"Welcome, fellow beings, to the 126,687,566th annual Newbie God Contest!"
The crowd went wild. Entities of every shape, form, and magnitude were present, beings capable of leveling planets or collapsing stars.
All gathered in a colossal coliseum. Not just any arena, but one sprawling across the surface of a continent, vast enough to seat over a trillion spectators on a Type-III civilization's world.
The commentator's voice rang out, smooth and resonant, neither male nor female.
"This year's trials will unfold in a modest cluster of solar systems. Seven in total. Each with an average of eight planets."
A deliberate pause. The crowd leaned in.
"You all know what that means. Less resources. More fighting!"
The arena shook with roars of anticipation. More action. More death. And oh, the thrill of it all!
"With at least two habitable planets per solar system, and ten prospect Gods per habitable-zone planet, this one is going to be one for the history books!"
The gods erupted in cheers. The sheer volume of noise was enough to shatter mountains and tear oceans. But the deities themselves remained untouched, existing in a separate dimension.
"Without further ado… let the show begin!"
On a faraway planet, where the souls of the damned went to repent, fire burned. Endless purple fire, fueled by something impossible to name.
Within the flames, beings of all kinds were tormented, forced to atone for sins committed in life.
Now dead, all they could do was cry out for salvation, and all they received was silence. Endless torment designed to break them, meant to torture.
These beings appeared as orbs, each marked with their race in runic script. The color of an orb reflected the purity of its soul. The lighter the hue, the closer it was to true repentance.
Look around and you would see countless orbs bearing the name "Dralen." A select few carried "Rancra," etched on their transparent shells.
But among the infinity of races and orbs, only one bore a different mark. Only one read "human."
And its color? Pitch black.
Black as the abyss. Black as the night when the moon vanished behind clouds. Black in the way one must be to defy the divine.
Where other souls screamed and wept, the human remained silent.
Suddenly, that soul rose. It tore free from its fiery prison and ascended into the sky, beyond the intoxicating atmosphere, beyond the sun.
Until it vanished completely.
In a room of endless dark, the orb drifted into existence.
It hovered for only a moment before fracturing, shards clattering to the ground with a hollow thud.
From its broken shell, a smoke-like essence seeped out, the embodiment of a soul's repentance. It swirled through the air, weightless and restless, before settling downward in languid waves.
The essence began to twist and shape itself, limbs forming where formless shadow had been. Two legs first, then an abdomen, a chest, shoulders, and finally a neck crowned with a head.