Round 49: God

Forty-Seven Serenity sat inside the newly activated cockpit of the Vengeance. A steel chair was formed from the intricately laid floor panels; with more instruments and displays around, he would have resembled a RoboCop even more.
After the fierce battle, everyone was exhausted. The mages needed to rest, restoring their nearly depleted mental energy through deep meditation; the holy warriors returned to the temporary temple converted from the captain’s quarters to pray, perhaps to report on the completion of this mission to their gods; Kairo remained in a paralyzed state, unconscious. Since Chloe was the only warrior in the group, she naturally took on the responsibility of caring for her. As for Simon, whether due to extreme stress from piloting the magic ship alone or out of dissatisfaction, he abandoned the controls and quietly went to sleep in a cabin—Forty-Seven Serenity tolerated this offense, as the Vengeance was now practically autonomous and didn’t need him for the time being.
Amid the regular vibrations from the engines, there was suddenly a crackling sound. A bolt of electricity jumped from the cockpit, flowing along the grooves in the floor toward a dark corner, illuminating a slender figure standing there.
She approached Forty-Seven from behind—her metal boots made no sound on the similarly metal floor, but wherever she passed, tiny blue-white sparks erupted from the gaps in the steel, spreading in all directions. From time to time, two or more bolts of lightning collided after circling the steel cabin, sending sparks flying like rain, casting strange shadows on both her and Forty-Seven.
The high-backed mechanical chair rotated smoothly half a turn, bringing Forty-Seven and the steel woman face to face. Other than that, he didn’t move, seemingly having forgotten that they had fought fiercely in their previous two encounters, now appearing cold and calm like a tyrant awaiting his subjects.
The steel woman stopped about five steps away from him. She placed one hand on her waist, with a cold glint in her fingers, her icy blue eyes locking onto his abyssal red eyes, which seemed even more fierce and menacing.
When the storm of lightning in the cockpit subsided, she spoke. Her voice was clear and orderly, like a synthesized signal from a pulse circuit: “There is an anomaly in your self-awareness. The chaotic forces of those who are not rulers have polluted you; you need to be purified.”
The living metal forming Forty-Seven’s face twisted into a sinister grin.
“Rulers? The rulers have been extinct for countless centuries, perhaps even longer than the extinction of the dinosaurs. Since Big Brother Optimus is dead… I shall be honored to take his place and lead the Autobots forward.”

“Chaos and disorder disrupt your thoughts!” The Steel Woman stepped forward again. These defiant words from Forty-Seven made her raise her voice slightly—although she couldn’t precisely know who “Optimus Prime” was, through the information shared when her consciousness was activated by Forty-Seven’s core within Zuxker, she understood that the term referred to a ruler or leader. “We are the executors of the Dominators’ will. Their commands will not be forgotten over time, and no one can replace them!”
“Then I’m honored to be the first,” Forty-Seven said leisurely, leaning back in his chair, unfazed by the angry energy waves emanating from her. “Do you intend to stop me? After we’ve already come to know each other?”
“Exactly because of that do I realize just how insane you’ve become.” Though she remained on high alert, her attitude reverted to calm, disciplined restraint. His mental power was too strong—in her view, it was a form of energy chaos resulting from severe damage to a physical body, yet it had reorganized into something entirely different. Only the former Dominators, through meticulous preparation, precise calculations, prolonged energy manipulation, and the efforts of thousands of the most outstanding individuals, could achieve such things—how could something as impossible as Forty-Seven arise? Yet in the face of the chaos inherent in the multiverse, she had to be careful, preventing his mental resonance from affecting her further, while still following ancient directives to combat this chaos, as if walking on the edge of a vast, bottomless vortex.
“Working hard most of one’s life only to be discarded like scrap metal—desiring to die with dignity—isn’t that another form of madness?” Forty-Seven tapped gently on the armrest. “If the Dominators are still alive, I have no objection to finding my own pleasure within their framework. But since everything has changed now… there’s an old saying that holds true: ‘New rulers bring new ministers.’”
The Steel Woman didn’t respond immediately. Her blue eyes flickered, as if assessing the current balance of power between them—before she cautiously retreated into the darkness.
“I’ll come back for you. If you continue down this path… I won’t have any choice.”
The metal walls and floor split open, allowing the Steel Woman’s figure to disappear into the parts and pipes emitting black smoke, before sealing shut again.
Forty-Seven didn’t stop her from altering the ship’s structure and leaving. Once the gap closed, the electric lights in the cabin also vanished.
In the early days of the multiverse—when the numerous realms that made up this vast cosmos were not yet fully formed—primordial energies such as earth, water, fire, and wind created countless massive vortices. These collided and surged on an unimaginable scale in the vast emptiness, giving birth to young worlds within clouds of unstable particles and flames. At the same time, the first batch of energy-based beings capable of resisting this harsh world through their own strength emerged.

They fed on the vast energy provided by the tremendous changes in the universe itself, extinguishing the blazing flames that covered the sky and cooling the entire world. Though unintentional, their magnificent life cycles stabilized the realms they passed through—calming the suns that emitted intense heat storms and deadly radiation through energy absorption, solidifying the rampant lava, and stabilizing chaotic force fields… After an extremely long time, they became objects of reverence and worship by new races born on these material realms in the multiverse—becoming the original gods.

However, for some unknown reasons lost forever in the depths of time, divisions arose among these most powerful beings, ultimately leading to civil wars. When they wielded their powers not for survival but to attack one another, disaster struck swiftly. The basic energy sustaining the realms was drained, then erupted violently in countless amplified releases, instantly destroying everything. Those caught in the war were either consumed entirely—soul and body—becoming part of the immense energy driven by these superbeings known as the Ancient Gods, or withered to ashes in extreme heat or cold. Numerous races were utterly annihilated, world after world destroyed. In this war that shook the entire multiverse, survival and extinction hinged on the whims of the Ancient Gods, with all existence on the brink.

The wars of the Ancient Gods disrupted the balance between matter and energy, and new entities emerged from the chaotic currents. They also began deliberately cultivating species that could withstand their legendary power for a few rounds as allies, to drain their opponents’ energy and gain an advantage in the endless struggle.

Dragons, giants, and various fierce and grotesque monsters joined the fray, and legends even speak of the original celestial beings and demons among them. The Hateful undoubtedly emerged as the strongest among those brought about by the destruction of the Ancient Gods. Realms of vastly different environments, yet equally desolate and hopeless, became nurseries for them. War, suffering, and destruction—the sins committed by the Ancient Gods left strange and terrifying marks in these twisted worlds. They joined the wars between the Ancient Gods with unparalleled cruelty and fury, their power even frightening the gods themselves.

In such an era, all survivors had to find their place on the battlefield. Among them was a race—without strong bodies and relatively meager control over energy, they were far too weak compared to the servants of other Ancient Gods, easily destroyed, with their lives constantly in danger.

But they refused to endure exile or escape, fading silently into ashes. With the strength and wisdom of their entire race, they searched through long and difficult dark ages for ways to protect themselves and please their gods—even beginning to study the endless power of the Ancient Gods. Finally, they found a way to bind and harness the energy storms raging in the multiverse, using them as guardians to fight for their gods.

This race built countless factories in the corners of the universe, where only unpredictable and unstable energy filled the air, howling and echoing. They died like ants in such worlds; the cities they had painstakingly built were destroyed in an instant, forcing them to pay a huge price to start over again… yet they succeeded. They forged massive and sturdy bodies from metal refined through countless trials, and through incredible mystical rituals, they infused these metal bodies with chaotic energy streams. Along with semi-transparent energy flows, the soulless metal bodies were compressed with immeasurable energy, endowing them with abundant vitality.

The immortal metal warriors called this race the Dominators. In their eyes, there was no emotion, no ancient gods, nothing but their Dominators.

Countless forms of hatred had become the main players on the battlefield of the ancient gods, and they had even begun to pour their mad hatred onto those gods. The Dominators did not choose to stay aside at this time. Perhaps because they had suppressed it for too long, or perhaps because their faith in the ancient gods was ingrained in their souls, they drove and created more metal warriors to pour into the battlefield, to launch a frenzied attack against hatred and their hostile ancient gods.

This was the history of the “Divine Armaments” as learned by 47 from the metal woman.

However, what happened afterward was beyond their knowledge. Over countless centuries spent in sleep due to battle injuries, the Dominators disappeared. All that remained of this race today were miraculous metal remnants, along with something that still ruled over “Kaili” but was merely a faint echo of a story to 47.

He examined his own hands. Tight armor, spiny knuckles, metal patterns resembling palm veins. Carved by the passage of time, there wasn’t even a slight scratch on them. For a moment, he felt his past life’s experiences overlapping with the ancient memories in this body—did the “Dominators” really exist? Or was it just another manifestation of the interstellar communication circuits implanted in the chip? 47 sat alone in the dark cabin; perhaps, just like the Retribution, which soared through the skies on flames, it had no real destination.

Morrill walked along the narrow and slightly swaying corridors, having to lower her head in some places due to her height. That guy, 47, hadn’t considered comfort at all when modifying the ship.

Her head ached, similar to a hangover, because her unsatisfactory meditation hadn’t restored her energy as a mage. Messy fragments of spells tangled in her mind like countless complex knots, confusing her thoughts. But fortunately, there was nothing urgent to worry about for now—everything that could be done had already been done, and there was no rush for what couldn’t be done.

Right now, she just wanted to see Kairo.

Chloe pushed the door open from inside. This female warrior’s senses were astonishingly sharp.

“Are you okay?” Chloe saw shadows of exhaustion in Morrill’s brown eyes.

Morrill shook her head, indicating she was fine.

The female swordsman closed the door from outside, leaving the mage alone with the frail figure lying quietly on the bed.

Morrill sat at the head of the bed, gazing at Kairo’s face. It was as if carved from white jade—upturned nostrils, small earlobes, slightly gaunt cheeks—so different after years apart that she almost didn’t recognize her.

Xinbu’s magic still tightly bound Kairo. By exploiting the transformations of the magic goddess Silverfire, Xinbu had completely suppressed the remnants of Lady Mist’s divinity, locking it in a dormant state with no reaction at all, freezing it into a tiny embryonic seed.

As a result, Kairo was left as nothing but a weak, empty shell. Morrill could sense neither the girl’s self nor her soul, nor even the liveliness she had shown before the female mage in the Magic Shop of Rain City—just an empty shell. Morrill didn’t know whether she had vanished forever or was lying in silence alongside her slumbering divinity, but in either case, the female mage was helpless.

A silent darkness suddenly descended. It was like a living entity enveloping Morrill, touching her with its indescribably viscous and cold touch. Strangely, Morrill could still see everything in the room, as if she had granted herself “dark vision.” The floor, walls, ceiling, tables, chairs, beds, and Kairo lying there—all were sharply outlined by some supernatural force. Outside the small porthole, the sky had vanished, leaving only endless darkness.

Morrill almost instantly stood up from her chair. Her heart was pounding uncontrollably; she could feel its throbbing in her chest. An attack? The female mage recalled the few spells she knew but soon dismissed the idea. Even if Xinbu and the holy warriors were preoccupied, Chloé was outside the door, and 47 was on the Revenge Ship—this magic ship was essentially an extension of his body. No one could invade so easily—no one.

The female mage looked at the closed door. It formed a rectangular outline in the darkness, as if even the darkness itself had layers within those supernatural shadows. She had calmed down and vaguely guessed what kind of being had arrived here… though her heartbeat still hadn’t slowed.

The door opened. The visitor didn’t enter through the hallway outside; that door was already a passage between the mortal world and some distant realm. An unstoppable supernatural will had traversed countless spaces and times to appear before Morrill in person.

O’Sullivan.

“Miss Morrill, your arrogance remains unchanged as ever,” the count said, his pale face bearing a proud smile, his thin lips tightly pressed together, his eyes burning with blazing black flames.

The gaze from those flaming eyes nearly made Morrill’s legs give out—yet she controlled herself. To hide her struggle to stay upright, she even sat back down in her chair.

“With all due respect, I never imagined you would look exactly like Count O’Sullivan.”

O’Sullivan let out a soft chuckle. “You’re quite humorous, Miss Morrill.”

With movements too quick for Morrill to follow, he elegantly sat down across from the female mage—though she was certain there had been no other chair there.

Darkness surrounded the young count, writhing like snakes on his neat black overcoat. A finely crafted sword, resembling an ornamental accessory, lay across his knees, its hilt inlaid with countless gems. Even through the scabbard also shrouded in shadows, Moriel could still see that glint of cold light.

“The Sword of Divine Calamity,” Moriel whispered the term, feeling her body recoil along with the darkness around her at hearing it.

The saint of the God of Murder stroked the sword as if touching his beloved.

“I’ve come to punish your insolence, you ignorant girl,” threatened Xeric, appearing in O’Sullivan’s guise, his burning eyes narrowing. “Surely you don’t think you can get away unscathed after all those rude acts toward me and my servants?”

Moriel remained silent. The purpose of this mad god was far from as simple as he claimed—especially since he ignored Kairo standing nearby. For a god to appear in the material world in such a state meant enduring constant losses that were difficult to recover from. If he wanted to destroy Kairo or herself, the most logical approach would be to finish what he had to do and leave, rather than wasting time talking here.

“Alright, relax. It was just a joke,” Xeric said, seeing that Moriel didn’t seem afraid, and quickly changed the subject with a wave of his hand. “Actually, I’m here today to propose a deal to you.”

A deal? Such things often meant something worse than “orders” or “demands.”

“Aren’t you honored by this?” Without giving the female mage a chance to react, Xeric’s shadowy hands pressed on her shoulders, his black-flamed eyes staring intently at her. “What are you hesitating about? Don’t reject me—I’ll be very sad.”

“I’m assessing the situation, great prince,” Moriel said, trying to ignore the cold touch of those hands on her shoulders. Something seemed to be writhing outside the half-open door, struggling to enter the material world from the realm of the God of Murder. The female mage didn’t know what it was, nor did she want to know.

“If you want this Lady of Mist…” Moriel glanced at the bed, where Kairo still lay quietly. “I suppose I can’t stop you. I can only acknowledge the insurmountable gap between humans and gods.”

“Her? What do I want her for?” Xeric sat back down, his gaze mocking. “If I wanted to kill her, I could do it anytime—I’ve already done it once… And I don’t believe you’d just let it go.”

“Then you…”

Xeric raised his hand to cut off Moriel’s question. “Don’t think my servants are persistently chasing her—I mean it.”

Moriel didn’t quite understand what he meant, but Xeric explained soon after.

“You should know I was once a mortal too.” The Prince of Murder scratched his chin and tilted his head slightly, looking up at the dark clouds swirling above them. “But later, I became a god… the God of Murder.”

“Do you know what this means? It means that whenever some drunkard in some stinky mud house beats his wife, he might just be praising your name!” Xirik suddenly waved his arms and raised his voice; the Divine Calamity Sword on his knees also hummed with its master’s anger. “Do you know how that feels? In the name of Xirik, over and over again! Damn it, I never thought of borrowing anyone’s name when I killed people back then—just do it boldly! And now? So many idiots to deal with! It’s absolutely annoying!”
Moriel stared at Xirik’s familiar, distorted face and almost laughed, but held back. After all, at least a little respect was due to a sacred deity.
Xirik calmed down, stroked his hair, and gave the female mage a fake smile.
“But what can I do? A follower of the Dark Sun discovered the trace of my master’s archenemy, the former Goddess of Lies, and reported it grandly, thinking he’d done something amazing that would delight his god… What can I do? I had no choice but to let them go ahead, because they thought it was my order.”
“But these fools messed things up, especially after I generously granted them power. Now I can settle accounts with them—enough to keep them away from bothering me for a long time.”
Xirik sneered, “As for the Goddess of Lies… I’ve long lost interest in her. Besides, it wasn’t me who started it. It was all because… never mind, it’s in the past. Let’s not talk about it.”
“So what’s the purpose of your visit today?” Moriel ignored the mad god’s complaints about his followers and seized the opportunity to ask.
“I already said, a deal.” Xirik raised his eyebrows; darkness swirled around him, and the unrelated materials in the room seemed to dissolve, revealing the hard metal framework beneath. “You have a very cool toy, Miss Moriel.”
“I’m very interested in it,” he said in a low whisper. “But I can’t guarantee she feels the same way. What if direct communication between us proves difficult…”
“That would be troublesome. Porcelain shouldn’t fight tiles. What am I, anyway? It’s pointless to fight blindly without gaining anything.” The God of Murder didn’t hide the wariness in his voice, which made Moriel feel a slight fondness for this god for the first time.
“Of course, I’m not trying to take what belongs to others…” Xirik added. “I just hope that if another god or some other nonsense comes to you for the same reason as me today, you’ll remember that an old friend has priority.”

“Oh, as a reward…” Hiryek said as if suddenly realizing something. “Although I can’t guarantee that the little girl in bed will return to her original state, at least I once took away almost all of Lady Mist’s divine power. If I were to personally remove the power of the Goddess of Lies from her body, her own soul might dissipate under such a shock. But if another source of divine power could be implanted, perhaps some balance could be achieved… such as mine.”
He stood up and bowed slightly. “I can’t directly insert it into this girl’s body or give it to you. As I said, my actions always bring unexpected troubles. But wait—I’ll leave behind refined divine power in this body. You just need to find a way to transfer it into the girl’s body. That shouldn’t be difficult for you; you’re an excellent mage.”
“You’re too generous, Your Majesty the Great Prince. I can’t believe you’re willing to grant divine power to help.” Moriel also stood up and replied with a double meaning.
“I’m not like those old fossils who hoard their wealth,” Hiryek said sneeringly. “Even if there were mountains of gold and silver, who would know if I didn’t use them?”
“But…” Moriel added, “regarding what you’ve asked, I can only say I’ll do my best… But I think you need to know that she always makes her own decisions.”
Hiryek didn’t seem worried about this. He replied, “Doing your best is enough. I have great confidence in you.”
Then, the God of Murder said no more.
The shadows dissipated, and only Moriel stood alone in the room—Kairo lay on the bed, and O’Sullivan was collapsed on the floor.