It was near. No plea from gods or mortals, no surge of desperate power, could unwrite the truth that had been carved into the fabric of existence itself. And so it came—the end of everything we had ever known.
At the ragged edge of what remained, a single star burned on: the last sun, the final light in a universe bleeding out. Its rays twisted into colors no living eye had ever been meant to see—colors that whispered only of death. There should have been no life left anywhere.
Yet on one fractured continent, he opened his eyes—gradually, but painfully. Three figures hovered above the crater, silhouettes wrapped in stolen starlight. Their bodies exploded with divinity. Their weapons—swords of crystallized miracles, axes forged from the last scraps of divinity—protruded from his body like pins in a broken doll.
They watched him. Wary. Exhausted.
Gazing at their prickly eyes, he knew: he had made them afraid. Why wouldn't they be? Humans are the most unpredictable at the end of the rope.
Good.
"[Status]," he rasped. The blue window flickered into existence, obedient even now.
[Aron —
Level: ████
Title: ████
Divinity Charge: 99.7% ]
His eyes sharpened, seeing the charge reach enough. Almost there.
He pressed his shaking palm into the crater's mud—warm, thick, his own blood churned into earth like some final, obscene offering. He tried standing.... Crack! A sharp pain split his chest as broken ribs ground and shifted. Pain flared white-hot, his body shaking, but....but he stood anyway.
From above, Watching what was supposed to be a corpse trying to stand, the gods shifted uneasily—practically in awe. One of them—a woman whose eyes burned with galaxies—tightened her grip on a spear of pure light.
"Aron, the last of humanity. Why!? Why do you still stand and breath!?" she said, voice trembling with something close to awe and irritation.
"End it," another urged. "Before he—"
"....Too late," Aron whispered.
[Divinity: 99.9%]
[Fully Charged: 100% Divinity]
Speed was light. Speed was time. Speed was the pulse of all existence.
Mortals chained their fragile lives to light's cold constant.
But gods? They measured eternity by a single, blazing name:
The Speed of Aron.
And they seemed to have forgotten that. In an instant, he appeared right before the one in the middle, Aron's fist reaching toward the god's jaw.
Paaa!!!
It rippled. It plowed. It surged through the being who had the unfortunate timing to receive Aron's fist. The sheer intensity decimated everything around: the earth, the air, the molecules that should have been present—nipped out of existence by the impact.
The other gods scattered, forced apart by that single punch alone.
[Charge finished]
[Charging 0%...10%...]
[Error… Error… Body is heavily damaged. Body can't handle more divinity.]
Seventy Four down. Two left.
A whole year—that's how long it had been since Aron last stopped moving. Since his armor was laid bare. Since his ribs didn't feel like they were arguing with his lungs about whose job it was to keep him alive.
His arms felt like rubber bands pulled too far. His legs shook every time he landed, and every bruise he had ignored earlier had decided now was the perfect time to scream at him. He could barely lift his hands anymore. His divinity was at the bottom. So was he.
He kept telling himself he could rest after the next fight. After the next scream. After the next explosion.
But the world didn't care how tired he was.
Everyone thought he slayed and protected because he loved it. Like this was all easy. Like being the all-powerful Aron was just flips and jokes and cool.
They didn't see the moments between reality-destroying strikes—when he was gasping for air, when his vision blurred, when he wondered if this was the hit that would finally keep him down.
"I'm scared…" he whispered.
"There. I said it. Scared that I'm not fast enough. Scared that I'll be too late.
Scared that maybe this might be my last day standing—"
But then he remembered: he still needed to protect, to save this world, to save Ureil.
And somehow… somehow his body moved anyway. Because if he stopped, someone else was doomed—another world burned by these parasitic gods, another life dispatched. Because power doesn't disappear just because he's exhausted. Because responsibility doesn't care about broken bones or bleeding knuckles.
"So yeah. I'm tired. I'm hurt. I'm running on fumes and bad decisions. But… but I'll keep going… charge."
[Charging 12%… Body can't handle overload of divinity.]
"Not because I'm strong—but because they need me. She needs me.
Just a little longer. Just one last… ..CHARGE."
[Charging…. 12%… 40%… 88%… 99%]
[Warning: User might detonate from divinity overcharge. Fatality confirmed if charge reaches 100%.]
His hand burned again, but this time the power took his whole arm, shearing him with pain, telling him he had hit his limit. But… but Aron rose.
Not gracefully. Not quickly. Just pressing forward—knees locking, spine cracking, blood steaming off golden skin. His hair, once crimson-soaked, flared bright as the sun at noon.
He looked up at them with eyes that had watched humanity die.
"Come on, then," he said, voice soft. Conversational. "Finish it."
No one moved.
The nearest god—a towering figure of shadowed nebulae—raised a hand. Divine pressure crushed down, meant to pin Aron to the earth forever.
It failed.
Aron took one step. Then another. Each footfall cracked the crater floor.
Then two of them, nodding to each other, moved—faster than ever, reaching speeds greater than ever.
Light. Fire. Erasure.
Everything they had left poured into Aron—not to wound, but to unmake. To destroy the monstrous abomination named Aron. The bane of their mission. They plowed their weapons into him entirely. It was fast, swift, and effortless.
A little too easy—until they realized he had been waiting for their strike.
"No no nooo....It's a trap. Run!" one said, but it was too late.
[Charge 99.99%... 100%]
BOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!!!!!
The explosion tore away the sheer existence around him, let alone those who had latched onto him. White light devoured all, taking a section of the planet—erasing everything.
And for a while, silence reigned. The dust and debris settled. The ones who called themselves gods were nowhere to be seen. And in the midst of it all, only he stood. Aron.
[Warning! Health dangerously low]
"…I'm still alive…?" he asked himself weakly, looking around. Sensing no one, nothing. Those parasites gone. That could only mean one thing: he won. He actually won.
He moved slowly, each step a defiance against the ruin. The air stank of blood and decay, thick enough to choke even the immortal. The aftermath of that explosion hit him hard. His lungs burned with every ragged breath—punctured, drowning in his own blood.
Bones ground against bone, some stable, most broken. His right arm was gone, severed cleanly at the shoulder; blood still seeped from the wound in slow, deliberate pulses. But he walked. Dragged himself, really. One foot, then the other, then the stump, then the hand.
"Ureil…" The word scraped out, tasting of iron. His purple-swollen eyes scanned the horizon, desperate for any flicker of movement, but a familiar blue light cut across his vision.
[You have destroyed the Parasitic Pantheon.]
[You have destroyed the Greek pantheon.]
He blinked it away. It didn't matter. Not now.
"…Ureil… I won… Ureil, where are you?" His voice cracked, barely louder than the wind.
[You have destroyed the Norse pantheon.]
[You have destroyed the Egyptian pantheon.]
[Updating Divinity…]
[Error: Divinity maxed.]
"No… enough…" He tried to shout, to let his voice tear across the dead world like it once had. But his throat was raw, vocal cords shredded. Pain lanced through him with every syllable.
[Assessing universal war…]
[Conditions for mission success…]
[Not met.]
"What… where's everyone…?" he whispered when he looked around. After fighting the war between all realms for months and months and months, he finally saw the aftermath.
The void was thick with the dead. Millions upon millions of bodies drifted through the dark: angels with wings torn and frozen, demons with horns cracked and eyes glazed, gods reduced to rotting husks amid the shattered remnants of their worlds. Planets lay in jagged pieces, silent graveyards orbiting nothing.
The more he looked around, the lower his heart sank. He couldn't sense it; he couldn't feel it. Any sign of life. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing.
"…please… anybody…" he prayed, pushing himself further but the Numbness crept up his legs like frost. First one, then gradually the other. His hips locked. He couldn't help it; he collapsed hard, face smashing into blood-soaked dirt among countless corpses.
"...Why?" Golden eyes filled with hot tears. "Why did it have to end like this?" His remaining left hand clenched into a fist, nails digging deep into his palm. "In the end, I didn't win....I didn't win at all. I failed. I couldn't save even one… not a single damn soul…was it really, all for nothing??"
The wind moaned through the wreckage, carrying ash and the faint scent of ozone. Then—something else. A voice, soft as dawn.
"…A…ron."
His heart stuttered. That voice. He knew it better than his own.
"Ureil?" Pain forgotten, he pushed up with his one arm, eyes blazing gold as he searched. There, beside the corpse of a fallen giant—white dress stained crimson, wings crumpled.
"Ureil!" He dragged himself toward her, hand clawing into the dirt, pulling his broken body inch by agonizing inch. "I'm coming… hold on…"
"Ure…il," he breathed, her name fracturing on his tongue. The boulder had claimed her in a single, merciless stroke—from the crown of her head, through the shattered span of her wings, down to her waist and legs—crushed flat, as if the world itself had decided she was too bright to endure.
"No… no, not you…" He dropped beside what was left of her, chest heaving.
Her face—miraculously spared the worst of the impact—was turned toward him. White eyes, tired but gleaming with impossible joy, found his. A faint, blood-flecked smile curved her lips.
"… you're alive....thank the Lord…"
Her remaining hand lifted, trembling, reaching for him.
Aron lunged forward on instinct—muscle memory from countless battles, countless quiet moments. But his arm spasmed once, the numbness taking over, then hung useless.
The inches between their fingers might as well have been galaxies. His body, after everything, simply refused.
"I'm sorry," he choked. "I wanted to save you. Save everyone. I wanted to break this cycle of war for good. But...I was too late, too—"
Her hand found his face instead, cool fingers pressing gently over his lips. She shook her head, the smallest motion. She didn't want apologies. Not from him. Never from her light.
Dark blood welled at the corner of her mouth. She knew speaking would cost her the last of her time. But she met his blazing golden eyes—hair and gaze both—and smiled anyway, fierce and small.
"You know… I'm happy." Each word came slower, laced with wet coughs. "All my life… I was with you. Chosen to guard you… to stand at your side."
Pwak!!
Blood spattered his cheek.
"It was… a blessing, Aron. Meeting you… lovin—"
Pwak!! Cough. Cough.
"I will always…"
Her soft voice stopped. Her fingers slipped from his cheek, falling limp. The light in her white eyes dimmed, then vanished.
"Ureil… wait—" His voice broke into a raw bellow. He pressed his forehead to her cold neck, shaking her hand, willing warmth back into it. "Wait… don't leave me… please, not yet… you can't..…"
But the warmth was gone. Her eyes stared blankly at the dying sun.
[Conditions for mission success…]
[Have been met.]
[Mission complete: You are the Last Man Standing.]
[Karma: 999,654 ⇒ +999,999]
[Unique conditions fulfilled. Reward pending.]
Silence crashed down like a final judgment. Aron felt the cold settle into his bones—the truth he'd fought to deny. He had slain every parasite, every false god draining the universe dry. He had won. Victory came. But at a heavy cost.
He lifted his gaze to the last sun. "This can't be it, right?" he whispered to the dying dark, voice cracking like the first fracture in creation itself.
"I've endured the birth of stars, the death of realms, heaven's wrath, hell's chains. Strikes from a thousand gods, And now… the universe dares to end with me alone?" A ragged laugh tore from his chest—half defiance, half grief.
With a grunt of pain, he dragged himself upright against the dead giant's leg. Refusal burned hotter than any wound.
"No. There has to be a mistake. Some cruel error in this shitty ending," he muttered weakly as the familiar blue screen appeared in view.
[Reward confirmed.]
[Seed of Creation (one-time-use item)]
Or
[Seed of Time (one-time-use item)]
[You can choose only one.]
The blue screen glowed brighter, descriptions unfolding.
[Seed of Creation]: The seed for a new beginning. New life, new universe. The one who holds the Seed of Creation will be the creator, the protector, and the destroyer of the new world and its life. Immense power and possibility await the one who has this seed.
[Seed of Time]: The seed of the time continuum. Travel between the realms of layers in the world you live in. Go to any moment of time you desire, with your memories intact—but Karma will be heavily affected due to disruption of the timeline, something which even the devil fears.
One path made him god of a fresh dawn. The other—a cheater, rewriting fate at terrible cost.
"So… this is the final mercy… haha."
He knew what his companions would have chosen. They had always loved him more fiercely than he loved himself. They would have pushed him toward Creation: "Build something better. Be the god we believed in."
But he looked at Ureil's broken form, at the endless field of the fallen. Friends. Family. Her. It was decided long before the option was available
[Seed of Time chosen.]
"I don't want a world without you," he whispered, voice fracturing. "I've suffered enough… Forgive me, Ureil. Let me be selfish, this one last time."
[Destination confirmed: January 1st, 2026]
"2026," he murmured to the dying light. "The year they stripped me bare. Before we met. Before everything fractured." A bitter smile ghosted across bloodied lips. "But that's where I'll begin again."
The sun's final rays bathed his golden eyes in fire—not hope, but unbreakable remembrance.
"This time… I will save you all."
Darkness swallowed the last star, and there was nothing.
.
.
.
"Haa!!"
Aron jolted awake on a windswept rooftop, heart hammering. His foot teetered over the ledge; city lights glittered far below. Night wind whipped his long coat. He stepped back, hands trembling as he touched his face, his intact arms, his whole body.
"…I'm back?"
He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the ancient brick of a mobile phone. The screen lit: January 1st, 2026.
"I'm back!!!" Joy exploded from his chest, raw and overwhelming. He laughed—actually laughed—until tears blurred the city skyline.
Then, quieter: "…Status."
The blue interface unfolded, grand and familiar.
[Administrative Interface — Restricted Access]
User: Aron
Authority: Bearer of the System
Status: Active since Genesis Day 1
Missions Completed: 97% (∞ recorded · 8 failures · 0 abandonments)
True Age: █████████████ (suppressed by user request)
Apparent Age: 33
Identity
True Name: Aron ben Adam
Titles: Slayer of All Things · The Last Man Standing (new)
Core Parameters
(Tier 2 planetary cap in effect. Higher values suppressed.)
Strength: 567,879
Dexterity: 245,876
Constitution: 765,987
Intelligence: 243,873
Wisdom: 607,736
Charisma: 893,736
Divinity: 999,999+
Karma: 999,999+ ⇒ -23,567 (⚠️Timeline Disruption Detected⚠️)
Luck: Locked (⚠️Karma fracture⚠️)
[Warning: Unauthorized Authority Detected. Karma threshold breached. Monitoring active. Power usage will trigger escalating consequences—backlash, hunters, enforcers.]
[Congratulations: You are the Last Man Standing.]
Aron stared. He had expected to return weak, powerless—the broken man of 2026. Instead, everything had followed: stats, titles, memory. Only Karma bled away, second by second, and the System watched him now like a predator.
A faint ache rippled through his veins as he clenched his fist—Karma's first whisper. The promise of pain to come.
It hardly mattered.
He was back. Whole. Armed with knowledge of every betrayal, every mistake, every death. His golden eyes hardened, reflecting the city lights like twin suns.
"Never again," he vowed to the night, voice low and lethal. "Never again will I lose anyone."
This time, he would be ready.