Days had passed since the heavens fell silent. The balance of creation trembled, and the whispers of chaos rose once more across the mortal realms.
Within the upper sanctums of Ego Elysium, one of the holiest of the heavenly realms, six divine beings gathered inside a chamber forbidden to all but gods — the Domain of Restoration.
The air shimmered with primordial light. Runes older than existence pulsed across the walls as divine energy flowed through the chamber's veins. The six gods — Bios, Desmos, Meta, Zoe, Nous, and Nea Zoi — stood in solemn unison, their presence bending the air around them.
At the center of the chamber, a sigil of radiant light began to form. From its heart, a spark took shape — then a breath, then flesh. Slowly, a figure emerged, his body sculpted from the fragments of memory and soul that once belonged to the mortal realm.
When the glow finally subsided, Jericho Von Menssai stood before them — the chosen protector.
His breath was shallow, his eyes wide as they met the six divine forms towering before him. Every instinct in his body screamed to bow, to hide, to flee — yet he couldn't move. The sheer weight of divinity pressed upon him like a mountain.
"Where… am I?" he managed to whisper.
Bios, god of creation and life, stepped forward first, his voice deep and warm yet heavy with purpose.
"You stand in Ego Elysium, mortal. We have summoned you to restore the balance that was lost."
The other gods spoke in turn, their voices resonating through his very soul. They revealed to him all that had transpired — the calamity that consumed the world, the fall of his once-great kingdom, and the corruption that now ruled through his brother's hands. They spoke of Pluto's influence, of mortals straying from the divine path, and of the thin line now separating the living from the dead.
Jericho listened — silent, motionless, his heart pounding like thunder. The truth was too vast, too terrifying to grasp. His memories of war and death felt distant, almost unreal, compared to the cosmic scale of what he was hearing.
He tried to speak, but only a whisper escaped.
"I… don't understand. I died. my soul was lost. why me?"
Nous, goddess of war, wisdom, and reasoning, stepped closer. Her eyes gleamed like burning silver as she regarded him.
"Because, Jericho Von Menssai," she said, her tone both commanding and serene, "death is not the end — not for one whose purpose transcends mortality."
A silence followed, deep and sacred. Even Jericho could feel it — something was about to begin.
Jericho's hands trembled as the gods' words echoed in his mind. His brother — the one he had sworn to protect — now a vessel of darkness, consumed by Pluto's deceit. The revelation tore through him more viciously than any blade ever could.
His knees buckled, and he fell to the cold marble floor of the chamber.
"I failed him," he muttered, his voice breaking. "I left him alone in that cursed world… I left him to face the chaos without me. What kind of brother does that make me?"
He clenched his fists, his breath uneven.
"I'm the reason he fell. I should have lived. I should have—"
"Enough," a voice interrupted, gentle but firm.
It was Desmos, the god of love. A radiant warmth rippled through the chamber as he stepped forward, his divine aura softening the cold stillness around them. His expression carried no judgment — only compassion, deep and unshakable.
"Jericho Von Menssai," Desmos said, his tone filled with an empathy that silenced even the other gods. "You are not a horrible brother. You are not the cause of his fall."
Jericho lifted his eyes, tears trembling at the edge.
Desmos smiled faintly, though there was sorrow behind it. "Believe me when I tell you — no one knows your heart better than I do. You are kind, selfless, and brave… just like your father, the late Emperor Richard. You carry the same light he once bore — a light the world has nearly forgotten."
The chamber glowed faintly as Desmos extended his hand, his divine essence radiating warmth and comfort.
"That is why we need you," he continued. "To share that beautiful heart of yours once more — to heal what has been broken, to protect what remains. The world needs your love, Jericho… even if it has forgotten how to love itself."
Jericho tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. He bowed his head, unable to hold back the tears anymore. In the reflection of the divine light, they shimmered like falling stars.
For the first time since his death, he felt something beyond pain — hope.
But even with the faint ember of hope Desmos had kindled within him, doubt still gnawed at Jericho's heart. He wiped his tears and looked up at the circle of gods, voice trembling but honest.
"I… I don't understand," he said quietly. "You speak of faith and purpose, but I couldn't even protect the people closest to me. I failed my father. I failed my brother. I failed my kingdom. How could someone like me possibly help the world?"
The chamber fell silent. The gods exchanged glances, each one searching for words — but before any could speak, a dry, almost bored voice cut through the tension.
"Oh, for the love of everything soothing, that's enough."
The others stiffened instantly. Bios frowned; Nous narrowed her eyes. No one ever knew what Nea Zoi might say when he finally decided to talk — and more often than not, his words caused more confusion than clarity.
He leaned back lazily against one of the glowing pillars, arms folded, his tone halfway between irritation and amusement.
"Listen up, kid," he began, his eyes half-lidded but sharp. "Mistakes were made. You died. Your father died. Your brother's running around like a lunatic, trying to take revenge on the world. You think we don't feel something seeing all that?"
Jericho looked up, startled.
Nea Zoi shrugged. "We were supposed to be the ones protecting you mortals — yet here we are, watching everything fall apart. We failed too. But even as gods, we don't control everything. Some things just… happen. It's what we call faith".
He pushed himself off the pillar, stepping closer, his aura flickering with a strange, dim light that felt like dusk between worlds.
"But here's the thing about faith — it's only as unchangeable as you believe it to be. You think you're powerless, but you're not. Faith is yours, Jericho. It bends to your will when you decide to move, not when you cower in regret."
The god's voice grew steadier, losing its lazy slouch for the first time.
"You couldn't change anything before because you didn't understand what you were facing — and you didn't have the strength to fight it. But now…" He gestured to the glowing sigil beneath them. "Now you have both. Understanding — and power."
Nea Zoi stopped right before Jericho, his usually detached gaze suddenly burning with conviction.
"This is your second chance. Your chance to do what you couldn't in life. Get your brother back from that sadistic god. Save your kingdom. And make your father — even us — proud."
The god smiled faintly, just a twitch of his lips.
"But most of all, make yourself proud. You're our hero, Jericho Von Menssai. So start acting like it."
The chamber went dead quiet. The other gods stared at Nea Zoi, their mouths slightly open, unable to believe what they had just heard.
Desmos blinked. "Did… did he just say something encouraging?"
Meta whispered, "I didn't think he had it in him."
Nea Zoi sighed, returning to his usual indifference. "Don't make me repeat it. I'm tired already."
Despite himself, Jericho let out a weak laugh — the first sound of life in his voice since his arrival. Something inside him shifted — the weight of guilt began to lighten.
For the first time, he truly believed he could try again.
Jericho stood taller now, chest swelling with newfound confidence. His gaze shifted between the six gods, his earlier doubts replaced by determination.
Bios stepped forward, a gentle smile on his face.
"Jericho Von Menssai," he said, his voice warm, "you will be reincarnated in your original body, at the exact age you were when you first died — seventeen. But be mindful… your body won't be the same, and it will take some time before you get used to it."
Jericho blinked, confusion knitting his brow.
"My body… not the same? How different could it possibly be?"
Nous spoke next, her tone calm yet commanding.
"You will no longer be a normal human. You will wield and manipulate something called Soul Energy."
Jericho's brow furrowed further, a nervous edge creeping into his voice.
"Soul… Energy? Is that… dangerous? Will it hurt?"
Nea Zoi, back to his usual lazy, nonchalant self, smirked and leaned against a pillar.
"Oh, it'll definitely hurt… your enemies, that is," he said with a chuckle, the sound echoing across the chamber.
Before his laughter could continue, Meta — the goddess of seasons — elbowed him sharply in the stomach.
"Shut up," she whispered, not with anger, but with a quiet, affectionate firmness. Jericho noticed the faint blush rising to her cheeks — she was too shy to express her feelings openly, so this was how she showed them.
Zoe, then stepped forward, her tone patient and serene.
"It won't harm you," she explained gently. "Soul Energy is a natural force present in all living things. Humans can manipulate it, but only to their full potential if mastered properly. The Other races — the Demonoids and the Drakziel — can use Soul Energy already, for centuries too, but only in a limited way. They cannot harness it like humans will be able to."
She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in.
"you will be able to do more than most humans would. But mastery will take time, discipline, and understanding. Your body and mind must adapt, but we believe you are ready."
Jericho's eyes widened as he absorbed the truth. He felt a flicker of the immense power that awaited him, and the responsibility it carried. Yet for the first time, he felt ready to rise and claim his place, not just as a protector, but as a force that could change the fate of the world.
Jericho's mind was racing with questions as he absorbed the explanations about Soul Energy. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice tinged with curiosity and caution.
"Then… why couldn't mankind use Soul Energy before?"
Desmos stepped closer, his aura radiating warmth and quiet authority. His eyes softened as he answered.
"At the time, it would have been far too dangerous," he said. "Humans were not ready. If granted such power, they would have used it to harm and oppress one another — to wage war among themselves and against other races. Power is like water, Jericho. In its calm form, it can comfort, heal, and sustain life. But in the wrong hands, it can become a hurricane, a flood — capable of destroying everything in an instant. Families, friends… entire kingdoms. Power acknowledges no one in the hands of a tyrant."
Jericho thought about it, the weight of the truth settling in. He nodded slowly.
"You're right," he admitted. "It would have been too dangerous. Keeping it from humans was the wise choice."
Desmos' lips curved into a quiet, proud smile. He glanced at the other gods, who all shared the expression. Jericho had unwittingly proven their point — his understanding, empathy, and sense of responsibility were exactly why they had chosen him.
No objections remained. Jericho had shown the wisdom, heart, and clarity necessary to wield Soul Energy properly.
Bios' eyes glowed softly as he stepped closer, his aura a serene gold that filled the chamber with warmth.
"That," he said, "is another reason why we need you, Jericho. The world below is changing. Soul Energy has now been awakened in the next generation. Children across the realms will begin to show signs of it — their souls will be evolving."
He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in.
"But humans fear what they don't understand. If that goes unchecked, they will turn on their own children — hurt them, suppress them, destroy what they should be nurturing. That is why you must return, Jericho — to guide them. To teach them what Soul Energy truly is before fear drives them to ruin."
Jericho nodded slowly, comprehension dawning on his face.
Bios continued, "Some of those around your age will also begin to manipulate Soul Energy, but not as freely as you or the children of the next generation. Their bodies are already fully developed — rigid, resistant. The flow of energy will not come naturally to them. However, there is a safer way for them to channel it, and we will pass that knowledge to you soon."
Jericho understood then — the reason he could fully manipulate Soul Energy was because he would not be merely human anymore. He would be something greater.
Meta gave a firm nod, her tone calm but certain.
"You are correct, Jericho. You will not be reborn as a mere mortal… you will be reborn as a Sub-God — a bridge between divinity and mankind."
Jericho's eyes widened at the revelation, his heart pounding in awe.
Zoe stepped forward next, her emerald aura shimmering like life itself.
"In your new form," she said gently, "we have granted you three abilities. The first, gifted by Desmos himself — the Divine Art of Emotional Manipulation through Misconception. Through it, your words, presence, and emotions can influence others' hearts and thoughts — not by force, but by resonance."
Desmos smiled proudly at Jericho, clearly pleased with his contribution.
Zoe went on, "The second ability will lie between Mercury and Gravity — elements of swiftness and weight, of motion and pull. Mercury even among gods is very rare, would be interesting to see which chooses you. As for the third…" She glanced briefly toward the others. "It is not of our choosing. Another power — chose that for you. We cannot see its source, only its purpose."
Jericho's pulse quickened. A mix of fear and excitement surged within him. "I… I see," he said softly. "But if I'll be the only one on humanity's side capable of this, who will train me? I'll be all alone."
Nous placed her hand lightly over her chest, her voice steady and assuring.
"You won't be without guidance," she said. "With the blessings we will bestow upon you, you shall receive knowledge — memories of how Soul Energy flows, how to wield it, and how to teach others safely. You will know how the older generation can use it without harming themselves."
Her gaze sharpened, though her words carried encouragement.
"However, you must still perfect it yourself. We can give you the foundation — not the mastery. That will be your own to earn. True power only blooms through struggle."
Meta then raised her voice, her tone firmer but motherly.
"And you will not walk alone. Our blessings will remain within you, always. And should you ever wish to speak with us again, as a Sub-God, you can. Seek the Holy Kingdom of Righteous and find the divine stone known as the Elvogia Ore, also called the Ore of Creation. It lies in the care of our most trusted subordinate in the mortal realm."
Jericho tilted his head, puzzled. "A human subordinate? But… I thought the gods were forbidden from interfering with mortals?"
Desmos chuckled softly, his eyes warm but knowing.
"We haven't interfered, not directly," he replied. "And you need not worry, Jericho. When you meet them… you will understand."
The six gods formed a perfect circle around Jericho, their auras intertwining, creating a storm of shimmering light and color that danced across the walls of the Domain of Restoration. The sigil beneath him glowed brighter than ever, a living pulse of divine energy waiting to receive him.
Bios, at the center, raised his hands, golden light streaming from his fingertips.
"Jericho Von Menssai," he intoned, his voice resonating with life itself, "you will be reborn. Your body, your soul, your essence — all will be restored and enhanced. Receive the blessings of the gods and rise anew."
Desmos stepped forward, his aura radiating warmth like the sun on a winter morning.
"May your heart remain pure and strong," he said. "May your presence guide, heal, and inspire all who follow you."
Meta's voice, soft but commanding, rippled like the changing seasons.
"May your mind adapt and grow, Jericho. You are no longer bound by mortal limitations. Time, change, and wisdom are now within your grasp."
Zoe's green light spiraled around Jericho, infusing him with vitality and life.
"May your body be a vessel of growth, of creation, and of harmony with all living things."
Nous stepped forward, her aura like sharpened steel and radiant thought.
"May your skill, judgment, and strategy be unmatched. May your Soul Energy flow freely, and may your wisdom guide your strength."
Nea Zoi, leaning lazily against a pillar at first, finally let the gravity of the moment sink in. His dark aura stretched and shimmered with the subtle glow of twilight.
"And may death itself serve only as a teacher, Jericho. Remember — even the end is a beginning."
The six auras merged, forming a single, swirling vortex of color and power around Jericho. The sigil beneath him pulsed with an intensity that threatened to tear the chamber apart. Light flowed into his body, filling every fiber of his being, burning, searing, and simultaneously comforting him.
Jericho screamed — not from pain, but from the overwhelming surge of power and understanding coursing through him. His body tingled, then vibrated with the rhythm of creation itself. He could feel the Soul Energy awakening inside him, raw and immense, responding to every thought, every heartbeat.
Visions flashed before his eyes — memories of the workings of Soul Energy, the methods to train others, the flow of elemental forces, even glimpses of the future that awaited him if he failed or succeeded. His senses sharpened, his mind expanded, and his spirit stretched beyond mortal limits.
When the light finally dimmed, Jericho stood taller than before, his aura faintly glowing — a perfect blend of humanity and divinity. He could feel the blessings of all six gods pulsing within him, their guidance ready to be drawn upon at a moment's notice.
Meta stepped forward, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Rise, Jericho Von Menssai. You are no longer merely human. You are a Sub-God. Walk your path, and shape the world as it was meant to be."
Jericho exhaled deeply, a mixture of awe, excitement, and responsibility flooding his being. His eyes glimmered with determination.
"I… I understand. I accept this. I will protect my world. I will save my brother. And I will make my father… and all of you proud."
Desmos smiled warmly, a tear glinting in his eye.
"Good. That is all we could hope for. Go, Jericho — and let your Soul Energy shine."
And with a blinding flash, the chamber dissolved into radiant energy, and Jericho's essence descended toward the mortal realm, ready to begin his second life — stronger, wiser, and chosen by the gods themselves.
As Jericho's essence descended toward the mortal realm, a gentle hush fell over the Domain of Restoration. The six gods lingered, their auras still shimmering faintly with the remnants of the ritual.
Nea Zoi stepped casually to the side of Desmos, a wry, contented smile tugging at his lips.
"Don't worry," he said, his tone half-joking, half-serious. "Jericho is going to be just fine. You were right — he really is a good pick. Interesting, too."
Desmos glanced at him, eyebrows raised in mild surprise, but a quiet warmth lingered in his gaze. Nea Zoi continued, admitting softly, "All my doubts… gone. Completely crushed after seeing him, speaking with him. The kid has heart."
Nous nodded solemnly.
"Yes," she agreed. "We chose well. Now… we must watch over him, assist him when needed, and ensure he fulfills his purpose."
The chamber remained silent, the gods' presence radiating quiet confidence. Jericho, now on his way to the mortal realm, carried with him the hope, guidance, and power of all six — ready to face the world anew.