Time became a blurred for Cain, slipping through his mind.
Cain no longer tracked it.
He had no need to. Days passed in drowsy half-light and muted sensation. He didn't force himself to stay awake for he knew better.
That had been one of the first lessons his former life as a mage had taught him: a wounded vessel must be mended with patience, not pride.
Even a soul as sharp as his could fracture again if forced too hard, too soon.
So, he let go of the waking world.
He drifted into a passive state.
Eating when Angus fed him, drinking when the cup touched his lips, sleeping when the fatigue returned. There was always pain, but now it was a dull throb in the background, not a storm tearing him apart.
Instead, he turned inward.
Where the true strangeness began.
The dreams came first as whispers; colors and sounds barely graspable, more suggestion than scene. But then they grew vivid.
Impossible landscapes.
Temples forged of star-metal.
Thrones suspended in endless sky.
Figures that radiated authority like heat from a sun.
And gods.
Not the ones he remembered. Not the pantheon that ruled his old world with golden fists and burning spears.
These were different.
Cain floated through vision after vision of them—each more alien and unsettling than the last. One had a body like a centipede formed of glass, filled with constellations for blood. Another wore a crown of eyes, each blinking out of sync, whispering truths and lies in the same breath.
One god breathed silence, and everything around it withered.
Another seemed to be a weaver, threading strands of fate through the cosmos.
And yet… he recognized none of them.
None—except for one.
Zeus.
He appeared in a flash of stormlight, descending like judgment itself. His robes were black now, trimmed with threads of lightning. His face hadn't changed—smug, chiseled, perfect in the most punchable way possible.
Oh, how much he had wanted to punch that face. He had come quite close too, if not for the Divine Barrier between mortal and immortal standing between them. It was the very edge of reality that stopped him despite his unrelenting rage.
Even in a dream, Cain's fury surged at the sight of him.
He had been the worst among the divine—cruel, controlling, masking tyranny behind divine mandate. Cain had hated many gods in his old life, but Zeus had turned the worship of man into chains. Under him, humans weren't just followers—they were slaves.
And now, he was here.
The dream didn't say it aloud. It didn't need to. Cain could feel it in the weight of the visions. In the shimmer of divine essence he now knew far too well.
Zeus had crossed into this world.
Or perhaps... He had been from here in the first place!
The fury lit a fire in Cain's chest, and yet, something else pulled at his mind. An unease. A question.
This world… it didn't feel like his old one.
Yes, the people here bowed to gods. Yes, they offered prayers and sacrifices. But they didn't know they were slaves.
That was the difference.
In Cain's former world, the oppression was visible—temples guarded by armed priests, cities ruled by divine law, chains literal and magical. Rebellion simmered everywhere because people knew they were being crushed.
Here… there was peace.
Too much peace.
The people here thought they were free. They offered prayers before meals not from fear, but from habit. They told their children stories of the gods' mercy. They believed their protectors were divine gifts—not overlords.
'What better way to enslave a race than to make them think they chose it?'
Cain stirred beneath his patchy old blanket stained with crusty dregs of herbal tinctures.
The memories of Cain Vox blended seamlessly now with his own. He recalled how even in Glintmere—tiny and poor—the villagers gave offerings at the shrine built from stone and bone. He remembered the look on his father's face when lightning struck during harvest, and how he whispered apologies to the sky.
They lived in the palm of the gods… and thought it was paradise.
'No mana circuits,' Cain thought grimly. 'No personal magic. No freedom.'
In his old world, power had come from mana itself—an elemental force any who studied hard enough could touch.
Mages had shaped it through glyphs, runes, sigils! Pure theory, or the sheer force of will!
Warriors channeled it through their bodies, drawing strength from nature's raw current.
Only priests were the one bound to the divine will from the very start.
Though here? That freedom was gone.
Magic... true magic... had been stolen!
Replaced with God Gems.
Crystals that belonged not to the world, but to the divine.
Only those chosen by the gods or lucky enough to possess the right affinity could wield magic now. Power wasn't earned through understanding.
It was bestowed. Leased.
And only as long as the gods allowed it.
Cain clenched his hand into a fist beneath the blanket, even as the motion sent pain lancing through his wrist.
This wasn't a natural system. This was a prison, carefully disguised as a gift. A network of rules forged by beings who feared human potential.
If mankind could wield mana freely, why shackle it to gems?
Why create beasts to threaten them?
Why save them only after forcing them into danger?
The answer was the same now as it had been before.
Control.
He saw it clearly now. Not just the tyranny of Zeus, but the entire structure. A new pantheon of gods had risen—unknown to him, but no different in their greed. They'd built a system that ensured humanity could never rise too far.
A world where strength was only granted through worship. Where rebellion was impossible without divine permission.
Cain's lips curled, voice a hoarse whisper in the quiet of the room.
"Cowards… all of them."
He let the dreamscape fall away and returned to the stillness of recovery.
His body was weak. His soul still mending.
But his mind?
Sharp. Furious. Awake.
They had taken his world.
They had taken another's body.
And now they ruled this one, too.
But Cain was not their pawn.
The God Gem of Annihilus had not chosen him to serve.
It had chosen him to end.