Josh stepped forward, his pace calm, almost casual, as if he were merely strolling across the palace hall. Yet with each step, the sound of his boots striking the marble floor echoed like a death knell. Before him, Groa Aratat staggered backward, his once proud figure now reduced to a pitiful shadow of what he used to be. His right arm was gone, hacked off by Josh's merciless strike, blood dripping from the ragged stump and staining his imperial robes crimson.
Groa had begun this confrontation with the arrogance of an emperor, wearing confidence like armor. Then came fear, crawling into his bones when he realized the son he had scorned was far beyond his strength. And now—now there was nothing left but despair. His body trembled, his knees buckling as the reality of his mortality closed in on him.
Josh's eyes were cold, devoid of mercy. He lifted his sword again, its blade glinting with a silver gleam that promised only death. His voice, when it came, was soft but heavy, filled with grief and fury buried for years.
"This… is for my mother. For killing her when she tried to protect me."
Groa barely had time to blink before Josh's sword cut through the air with effortless grace. A clean, brutal slash—and his left hand flew from his body. Blood sprayed, painting the white pillars around them in grotesque red. Both of Groa's arms were now nothing but stumps, and his anguished roar rattled the entire palace.
He looked up at Josh with eyes swimming in pain and sorrow. For the first time in his life, Groa's gaze was not that of an emperor, but of a broken man. Regret flickered within them, silent apologies that came far too late.
Josh raised his sword once more, its edge hovering above Groa's throat. The hall fell silent, as if the very world held its breath. Then—
Something strange happened. A mysterious voice reverberated throughout the hall.
"YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO KILL AN EMPEROR SELECTED BY THE GODS!"
The voice thundered from the void, reverberating through the palace walls, through the empire itself. It was as if the heavens had spoken, commanding obedience. The soldiers, the generals, and even the stones beneath their feet quaked in response.
But Josh only sneered. His lips curled into a disdainful smile, and his eyes glowed with defiance.
"The gods?" he whispered, almost mocking. "I bow to no one."
And with one swift, decisive motion, he brought the sword down. The blade sliced clean through flesh and bone, and Emperor Groa Aratat's head toppled from his shoulders, rolling across the marble floor. Blood gushed like a crimson fountain, pooling beneath the lifeless body.
At that exact moment, darkness fell. Not the gentle veil of night, but a suffocating black that swallowed the entire empire in an instant. Every torch, every flame, every glimmer of light was extinguished. Within that abyss, a colossal phantom appeared—Groa's spectral image, larger than life, visible to every single citizen of the Nazare Blade Empire.
The phantom bowed. Slowly, solemnly, it lowered its head as though offering a final farewell. A wave of grief and awe swept through the empire as men, women, and children alike fell to their knees. Then, as suddenly as it came, the vision dissolved. Daylight returned, bright and unyielding, leaving behind only silence. Everyone knew. Their emperor was dead.
But it was not over.
From the rift in the void, the figure of a god emerged. Radiant, terrible, and suffused with divine authority. His presence bent the air itself, forcing the strongest generals to their knees. It was A'Nui—the god of retribution, the very deity who had granted Josh his system. Or so it seemed.
Yet behind that divine glow was deception. For this was no true A'Nui, but an impostor. A usurper who had wreaked havoc upon the plain of the gods. None among mortals knew this truth, not yet—but the shadow of that secret hung heavy, promising calamities yet to come.
Initially, Josh thought it was A'Nui, the god of retribution himself, who had descended upon the palace ruins. The aura was overwhelming, and for a fleeting moment, it almost convinced him. But the longer he observed, the clearer the cracks in the disguise became.
The energy this man carried—though mighty—was not the boundless, suffocating weight of a higher god. It was heavy, yes, but shallow, like a river pretending to be an ocean. A'Nui's presence would have bent the very laws of existence, forcing everything to kneel under the pressure of divine judgment. This one only imitated such majesty. His eyes lacked the endless coldness of the true god of retribution, and his demeanor was far too theatrical, too desperate to inspire dread.
Everything pointed to one truth.
Impostor.
Josh's lips curled into disdain. His hesitation vanished.
"An idiot pretending to be a higher god?" he said coldly, his voice echoing across the fractured marble floor. "You better leave before I leave you in the same state as that guy…" His chin tilted toward Groa Aratat, the once-proud emperor now reduced to a bloodied heap of broken flesh.
The words cut deeper than any blade.
The impostor's features twisted in rage. Never before had a mortal dared not only to pierce through his camouflage but to insult him so casually. His roar thundered across the sky, rattling the very palace walls that still stood.
"YOU! YOU'RE THE ONE A'NUI PRAISED!" the being bellowed, his voice shaking the atmosphere like a war drum. "THE FIRST MORTAL TO TRIGGER THE KINGLY SYSTEM THROUGH THE LAW OF SUBSTITUTION! THE FIRST MORTAL TO BREACH THE FOURTH LEVEL OF THE I AM KING PROTOCOL!"
His laughter was harsh and venomous, reverberating like a storm. "But in the presence of true power, such tricks are worthless! Cheap parlor games, nothing more! If fate were different, perhaps I might have spared you… but because you are nothing more than A'Nui's toy—his favored pawn—you will not survive today!"
The impostor's form rippled like shifting glass, and his true name rang out like a curse.
"I am Coma Pella, brother to V'Zaleth, the Trickster God! I Am The Changeling God!"
As he roared, his body twisted and warped, faces and forms bleeding into one another—an ever-shifting nightmare that could not decide what it was. His presence pressed against reality, bending it unnaturally, as if the world itself despised his existence.
To this, Josh remained perfectly still, utterly unmoved. His face was carved from calm indifference. He had already defeated V'Zaleth once, shortly after returning. Had it not been for the pact he struck with the guardian of the Fifth Dimension's prison, he might have slain him outright. To Josh, the name Changeling God carried no weight worth trembling over.
But this time, there was something different.
Though Josh did not yet know, Coma Pella was no ordinary rogue deity. He was a traitor to the god realm, a thief who had stolen power never meant to be wielded by his kind. A cursed strength that gnawed at its bearer as much as it empowered him. A power so volatile that even a higher god would think twice before touching it recklessly.
And Josh was about to learn just how far the Changeling God was willing to go to wield it.