*PLEASE NOTE THAT I'VE ONLY WRITTEN 5 CHAPTERS SO FAR; I WONT UPDATE IN A WHILE. JUST POSTING THESE CHAPTERS TO FIGURE OUT HOW THIS APP WORKS IN A WRITING SENSE. THINK OF IT AS A TEST RUN FOR NOW. THANK YOU FOR UPSTANDING! <3*
'Time for this shit again…'
I slowly sit down on the rotting wood floor, which is surprisingly comfortable, wrapping my legs in a lotus position, putting my most prized blade on my lap. I look up at the roof that isn't there, into the starry night sky, close my eyes and meditate.
I, as the world youngest grandmaster in weapon arts, have always done this. I'm recognized for having mastered over a dozen weapon styles by the age of 21. Gifted with hyper-focus and an almost photographic memory, I quickly became a modern legend in combat sports and underground dueling circuits.
Though that's all great, I'm plagued by chronic lucid nightmares. I've basically forced myself to become someone who has the 'power' to fight the thing that, is by no means bound by mortal constraints. Sometime I have dreams and those dreams become real, and if thats any indicator then… fuck.
I sigh, open my eyes and look down at my eternal companion. Nyxveil.. I named it after my love of the night. To me, the night is similar to a 'veil' between what is real, and what is possible. Thus, Nyxveil was born.
Nyxveil was a masterpiece. It was a double-edged longsword, a custom-forged hybrid between eastern and western styles. WIth a 90cm blade and a 30cm hilt, it perfectly fit my toned body and 6 '4 height.
The blade was a sleek obsidian-black steel alloy with a subtle violet shimmer under the light. The edges are razor-thin and unnaturally precise—designed for both cutting and piercing with maximum efficiency. It was also extremely durable, made with folded meteoric iron and experimental carbon-layered steel. A 9mm wouldn't leave a mark on this piece of art.
The crossguard curved slightly downward, forged in matte silver with seven notches—each representing a weapon discipline Michael Eydo had mastered. The hilt was wrapped in full-grain leather, dyed in midnight blue with silver threading that formed a spiral pattern.
Inset with a smooth moonstone, a gift from his late teacher. He claimed it allowed Michael to reflect on inner peace—though in truth, Michael kept it as a symbol of humility and respect for his journey.
I relaxed my body and eyes, then imagined a celestial clock in my mind, slowing my breathing to match its rhythmic ticks. I run my callous-filled fingers across the sword, making what is similar to a 3D render in my mind.
The ticks slow.
Slower… slower…
Then they stop.
Silence stretches so long it becomes loud. The air feels… thick, like it's trying to hold its breath. My skin tightens. Something primal in me wakes up screaming, even though my face remains still.
I open my eyes.
The stars are gone.
Not hidden—gone.
The sky, once an endless curtain of night, now pulses like a living thing. Veins of red light spider through the black, twitching and beating like a heart. My vision warps—no, the world tilts.
Something is looking at us.
No…
Something is opening.
A pressure I can't name crashes down on my spine. Buildings creak. Trees collapse in silence, like paper beneath a god's breath. Then, at the horizon—
A split.
A crack in reality itself, jagged and glistening, like someone took a boxcutter to existence. From within… teeth.
Not like an animal's. Not even human.
These are the teeth of a concept. They don't bite flesh. They bite meaning.
And then, all of it—Earth, me, the village, the breath in my lungs—is gone.
I fall forward.
But I don't hit the ground.
There's no ground anymore.
Only the sense of falling—directionless, endless, like my soul was yanked from its body and cast into a pit with no bottom and no light. Not even the dark is real here. It's worse. It's absence.
Sound tries to exist, but fizzles out.
Color tries to exist, but twists in on itself.
My thoughts don't echo; they bleed.
Something brushes against me. Not physically—but with awareness. It's as if a presence, older than time, noticed me the way a person might notice a smudge on their window. No malice. No empathy. Just... notice.
And still, it's enough to nearly crush me.
I can't scream. I'm not sure I have lungs. Or a mouth.
Images begin to flash—not memories, not dreams, but infections. Symbols that don't belong in language. Cities made of eyes. Oceans full of screaming bone. A sky that blinks. A sun that weeps shadows.
And then a voice—not heard, but inhaled—enters me like smoke through a broken window:
"You will kneel, little god."
I don't know if it's talking to me, or to the world itself.
But a part of me answers, from somewhere deep:
"Then break me trying."
The pressure lifts.
Not gently. It tears away like skin from muscle.
And suddenly—
I fall again.
But this time…
I'm not on Earth anymore.
Then, a ripple.
Michael's perception widened beyond the stone chamber. Through eyes he did not possess, he saw the world. Through ears carved in granite, he heard voices—the murmurs of desperate villagers gathered at the statue's base.
"Another offering… dried meat, what little we had left."
"I heard nothing happened last time either."
"Still, it's better to give something than nothing. If the god is real, maybe this time—"
Michael's awareness settled into the statue. Not just through it—within it. Cold, immovable, and rooted in the center of a circular temple made of sun-bleached stone and prayer-worn wood. A dozen figures knelt before him. One girl no older than ten held a bundle of herbs in cupped hands. An old man, weathered like cracked bark, placed a single, ripe peach at the base.
But they didn't pray. Not truly. Their eyes were dull, gestures mechanical—worn down by disappointment.
And then… a pulse.
A faint shimmer coursed through Michael's stone frame like the breath of something ancient. He felt their offerings. Their presence. Their need.
And somehow, it mattered.
A soft chime rang out—not through the air, but inside his mind.
SYSTEM INITIALIZING...DIVINE SEED [MICHAEL EYDO] RECOGNIZED.STATUS INTERFACE UNLOCKED.
With a whisper of motionless thought, a transparent screen materialized before his consciousness.
[STATUS INTERFACE]
Name: Michael Eydo
God Title: None
Divine Rank: 3rd-tier God – Level 0
Divinity Points (DP): 0
Faith Points (FP): 0
Domain Authority: Space, Dreams, Wisdom
Current Realm: Mortal Realm – Kireya Village
Divine Form: Bound Statue
Saint Slots: 0/1 (Mortal Realm)
Divine Kingdom: Unclaimed
[FAITH > DIVINITY CONVERSION]:1,000 FP = 1 DP
[LEVEL COST – Next Level]:3rd-tier God – Level 1 = 1 DP
[BELIEVER CONTRIBUTIONS]:
F-rank Believer = 1 FP / day
E-rank Believer = 10 FP / day
D-rank Believer = 100 FP / day
C-rank Believer = 250 FP / day
B-rank Believer = 1,000 FP / day
A-rank Believer = 5,000 FP / day
S-rank Believer = 10,000 FP / day
SS-rank Believer = 50,000 FP / day
SSS-rank Believer = 100,000 FP / day
ADDITIONAL MODULES AVAILABLE:
[WORLD CHAT] — Connect with other Earth-born gods
[DIVINE MARKET] — Exchange offerings, skills, and materials
[ASCENSION TREE] — Divine Rank Progression
[SANCTUM MANAGEMENT] — Create and shape your Divine Kingdom
[SAINT CREATION] — Assign mortal champions to act in your name
Michael blinked mentally.
"...What the hell."
[WORLD CHAT MODULE ACTIVATED]
A stream of chaotic voices flooded his interface.
"Yo anyone else wake up in a creepy-ass statue?"
"This some isekai bullshit or a divine prank?"
"How do I get FP? My villagers won't stop crying."
"I got a talking chicken to worship me, does that count?"
"Anyone near a big-ass volcano? Wanna trade firewood for salt."
"Bro if you're the one with the chicken you better protect it."
Michael muted it with a thought.
It was all real. Somehow. Everything—the dream, the apocalypse, the entity that swallowed Earth whole—it had all led to this. But unlike the others panicking, he felt… prepared. Almost like he had been trained for this his entire life.
No.
He had trained for this, hadn't he?
Michael focused again on the villagers. One, a short and lean man with brown skin and a blacksmith's forearms, muttered to another, "It's been two harvests. Still nothing. Just a cold statue."
Michael reached. Not with limbs, but with intent. He visualized the flow of faith. He pulled it.
Something sparked. The peach at the base of the statue glowed softly.
The young girl gasped.
The old man stumbled back.
Then—radiance. A gentle, silvery light surged from the statue, blanketing the temple in an otherworldly glow. Wind stirred inside, where there was no wind. The villagers stared, slack-jawed.
Michael didn't speak aloud, but his voice thundered in their minds like a dream remembered.
"I hear your call."
The room fell deathly silent. Then a wave of cries and falling knees as all twelve villagers bowed deeply in unified awe.
Michael breathed slowly.
Faith Points gained: +84
Believer Ranks Updated:→ 11 x F-rank Believers→ 1 x E-rank Believer (Young girl "Lina")
New Daily Faith Yield: 21 FP
Hint: Raising Believer Rank requires consistent miracles, divine presence, or bestowed blessings.
New Objective: Create your First Saint.
Michael opened the module labeled [SAINT CREATION].
A new set of prompts appeared.
[SAINT CREATION MODULE]
You may appoint 1 Saint per Major Realm.A Saint acts as your divine representative, spreading your word, leading your worshippers, and wielding a fragment of your power.Statue becomes destructible only when ALL Saints are slain.
Choose your Saint Candidate from local mortal followers.Candidate must:• Believe in you• Be capable of leadership• Be willing to accept Divine Link
Michael scanned the villagers as if reviewing files. His vision focused on the young girl Lina and the blacksmith, whose name surfaced in system memory as Baret Orlan—a former militia captain turned forgemaster.
He didn't decide yet. It was too early.
But still—he had options now.
He closed the Saint interface and turned his focus inward.
You are eligible to begin the Ascension Process.Upon gaining sufficient Divinity Points, you may create your Divine Kingdom—a personal realm shaped by your Authorities and beliefs.While you remain bound to the statue, your true form will reside in your Divine Kingdom.Your statue will act as an anchor and mouthpiece, but cannot be destroyed unless all Saints fall.
Warning: Loss of all Saints in all Realms = Permanent death.
Michael processed the implications.
So… build a kingdom. Shape it. Protect it. Build believers. Strengthen Saints. All while managing a statue that acts like a divine antenna—anchoring him to the mortal world.
His survival depended on influence. Power. Faith.
A smile touched his thoughts.
This was a game. And he was very good at games.
As the light slowly dimmed, the villagers stared at the statue in awe. Lina's hands trembled as she clutched her herbs tighter.
"It spoke," she whispered.
"No," said Baret. "He spoke."
Michael watched the gears begin to turn in their hearts.
Hope.
It was faint, but real.
The blacksmith turned to the others. "We spread word to the other families. We restore the temple. Bring offerings. Our god is here."
They bowed again.
Michael could already feel the slow trickle of belief grow a hair stronger.
And somewhere, in the sky above Kireya, the clouds began to shift.