A man stood atop a mountain of bodies, his silhouette sharp against the storm-choked sky.
Blood soaked the battlefield below him, rivers of crimson running through shattered earth and broken steel.
The air reeked of death, but he stood undisturbed, his golden eyes fixed on the heavens above.
"Come now! I have slain the kings, shattered the empires, and crushed the so-called chosen ones beneath my heel. There is no one left to stop me. Even your celestial pets failed to let me rise. Now, there is no place you can hide from me."
He called out, his voice reverberating through the vast emptiness.
Mocking laughter escaped the man's mouth as he looked up at the very heaven that dared to stand in his way.
Lightning crackled across the heavens, illuminating the torn battlefield in blinding light.
The sky rumbled in anger, but the man merely laughed, a deep, mocking sound that carried through the winds of destruction.
"You think your fury means anything to me? I have surpassed all who came before me. Not even the laws of this world can bind me! You will not keep me from godhood!"
He spread his arms wide. His aura was majestic enough to dwarf the river of blood that followed behind him.
And yet, the man did not get a response from the heavens.
A blinding golden radiance formed above, coalescing into an unbreakable barrier of divine power. The heavens were closing their gates, denying him entry.
The man's smile vanished.
"You dare deny me? After all I have done, after all I have conquered, you would reject me like a common mortal?"
His voice, once filled with arrogance, turned into a snarl.
The sky answered with silence, an absolute and final judgment.
"Then I will tear my way through!"
He roared, his energy surging outward. The very air trembled as the might of his existence clashed against the heavens.
Space itself cracked under the force of his defiance. The ground beneath him crumbled, unable to withstand the pressure of his overwhelming power.
Years and years of grudge and anger coated the man's anger and it made the world tremble.
A collision shook the cosmos. Mortal land and divine sky trembled as two forces—one defying, one rejecting—fought for supremacy.
But in that final moment, as his power surged against the heavens, the celestial forces made their final move.
A dark, invisible force wrapped around his body.
His golden eyes widened as an unnatural sensation gripped him—not pain, not destruction, but something far worse. A pulling, a tearing—his very essence being separated.
The heavens were not destroying him.
They were casting him out.
He let out a snarl of rage as his very soul was ripped from his body. The divine chains of fate that had once failed to bind him now dragged him away from his mortal shell.
"How dare you! You cowards! If you cannot defeat me, you cast me aside instead?! Have the courage to face me!"
His voice thundered, shaking the heavens themselves.
His body—his perfect, invincible body—stood frozen, lifeless, as his soul was wrenched away.
Even as he was being thrown out, he made a final vow.
"You will not keep me away forever. I will rise again. I will take what is rightfully mine!"
Then, all turned to darkness.
Kyle Armstrong gasped as he jolted awake, his lungs heaving as if he had been drowning moments ago.
His body—weak, fragile, unfamiliar—ached with a deep, lingering pain. His limbs trembled as he attempted to push himself up, but they barely obeyed.
He collapsed back onto the bed, panting.
This was not his body. This was not his power.
The memories of the heavens casting him out, tearing him away, came flooding back in an instant.
His hands clenched weakly against the thin sheets. He tried to move again, his pride refusing to accept this weakness, but a sudden voice interrupted him.
"Young Master, you mustn't strain yourself!"
Kyle's sharp gaze snapped toward the speaker. A man—a servant, by the way he was dressed—hurried to his side, worry etched across his face.
"Your body is still weak. You must rest."
Kyle's lips curled into a sneer.
Rest? Did this man not understand? Did he not see that Kyle had already lost everything? There was no time to rest.
Even at this moment, what Kyle needed to do was strengthen himself to challenge the heavens again. Only once he had torn it apart will Kyle's anger subdue.
But the moment he tried again, pain shot through his body like a thousand knives piercing his flesh. His muscles refused to respond, his limbs shaking uncontrollably.
This body—it was useless. Weak. Pathetic.
Kyle's voice was hoarse, unfamiliar even to himself.
The servant hesitated, looking uncertain.
"Young Master… you are in the Armstrong estate. You have been unconscious for days after—"
Kyle stopped listening.
The name was foreign to him. The world around him was different. This was not his realm, not his battlefield.
A bitter chuckle escaped him, but it soon turned into a harsh cough. His own body couldn't even withstand his amusement.
The heavens had stripped him of everything. His strength, his power, his status—they had reduced him to this broken shell of a noble. But what they failed to take was his mind. His will.
That would be their mistake.
The servant stepped closer, eyes filled with concern.
"Young Master, you should—"
Kyle lifted a trembling hand and gripped the man's wrist. The servant flinched, but Kyle's grip, though weak, held firm.
"Tell me. Where am I and how am I…no, get me the oldest person alive here. I have a lot of questions to ask him."
Kyle said, his golden eyes gleaming despite his feeble state.
The servant hesitated, but Kyle already knew the answer.
It didn't matter who they were. He would crush them all.
Because he had already conquered one world.
A second time would be nothing.
Give me Power Stones and I'll update faster.