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A/N: Happy New Year guys. Hope you accomplish whatever it is you set out to in 2024.
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Bombardment rains from the Sky, its target? The Beast of Progression. After the debacle at various military bases, nearly all planes and drones have changed from being manned by ordinary people to controlled by AIs, or Magi and Martial Artists who- as it turns out- have a level of resistance against the God's madness-inducing influence.
" Target inbound! Everybody, prepare yourself."
It beats the Martial Artists how a million-dollar-worth airplane has such a shitty sound system, but complaints can wait after they've defeated this Threat to Mankind. "Everyone–" Bakugou raises his arm to rally the sullen Martial Artists. "Let's show these useless Magi how we fucking ROLL!" None responds to his cry…
They're well-aware of their positions in the food-chain.
If not for the fact they have nowhere to run, unlike many Magi Houses, they would have escaped with their families ages ago. In fact, evacuation is already in order, and the ones who're here are all elderly- people who don't have much time left, but they are, without a doubt, Grandmasters of their respective region and country. "Kacchan…" Izuku hesitates.
Most of them have lived a life of greatness- not necessarily good, but they dragged themselves out of retirement with the hope they may carve out a place in the ever-marching river of history or simply to preserve their Lineage.
They have made peace with the fact they may lose their lives in the process,
At least they thought they had,
But now that they're nearing the Demon and feeling the effect of his powers, fear grips their hearts.
It is not the fear of Death, else they would have never gotten on this flight, and without their tacit agreement, who could've forced them? No, this isn't fear at all… It is the opposite of Hope, it is Despair.
Of course, tales of mortals transcending Divinity litter history, unfortunately those Heroes of Old were all related to the Divines, and since the passing of the Age of Gods; following by the decay of the Age of Heroes, achieving Immortality has been naught but a beautiful dream. Without actual Immortals, Demigods or Gods, the truth is there's no one in the current Era able to stand toe-to-toe against true Divinity, especially one as demonic and destructive as the ancient Evil Spirit who's threatening to swallow Humanity whole.
Perhaps, loath as they are to admit it, only the Wielders of the True Magics or the Apostle Ancestors- the wicked demons who sustain themselves on the blood of the Living, can. Last they checked, none of these beings has offered to lend a helping hand, none beyond the Wizard Marshall Zelretch, and even the vampiric troll has refused to fight for Humanity, claiming this is a hurdle they must overcome by themselves.
"You bastards…" The explosive Master grits his teeth. "We haven't fought yet, and you're already admitting defeat? Are you serious?!" Over a hundred glares fall on the young Martial Artist. "Where's your determination? Where's your backbones?! Have they been swallowed by dogs?!"
He can't stand it… He really can't. Martial Arts, at its foundation, preach Righteousness and Will, yet here they are- a group of the strongest Practitioners in the world, already giving up the battle.
"You disrespectful brat, what did you say?!"
An elderly man, wielding a spear, jumps to his feet like a cat whose tail has been stomped on multiple times. "Mind your tongue!" He scowls, brandishing his weapon.
"What?" The blonde tilts.
"Afraid of the truth? You look like a bunch of resigned bags of bones, and it's pissing me the Hell off." Bakugou walks forwards. "So what if I am disrespectful? What're you gonna do about it?" Their foreheads are basically touching with how close they are. Trading glares, their auras surge as Bakugou spits. "You are all so proud usually, yet after encountering a bit of hardship, you immediately give up. Are Martial Artists not supposed to stand with our backs straight? Tall, unwavering?"
His fists clench. "Practice what you preach, dammit!"
"I'd hardly call an Evil God, ' a bit of hardship', young man." A Grandmaster mumbles, letting loose an exhausted sigh as another joins him. "As the old saying goes: A young calf knows no fear. Leave the kid be, Jin-Woo."
But the other Grandmaster refuses to stand down.
In the end, it isn't really his fault.
They're delivering themselves to Death's door, and tension's high,
A fight breaking out is practically unavoidable. If he hadn't started it, someone else would have, plus 'Kacchan' is also relatively well-known in their community for having a toxic tongue which can upset even the most patient of Saints. "Screw that! This little bastard beat a descendent of mine black and blue three years ago, and since we are dying anyway, might as well get even now!" Jin-Woo swings his spear, about to charge forth only to feel a heavy hand lands on his shoulder.
"Save your strength for the real battle." A gruff, yet surprisingly gentle voice sounds next to his ear. Turning to find an imposing man, wearing a plain white Gi, with his long- flowing hair tied in a messy ponytail, he glares. "Mind your own business!" The grip on his shoulder tightens all of a sudden. "We're in hostile territory. Dispute will weaken us."
The muscular man advises again, but lying underneath the gentleness is a harshness that everyone notices. Jin-Woo, the Spearmaster growls.
"Who the Hell are you?!"
"Eun-Wol of the Black Origin School."
Though separated by the ocean, the Martial Community's a close-knitted one, and hence nearly everyone has heard of the Berserker who was banished due to his practice of the forbidden, yet highly-coveted power distribution technique known as the [Art of Black Heaven]. Much like the [Nine Yin Manual,
The [Sunflower Manual] or even the lesser [Evil-Repelling Sword Style, which have left a trail of deaths and destruction every time they reappear, the [Art of Black Heaven]'s extremely powerful. Every Practitioner is, undoubtedly, a well-known character in their World. Eun-Wol's no exception to this rule. "Eun-Wol, you are–!"
The Demon who slaughtered all the Martial Alliance Chiefs of his country- the Berserker. "Please…"
Inky blackness seeps into his sclera as he revolves his Ki according to the technique. "Sit back down. We can't afford to fight each other right now."
" He'S rIgHt, yOu KnOw?" An amused voice teases through the speakers. " yOU mAggOts reAllY can'T affOrd aNy iNfiGhTinG. buT, frOm whAt I'vE heaRd, huMans are eAsier tO raLLy toGetHer wHeN thErE's a CommOn enemY, so LemmE giVe y'All a quIcK reMinDer–"
The aircraft-carrier rocks as the remaining Grandmasters rise from their seats. " Fuck! The bastard just took out one of our engines! Brace yourselves for impact, we're going down!" The Martial Artists furrow their brows as the cargo door bursts open. " Grab your parachutes! The plane's done. I repeat, the plane's gone!"
Unfortunately, with over a hundred Martial Practitioners from various regions inside, the plane simply doesn't have the equipment to accommodate them all… The silver lining is: While not every Grandmaster can claim to be an expert in Movement Techniques, theirs isn't anything to scoff at either. Of course, falling at a high altitude will still prove troublesome even for them, hence why most decide to wait until the plane's near ground-level, before making their moves.
Most cushion their feet with Ki;
A few straight up let themselves plummet to the ground, not a hint of emotions on their faces;
The rest utilize a variety of techniques to break their falls.
Izuku and Bakugou fall in the third category, one breaking his fingers to cause bursts of air; the other whirling like a tornado as he slows his descent with explosions. Though scattered, the group of Martial Practitioners are not far away from their target. In fact, they can see the Magi of the Brigade a little than a mile away. Chests heaving tiredly, looking worse-for-wear.
These Grandmasters would've laughed their asses off seeing the usually high-n'-mighty now reduced to sniveling messes, their knees bent; yet facing the Evil God, who's already wrought destruction upon two entire countries, they can not find it in themselves to laugh at the stuck-up bunch of ' Truth-Seekers'.
There's no point, since chances are, they won't fare much better. "Took you monkeys long enough." One of the Brigade mutters, before throwing himself at the Beast, molten gold flowing from his sleeves. With a taunting smile, the Evil God heaves- breathing in the liquefied metal, smacking his lips all the while as though having devoured the tastiest of treats. " Hm…" He hums. " nOt HalF bAd. CoUld usE a LiTtle sEaSoninG thoUgh."
Fear's etched on his face as he stops- Nay, is forced to stop by an invisible Barrier which seems to shield the Beast from all physical attacks. Then, he burps, clawing at his throat as his greatest achievement- his pride: The pool of refined Orichalcum gets teleported in his stomach.
"Argh!" The Magus howls in agony, veins pulsating golden as he drops in a fetal position. "Ho- How?!"
The God rolls his eyes, blowing at his blackened claws. " IT aiN't noThing sPeciaL. I mERelY repLaCed yoUr blOOd wiTh yoUr MyStic COdE." From his clenched palm, a ball of crimson appears, restlessly shifting and bubbling, clearly forced in that shape which is likely what causes the odd behaviors. " IzU-chAn, KaCChan! It'S beEn tOo lOnG! HoW's SaSaKi-chaN?" The two Real Masters narrow their eyes when addressed, the blonde more so than his stuttering rival.
"Leo–"
Bakugou sends his childhood rival a harsh glare.
"I don't know how or why you're reduced to… This–" Hissing, the blonde clenches his fists. "But I will beat the evils out of you, if I have to."
" Oh?"
The God tilts his head ever-so slightly. " AnD hOW dO yoU plAn oN dOiNg tH–?" In a split second, Bakugou's foot finds its way near his temple, yet the Beast's expression does not at all fluctuate.
Putting his forearm up, the Gold blocks the strike, smile unwavering as fire erupts where their limbs make contact.
"DEKU!" As if they have had centuries of experiences, the two talented Martial Masters launch into action, their movements syncing smoothly. On the surface, they seem to have the upper-hand, but upon a closer look, the God's silhouette; concealed by a curtain of dirt, dusts and smoke; has yet to budge nor move from his initial position. It looks like he hasn't suffered whatsoever, instead it's the Masters who grimace, their fists and shins bruised and bleeding from the impacts. "Dammit–"
The heated cuss hasn't left his lips for more than a second, when Bakugou feels his legs being seized.
The blonde casts a glance to the side to find ' Deku' in the same predicament pretty much, neither able to free themselves from the iron-grip restraining them. " ArE YoU dOnE?" Their tongues, too, fail them as the dust clears. " mY tUrN tHen."
Revealing a wicked- devilish grin that feels oddly… Innocent, the two don't even see how it happens as his fists blur, imbedding in their solar plexuses.
Magnum- or what's left of him must've held back;
Bakugou and Izuku know it, otherwise their intestines and innards would have decorated the pavements by now. Deku's eyes widen as he feels a slight glimmer of Hope. Although his body's still groaning and protesting, the Master rips himself out of the human-shaped hole he's made on the wall, stammering. "You- You didn't kill us…" Tapping his feet impatiently, the Beast briefly allows confusion to cross his face,
Even making an effort to force his deranged worshippers to stay their hands. "You could–" The Martial Master swallows a gulp of blood surging up his throat, continuing. "You could've killed us easily, yet you did not… There has to be a reason for that."
Resolute gaze meets an astonished one. "I know you're still in there, Leo!"
The later quickly averts, presumably defeated. "Please, it's not too late to turn back. Let these people go, and–"
The Martial Grandmasters and Magi stand / kneel- rooted, watching the Beast's shoulders tremble weakly, lips twitching as they bite back the urge to shout, 'Are you serious? That's it's needed to stop him?!' For a moment, they dare hope the Master will be able to get through to the Magi-turned-God. Their wish's dashed as the God throws his head back, howling madly. " Pffft! ReAllY, aRE yoU acTualLy tRyInG TaLk no JUtSU oN mE?"
Even though his sockets are filled with a blazing, toxic flame, the group can practically feel the disdain radiating off of them. " WhAt kInD oF twO-BiT viLLaIn dO yOu thInK I Am?"
The Beast rolls his eyes, taking flight with ease. " BoRing… YoU all bOrE me. I HAd sUch hIgH exPectAtionS, aNd noNe of YOu mEetS–" An arrow shoots towards him, its destination? The Beast's neck, but it fails to even get within fifty meters before dark dust sprouts as it turns to dust, then molecules. " eVeN if LoRelei has FaiLed; eveN if It'S nOt yoUr UniVerse, I wAs hOpinG–"
He lets out a quiet sigh, his gaze trained on Izuku as he angrily scolds. " AS a PrOtaGoniSt, yoU ouGht tO bE asHameD oF yoUrSelf!" The Grandmasters instantly jump to action, hoping to take the Beast by surprise, but the distance between them, which seems tiny at first, keeps widening the closer they approach.
"DIE, DEMON!"
One screams;
"SLAY HIM ON BEHALF OF THE HEAVENS!"
Another adds;
"""KILL!"""
The rest follows.
" KiLL tHeM."
Expression unchanging, the God commands and the madness that has been restrained by his Divinity previously, erupts.
— False Sovereignty —
Born from a spherical-shaped rock, the Persian God of the Sun, Justice and War rises once more.
The Era has already changed, and his worshippers are few and far in-between, but Mithras knows it is only a matter of time before the Persian hordes rally behind him again… Basking in the gentle light, the armored God whirls around- sensing the Descent of another Divinity.
The Divine Spirit's face twists in displeasure. Persia's his territory, but the birth of Christianity and Islam have made his presence seemingly obsolete. "Oh, no…"
While the rest of the Saviors are welcomed by millions, none- except the Magi responsible for his Summoning- is here to witness his arrival. Robe fluttering behind his back, he narrows his eyes as a ball of white descends in the distant, followed by thunderous roars of the mortals.
Completely ignoring the Magi who shout and wave and scream for his attention, the God takes off. "Shit… Shit. SHIT! I knew it. I fucking knew it! We should have waited longer!"
"Are they going to fight?!"
Mithras, filled with a sense of purpose, self-righteousness and indignation, soars towards the source of the commotion. He doesn't even bother with the people. As he gets closer, the Divinity emanating from the descending being becomes palpable.
With each beat of his wings, he accelerates, wishing to confront this new arrival head-on.
As he reaches the epicenter of the chaos, Mithras halts in awe. Before him stands a figure of unimaginable power, radiating an aura that humbles even the mighty Persian God. Next comes the bloodthirsty urge to lay waste to the Divine Spirit who has stolen his glory. This being, clad in robes of iridescent white, exudes an energy that rivals the intensity of the sun.
The crowd of mortals surrounding the divine spectacle falls silent, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and reverence. Mithras can sense their faith, their belief in this newfound Deity. It is a belief that he has sorely missed in his absence.
The newly descended god, sensing the presence of Mithras, turns to face him. His eyes, unexpectedly ordinary, meet with Mithras' own fiery gaze.
There is a moment of recognition between them, an understanding shared beyond mere words.
"Lord Mithras."
The new arrival says, his voice resonating with a timbre that encompasses the heavens. "The ancient Persian God of the Sun, Justice, and War.
Although not openly worshipped, your presence is still cherished by those who seek light and truth."
Mithras bows his head, acknowledging the divine being before him. "I am, indeed, Mithras. You're the one who has stolen my glory?"
The newly arrived deity smiles, a serene expression that instills both reassurance and awe. "It is Humanity's decision to pick their Patron. I've not forced their hands, nor do I wish to quarrel. I believe you're here for the same reason as I." The God of Justice nods. "The Ancient Evil- Ahriman has descended. I shall deal with him first–" His gaze sweeps across the sandy terrain, before returning to meet Christ's.
"And then I'll deal with you, False One." Mithras threatens, yet in contrast to his expectations, Christ merely nods once in acknowledgement, before turning to the group of mortals again. After restoring the sight of a blind man, he immediately moves on to the next person in line while the sea of people clamors. "Tsk! Pretentious…"
Turning to the mortals, Mithras yells- his voice carried by on gusts of wind. "I am Mithras- the God of the Sun, Justice and Warfare! I'm here to hunt down Ahriman- the Embodiment of Evil, those who wish to be immortalized as Heroes, follow me!"
The humans pause, shielding their eyes as a fiery halo behind the God explodes, resembling a miniature Sun.
Their wretched hearts, all of a sudden, are filled with dreams glory and battles as they unconsciously gravitate towards the Persian God. " FIGHT, OR BE FORGOTTEN!"
"""FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"""
Those who join the cheers are predominantly the youths, unlike the population of the elderly, sick and crippled which decide to follow Christ in hope of being cured of their ailments. "FOR MITHRAS! FOR HUMANITY!"
Colorful motes split from his halo, before transforming into armor-shaped Mystic Codes and descending on the group.
Many who don it feel a rush of vitality and strength,
But not all are worthy of the Persian God's blessings. The majority are incinerated the very moment the Mystic Codes touch them, reduced to atoms by the heat of the Sun as a result of the sinful lives they've lived;
And then there are the few who only get a small warning via the Sun Crest seared into their skin, yet are otherwise fine-n'-dandy. Their new Artifacts come with capes as well, capes that very quickly transform into large, ethereal wings to carry them to the Sky. Despite never having the ability to fly before, they do so with experience and grace, rising to create a Legion of thousands. Excitement surges amongst the newly-formed Legion as their Patron forms a simple Swordspear twice his size.
"From here on forth, you're a part of my Legion of Light! Follow me to GLORY!"
Flapping their huge wings, the Legion takes off whilst the robed Savior merely shakes his head at their antics.
He cannot judge, not after what he did in the Old Testament as the Demiurge Yaldabaoth, but it'll be lying to say he isn't disgusted with such behaviors: To seek War, when one can instead have Peace. Perhaps, out of the four Saviors who have descended to Earth, only the Lord Buddha harbors thoughts to rehabilitate the Beast like him.
The other two are warmongers who will never entertain such a plan as a result of their Nature.
From what he can see, Kalkin has already begun to purge the Sinners- Murders have to relive the crimes of their past; thieves get their hands cut off; the tongues of scammers and liars have swelled to the point of leaking pus; as for the politicians who thrive on the suffering of others… And still, he's not done, seemingly determined to bring misery and agony in the form of Divine Punishments.
Weird, for while Christ had expected the Persian War God to be ruthless, it had never crossed his mind it'd the Hindu Lord of Order to draw the first-blood.
"Humanity will have a tough time."
Christ sighs.
Gods are not merciful-
Even his Father wasn't kind at the beginning, though given the state of the World when they were formed from the hopes of Mankind, it is not that odd.
The Love most Gods grant Humanity is the same kind a distant owner will give their pets, and when pets get disobedient, they may even punish them in ways that seem right and just for them, but are unimaginable tortures for the majority of mortals. What he's most afraid of is the possibility of a Divine War breaking out, not because he's afraid of the Pantheons, but the fact stands Humanity will suffer a catastrophe if the situation isn't handled right.
"I've sacrificed myself for Humanity once…"
He whispers while absentmindedly healing a man from final stage AIDS.
The mortal doesn't deserve his help, yet Christ bestows it upon him all the same.
'I can do it again.'
His Divinity flares even brighter at the thought, though for the mortals who're receiving help, it makes no difference.
— False Sovereignty —
One-shot…
She was one-shot by him.
Decades of reigning over the Tower as the undisputed Overlord; worshipped and revered by all, wasted in but a second.
Lorelei's unnamed Mystic Eyes couldn't even see what he did, just that the Beast demolished her with a snap, and Ambrose has to heal her. Her wounds were so severe that afterwards his hair, which was once lustrous despite his age, has turned into broken strands that resemble straws.
"Ambrose…"
The Queen of the Clock Tower whispers, staring into his milky; no longer functional eyes. "Milady–" The Butler's voice is weak- fragile, and before he can finish a sentence, a string of coughs has already interrupted him. "Are you fee- feeling fine?"
Ambrose strains to maintain his composure, his weakened body trembling and feverish with exhaustion.
"Oh, what have you done to yourself?" The Barthomeloi questions, grabbing his shoulders to stop him from falling. As it turns out, even the Queen isn't completely emotionless, not with how teary she appears. Ambrose replies with a smile, "I've only done what's expected of me, Milady." Back then, when he was captured and had a Sealing Designation on him, he was saved by an arrogant young Heiress.
She wasn't even the Heiress of the Bluebloods,
Merely a talented descendant they're nurturing.
The price Lorelei paid to save his life's worth at least ten of him.
Ambrose has followed her since. Although many question his decision, the Half-Incubus has never once regretted it. "I- I'm afraid I won't be able to serve you any longer, Milady."
Blood seeps from his mouth as he reminisces. It feels like just yesterday Lorelei's still standing to his waist, requiring his help in many matters- both official and not. With a blink, the image of that young girl's replaced by the woman in front of him. "I- I really wanted to walk you down the aisle…"
The woman's voice, usually quiet and reserved- allowing only anger to manifest, chokes with emotions. "No! There has to be something I can do." Her Mystic Eyes activate, flaring with powers as his form devolves into strings of numbers and letters- Codes. "I can still heal you."
Ambrose's weakened voice calls out, a mix of gratitude and sorrow. "There is nothing that can heal me now. This is a sacrifice I willingly made for you, for the Tower, and for our cause. I have served you faithfully, and I am content with the life I have lived."
Tears stream down Lorelei's face as she watches the man she has grown to love, the man who has been her pillar of strength, fade away before her eyes. She can feel the power of her Mystic Eyes surging, desperately trying to preserve Ambrose's waning Life-Force, but be it Martial Arts or Magecraft, both follow the Law of Equivalent Exchange.
A life for a life.
But Ambrose gently takes her hand, his touch growing fainter. "There is no point in resisting it. I was supposed to have died long ago anyway."
With those final words, the aging Butler- unable to hold on- dissipates into particles of light, leaving behind only a lingering essence of his presence. Lorelei is left alone in the darkness, her heart shattered as she collapses weakly. Hollow eyes staring straight ahead, following the numerical lines none can see, none except her. "Milady…" A hand touches her shoulder, jerking the Queen back to reality.
The silence which once filled her mind is quickly replaced by the incessant howls of the Demons outside, combined with the constant clanking of weapons and explosions rocking the pile of rubbles she's kneeling on. "Lo- Lord Ambrose–"
"He's gone."
Slowly, she rises, her expression cold as she exits the building. Disfigured, the Demons turn to the new arrival, their deformed faces twist as if to mock the Queen's loss. With a flick of her finger, over a hundred are mowed down, giving the Martial Alliance and the Brigade a moment to catch their breath…
The Barthomeloi's eyes sweep the crowd in search of her enemy, before moving up to the Hotel where the Beast has resumed his seat, face slack in boredom. "LEONIS!" The pulsing mass filled with eyeballs covering half his face casts a glance at Lorelei. " iT's unBecOmiNG tO sCrEam, MiLadY. WhEre'S yoUr deCorUm?"
Knees bending, she leaps atop the Hotel, landing just a few feet away from him, but does not attack. "Why are you doing this?" Lorelei speaks through gritted teeth. "If you wanted, I'd not have a corpse left… You alone are enough to destroy Humanity, so why haven't you done it?"
The Beast leans on his Throne.
" tHiS agAin? Do I nEeD a ReAsoN tO spArE yOuR lIfE? AS fOr thE mortalS–"
He reveals a toothy smile.
" CaLL thIS aN exPeriMent oF sOrT. YOu MaGi are qUiTe fOnd oF tHaT, rIgHt? I mEreLy wAnt to sHoW, wiThoUt thE fEaR oF conSequences, tHe TrUth'S HuMaNs aRe NO DiFFerEnt fROM DeMoNs, anD gUeSS wHaT?"
Climbing down the Throne, he spreads his arms. " I wAs RiGhT."
Lorelei challenges. "Are you?"