Chapter 151: From now on, you shall be Yahweh!
Gods died in disaster, and the blood of gods flowed into the mud.
Heaven tilted and earth collapsed. The World Tree that once supported the Nine Realms fell into the vast deep sea, sinking until it beca an eternally fixed seabed. People stumbled out of their houses and found that the world, scoured clean by wind, snow, and flood, looked almost painfully bright.
Beneath the brilliant galaxy, new gods arrived with the storm. Stepden, arriving with the wind.
Ragnarok.
Rowe rode an eight legged, twelve winged Pegasus and slowly lowered his spear. The final brilliant radiance of Rhongomyniad rippled through the air, spreading layer after layer until it finally thinned into nothing.
The sky cleared. The earth brightened. All things returned to their forr state.
Rowe glanced sideways.
Everything beneath him had been swept through by storm. The foreign energy was burned away by the kindling. The curtain of mythology had finally vanished, and from this mont onward there would be no Nine Realms, no more passages between skies and worlds that only gods could cross.
The People were freed at the sa ti.
It felt like a lock had been opened.
Not just for them.
For Rowe as well.
After destroying the World Tree, Rowe had finally completed the first step of his journey from death to life.
The toppled World Tree symbolized the disappearance of the last trace of the Asgardian gods. More than that, it symbolized a vacant divine position.
Rowe truly, legitimately, ascended to the seat of a Great God.
He left a real mark on the world.
He lived.
“Praise the great Storm King, the Wild Hunt, Lord of Hosts, God of All Machines, the sole ruler of the true Sea of Stars!”
The Storm Gods bowed in reverence. Even the black dragon Nidhogg, the Midgard Serpent Jörmungandr, and the demonic wolf Fenrir lowered their heads.
They all paid homage.
The People acclaid the new deity as well.
They acclaid the honored na of the sole ruler of storm, wild hunt, hosts, machines, and starry sky.
Thousands of gods.
Thousands of The People.
The gods were grateful to the one who opened their wisdom, transforming them from chaotic storm giants into gods. The People were grateful to the new god who let them pass through the three winters that should have co before Ragnarok, sparing them war, battle, and slaughter.
“It is truly beautiful…” Skaði lifted her gaze to the starry sky, yet what reflected in her eyes was not a corner of heaven, but the person before her.
Just as she had felt from the beginning, compared to the gods of Asgard, Rowe looked more like a god who protected The People.
Of course, for Rowe, the clearest sensation was probably far less poetic.
His title had gained yet another suffix.
“Will introducing myself out loud in the future sound even more impressive?” Rowe’s eyes behind the mask were calm. No one could see the mischievous thought hidden underneath.
He twirled the spear once and spoke loudly.
“Gods of the storm, gods belonging solely to the stars.”
“Use the power you wield to help forge new rules.”
New rules.
The gods stiffened.
Skaði froze as well.
Was it not over yet?
Of course not.
He had recovered life. The next step was naturally to enter death.
Rowe’s road to seeking death had only just begun.
He raised the spear again. The radiance of Rhongomyniad reappeared between heaven and earth.
“I will create new rules for this world.”
“Those rules do not belong to gods, nor do they belong to humans. Those rules belong only to the planet itself. They are the rules closest to the original appearance of the stars, and they are the system closest to the origin of all things.”
“The sky is the sky, the earth is the underground. Upwards, one can touch flowing clouds. Downwards, one can gaze upon flowing lava.”
“Gods are not inherently high above, and humans are not forever ants. Nature is not unconquerable, and ants can also gaze at the sky.”
“Co.”
“Gods, The People, answer my call.”
“Praise the Lord of Hosts!” the gods cried out, responding as one.
“Praise the Lord of Hosts!” The People cried out, offering faith and aspiration together.
Rowe sat upon the Pegasus, yet it felt as if he rode a small boat on surging waves, his vision rising and rising.
He ascended into the atmosphere that wrapped the celestial body.
He was one step away from beyond the planet, beyond the atmosphere, beyond the world.
His height stopped there in distance.
But his dinsion continued to rise.
The power of the Storm Gods pushed him upward in dinsion. The aspirations of The People made the spear in his hand shine brighter and brighter.
Skaði’s feet touched the ground. The radiance of a Great God was, after all, sothing she could only look up at.
And yet, at this mont of infinite divinity, she was willing to keep watching.
The sole Old God.
And also the first New God.
Skaði adjusted the dark crown on her head. Purple hair frad her delicate face. She lifted her skirt and curtsied.
She had already sensed it.
Rowe was about to leave.
“I will await your return,” she said.
As the Snow Mountain Goddess.
With the posture of welcoming soone irreplaceable.
A voice that sounded like her, yet not her, answered calmly from within.
“What a troubleso fellow… But do not worry. I will help you find him.”
“No matter where he went.”
“Because you are .”
“Thank you, my other .” Skaði smiled, pure and unguarded.
At that very mont, beneath the true and brilliant galaxy, The People saw a stream of light burst forth, scattering as it fell.
A massive Machine God appeared as a shadow behind Rowe, rotating. Before vanishing, it opened its mouth and spat out a celestial body ravaged by a lava storm.
Tartarus, surging with lava, appeared in the present world, pulled forth by the aspirations in people’s hearts, then elevated into reality.
It, together with the kindling that had already been spread, transford into a world that could exist independently of Rowe.
Rowe separated the kindling from himself and placed it in a dinsion above the ground, a region invisible to ordinary people.
If he was going to die, he could not take it with him.
Yet even independent, it still belonged to Rowe. Only Rowe could open it, and only Rowe could enter it anyti, anywhere.
He nad it The Primal Empyrean.
After that, he spoke.
“After I leave, you shall each return to your positions. Follow the principles of natural cycles, await the opportune mont, return the world to life, and retreat into the Sea of Stars.”
“We obey the will of the Divine King!” the gods answered.
Rowe continued, voice steady.
“You shall rember this.”
“I am the God of Hosts. I am the God of All Machines. I am the Lord of the Empyrean. I am the One God.”
“Yahweh.”
The sound spread.
Space and ti seed to freeze for a heartbeat.
Above, within the vast starry expanse, it felt as if sothing looked over.
Under the gaze of eyes too profound to asure, surprise filled Rowe’s heart.
It really saw.
Rowe was certainly not Yahweh, and he could not be Yahweh.
Yahweh was the God of the One Religion, the most widely believed God in the future world.
Rowe had never t Him, never interacted with Him. Yet Rowe knew what that na ant.
A truly great existence.
Perhaps a god from the void, an existence farther than stellar scale Chaos.
Because He could manifest miracles in an era where gods had already faded.
Because He could still operate without restriction in a world where gods had vanished.
As a transmigrator, Rowe understood that overwhelming power. Precisely because of that, he intended to use the honored na he had stolen to provoke that true existence.
It was an idea Rowe had held for a very long ti.
An attempt he had begun long ago.
Since acquiring Cronus’s machine body.
Since obtaining the divinity he possessed.
The title Lord of Hosts had been the initial practice.
Now, the titles Sole Ruler of the Starry Sky and Yahweh were even more so.
This was courting death.
Courting great death.
Rowe cast the spear down toward the earth. At the extre point, spiraling light erupted, and a storm of radiance instantly covered everything.
An invisible mbrane spread slowly, covering the entire world. The descending spear appeared in the sight of humans and gods like a pillar of aurora.
And from that mont, words were carved into the record of the world.
The sky was enveloped in radiance. The earth was drawn by the connection between forces. From then on, brilliant and colorful light could often be seen at the world’s poles. That was the spear cast by the god, and it is said that beneath that light lies the destination of King Arthur’s legend in later generations, the location of Avalon.
Thus, the god created a new world, manifesting the primordial void.
The god created the most suitable soil for human survival. This was the covenant between god and man.
God said.
Interesting.
A voice from the void exploded across Rowe’s senses. The recoil from casting the spear lifted him at once, forcing him into a higher dinsion as he slamd into the heights of the void.
The Pegasus he rode vanished into the depths of Tartarus, rging with it. It would not reappear unless Rowe called for it.
Because it was the mount of a Great God.
The running hyena, Fafnir, reverted to its dragon form and joined the Stepden gods in the na of storm.
And Rowe arrived.
The interlayer between worlds.
The deepest region of the Imaginary Number Space.
The farthest and highest point even Chaos found difficult to reach.
Pitch black.
Nothingness.
The surface of the abyss looked like water, and only a single light floated upon it.
A pure spirit.
The form in which Yahweh would appear in later generations.
“Interesting,” the will rippled again.
“You steal my na just to provoke ?”
Rowe wanted to speak, but found he could not. So he answered in thought.
Exactly.
“Since that is the case,” the spirit said, “what if I grant your wish?”
The void rippled. The abyss rippled. Flowing light layered upon layered. It seed nonexistent, yet a power without boundary pressed down on Rowe all at once.
Such power.
Perhaps only when Rowe extracted the power of the Root inscribed upon the Throne of Heroes could he compare to it.
Rowe did not resist.
He smiled as if he had finally gotten what he wanted.
He accepted the pressure, the crushing, with his entire being.
The great work was done.
Yet the aftershocks had not faded.
If Rowe, who reshaped the world in the na of God before The People, died here, then within the world’s record it would still be seen as dying for creation.
Like the primordial deities in myths, sacrificed to give form to the world.
But Rowe still had a human side.
The na Rowe had long since been left behind.
Ascend to the Throne of Heroes.
Reclaim his power.
That was enough.
His consciousness drowned in the expanding power of that spirit. It felt like he was stripped of strength and thrown into an endless cycle of reincarnation.
The spirit existed in nothingness.
Its power could ripple across past, future, and infinite planes.
Yet the voice that ford again was not cold, not indifferent as Rowe had expected.
It sounded pleased.
“Since you wish to steal my na, let see if you are worthy. You who descended from beyond the universe.”
The spirit of the void did not care about His own na. He saw Rowe’s intention to seek death at once and did not object to fulfilling it.
However, the act of stealing His na sparked a different kind of interest.
Across countless ages, the spirit that watched the universe from the deepest sea of void had witnessed too many things.
This was the first ti soone had challenged Him like this.
Anger.
Killing intent.
Desecration.
None of those.
He only found it interesting.
He preferred interesting things.
He wanted to see whether Rowe could truly bear His na.
Whether he could truly beco Yahweh.
If he could, the spirit would not mind bestowing that na upon him.
If he could not, the spirit would grant him the death he desired.
Vast. Boundless. Endless fluctuation.
Scenes from countless past and future tilines appeared within the spirit’s eyes.
Tens of thousands of years ago, when humanity was taking its first steps, soone in the wild primordial era led others out of the encirclent of beasts. He led The People to create tools and a paradise. After him, the leaders who inherited that spirit, a man and a woman, were later called Adam by future generations.
Ten thousand years ago, the Star Hunter attacked, the Age of Gods collapsed, and imbalance in nature brought the Great Flood. Yet soone beca a boat with his own body, leading humanity through the deluge without fear of death. The People called him Napishtim.
A thousand years ago, Gilgash retreated to the Underworld. Uruk perished and collapsed. Those left behind who could not follow were driven into migration by hunger. The leader walked at the front, opening a path to Egypt for The People with a spirit that did not fear death, earning the trust of the Egyptian king. The People called him Abraham.
Hundreds of years ago, the descendants of The People led by Abraham suffered oppression in Egypt. Soone led them out, facing death again and again along the way, and finally brought down the Ten Plagues of punishnt upon the gods of Egypt. He was Moses.
Hundreds of years later, during Solomon’s reign, he was called a ssenger of God, and yet soone directly denounced him as the incarnation of a demon. The king who had been without sorrow or joy felt fear and anger for the first ti, realizing he was not truly a god.
Past.
Present.
Future.
“Seeking death, yet not blindly pursuing it. Keeping a bottom line. Possessing sufficient wisdom. Becoming a true hero again and again in crises.”
“Your luck is good. You have both wisdom and courage.”
“Since that is the case.”
“I shall bestow upon you the na Yahweh.”
“You shall rember your original intention and never forget your beginning and end.”
It was like waking from a long dream.
Or finishing a very long, fully imrsive ga.
Rowe vaguely opened his eyes and heard that voice.
He froze.
Then the spirit cast down brilliant light.
All those experiences beca real.
Tens of thousands of years.
Tens of thousands of years seeking death in vain.
The first humans. The Great Flood. The exodus in and out of Egypt. The denunciation before Solomon.
Thousands of overlaps converged into one body.
Rowe saw the primordial scenery of the stars.
Quantity beca quality.
Primordial.
Supre.
“From now on, you shall be Yahweh.”
The spirit of the void flickered.
Then it expelled Rowe from the deepest, highest, farthest reaches of the void.
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