Part 2
Libert felt his consciousness stretching across the cosmos, his newly forged soul screaming as it was forced back into the limitations of a three-dimensional world.
Then, the coldness of the God Realm vanished, replaced by the suffocating heat of a city summer and the smell of exhaust fumes.
Libert blinked. He was standing in a narrow, trash-strewn alleyway—the exact spot where the "iron carriage" had sent him to his death just hours ago. But to the world, he had never left. The sirens in the distance were still wailing, and the crowd on the main street was still gathered around a patch of cracked pavement.
"Change," Libert whispered. The word felt heavy on his tongue.
He looked down at his clothes. Gone were the midnight-blue robes of the Successor. He was wearing his old, frayed hoodie and jeans again. To any passerby, he looked like just another struggling young man in a city that didn't care if he lived or died.
But beneath the fabric, his skin hummed with the power of the stars. His pulse didn't beat like a human's; it vibrated with the steady, rhythmic thrum of a machine.
The Mirror of the Soul
He walked toward a puddle of stagnant water and looked at his reflection. His face was the same—the sharp jawline, the messy dark hair—but his eyes were the giveaway. They were no longer the dull brown of a man defeated by poverty. They were deep, swirling pools of silver that looked like they held the secrets of a thousand galaxies.
With a focused thought, Libert willed the glow to fade. He watched as the silver retreated, hiding behind a mask of normalcy.
'The Elder was right,' he thought, clenching his fist. The brick wall next to him groaned under the mere pressure of his grip, spiderweb cracks appearing in the masonry. 'I am a god walking among insects. If I don't control this, I'll destroy the very world I'm meant to protect.'
The Weight of a Life Left Behind
He checked his pocket. His old, cracked smartphone was there. The screen lit up, showing fifteen missed calls and twenty unread messages.
Most were from his boss, screaming about his shift. But the last five were from Aslam.
"Libert, where are you man? You're never this late. Pick up!"
"I'm heading to the warehouse. If you're playing a prank, I'm going to kill you myself."
A ghost of a smile touched Libert's lips. Aslam—the only person who didn't look at Libert's empty pockets before deciding his worth. In his previous life, Libert was always running to keep up with Aslam's world. Now, the roles had shifted in a way Aslam couldn't possibly imagine.
Libert stepped out of the alley and joined the flow of the city. He walked past the spot where he had "died," ignored by the police and the onlookers. He was a ghost returning to his own life, a predator hiding in plain sight.
Libert had just raised his blade when a power surged from the front, one that struck terror even into the hearts of the gods... Will Libert survive?"
⚡ "Want the next part sooner? Show your support by sending Flowers and Gifts! Your support will decide how fast Libert exacts his revenge."