thrill of power. With Pluto as his master, there was no limit to what he could accomplish — and no one to stand in his way.
"We will handle the coup first," Pluto said, voice flat. "Purifying the world can wait."
Jace pressed him…"Do you know where the rebellion started — it would help, so we can work fast in ending it"
Pluto's laugh was low and slow. "Crushing it immediately would be anticlimactic. Let them think they can win. Then—when it suits us—we erase them. Letting it be a lesson to anyone else that natures the idea of standing against you again."
Pluto ordered Kolpa and Demiurge to remain with Jace—to protect him and uncover the roots of the rebellion. They obeyed, though reluctance flickered in their eyes. Both longed to remain by Pluto's side, not to be left behind like caretakers. But fear and reverence bound their tongues; none dared to question his command.
Then Pluto turned to Jace. "From this day forth," he said, his voice cold yet heavy with a strange warmth, "you will call me Father. I have taken you as my son."
Emotion tightened Jace's chest, and he nodded, the word Father escaping his lips with trembling devotion.
Pluto rose from the throne, his shadow stretching across the hall like a living thing. He walked toward the rip in space that shimmered before him, then paused. Turning back, his gaze pierced through Jace.
"I will return soon," he said. "There is a ritual I must prepare—the one that will grant you the power you seek. Only then will you be worthy to stand by my side."
His eyes shifted to Kolpa and Demiurge. "Take care of him," he commanded.
They bowed deeply. Without another word, Pluto stepped into the rip. It sealed behind him with a dull roar—and as it vanished, time itself began to move again. The world that had been frozen under his will stirred once more.