They did not descend as gods.
They descended as saints.
Across the world, the same phenomenon occurred almost simultaneously. In kingdoms allied to the empire, in neutral territories, even within lands that secretly resented Aurelius Valen—individuals awakened.
Some were priests.
Some were knights.
Some were scholars.
All of them felt the same thing.
A voice.
It did not shout.
It did not command.
It promised.
Power.
Purpose.
Divine recognition.
And they accepted.
---
In the western plains, a cathedral long abandoned burst with light as a man in white armor knelt before an invisible presence. Runes burned into his flesh, reshaping his bones.
"I am chosen," he whispered, trembling in ecstasy.
Behind him, the corpses of an entire village lay scattered—offerings made without hesitation.
In the eastern mountains, a woman opened her eyes, pupils turning gold as time slowed around her. The world bent slightly with every step she took.
In the southern sea, a fleet vanished beneath calm waters, erased by a single prayer.
These were not gods.
They were worse.
They were Hands of Heaven—mortal vessels granted fragments of divine authority, designed to act where gods could not yet move openly.
---
The Imperial Intelligence Division was the first to react.
Reports flooded into the capital faster than scribes could record them.
"Massacre in the western plains—no survivors."
"Temporal distortion detected in the east."
"Southern trade route wiped out overnight."
Aurelius stood in silence as the reports piled higher.
"They've begun," General Cassian said grimly. "Divine proxies."
"Yes," Aurelius replied. "Expected."
His calm unsettled the room.
"You knew this would happen?" another general asked.
Aurelius turned his gaze toward the massive window overlooking the city.
"The gods never dirty their own hands," he said. "They prefer to borrow ours."
He raised his hand.
The shadows in the room deepened.
"Send the Eclipsed Legion."
Several officers inhaled sharply.
The Eclipsed Legion was not part of the public army. Officially, it did not exist.
It was composed of warriors who had survived Aurelius's personal trials—humans who had stepped into domains meant for gods and lived.
"They are moving against divine proxies?" Cassian asked.
Aurelius nodded.
"This is not a war of armies," he said. "It's a war of authority."
---
The first clash happened at dawn.
The western plains were silent when the Eclipsed Legion arrived—too silent. The air itself felt stained, heavy with death.
At the center of the devastation stood the saint.
White armor.
Golden halo.
A sword that hummed with divine law.
He turned as the legion approached, smiling serenely.
"Another group come to witness judgment?" he asked.
The legion's captain stepped forward.
His armor was black, etched with crimson lines that pulsed faintly. His face was expressionless.
"You slaughtered civilians," the captain said.
"They were impure," the saint replied calmly. "Their deaths were necessary."
The captain drew his blade.
"So is yours."
The saint laughed softly. "A mortal cannot—"
He never finished the sentence.
The captain vanished.
Not moved.
Vanished.
The next instant, the saint's halo shattered as black steel tore through his chest. Divine blood sprayed across the ground, sizzling where it landed.
The saint screamed.
Not in pain—but in disbelief.
"This is impossible!" he shouted. "I carry heaven's authority!"
The captain leaned close, eyes cold.
"So does our emperor."
With a twist of his blade, the divine fragment was ripped out.
The sky darkened briefly.
Somewhere far above, a god frowned.
---
In the eastern mountains, the woman who bent time faced a different fate.
She smiled as Eclipsed Legion operatives approached, the world slowing to a crawl around her.
"Too late," she said. "You cannot touch me."
Then Aurelius's voice echoed through her mind.
Time answers to authority, not talent.
Her power collapsed instantly.
She screamed as reality snapped back.
She never saw the blade that ended her.
---
One by one, the Hands of Heaven fell.
Not all of them.
Some escaped.
Some adapted.
Some grew stronger after tasting battle.
And the gods watched.
---
In the Celestial Domain, anger erupted.
"They're dying too fast!" the God of Dominion roared.
"You underestimated him," the Emperor of Shadows replied, amused. "Again."
The Goddess of Judgment clenched her staff. "He dares to let his subordinates slay our chosen?"
Fate remained silent.
Watching.
Threads twisted violently around Aurelius Valen's name.
"Escalation is inevitable," Fate finally said. "The more you push, the faster the seals weaken."
"Then let them break," a new voice said.
All heads turned.
A throne long sealed—one bound by chains of divine law—cracked.
A presence older than most gods stirred.
"If the human wishes to stand above heaven," the voice rumbled, "then let him face what heaven once feared."
Even the Celestial Domain trembled.
---
Back in the mortal realm, Aurelius stood alone within a sealed chamber beneath the palace.
Before him hovered an ancient relic—the one whose seal had cracked earlier.
It was not a weapon.
It was a crown.
Broken.
Incomplete.
Yet radiating an authority that made even Aurelius's heart beat heavier.
"The world remembers," Aurelius murmured.
The crown responded.
Not with words.
With recognition.
Far away, surviving divine proxies felt it.
The gods felt it.
And something far older… smiled.
The war had crossed a line.
And there would be no return.
To be continued…