In the ethereal realm of the supreme god, Marcus Fulcinius Eumenius, his words reverberated with pain and determination. "She is not you. She will be perished. I will not let anyone portray as you."
As he spoke, his mind spiraled back in time, and the dark clouds veiled his eyes, transporting him to a vivid memory. He found himself standing in a celestial realm, where a woman rushed toward him, clutching something in her hand.
"Marcus, wait! I can't run after you much longer," the woman panted, her voice filled with effort.
The young boy named Marcus regarded the woman with curiosity. "Divine Mother, you tire so easily. If you can't keep up with me, how could you chase after those wicked demons? Aren't you the embodiment of the divine? Aren't you the symbol of strength? Why aren't you demonstrating your strength to me?"
