As the Primordial God Void turned his full attention on me, my pupils dilated. Every instinct screamed at me to look away. A primal, bone-deep fear seized my body, urging submission through avoidance alone.
But overriding that was an even stronger fear.
The fear of offending a titan among gods.
I forced myself to meet Void's gaze.
Wetness lined the corners of my eyes. At first, I thought they were tears—until habit made me reach up and wipe my face. My fingers came away red.
My eyes widened.
Just looking at this ancient concept made flesh was injuring me.
"I see that even in this form, I am still causing you harm," Void said calmly. "Forgive me. This is my first time condensing myself into an avatar. Doing so while actively restraining my presence—while attempting not to annihilate the deities here—proved… difficult. I came very close to erasing you."
Great. Fantastic. Love that for me.
Void's silhouette shifted. What had been a tall, thin outline of nothingness began to gain definition—slowly, deliberately. Facial features emerged. Proportions solidified. A humanoid shape formed.
After a minute or two of adjustment, the bleeding stopped.
The result was… easier to look at.
Still unsettling. Just less actively lethal.
The avatar Void had created was unmistakably human in structure, yet utterly generic. Perfectly average proportions. No defining traits. No strong features. The face was almost blank, its expression neutral to the point of discomfort.
Its skin was a translucent gray, like stained glass washed of color. Beneath it, I could just barely perceive the endless void swirling within.
"There," Void said. "This is the best I can manage. I cannot create a form with true definition. I am the Void. I exist to erase. To return things to nonexistence."
I fumbled for something to clean the blood from my face, then gave up and tossed my hands in the air.
A soft snap sounded.
In an instant, the goddess—still kneeling with the others—wiped the blood away with practiced ease, her expression composed and utterly unfazed.
"Thank you," I muttered sheepishly.
Then I turned back to Void.
"So… what happens now? I can tell this is a big deal, but I honestly have no idea if it's bad, good, or just… weird."
A thought struck me. I dragged my hands down my face and groaned.
"Wait. I'm not a villain, am I? No offense, but you kind of scream final boss. I am very much not villain material."
Void's expression didn't change, but a sensation rippled outward—warmth. Amusement. The concept of laughter, permitted to exist within his influence.
"No, mortal," Void said. "You are not a villain. Nor am I. The Void is not good, evil, or even neutral. It simply is."
He raised one hand slightly.
"As for what happens next, we proceed as normal. Upon awakening your innate Aspect, the deity most closely aligned with it is summoned. That deity explains the Aspect and oversees your Integration. I will create the pocket realm for your three-month Integration and assign you a guide best suited to foster your growth."
He paused.
"If you are ready, we may begin."
Void lifted his hand higher, fingers poised to snap.
Before he could, every deity present shouted in alarm.
Void and I both turned toward them.
The gods looked frustrated, anxious, and more than a little terrified. The goddess—I really should have learned her name sooner—cleared her throat, visibly forcing herself to remain composed.
"Primordial Lord Void," she said carefully. "Please. This is no simple matter. Should we not… discuss this first?"
Several deities nodded in agreement—subtly, cautiously.
"Come now, Laesha," Void replied. "What is there to discuss? This may be unprecedented, but it changes nothing."
Laesha—finally, a name—let out a disbelieving huff and gestured sharply toward me.
"Lord Void, it changes everything. This mortal possesses an Aspect Core of Void. A Primordial Aspect—one that predates even Lady Creation's use of mana to shape existence itself."
She took a breath, her voice rising despite herself.
"The power he may grow into will alter Corev's balance entirely. His existence alone could spark wars, cause untold bloodshed. What if he becomes unstable? What if he's a psychopath?"
"Um," I muttered, "that's rude. I'm not a psycho."
Void didn't even glance at me.
"And what would you propose, Laesha?" Void asked evenly. "That we kill him here?"
The room went dead silent.
"We could," Void continued calmly. "But that would violate the mandate. We are permitted to prepare Outworlders for survival—not to determine their fate. Interference of that magnitude would invite severe backlash. The god responsible could lose their divinity entirely."
His gaze swept the room.
"Would you risk that? Or ask another to do so?"
The deities who had spoken up earlier now shrank back, some disappearing outright. None wanted their name attached to this.
Void continued, unchallenged.
"This was inevitable. Did you truly believe the Primordial Aspects would never awaken within mortals? One day, every primordial Aspect will walk Corev in flesh. Whether today or centuries from now is irrelevant. Corev was always destined to change."
I listened, anger simmering beneath my fear.
I didn't love the idea of being killed for existing.
I cleared my throat.
"For what it's worth," I said, forcing myself to speak, "I don't plan on throwing away a second life. Especially one with magic. I know that doesn't solve everything, but… I'm still a person. Would you stay silent if someone debated whether you deserved to exist?"
Laesha looked at me, frustration flickering—then fading.
"You're right," she admitted quietly. "That doesn't make this easier."
She exhaled slowly.
"Corev will change the moment you arrive. We care deeply for its people. That is why the Integration exists. Some Outworlders died within minutes of arrival. Others survived long enough to cause devastation."
She turned back to Void and bowed her head.
"I apologize for my outburst, Lord Void. Please… continue."