Blurred vision. The eyes of the dying deity slowly closed.
There wasn’t much to see. Likewise, there wasn’t much to feel either.
The armor wrapped around his body felt unbearably heavy, and the arms and legs that had always been full of strength barely moved at all.
The body, honed through countless brushes with death, was now reaching its end.
That’s why he yearned for light.
A light brighter than dawn.
Soon, a flame arose just as he had hoped.
Brighter than dawn, yet radiant.
Not ominous, but sanctifying light.
Like a dying star, it shone brilliantly, emitting a vividly burning glow.
It was both death and birth.
It was like a grand celebration marking a great birth.
That celebration was a sword strike.
A supreme technique that revealed its power in a single stroke.
An exquisite blow wrought by a mere human.
As the Warrior God watched this diagonal cut, he saw the God of Victory meeting death.
A single slash that severed divinity and soul along with the flesh.
A powerful strike intended to cleave the evil deities embedded in the heavens like stars.
Even while dying, the Warrior God uttered words similar to those of the God of Victory.
“Stars…”
And he let out a disheartened smile.
Truly, they were talents worthy of being chosen by Father.
Beside him, one of his compatriots was tearing apart the lesser divinities.
Father’s swung sword brought victory, scattering the clumsy malice of the lesser divinities upon contact.
With the scattered corpses and the slumped form of the God of Victory strewn about, only Aslan and Angie remained standing on the battlefield.
The gaze of the Supreme Divinity observing them was filled with ecstasy.
Naturally, Aslan frowned at the Supreme Divinity standing on the battlefield, sensing countless temptations infiltrating his mind.
Alluring propositions disrupting his consciousness dozens of times within a single breath.
Annoyed, Aslan stepped back, extinguishing purity and tucking away his feathers.
The Warrior God saw Aslan approaching.
“You’ve… taken them all down, I see.”
As Aslan hesitated at the statement, the Warrior God closed his eyes tightly and then reopened them.
When he opened them again, he realized he had lost consciousness briefly.
After all, his armor had been stripped off, and his body was heavily bandaged with precious medicinal herbs—too precious to be used on someone who was dying.
He wasn’t alone in this place. Turning his struggling head to survey the surroundings, he saw countless people.
Ordinary people from within the ruins.
The ones he had sought to protect.
The ones who had managed to survive thanks to Aslan and Angie.
And among them were demigods, heroes, and lesser divinities, who, though inexperienced, tried to lead these people.
While hurrying to prepare their departure, they deeply mourned.
What they grieved for was obvious. Silently lowering his eyes, the Warrior God noticed Aslan attending to his wounds.
‘Does he have some knowledge of alchemy?’
As the god pondered and blinked, Aslan, who was applying medicine to the god’s waist, met his gaze.
Their emerald-green eyes locked. In the unwavering gaze devoid of pity, there was respect for the warrior.
It wasn’t a bad feeling.
However, time was running out.
Though the pain was almost nonexistent due to what seemed to be an extraordinary alchemical skill, life couldn’t be restored with just a sprinkle of medicine.
Gazing silently at one of the warriors, the god asked,
“How long have I been like this?”
“…About half a day.”
Indeed, the sun had already passed overhead. On the horizon where the sun had risen, the Supreme Divinity still loomed like a dark cloud.
Staring blankly at the Supreme Divinity, the Warrior God thought for a moment and then spoke.
“What do you think is the difference between you and us?”
It was an uncertain question. Since eloquence wasn’t the Warrior God’s forte, he soon gave a faint smile and looked at Aslan.
It was a hazy smile.
“What do you think was the reason we failed and you succeeded?”
Though the question might have sounded reproachful, there was no such tone in his expression or voice.
In his relaxed expression lay pure curiosity. After pondering for a moment, Aslan answered.
“We’ve faced many priests—traitors of your kind—and know how to deal with them well. These beings are still unfamiliar with divine power and thus could not fight properly.”
Listening quietly, Aslan continued awkwardly while gauging the Warrior God’s reaction.
“The Supreme Divinity didn’t channel its power efficiently, wasting much of it. And since we’re closer to humans than gods, perhaps we underestimated each other.”
The Warrior God listened silently.
On the surface, it was a statement that could make one feel ashamed of failing against such odds, but the Warrior God didn’t dwell on it.
Because, as he had already said, winning or losing wasn’t important to him.
So he simply asked the human,
“Why did we lose?”
“…We didn’t truly understand our enemy. Not knowing the extent of their power led to our quick exhaustion. Of course… even if we had known, resisting would have been meaningless in the long run.”
We couldn’t have won. Aslan’s added remark left the Warrior God silent.
Truly realizing that fact.
Thus, his subsequent words were calm.
“That’s right.”
Following this indifferent response was silence. Amidst the sobs of ordinary people, the god’s breathing spread faintly.
Approaching the end, the god spoke.
“Is there a way to win?”
He didn’t value victory or defeat.
He was the Warrior God.
He was the deity who overlooked all those who chose to fight.
Beyond victory or defeat, he symbolized the act of trying itself.
Thus, this question was natural for him.
Is there a way to fight?
Is there any plan?
Would they still fight against something so overwhelmingly vast that resistance seems impossible?
He had to ask.
Fortunately,
“Yes.”
Aslan had a way.
With determination and a method, the Warrior God faintly smiled.
“Good.”
It was a relieved smile, one that naturally drew Aslan’s gaze.
“Do you have any regrets or resentment? Any feelings of disappointment?”
At the question, the Warrior God quietly closed his eyes.
“No.”
The immediate answer.
“I am a warrior. I fought when I had to fight, and I protected what I had to protect. Though I couldn’t protect everything.”
Coughing, the god continued, blood trickling out.
Seeing the red blood, Aslan frowned, and the god, gasping for breath, went on.
“I believe struggle itself has value beyond victory or defeat.”
Struggling to continue, seeing Aslan listening, the god forced a smile.
“Sometimes, there are battles we must face with all our might, even when we know we’ll lose. If we don’t fight when we should, nothing will change.”
Isn’t that right? Adding this rhetorical question, Aslan silently nodded in agreement.
The sight of the dying god. Words spoken like a final testament. As Aslan grew somber thinking about the impending situation, the god blinked and looked at the sun.
“In the future… in the place you came from, how did I die?”
“To pierce through the divine domain of ‘the Veil of Benevolence,’ I burned my divinity to sacrifice myself. It created a passage that lasted until the distant future. Although it collapsed when we crossed it to come here.”
Hearing Aslan’s explanation, the Warrior God turned his head to look at the spreading veil.
The mark left by the manifestation of the Veil of Benevolence.
A trace frozen in time, consuming the world until the distant future.
Looking at the desolate scene where time and space were frozen, the Warrior God surprisingly felt competitiveness.
“A fitting decision of mine.”
So he said,
“If such things are our adversaries, we must resist.”
Very calmly.
It was hard to tell whether this composed demeanor was reckless bravery or simple madness.
Therefore, to the motionless Aslan, the Warrior God suddenly extended his left arm, the relatively undamaged one.
“Could you help me up?”
Aslan supported him without a word.
Supported by Aslan, the Warrior God picked up the staff he had placed beside him.
Sssshh!
The damaged staff was repaired by infusing it with divinity, revealing its true form—a cane.
Leaning on the cane, he stood up, supported by Aslan, and moved forward.
All eyes turned toward the advancing god.
Angie, who had been burying the dead, turned her head to look at him, and the people stared. Demigods, heroes, and surviving lesser divinities watched him with worried glances.
Among the defeated, he walked proudly despite the weight of defeat.
He laughed heartily in the face of failure.
Though he stumbled, leaned on others, and leaned on his cane as he moved forward,
No one could call him disgraceful.
It was not a long walk. Aslan and the Warrior God stopped before the distant world.
Completely frozen spacetime. Before it, the Warrior God spoke.
“You may not understand this, but it seems to me that your arrival in this past… was not to save me, but to solidify fate.”
What did he mean? As Aslan looked at him with confusion, the Warrior God smiled.
“If you hadn’t come, we would all have died. If you had hesitated, we would have died, and if you had fled, we would have died.”
His golden eyes—different from Angie’s lively, sometimes beast-like golden eyes—were calm yet full of empathy as they looked at Aslan.
He saw through Aslan’s inner thoughts.
“If you hadn’t stepped forward to do the right thing, even despite doubting whether you could return or if things would go wrong… I wouldn’t have completed my mission.”
“That’s…”
“Thank you. Longarm.”
Smiling faintly, he released Aslan’s support and stood alone.
He was a god.
Once human.
A human who became a god after enduring tragedy and completing his mission.
He knew well that humans come alone and leave alone.
Therefore, in his final moments, he wished to stand alone.
Standing alone, he spoke.
“Our fate was achieved because of you. Fate crumbled because you couldn’t remain in that place, but once I complete my mission, we’ll be able to return.”
He transformed the cane back into a sword. A sword resembling the stone blade Aslan had once obtained.
The blade of white steel was the insignia of the Warrior God.
He offered it to Aslan, handing it over in reverse grip. As Aslan accepted it, the Warrior God grinned mischievously.
“This… is the farewell gift from the God of Warriors to the most worthy warrior. Use it well. Give my armor to your wife.”
Knowing fully well that she wasn’t his wife, he teased anyway. Aslan chuckled awkwardly.
“She’s not my wife, but…”
Despite this, the Warrior God maintained his characteristic smirk and nudged Aslan in the ribs with his elbow.
“It’ll happen soon enough, so what’s the problem? Just let it be. You should listen to your elders.”
Had Angie heard this, she might have ended the Warrior God right there. Smiling uneasily, Aslan chuckled, and the Warrior God also laughed softly.
Afterward, he limped toward the distant world.
“Go ahead.”
A figure that could only be followed with the eyes. With Aslan watching from behind, he halted just before the threshold of the distant world.
One more step, and he would die.
And even as he died, he would fight.
Because he was a warrior.
However, he paused briefly before entering and smiled.
Letting out a youthful grin, Aslan looked at him, and he turned his head slightly to speak.
“I’m not the God of Victory, but… my foolish half-brother served some strange person and died, so let me prophesy instead.”
Whoosh! The flames spreading across his body. Divine fire.
Watching the blazing flames, Aslan startled and flinched. Laughing, the Warrior God pointed a finger at Aslan.
“You shall triumph!”
Then he took his final step.
He stepped into the distant world.
Instantly, a cosmic death that froze even time and space greeted him.
Centered on the point where he entered, cracks spread like spiderwebs.
Not a sound, not even a crackle. Only absolute silence and emptiness.
In this silence and emptiness, in the utterly merciless death, he roared.
His body froze, his soul shattered.
Even his divinity froze.
His frozen limbs broke and seeped into the abyss that wasn’t even ground, and his eyes froze and shattered.
But in his final moments, he saw.
He saw the warrior he acknowledged and the last ancient god disappearing like flames as they returned to the future.
Watching them vanish, he smiled.
His lips barely curling upward, his life fading away as flesh tore off.
Here was one who was born human and died a god.
Though he was collapsing like a crumbling structure, his spirit burned beyond death, igniting divinity and soul.
The Warrior God resisted the inevitable death.
Even though it was a certain defeat, even though it was an unreachable victory.
Until the very end, he remained a warrior.
An unheard roar. A fading sound dissipating into the distance. Within it, he shouted his name.
He proclaimed his presence here.
As he fell in the end,
A massive passage opened in the distant world.
People called it the Rift of Worlds.
