In the Ancient Era, when the heavens still interfered freely with the mortal world, every race knew one truth.
Gods were absolute.
They descended when they pleased, passed judgment when they wished, and demanded worship as naturally as breathing. Kingdoms rose and fell at a single divine whim. Even kings knelt. Even saints bowed their heads.
But on that day, beneath a sky split by divine light, one man stood unmoving.
Aurelius Valen, the World Emperor of mankind.
The wind howled across the obsidian platform at the heart of the Imperial Capital. Below it, millions of humans were forced to their knees, their bodies trembling under invisible pressure. Priests pressed their foreheads to the ground. Generals clenched their teeth, blood trickling from the corners of their mouths.
Above them all, the heavens opened.
Golden clouds parted like a torn curtain, revealing a vast throne of light. Upon it sat a figure whose presence alone distorted reality—a High God, clad in radiance, eyes burning with cold authority.
"The decree of Heaven has been issued," the god's voice echoed, layered and inhuman.
"Human Emperor Aurelius Valen, you have overstepped your authority."
The pressure intensified.
Mountains beyond the capital cracked. Space itself groaned.
"Your world has exceeded its permitted growth," the god continued calmly. "The balance must be corrected. One-third of humanity will be sacrificed."
A murmur of despair rippled through the kneeling masses.
Sacrifice.
The gods had always used that word. Clean. Detached. As if it meant nothing more than trimming excess from a garden.
Aurelius remained standing.
His black imperial cloak fluttered behind him, embroidered with ancient sigils older than recorded history. His expression was calm—too calm for a man standing before a god.
"Is that Heaven's will?" Aurelius asked.
The god's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do not pretend ignorance, Emperor. This world exists by divine permission. You are merely its caretaker."
Aurelius slowly lifted his gaze to the throne in the sky.
Caretaker.
That word almost made him laugh.
For three hundred years, he had sat upon the World Throne. He had watched continents burn under demon invasions, rebuilt civilizations from ash, and sealed rifts that even gods refused to approach. When the heavens were silent, it was Aurelius who bled.
And now, they demanded tribute.
"One-third of humanity," Aurelius repeated softly. "Men, women, children… all reduced to numbers in your decree."
The god's voice hardened. "Kneel, Emperor. Accept the decree. This is not a negotiation."
The pressure surged again—enough to crush any mortal to dust.
Cracks spread beneath Aurelius's boots.
Still, he did not kneel.
Instead, he took one step forward.
The air exploded.
A deep, ancient hum resonated from beneath the capital, as if the world itself had responded to his movement. Golden light wavered. The god's expression finally changed.
"You dare resist Heaven?" the god thundered.
Aurelius raised his hand.
Not in defiance.
Not in challenge.
But in refusal.
"I am the World Emperor," he said, his voice steady, carrying across the heavens and the earth alike. "This world does not belong to the gods."
The sky darkened.
Divine runes flared into existence, forming chains of law meant to bind his soul. The god stood, fury radiating outward.
"Insolent mortal! Without the heavens, your world would collapse!"
Aurelius's eyes sharpened.
"Then let it collapse on my terms."
He took another step forward.
This time, the world answered.
The ground trembled violently as ancient seals beneath the capital awakened—seals forged not by gods, but by emperors long erased from divine records. A vast, unseen presence rose behind Aurelius, heavy and oppressive.
The god's pupils shrank.
"That power…" he whispered. "Impossible. The World Authority—"
Aurelius clenched his fist.
The divine chains shattered like glass.
Shock rippled through the heavens.
For the first time in recorded history, a god was forced back—his throne of light cracking under invisible pressure.
Aurelius looked up, his gaze piercing through layers of divine law.
"Go back to your heavens," he said coldly. "Tell the others."
The god's voice trembled with suppressed rage. "You are declaring war against the gods."
Aurelius did not hesitate.
"No," he replied.
"I am ending your rule over this world."
Silence fell.
Then, the heavens closed.
The divine presence vanished, leaving behind a sky scarred with fading cracks.
Below, millions of humans slowly lifted their heads, disbelief etched into their faces.
A god… had retreated.
Aurelius exhaled quietly.
He could feel it now—the subtle shift in the world, the tightening of invisible chains. By refusing to kneel, he had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.
The gods would not forgive this.
Nor would the demons ignore it.
From this moment on, the world would be drenched in blood.
Aurelius turned his back on the sky and looked over his people.
"Prepare yourselves," he said calmly.
"The gods will come."
And when they do—
"I will be ready."
---