Sarog awoke in a place that was not heaven—

  and not the underworld.

  A divine realm stretched endlessly around him, too bright, too vast. The air itself felt heavy, like the world was pressing down with invisible hands.

  And beneath that pressure, he could feel it.

  The underworld.

  Distant. Hungry. Craving his soul.

  Sarog lifted his head.

  Five presences watched him from above—so immense they didn’t need bodies to feel terrifying.

  Five gods who had taken interest in his death.

  Saryn, God of Sacrifice.

  Deimos, God of War.

  Jura, God of Forgiveness.

  Tengen, God of Vengeance.

  Einken, God of Endurance.

  Their divinity combined into a single oppressive force. It scorched Sarog’s existence just by being near, like his soul was paper held too close to a flame.

  Sarog forced his voice to work.

  “Why am I here…?” he rasped. “Why am I not dead?”

  Deimos’ gaze sharpened.

  “You dare speak to us like that?”

  The moment the sentence ended, Sarog was slammed into the ground.

  Not by a hand—by the realm itself.

  Light turned into weight. Authority became gravity. Sarog’s soul shuddered, fighting to move, but even resisting felt like trying to push back the sky.

  Deimos stepped forward, voice like steel.

  “We spared your tainted soul from returning to that disgusting place,” he said. “And you question why we saved you?”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Impertinence.”

  Sarog felt himself thinning. Fraying. His vision flickered as his existence started to burn away.

  Then—

  “Enough.”

  Jura’s voice cut through the pressure.

  “We saved him for a reason,” she said, stepping between them. “Not to destroy him.”

  Saryn nodded, calm but firm.

  “He’s already lost too much.”

  Deimos didn’t soften—but he stopped.

  Saryn moved forward, and somehow her presence was warm without being gentle.

  “We preserved your soul so you can return,” she said. “And complete your goal.”

  Sarog’s laugh came out rough and broken.

  “What goal?” he hissed. “Everything I cared about is gone.”

  Tengen’s eyes narrowed.

  “Even your vengeance?” he asked. “I can see the hate swelling inside you.”

  Deimos’ mouth curled faintly.

  “I can feel the slaughter in you,” he said. “Demonic thing.”

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  Einken spoke at last, calm and heavy.

  “Why do you endure such emotion?” he asked. “Most would have lost reason before reaching us.”

  His gaze fixed on Sarog.

  “What is your goal?”

  Sarog swallowed.

  Then lifted his head.

  “One thing.”

  His voice tightened.

  “Anger.”

  Saryn blinked. “Anger?”

  Sarog’s hands shook as he spoke—hate and exhaustion twisted together.

  “The hatred of what I am,” he said. “No matter what I do, the purpose of my existence is destruction.”

  His eyes burned.

  “I fight it with my being. Every step I take.”

  His voice cracked, but he kept going.

  “I have the power to destroy what’s closest to me with a flick of my finger.”

  Silence weighed on the realm.

  Sarog clenched his teeth.

  “I was born to be a corruptor,” he said. “And that’s all I’ll ever be.”

  He exhaled.

  “So I’ll fight it.”

  His gaze steadied.

  “For however long it takes.”

  Einken smiled.

  Saryn smiled.

  Jura smiled.

  Tengen looked satisfied.

  Deimos stayed silent, watching.

  Jura broke the quiet first.

  “If that is truly your resolve,” she said, “how would you feel about returning?”

  Sarog answered instantly.

  “To go back as a demon?” he spat. “I’d rather die.”

  Jura’s expression softened.

  “That is a shame,” she said. “But we will reincarnate your soul.”

  Sarog stiffened.

  “It has already been tainted by the underworld,” Jura continued. “You will one day awaken as a demon.”

  Sarog’s jaw tightened.

  “But when that day comes,” Jura said, “you won’t bear it alone. We will be there—to push back your demonic nature.”

  Sarog narrowed his eyes.

  “What do you mean?”

  Saryn’s patience snapped.

  “DO WE HAVE TO SPELL IT OUT FOR YOU?”

  Her voice shook the realm.

  “BECOME OUR APOSTLE.”

  Sarog stared at them.

  Then slowly—he shook his head.

  “…No.”

  The divine realm seemed to pause.

  Even the gods looked thrown off.

  Sarog’s voice sharpened.

  “Why would I become the living embodiment of a god,” he said, “let alone five?”

  Jura’s face crumpled.

  Then she dropped her divine posture entirely—shrinking down like she forgot she was a goddess—and latched onto Sarog’s leg.

  “WHY?!” she sobbed.

  Sarog blinked, stunned.

  “Because it won’t work,” he snapped. “Divine energy and demonic energy don’t mix.”

  He glared upward.

  “It’s like mixing oil and water.”

  Sarog’s voice rose.

  “My soul is demonic. Weak. Tainted. It can’t handle five gods.”

  Jura clung tighter, sobbing into his leg.

  “YOU’RE A SPECIAL CASE!” she wailed. “Your soul is of unique origin—so it might be able to handle it!”

  Sarog looked away, suddenly embarrassed.

  Then realized the other gods weren’t laughing.

  Tengen spoke carefully.

  “You may be a demon,” he said, “but you aren’t a normal demon.”

  Einken nodded.

  “Do you think a regular demon can suppress its slaughter and corrupting nature?” he asked. “No.”

  Saryn’s tone stayed steady.

  “If we resurrected you directly, our power would destroy your body,” she said. “Reincarnation is the only method.”

  Sarog hesitated.

  Then looked down.

  Jura was still clinging to him, face full of tears and snot, begging like her life depended on it.

  Sarog exhaled.

  “…Fine.”

  Jura froze. “R-Really?!”

  Sarog’s eyes narrowed.

  “Under one condition.”

  Jura nodded rapidly.

  “Anything!”

  The divine realm trembled.

  Even the gods looked surprised by how fast she agreed.

  Sarog’s voice dropped—cold and sharp.

  “Only if I can kill that witch.”

  Jura went still.

  Sarog’s stare hardened.

  “The one who murdered my friends.”

  Deimos smiled—wide and satisfied.

  “This,” Deimos said, “is why I picked you.”

  He leaned forward.

  “If you want her dead,” he said, “you will need to start a war.”

  Sarog met his gaze without blinking.

  “If I must,” he said, “I will.”

  Saryn nodded.

  “We are all in agreement.”

  Tengen spoke next.

  “It would be a problem if you were born in the kingdom of Hasten.”

  Sarog snapped his head toward him.

  “Why?!”

  Tengen didn’t flinch.

  “Lucien has a child of prophecy there,” he said.

  Sarog scoffed.

  “So what?”

  Einken answered.

  “If you are born under different divinity within Lucien’s territory, it will tip him off,” he said. “He will send saints or paladins to kill you before you grow.”

  Jura raised her hand quickly.

  “Put him in the land of Keliemos,” she said. “They have a barbarian problem, but as long as he isn’t born a barbarian, he will grow up fine.”

  Sarog nodded.

  “I’m fine with that.”

  Tengen sighed.

  “Alright.”

  Einken’s voice softened.

  “Good luck.”

  Saryn’s tone turned warm.

  “I hope the sun shines on your path.”

  Deimos chuckled.

  “I hope you leave blood in your wake.”

  Jura smiled through tears.

  “Don’t forget about our virtues,” she said quickly. “And stay healthy!”

  Sarog blinked.

  “Virtues?”

  The gods froze.

  A sudden, shared realization.

  They hadn’t told him what the virtues even were.

  Jura’s eyes widened.

  She opened her mouth.

  “SEEK OUT OUR FOLL—”

  Sarog’s eyes snapped open.

  Not in light.

  Not in a divine realm.

  In a home.

  A man’s voice rumbled nearby—his father.

  A woman’s gentle hands steadied him—his mother.

  His father lifted him and carried him outside.

  Cold air hit Sarog’s face.

  The sky above was real.

  The world was alive.

  And the truth slammed into him:

  He had been reincarnated.

  Jura’s last words echoed in his mind:

  He’ll grow up fine… as long as he isn’t born a barbarian.

  Sarog’s tiny body couldn’t speak yet.

  But inside his head, clear as a vow, he thought:

  F*** the gods.