In my past life, I was not born.
I emerged.
I emerged from hatred so dense it warped reality itself. From rage that burned brighter than stars and deeper than the abyss beneath creation. The heavens once trembled when my name was spoken, though the name itself was never one I chose.
They called me the Omni Devil God.
A title drenched in fear, spat with contempt by the very gods who forged it.
Once, this reality was ruled by ten divine sovereigns—beings who called themselves guardians of balance. They sat upon thrones of light and law, proclaiming justice while bathing entire worlds in blood. Their wars shattered continents. Their indifference erased civilizations. And when mortals screamed, the gods called it "necessary order."
I was born from that hypocrisy.
Vengeful rage consumed me. A hunger for divine blood twisted my thoughts, poisoned my will. I did not question my fury—I became it. One by one, I hunted them down. Ten gods. Ten pillars of reality. Ten symbols of false righteousness.
I erased them.
Their deaths were not swift. I wanted them to understand fear. I wanted them to feel the same helplessness they had inflicted upon countless lives. When the last god fell, the heavens themselves cracked. Entire divine realms collapsed into nothingness. The cosmos screamed.
And then…
Silence.
No cheers. No satisfaction.
Only emptiness.
I stood amidst the ruins of my revenge, surrounded by divine corpses and collapsing stars, and felt nothing. The rage that had fueled me for eons burned out in an instant, leaving behind a void far greater than the one I had carved into existence.
I had destroyed everything.
Yet I was still hollow.
In that silence, an unbearable truth settled into my soul—I had mistaken destruction for purpose. Power for meaning. Vengeance for justice. The path I walked had not freed me.
It had only made me alone.
So I abandoned the divine realm.
No one cast me out. No force could have. This exile was my own choice—a punishment harsher than death. I severed myself from the heavens I once ruled and turned inward, gazing upon the infinite power I still possessed.
With ninety-nine percent of my godhead, I created a new multiverse.
Not out of pride.
Out of guilt.
Worlds blossomed from my will. Time, space, laws, life—each crafted carefully, deliberately. I ensured that no single god could dominate again. That every world would have choice. That no being would be born solely to suffer under divine whims.
It was the greatest act of creation ever performed.
And yet…
It did not heal me.
Even after shaping countless realities, I felt an ache that no omnipotence could erase. A longing for something raw and real—something unburdened by worship, fear, or destiny.
I did not want to be a god anymore.
I wanted to live.
So I made one final decision.
With the last one percent of my power, I shattered my own divinity and reincarnated myself.
Not as a god.
Not as a hero.
But as a boy.
A fragile, breathing child of flesh and blood. A being who could bleed, cry, laugh, and die. A life free from the weight of the cosmos.
That was how I was born into the world of Astira.
I became Solaris Void.
Son of a noble house. Silver hair. Cyan blue eyes like a moonlit sky. No crown. No throne. No worshippers.
Only parents.
Only life.
In this existence, I swore to learn what I had never known. To grow slowly. To love deeply. To suffer honestly. To grieve when needed. To live without the shadow of divinity looming over every breath.
Even a god can dream of an ordinary life.
And so my journey began—not as a legend, but as a sleeping infant, unaware of how heavy my past truly was.