Prologue
Falling.
He was falling before the thunderclap reached his ears. He descended in a column of superheated air, body spinning. His opponents shrank with distance as he descended the stratosphere. The people of the Theocracy watched as the speck of black clothes fell from the heavens at speeds the unaided eye struggled to see. Powerful as he was, this was a battle that the god could not win.
~ A whole new world of pain ~
There was no grand entrance. No grand fireball of hypersonic re-entry as he came within sight. The rain had made sure of that.
He lay in the field, unceremoniously, his rags black with dirt, and did not get back up. The storm raged and bellowed on around the battleground, and lightning flashed and arced and the wind howled as though they were announcing a departure from the world of men and monsters, and the people of the Theocracy feared that he was dead.
Eight figures landed softly on the field, fifty meters away from the fallen god. Rain poured out of the sky in thick sheets. A violent gale ripped across the field, and all who watched covered their eyes and braced themselves as the rain was driven painfully onto exposed skin. The grandeur of their being, the terror of the battleground, and the wretchedness of it all had robbed them all of their tongues.
The eight figures were all human. There was no denying that. [Sense Race] was a spell of the eighth tier that detected the race of a target. He had used it on them the first time they'd met in the unsuccessful diplomatic meeting. Their leader wore a suit of crimson full-plate armor. It was a divine class item, and so was the staff that he held in his right hand. He saw the emblem emblazoned in gold across the beautiful Apoithakarah crystals embedded in his ornate pauldrons, but did not recognize it.
He did not want to think of YGGDRASIL anymore.
"It did not have to come to this," said the leader. "You should have agreed with us."
There was no reply.
"[Penetrate Maximize Magic: Albedic Lance]!"
That was the deathblow.
[Albedic Lance] was a tenth-tier holy spell used by divine magic casters. It summoned a white-hot lance of blinding light that vaporized all that it touched. The holy property made it even more damaging to the undead. He had since the spell in action dozens of times now, both in this life and the life before. In terms of base damage, it was one of the most generally potent spells, exceeding even a [Reality Slash], and it was possible to one-shot an Overlord with the appropriate gear and metamagic enhancements using the spell. It had a long cast time, which meant that it was not used very often, but the invaders had expected him to be so utterly robbed of his strength that even getting up would be nearly impossible.
He knew he'd die here today. His HP was already three-quarters below the maximum, and he had near completely exhausted his MP.
He wondered what awaited him on the other side. Decades had passed since his friends had left him. Loneliness was not the only word that could describe how he felt. Perhaps he was suicidal. That would explain why he came down here in the first place. But it was impossible to bypass the racial emotional nullifier that all undead possessed. Such strong pangs of emotion would surely be detected, would they not?
Decades of solitude had taken its toll. He wanted this all to end. The war had reached the doorstep of the Slane Theocracy, and when his advisors had tried to prevent him from taking up the challenge issued by the invaders, he paid them no heed. The voices of his subjects had no meaning to him anymore. He could never agree with Phantasmagoria's policies towards demi-humans and humans, and the disagreements between him and the guild had snowballed into total war. If he could destroy their leader, Uriah, then the order in their party could be crippled.
They were new to these lands, freshly plucked from the world of 2138, new to the godhood they had attained in the blink of an eye, and eager to mould the world in the shape of their pent-up philosophies.
But that plan had failed, and a life of misery and regret was coming to a close. Of course, he had never expected the plan to work in the first place. A single Level 100 would be utterly destroyed in a fight against eight others with no hope of damaging one of its opponents.
His pleas for the banning of the national religion fell on deaf ears, and it soon grew into something far beyond their control. The Slane Theocracy had expanded far beyond its original boundaries, conquering the nearby human nations in the name of his friends. It was the last thing that he'd wanted, but religion had been the bedrock to which the soul of the Slane Theocracy – and the majority of their influence and 'soft' power – was tethered.
Or so his friends had thought.
But it did not matter now. Nothing did. He would soon be returned to his friends, and this nightmare would soon be over.
Emotions ran freely as his limiter was finally overridden. The man could hear the voices of his friends calling out across the blasted field, carried by the death-winds over the distant hills. Nonexistent tears streaked down the length of his cheeks, and at last he was at peace.
My friends…I can't wait to meet you soon! Wait for me!
As he looked around for the last time, regret – no, it probably could not have registered as such, but regret was the best it could be defined – filled his mind as the architecture of the Theocracy entered his vision.
But truly…what had it all been for in the end?
Light was, and Surshanna knew no more.