Stratos Cosminus leaned back, letting the golden glow of his status window settle into the room. The Cosmic Chat Group was alive with activity, but his mind was only partially on it. Through the flood of information he had received, one fact became clear: every god maintained their own domain — a realm, a plane, or a territory where their essence resided and their influence was absolute.
Some domains were magnificent — vast landscapes stretching beyond comprehension, cities of light and crystal, forests that whispered the secrets of creation. Others were quiet, abstract, almost formless, shaped entirely by the nature and will of the god inhabiting them.
Each god lived within their domain, observed mortals, and wove their influence across countless worlds. And now… Stratos had a choice.
He was still in Gaya, still bound to the fragile flesh of the boy's body. He could feel the energy of the Divine Wheel pulsing inside him, a constant reminder that he had stepped far beyond mortal limitations. But what did that mean for his daily life?
Was he to ascend immediately into a divine domain of his own? Was he expected to leave this mortal shell behind and disappear into the cosmic planes?
Through the system, hints of information filtered in: gods rarely interfered directly in mortal worlds unless necessary. Most observed from a distance, subtly influencing events, answering prayers selectively, or allowing the flow of destiny to unfold.
...
Just as Stratos pondered his place between mortal and divine, new light rippled across his vision — brilliant golden lines weaving into familiar runes. The air shimmered like heat above fire.
More messages appeared, sharper, more elaborate than before:
[System Message]
[Congratulations! You have successfully ascended to godhood and lifted partial authority of the Divine Wheel.]
Reward Granted: Skill — Divine Eye.
Description: A transcendent ability that allows the host to perceive truth beyond normal visual laws.(Divine Scale Perception, Illusions, Spatial Awareness)
...
[Congratulations! Your rank in the Cosmic Chat has been detected as the highest among existing deities.]
Reward Granted: Supreme Token.
Description: Grants Administrator privileges in the Cosmic Chat Group. Privileges include: - Viewing all factions and message logs regardless of restriction. - Silencing or muting deities below Rank 9. - Accessing sealed chat channels and archived divine records. - Temporarily overriding divine anonymity for investigation or punishment. - Authority to invite or ban divine entities from the Chat. - Appointing up to three moderators to assist in managing divine communication and enforcing rules.
Stratos' breath caught.
The Divine Eye. He could feel it — a quiet presence behind his sight, waiting to awaken. When he focused, the world sharpened. Dust motes hung suspended in the air like golden constellations. Every thread of mana, every faint vibration of life pulsed with impossible clarity. The slums outside weren't just dirty streets anymore — they were veins of energy, alive, dynamic, full of hidden flows.
Then his attention shifted to the Supreme Token. Even as a former human, he understood what "administrator privileges" meant. It wasn't just authority — it was dominion. Control over billions of divine voices, influence over the collective consciousness of gods.
He could read every word, every whisper, every secret across the multiverse if he chose.
A laugh escaped him — quiet, incredulous, almost reverent.
"So I'm… an admin," he murmured. "A god among gods… with mod powers."
The irony wasn't lost on him. Somewhere deep in his old human memories, a bored otaku grinned behind a computer screen. Now, that same instinct burned with divine purpose.
....
He had a god's authority, and yet… he was still a god without a domain, without followers, without a foothold in the mortal or divine world.
As he pondered his next move, a torrent of information crashed into his consciousness. Not slow, not sequential — it was instantaneous, raw, and infinite. Patterns of mortal prayers, divine rankings, cosmic hierarchies, laws of causality, and hidden rules of existence poured into him.
I can know anything… as long as I think it, he realized. The system feeds the answers directly into my mind.
He blinked, digesting the magnitude of power, and then his thoughts turned practical. If the Divine Wheel had chosen him, it wasn't for idle observation. He needed to:
Build his divine presence, Recruit followers,, Increase his rank,
And gather the resources necessary to act across worlds.
But a single question struck him: How do I recruit anyone?
To attract worshippers, to be acknowledged by mortals, he needed a divine domain — a place where faith could accumulate, a locus of his power. With a thought, he tried to create it.
The system responded instantly:
[Error — Domain Construction Failed- insufficient Divinity.]
Requirement: Minimum 1000 Divinity to initiate a domain. Current Divinity: 1.
Stratos scowled. Divinity…
He remembered the information flooding his mind. Divinity was the lifeblood of a god — the force that allowed creation, influence, and existence itself. It wasn't infinite. It was generated by faith: 1000 faith points equaled 1 unit of divinity.
So I have almost nothing… he muttered. One unit of divinity was barely enough to keep him anchored in the mortal world, let alone craft a domain or command followers.
His mind raced. To grow divinity, he needed mortals to notice him, to pray, to believe. But how could a god, hidden in the body of a slum boy, make even a single soul glance his way?
A plan began to form. Before he could recruit followers, he had to grow his divinity, and before that, he needed visibility and influence. Even a single mortal praying for him would start the cycle. A domain could follow once he had enough faith to support it.
Step one: existence. Step two: acknowledgment. Step three: expansion.
Stratos exhaled. The slums of Malta might be small, dirty, and mortal, but even here, his first threads of divinity could take root. And from there… the universe itself would begin to notice.
A thought occurred to him, almost mischievous. If he could manipulate events subtly.....prevent a disaster here, heal a sick child there — people would begin to notice.
But he dismissed the idea. it was too vague, too scattered, and far too slow to yield the divinity he needed.
He let his mind rest, turning over the problem. And then it struck him. He was in the slums — the Outer District — a place where discarded people lived. Forgotten, ignored, and unblessed by gods. A place where dreams went to die.
A spark of excitement lit his mind. Perfect.
His otaku instincts — the hours spent reading novels, building worlds, and plotting intricate systems — finally had the upper hand. Patterns, rules, structures… he could see them now, not as a reader, but as a god.
A plan began brewing. He wouldn't just perform small miracles. He wouldn't wait for mortals to stumble into him.
I'll make a religion or a cult.
Not a flashy one with grand temples and distant nobility — but one that spoke to the people who had nothing. A faith that could grow quietly, invisibly, from the ground up. A belief rooted in hope, survival, and the promise of protection for the powerless.
He smiled faintly, the first true grin since awakening.
Stratos Cosminus — god, strategist, and now architect of a new faith — began plotting the first moves of his grand design.
...
Stratos picked up his old phone, the small screen flickering in the dim light of his apartment. His entire savings — 200 Union Coins — sat beside it. Even as a god, he couldn't conjure currency from thin air. Mortals still needed to function in their rules, and in Gaya, coins meant influence.
His plan was simple, almost elegant in its pragmatism. He wouldn't build a cult himself. That would take time, effort, and visibility he didn't yet have. Instead, he would use others.
From the memories of the boy whose body he now inhabited, patterns emerged. The settlement already had leaders. Strong personalities. Influence. Followers.
Two names rose to the top almost immediately:
Ethan Gray — leader of the hunters in the Outer District. Level 23, uncommon warrior card: Heavy Berserker. He commanded a small hunting group that patrolled the wastelands beyond the district, taking down beasts too small for the noble districts to care about. Ruthless, pragmatic, and ambitious, he was not compassionate, but he had loyalty — and influence.
Eva Granfield — healer of the settlement. She had modest command in the Outer District, tending to the sick, wounded, and dying. Unlike most, she inspired devotion not by force but by genuine care. Compassionate and respected, she was the perfect counterbalance to a mercenary like Ethan.
Stratos' mind worked like clockwork. If I can enlist these two, the rest will follow.
The Outer District housed over two million people, and roughly 400,000 had awakened cards. But most were weak, worthless to any god. Common or trash skills, low-rated abilities that could barely fend off the small beasts roaming the slums. They were invisible to deities, unworthy of divine contracts.
Yet they were perfect for his plan: fertile ground to nurture faith, loyalty, and influence. He didn't need to impress them directly. He just needed to seed hope, to give direction — and the leaders would carry the rest.
Stratos exhaled, feeling the thrill of strategy. Mortals think they survive by chance. I'll give them a purpose — and in doing so, I'll gain mine.
He smirked, glancing at the dim streets outside. Ethan Gray and Eva Granfield. Step one of the Divine Wheel's plan is about to begin.