As it struck, his robe ripped open—the fabric tore around the injury as his skin bled and his soul flared.
The intricate, incandescent white flames extended down from the rod, devouring the black flames.
But nothing happened.
Oren was struggling not to lose consciousness. He had no heart, so the injury wasn't fatal—but the pain... was too much, He laughed, mocking the profane entity before him.
Although he laughed, he was angry. His body had just been pierced, and the pain he felt was unbearable.
Yet he was still alive. For some reason, he felt grateful—because he was alive. It was also because it was like the one above had granted him a second chance.
Orens chest was painted a mix of red, black, and white. The upper robe no longer existed, revealing a muscular body—lean and sculpted.
Blood dripped down his magnificent physique. He was losing a lot of blood—too much—even though each speck of red was consumed by the elegant black flames.
He looked battered, nevertheless.
Staring into Nothingness, he shouted, "I'm going to kill you," his eyes darkening. Perhaps he had been asleep too long.
Although he was out of touch, he was still a deity. But still—that could not compare to an upper level.
Oren's eyes widened—finally seeing something warp next to a realm. The deadly abomination emerged, smiling, its presence cold and unmoving. It was a shade of the darkest black, its body fluctuating with black flames—just like the rods.
Oren knew a bit about corruption, but he had never seen an abomination before. And he wished it would be the last he saw. It was not terrifying, but it was the type of thing that could make a deity's skin crawl. Perhaps he truly had become a hermit deity.
"Just how many sins have you committed?" he shouted. He knew that wasn't the only way to become corrupted, but it was certainly the most well-known.
Where its eyes should have been were two white crescents—as white as the stars in his old realm.
The creature spoke, revealing a mouth as white as its eyes:
"No hea... heart... heartless…"
Oren looked at it with disgust. Its voice was chilling—enough to make his skin crawl.
It just stood there. Watching. Breathing. Waiting. Observing him like it knew Oren had already lost.
His expression changed from disgust to a fake smile, and he replied:
"No. Although I may be heartless… I had a heart."
How dare it—the ignorance. He had feelings.
The black flames were gone. All that remained were the flames—incandescent white.
The rod evaporated, and the white flames danced into the bloody hole in his chest.
He shuddered. The insane pain he felt tripled as the white flames disappeared.
He felt something off. The being in the distance was just standing there—staring—making Oren wary.
Using the chance, he caught a glimpse of his soul. In it, a thin line—familiar to a piece of thread, yet not of the physical realm. It was bright gold, thinner than all the others. Despite its minute size, it radiated an overwhelming presence—one of absolute authority.
But it, too, was fading. No—his connection to Heaven wasn't fading. It was being overwhelmed.
Overwhelmed... he looked at it. A corrupted tether. A ruined realm.
Even though he had only been there once—without his tether to Heaven, he could not go back.
That meant he was going to die... again. Everything he needed to escape, everything he needed to help himself was betraying him. And the only question left in his head was: why?
Why was the one above against him? Why did he bear a grudge against him? What did he do to deserve such cruelty?
Oren was fazed by the mix of feelings in him. He was in pain and hurting—and felt extremely fatigued.
Although only a few moments had passed, it felt like years to him.
His gaze loosened, and he saw his soul again. Something was different.
Divine flames spread around the incandescent ball of energy—engulfing it, slowly ebbing away at it.
He spat out blood. It can't be. Am I being eaten?
Each second, each moment made him regret all of his choices. If he had not run away to Nothingness...
His body shook, rumbling as his soul felt as though it would collapse.
His vision blurred. His mind calculated possibilities. But it was inevitable—he would fade into Nothingness or die by that creature.
He lost all hope—though he never had it to begin with.
I'm going to die, his previous thoughts echoed in his head. I'm going to die, again and again.
He was going to die. Upon his awakening, he had thought about it too much. But this time he was sure. He was... scared. His mind flickered as his past flashed before his eyes, forcing him to remember the life he had lived and all he had seen.
A mortal would've needed years to understand this pain—if they ever did. But his divine mind processed it instantly, mercilessly. Unable to forget. Every memory. Every regret. Every truth—laid bare at once.
His emotoins shifted and orens breaths became hoarse and scared. The more he remembered, the more he couldn't control his emotions.
The more Oren became overwhelmed, the more his mind and body began to break down, as if the barriers that were keeping his divine mind from his destructive feelings were gone.
His face curled up in a mix of hate, regret, and confusion as his hands raised to his head, gripping his hair, as certain memories overtook his enlightened eyes.
The vast and beautiful realm he had created—enchanting in all its glory. How far it had progressed, how majestic it became. The hundreds of realms he had seen—all differentinstantlythe same story, showing how corrupt they truly were. In one realm, there would be genocide—mass killing of innocents just because of the difference in faith or nation.
In others, an endless war had carried on for centuries until everything was wiped out—creating mass extinction and more corruption. In most, slavery existed. Countless mortals—men, women, and children—forced to do endless work, being overworked and dying at a young age.
But each mortal individually caused death and despair, causing others to sink as low as themselves. Mortals tortured each other, but in front of the unstoppable death they all faced, they begged and grieved as if they deserved to do so.
They betrayed each other—sometimes even betraying their own creators—as if bonds did not contribute to one's happiness in life. They had secret malice, invoking their gods to justify others' ruin.
In the end, they all sinned. They all murdered in the name of righteousness and purity—but fell to corruption because of their delusional morality. Mortals starved while gluttonous individuals thrived. Others manipulated the hierarchy to do their bidding. They all deserved the corruption they willingly created.
But worse were those gods. Even the gods... even they were corrupted. Without them, nothing could possibly be corrupt. With a thought in their minds, they could end it all in an instant. But they never did—choosing entertainment over purity.
He could not accept it. In the face of death, he wanted to live. In the face of death, he knew the reason for all his suffering—and all the realms' suffering.
His body froze as more memories blurred to clarity, and he smiled. I've found it. My purpose... my life.
He smiled. All it took was a moment, and his mind was relaxed and calm—unfazed by everything.
The smile reached his golden eyes. Thank you for bringing me to this conclusion. You've made me realize I must live—and you must die.
In the short moments that had passed, his purpose was revealed to him.
Abomination, I truly thank you for this revelation. Eyes full of unyielding light.
But the abomination stood as still as Nothingness—unmoving, smiling like it was enjoying the despair Oren had felt moments ago.
Oren's smile gleamed, and he thought:
Yes, you are corrupted. So you must die. The punishment for your sins is death. I must kill you.
His mouth opened, speaking proudly, "Just as death shadows life, corruption shadows purity—an inevitable fate."
"And I will undo that curse that binds."
Without purpose, what kind of life would that be? His purpose… even if he changed tomorrow, even if he died, even if he became impure himself—he would stick to the vow he had made.
This would be his first step down the path he had chosen.
Corruption must be ended—so he would end it.