The sky was breaking.
Not with thunder, nor with fire—but with mana so dense that reality itself trembled beneath it. The world below, vast and living, groaned as two existences stood above it like opposing laws.
One was chaos incarnate.
The other was restraint.
"Hey, you little brat," Berserker laughed, his voice echoing across continents. Black fire curled around his body, devouring light itself. "I'm going to destroy this fucking world and eat everyone's magic. What do you think?"
Below them lay the Earth—humans, cities, kingdoms. Countless lives. Countless fragile streams of mana, endlessly draining away from their creators.
Vesta stood opposite him.
Long golden hair flowed behind him, untouched by the storm of power. His eyes—clear, gentle, yet filled with unbearable sorrow—were fixed on his elder brother.
"Big brother," Vesta said quietly. "This is too much. Don't do this to them. They are our people too."
Berserker's smile twisted.
"Our people?" he scoffed. "They're parasites. Every human born here steals mana from us. From you. From me. I won't allow trash without magic to decide the fate of this world."
Vesta clenched his fists.
"Do you have the right to choose who lives and who dies?" he asked.
The air snapped.
Berserker's eyes narrowed. "Are you refusing me?"
Silence followed.
Then—
"…No," Vesta said, voice shaking. "But if protecting them means standing against you… then I will fight."
For a heartbeat, the world froze.
Then Berserker laughed.
"Hahaha! This little boy thinks he can beat me?"
Vesta raised his hand, tears burning before they could fall.
"I'm sorry, brother," he whispered. "After this, I'll never forgive myself."
Golden light erupted.
"Creator Magic: Creator's Sword."
Berserker answered instantly.
"Dark Flame Magic—Sword of Darkness."
The clash split the sky.
Mountains collapsed. Seas boiled. The laws of creation screamed as the two creator-class beings collided. Berserker regenerated endlessly, his power overwhelming, eternal.
Until—
"Creator Magic: Law of the Creator."
Berserker's body froze.
"What—what did you do?" he roared, regeneration halting for the first time.
"You won't die," Vesta said softly. "But you won't heal either. Not for a thousand years."
Berserker struggled.
"Hey—what are you doing?!"
Tears streamed down Vesta's face, evaporating instantly.
"Creator Magic: Time Capsule of Millennium."
Ice brighter than stars swallowed Berserker whole. His roar faded, sealed beyond time itself.
"We'll meet again," Vesta whispered. "In a thousand years."
The world fell silent.
Far away—long after gods stopped watching—
A human died.
His name was Garf.
He had lived quietly. Failed often. Loved once.
She had been the only one who believed in him.
And then she was gone.
An accident. Sudden. Final.
When Garf opened his eyes again, there was no pain.
Only warmth.
"Hello," a cheerful voice said.
Before him stood a radiant woman, smiling gently.
"I'm the Goddess of Joy. You suffered a lot… yet you never gave up. I like that."
"…Am I dead?" Garf asked.
"Yes," she replied easily. "You have two choices. Heaven—or reincarnation in a world of magic."
Garf didn't hesitate.
"The second one."
Her smile widened. "Good choice."
Light gathered around her hands.
"I'll give you gifts—extra stamina, magic capacity, and several blessings. Use them well."
"Thank you," Garf said sincerely.
"Welcome," she replied. "Now… be reborn."
Cold.
Biting cold.
Garf gasped.
Ice surrounded him—crystalline, shining, bitter. His body felt wrong. Stronger. Older.
"What… where am I?"
Instinctively, he touched the ice. Tasted it.
Bitter.
Then—
A voice echoed in his mind.
"Hello. I'm Berserker."
Garf froze.
"The devil you just ate. And now, I'm inside you."
His vision spun.
"…Am I hallucinating?"
"No. You consumed the sealed fragment of my soul. Congratulations—you're my vessel."
"…Vessel?" Garf whispered.
Somewhere far away, ancient magic stirred.
And the world unknowingly welcomed its greatest contradiction.