Samael, as always, saw the familiar scene he had seen for the past hundred years: bodies torn apart by Hollows, headless corpses—something normal in this world full of death.
Due to the difference in the flow of time between worlds, perhaps in the world of Chainsaw Man or The Seven Deadly Sins and others, not even a few months had passed.
But Heaven was a place beyond the past, present, and future—a place outside the dimensional boundaries that did not follow the laws of time and space.
Samael, as the Lord of Dimensions, could determine how time passed in Heaven relative to other worlds.
He could even make it so that one second in Heaven was equal to a thousand years here. This was the power of his omnipotence—like time travel. If someone went to Heaven and returned, they would find that centuries had passed.
But today, Samael felt that something was off. When he looked at the corpses of the Shinigami, it was as if he were staring at a few pebbles.
As if he were observing a group of insignificant ants. This realization even startled him a little.
Samael did not consider himself a good person. In his view, "being good" was like bearing the weight of a mountain. To be good meant to be a flawless symbol.
But he saw himself as a selfish being—the master of his own desires. Sometimes he acted well, sometimes badly. Sometimes like a benevolent god, sometimes like a wicked one.
He proudly said, "I'm Samael. I am who I am, will remain so, and no one can change me—not even that bastard author."
He mocked the concept of character growth. But unlike the clichéd, indifferent and arrogant gods who scorned everything, Samael was not someone who would laugh at the corpses of a few poor Shinigami.
While lost in thought, he didn't realize how terrifying he looked: his golden eyes glowing, an invisible pressure emanating from his being, his face cold and holding an inhuman—and sacred—expression.
"Samael san! Samael san!"
Kiyone Kotetsu's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. When Kiyone saw the cold, vanished look on Samael's face, she gasped.
Samael gently smiled: "Ah, I'm sorry. I was deep in thought."
"You scared me! You looked so terrifying!" Kiyone seemed like a frightened cat.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Samael began to comfort her. "Could you give the report to the Captain for me? I have something important to discuss with Captain Aizen."
Kiyone said without hesitation, "It seems like you and Captain Aizen are good friends. Don't worry, leave the report to me."
Samael thanked her: "Thanks. I'll treat you to dinner later."
After saying goodbye, Samael walked off. But his mind was occupied: "What exactly is going on? Is someone influencing my perception?"
Then he reassured himself: "No, impossible. My skill—Absolute Narrative Shield—protects me. Even TOAA can't affect me."
He thought about the author, but dismissed that too: "Not him either. He's a quiet being—he doesn't interfere in his own narrative.
The gods of the outside world? Even more impossible. They just want to read a story.
Even if one tried to interfere, the others wouldn't allow it. So there is no external force… whatever it is, it's from within myself."
This anomaly, though small, could grow in the future. So Samael, without hesitation, used Omniscience—regardless of its cost.
In an instant, he understood all probabilities, countless futures, recorded pasts, and every available piece of information. But his goal wasn't to learn about this world—instead, he wanted to understand himself.
He went deeper and deeper. Approached the divine core of his being, and even went beyond. He searched all the depths of his soul. And with the use of Omniscience, he discovered the cause of the problem.
His expression twisted. He never thought the problem would be this simple—or perhaps this complex.
The problem went back to the very concept of [God].
If you asked a religious person what they thought God was like, they'd say, "God is kind and has infinite love for humans."
But to Samael, that was laughable. Weak beings interpret every move of a higher existence as a benevolent act, when to that being, it may have just been a simple action.
Among infinite worlds, the number of gods who truly were as imagined was very small.
If you asked Samael what God was like, he'd say: "God is indifferent. Cold as stone. Only cares about a few things—doesn't even value bloody pleasures. Like a robot. Watching the struggles of weak beings with its cold eyes, mocking them—and even that mockery may not be real."
That was the reason for Samael's problem. Instinct—or divine will—of a newly born god.
When he was first born as a god, he was like a newborn. These new instincts were hidden and nearly silent. But the hundred years he had spent in the world had slowly allowed them to grow.
Now he was like a chick just hatched from its egg. These instincts were gradually emerging and changing Samael's perception and thought process to become more like a god—a cold, indifferent, and majestic god.
The humanity that had remained deep in his soul was being uprooted by the sacred divinity. These emotions were disappearing.
That's why his face looked like someone who had tasted something bitter.
But Samael didn't want to become like that.
He wanted to be strong, to enjoy life, to be happy and free. If in the end he became like an emotionless robot, then what meaning would his wish have?
He didn't want to become like the gods of Lord of the Mysteries—those who wanted to become robots.
"What's the point of power if you can't enjoy it?"
He thought to himself: "I need to strengthen my humanity. Over time, divinity is overtaking it. I need anchors for it… Seems like I need to act more like a human."
He rubbed his chin. "Never thought the day would come when I'd have to play the role of a human."
His thoughts were interrupted as he arrived at Aizen's secret laboratory.