A couple thousand years.
That's how long it took for this fruit to grow.
A couple more… and it would've been enough to grant immortality to all of humanity.
The day the heavens cast me down, they took my heart with them. Ripped it from my chest. Tossed it down into the dirt like it was garbage. I crawled after it. Pathetically. Weak. I searched for centuries, half-alive, with nothing left in me but spite and a sliver of hope.
And then… I found it.
But when I did, the world had already started worshipping it. My heart had birthed a tree. A holy one. And the desperate, the broken, the outcast—they clung to it.
They were called cursed.
So I joined them. I became one of the faithful. Each century, a new face, a new name. I kneeled before my own beating heart. Worshipped it with them.
It wasn't humiliating. But it wasn't pleasant either.
I buried the tree deep beneath the land. Built temples above it. Shielded it from the sun. My earliest followers drank from my blood and gained eternal life—but they broke. They twisted. They lost themselves.
I tried everything.
And then I understood—if the heart could be harvested properly, the process could stabilize. No deformities. No madness. Just pure, eternal life.
I could fix everything.
I would grant everyone—believers or not—the gift of life. So they'd never suffer again. Just a bit longer. Just a little more time…
Then why… why did the same child who once ran from me—Heide—stand against me now?
I still remember you, you know. You were just a kid. Terrified. You saw me as a monster. And now here you are, all grown up, fists clenched, teeth grit… standing against me.
If you hadn't run that day… If you had listened instead of screamed…
Would you have helped me?
…Probably.
But it's too late now.
You were too slow.
I crushed the fruit.
And it burst.
A red mist erupted from my palm—liquid light in every direction. Blood sprayed into the sky, blooming above Menyurl like a reversed sunrise.
This was it.
Until—
"NOT SO FAST!"
A voice tore across the air like a whip.
My head snapped down.
Heide.
His arms were extended, palms open, and the entire sky above Menyurl—every drop of falling blood—was caught. The air trembled. A barrier had formed. An enormous one.
I narrowed my eyes.
He wasn't controlling the wind. He wasn't wielding some divine power. He was changing the very state of the air. The barrier was forged from compressed molecules—built through sheer calculation and brutal will.
His body shook.
Sweat ran in streams down his chin.
The sky above the city looked like a dome of red glass, hovering silently.
Heide's legs almost gave out. His eyes twitched from strain.
But still—he moved.
The barrier folded inward. Shrinking. Condensing. My blood—the gift meant for the city—was being packed into a single, trembling orb. I watched, silent, as he funneled it upward.
He hurled the blood-ball like a meteor. It vanished into the sky, disappearing into the stars.
He exhaled.
I moved.
A tendril shot forward, aiming straight for his throat.
His head turned at the last second. But he wasn't fast enough.
It stopped. A hair's breadth away.
I stared at him. Heide didn't flinch. His arms were still loose at his sides, barely even raised. He was exhausted.
But he didn't step back.
I smiled.
"That was impressive," I said, lowering the tendril. "Quick thinking."
The wind pushed his soaked bangs off his face. His chest heaved with every breath.
"This is my cue. You've beaten me, Heide Decimus."
He didn't speak for a second. Then—
"Yeah… I don't."
It wasn't some noble mercy. It was clarity.
He knew I hadn't fought with all I had.
He knew I could've killed him.
But I didn't.
Because I was the God of Life.
Below us, the great tree began dissolving. The bark, the roots, the branches—it all turned to dust. Petal by petal, cell by cell. My time was up.
I looked at him.
"I'll see you soon, Heide Decimus," I said as my form began to flake away with the wind. "And next time… I will win."
"Yeah," he muttered, gaze steady. "Sure."
And I was gone.
Ash scattered in the sky.
Heide remained alone.
Below him, the city roared. Screams, prayers, crying—children clutching their parents, priests fumbling to understand what had just happened.
He floated there for a moment longer.
Then looked down at the city.
A gust of wind brushed past him. Cool. Clean. Alive.
He smiled faintly.