Chapter 204: Gods on Mission

Above the planet, in the silence of outer space—

Space rippled.

Not shattered.

Not torn.

It rippled, like water disturbed by an unseen hand.

Five figures stepped out.

Divine aura spilled from them, not violently, but with the quiet pressure of inevitability. The kind that made existence itself feel lesser.

Three men.

Two women.

At the front stood their leader.

Black hair, long and wild, drifting freely in the void.

Black eyes, empty and cold, as if the fate of worlds was nothing more than an accounting entry.

He wore a white-and-gold swordsman’s uniform, immaculate, bearing the same symbol as the others—three golden triangles connected into a single sigil. A massive greatsword rested on his back, bound in blue seals. In his hand floated a blue box, engraved with that same emblem, faint divine runes pulsing across its surface.

Behind him—

Two figures stood side by side.

A man and a woman.

Identical in appearance.

With smooth blue hair and clear green eyes. Their expressions were serene, almost detached, and both wore pristine white armor adorned with the same golden triangular symbol. Their divine aura was soft and stable, flowing evenly around them like calm water—controlled, disciplined, and dangerous in its restraint.

They seems to be twins.

Their divine aura was soft, controlled—like a blade kept sheathed, but sharp enough to kill the moment it was drawn.

To their right stood another man.

Pale yellow hair.

Pale yellow eyes.

Short-haired, muscular, his body honed like a weapon.

He wore a martial artist’s uniform, simple but reinforced with divine threads, the same sigil stamped on the back. His aura was dense and oppressive, pressing outward in waves that bent space subtly around him.

On the far left hovered a woman.

Floating slightly behind them was a woman clad in white mage robes trimmed with gold. A large witch’s hat with elegant golden lace shadowed her face, while long light-violet hair spilled down her back. In her hand she held a golden staff crowned with wing-shaped ornaments, and her black eyes reflected nothing but cold efficiency.

She held a golden staff topped with outspread wings, its core glowing with restrained power.

The five of them looked down.

Below them—

The planet Orimund.

Intact and alive.

The massive white sphere of divine mana hung above it, descending slowly, casting blinding light across the world.

The mage woman exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple with visible annoyance.

“…Tch.”

She adjusted her grip on the staff.

“Let’s get this over with quickly,” she said tiredly.

Her words were cut off by the pale-yellow–haired man beside her. He didn’t raise his voice, nor did he look angry, but the calm authority in his tone made the space around them feel heavier.

“Watch your words,” he said. “The Higher Gods sent us to purge the mortal realm. Do not scoff at a task given by them, Lilithara.”

She turned sharply toward him, eyes flashing.

“Oh, don’t lecture me, Drakthar,” she replied, gripping her staff a little tighter. “You seem to forget something. We are gods as well. Minor gods, yes—but gods nonetheless.”

Her gaze drifted back toward the planet, irritation deepening.

“Why are we doing this? Three divine soldiers from the God Realm would be more than enough to wipe out a mortal world.”

Before Drakthar could respond, a lighter voice entered the conversation.

“I heard the Higher Gods made this decision because there’s a divine being present in the mortal realm.”

The blue-haired woman smiled as she spoke, her expression bright and almost playful despite the gravity of the situation. She glanced sideways at the man standing beside her.

“Isn’t that right, Zephyros?”

Her twin nodded, arms folded calmly across his chest.

“Yes,” Zephyros said. “That is what the information suggests.”

Lilithara frowned, clearly unsatisfied.

“But that still doesn’t expl—”

She stopped mid-sentence.

Their leader had turned toward her.

Black eyes met hers, and a faint, controlled smile appeared on his face—not mocking, not warm, but final.

“We were given an order, Lilithara,” he said evenly. “And we will follow it.”

He lifted his hand, and the blue box floated forward, hovering between them. Divine runes pulsed softly along its surface, the power within unmistakable.

“And besides,” he continued, voice calm but carrying weight, “we were entrusted with this.”

His gaze swept across the group.

“Do you truly believe the Higher Gods would place an artifact of this caliber in the hands of ordinary divine soldiers?”

Lilithara opened her mouth, then paused.

No retort came.

She exhaled slowly and looked away, irritation giving way to reluctant acceptance.

“…Fine.”

The leader nodded once.

“Good. Then we destroy the mortal realm quickly and return.”

The corner of his lips curved upward just slightly.

“After that, I’ll treat all of you to star skewers—made personally by the God of Cooking.”

For a brief moment, the tension dissolved.

“…The real ones?”

“You’re serious?”

“I heard those only get served once every few centuries…”

Even Drakthar’s stern expression softened, just a little.

Above the doomed world below, five gods stood at ease—

utterly unaware that their task would not unfold the way they expected.

The leader raised the blue box.

With a soft click, its lid opened.

Inside rested a small golden ring—no larger than a bracelet—its circumference marked with several protruding segments, each etched with divine runes so fine they seemed woven rather than carved.

He lifted it out.

The artifact floated free of his hand, suspended in space.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then the ring began to grow.

Slowly at first, expanding outward as if unfolding from a higher dimension, its golden surface stretching without distortion. In seconds, it reached several meters across… then kept growing, stabilizing only when it stood at nearly seven meters in diameter, rotating gently, runes igniting one by one along its rim.

The leader’s voice was calm.

“Get ready.”

All four nodded.

They moved into position, each standing near a different segment of the ring’s outer edge, placing a hand against its surface. The artifact hummed in response, recognizing them instantly.

The leader extended his hand toward the planet below.

“Begin.”

Mana surged.

From the twins flowed streams of blue and green divine light, perfectly synchronized, their energies intertwining like twin currents of the same river. Lilithara’s violet mana followed, elegant and refined, while Drakthar’s poured forth in dense waves of pale yellow, heavy with raw force. From the leader himself came an orangish-red stream—calm, dominant, binding all the others together.

At the center of the ring, their energies merged.

A small sphere of white divine mana formed, no larger than a football, pulsing steadily as if alive.

One by one, they withdrew their hands.

The ring fell silent.

The sphere drifted forward.

As it moved, it began to expand.

Ten meters.

A hundred.

Two hundred.

By the time it crossed the void toward the planet, it had grown into a colossal white mass—nearly three hundred kilometers in diameter—radiating pure annihilation. Space itself bent away from it, light refracting wildly at its edges.

The leader turned his back.

“Goodbye, mortal world.”

The twin woman glanced down once more, her expression neutral.

“Strange,” she said softly. “Even though we all originated from there… I don’t feel any attachment.”

No one disagreed.

They began to leave.

Behind them, a blinding white light erupted—brighter than any star.

The leader didn’t turn.

“Let’s go.”

They took a final glance back.

And froze.

The planet was still there.

Intact.

Unbroken.

Alive.

The white sphere was gone.

In its place—

Something was moving.

Coming toward them.

The silence of space shattered.

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