1st Century AD, A village somewhere in Western Europe

He was more human than anyone.

He was God's greatest failure.

Robbyn—his name was. A sparkling young adult, his chest adorned with emerald enthusiasm as if it were a cherished blessing.

His heart was embedded tightly in the village, a place that nurtured him so dearly that even the River Rhine couldn't shake it away.

Like a sapling, he grew there drop by drop, raised by the elixir of care. 

He loved and was loved because he was the kindest of his kin. Because he could guide them all to the path of solace. 

It was his heart that cast a luminosity that embraced every nook and cranny of the village, a brilliance that outshone even the radiant Sun itself.

Whether it be the cumbersome acts of slinging out grains in the barn with the women or the grueling task of plowing the fields with the ragged iron-tipped tools, he would always be there, giving a hand to people even before they needed one. 

 His heart accommodated the craving to peel all barriers of isolation and ignorance. It brimmed with all the possibilities to dilute the acid of blockades to human tenderness.

He was the arm that would guide people through the lightless alleys.

He was the peak that dulled the shadows. 

However, in his corner of the world, people resented his kind. His people.

They abhorred them. 

It was one hot day, the front entrance of the puny village was broken through by soldiers who didn't possess ears.

Robbyn tried his best to convince those powerful men, but when both the small and elderly were slain alike, he had to resort to the only thing he despised the most.

 Only then, for the first time, he recognized that earless people weren't going to be convinced by words.

Nor the people who lacked heart could stop killing.

Words weren't going to change anything.

His giant heart was conceivably unasked for. It wasn't enough.

Instead, he had to be heartless to protect his people. It was imperative for him to be a merciless, ruthless animal—to be an apathetic force that wouldn't spare anyone attempting to breach the sacrosanct boundary, the one that threatened to harm his dear ones.

He was disappointed by that reality. Almost so that his will to live seemed to rust like the weapons he swore never to touch.

Because, even though he wished to forgive and forget, let live and live freely, his obligation couldn't even begin to look at that side of the field.

His humaneness had an unending depth, much like the rope that draws out the hope of life from the rugged wells of his village. 

But, his duty confined him, and his confinement dutied him.

He, alone, undertook the melancholic task of burying every single individual who couldn't shield themselves from the ruthless assaults that were meant to be repelled by his words that tried to change the enemy.

He dug one hole, then two, and then four. Using the shovel that almost crushed him with its immense weight of blood that ran through the handle.

The pungent smell of corpses made his body unmovable at times but the peaceful faces that'd drifted into the void made his hands shake forward.

Hate seeped beneath his fingernails like a centipede—trying to trip him into the flames of atrocities. 

This horrible-horrible fate had been sewn to his skin with the thread of animosity and suspicion.

Robbyn's village was regarded as the 'Robber of the Golden River'. A messy misunderstanding gave birth to such a label.

There were no chances to talk it out.

There was no choice but to fight it out.

His village endured a ceaseless barrage of both petty and substantial attacks, echoing the unyielding strikes of an ironmaster's mallet. Each passing day saw a gradual erosion of the metal that was characterized by their wonted way of life.

The churning of bones and the metallic tang of blood rolling out through the unmade roads of his village saddened Robbyn to a depth beyond mere anguish.

However, his rusted will to live still reflected the light.

The light that was brought by someone else.

 "Why wouldn't people love? Why wouldn't people just give up their weapons?" He frequently implored God in the worn-out church, his footsteps cutting through the hushed dust that clung to the air.

The neglected woodwork bore the scars of time's indifference, a testament to the toll exacted by the war. Sometimes, it was subject to the redolence gifted to it by the tip-tap rain, instilling a drifting sense of hope that had become indispensable for the death-ridden villagers.

 Robbyn, despite the terrible situation of the church, wholeheartedly believed in God. His faith ran so deep that he would willingly descend from a cliff blindfolded, trusting in God's guidance. 

If he was the guiding arm for his people, then God was his boiling torch.

 After the mass burial, every day he laid traps—harmless enough not to take one's life throughout the day and returned later, with his clothes scarred and shabby, only to seek solace in the act of prayer.

He'd throw himself in front of the barricade that separated his village from the outside world, if he had any time to spare after all the trap-laying, knowing very well that he was the pillar everyone relied on.

But he couldn't spare losing a single patriot who'd willingly become a meat shield for his fellow comrades other than him. 

Standing at the dead-ends, he'd try his best to stop the shivering that attempted to break his determination not knowing that it was crucial to give into fear at times.

He walked front and back to forget the terror of losing everything and at the same time remembering that taking a life wasn't something that he could achieve in his lifetime. 

Resisting the crippling act of killing, he refused to stain his hands with the warm, crimson liquid, determined not to grow accustomed to it. For he knew, that if he were to develop a taste for the toxic swamp, he'd no longer be a human. 

He'd contemplate killing someone whenever a weapon was forcibly handed to him but the guilt would stab his gut right away, incapacitating him.

However, his opinion didn't matter in front of the great chariot which led the survival of his village. So, if he dreaded killing, others moved forward to die. 

If his hands wavered, others would sacrifice their limbs.

That was why he prayed to the almighty, the all-knowing who he believed would one day save his world.

 Honestly, it didn't matter to him if God really existed or not, it was his love for the force that could unite everyone that made him pray.

 He might not accept it if asked for, but for him, God was simply a manifestation of the force, the truth.

 The truth that brewed the drink of love for all.

 A truth so objective, so universal, that the only opposition it faced were not smart words, but brute force.

 Unfortunately for him, no enemy was interested in his "out-of-touch" ideals which couldn't practically glue any cracks that evolved throughout generations, through every father to his son. 

 Through every mother to her daughter.

Even as his villagers were slain one by one, he'd sing a love song for the enemy in an attempt to change their nature, much like the court bards of the king whose rule his village resisted.

Even if he knew the words would just pass from one ear to the other.

He could not simply miss a chance. 

 "Truth was meaningless if the masses wouldn't agree to it," His village men repeatedly reminded him whenever his hands were struck motionless, much like the sturdy rock that acted as a first-line barrier between his village and the malicious forces, during the trap-setting periods.

 It went without saying that people often jumped over the rock, just like his duty did—which very much ensured that Robbyn would take all measures to protect his village at any cost.

Even at the price of his life.

A plebeian standing firmly without a single weapon in the frontlines, chanting love songs looked no less than foolhardy but things like that didn't bother him in the slightest.

But the villagers were bothered very much, conversely, their spirits were also lifted by the troublemaker himself.

 From the outside, Robbyn was like a sunflower always facing the sunshine, so even if they couldn't possibly live by Robbyn's ideologies, they adored him unbearably.

Robbyn was their soul, something that looked invincible from the outside but was weak from the inside. 

It was the war that attacked right in his heart.

 The war didn't see any foresight of ending itself while the village's borders shortened day by day.

 For the villagers, it might not have appeared as a war but a simple genocide of their kin. 

It was the world against them. Their life against blindness.

 Their hope was their strongest warrior—Robbyn. 

Who was also their weakest in heart despite the ultimate resolve. 

The resolve to save people, to love people, to stop wars, and to end misunderstandings. 

 He'd set traps, warn their enemy, create blockades, and even pray for them to God. His dedication to protecting and praying gave the village a massive stronghold on which they could rely without a worry.

 Robbyn stiffly tied them in a box of bulwark, shrouding them from view. In this cocoon, their vision was limited, but the enveloping warmth of the box became a comforting embrace.

 Their dependency was as fragile as the thread that bound them, so delicate that a single cut could release a barrage of glass shards, leaving them thoroughly impaled.

All the villagers stayed firmly hidden behind the walls that were formed by Robbyn and the self-trained army's bodies that fought day and night for their existence.

Even their hearts had strengthened by a long shot, to the extent that when a river of blood flowed through the village streets, only a few tears mingled with the artificial stream.

For the soldiers, for Robbyn, for the dead bodies that came into the church only to be buried after some time, their eyes had to be sealed so none of the tears escaped.

 Their language, their dances, their lifestyle, their food—everything could be erased out of existence if that one fine line was crossed, and the possibilities of that weren't extremely low.

 Robbyn was getting tired, he was weakening akin to a bird that refrained from sustenance, dreading the prospect of flight. Because for Robbyn, this flight meant staining his hands with the weight of blood.

 So, God listened to their prayers.

Of course, God had no intention of losing one of the very few villages that fervently prayed to him, especially with a devotee so precious, a devotee too valuable to be left as they were.

 So, one of those damp days, within the feeble boundaries of the holy sanctum—when ruinous clouds obstructed all rays of hope—the villagers sought refuge beneath its tender walls. 

Under normal circumstances, the church would have been flooded with the crowd, but due to the continuous slashing brought by the war, the numbers dwindled just enough for all to find shelter.

It felt as though they'd eventually be stripped of the only clothes that protected them from the bone-chilling skirmish. 

Suddenly, just a single branch of divinity penetrated through the walls, mellowing all the devotees except Robbyn.

Their prayers had been fulfilled. God had paid heed to them.

They were saved.

Robbyn, swimming deep within the cavernous abyss of prayers, immediately noticed the seraphic presence on his skin. 

The light tinkered with his mental fortitude, bringing him out of the fortnight's foggy confines—fostering newfound clarity.

He floated up and finally gazed at the profound sight of the single branch that'd crept around Robbyn's sword which he had offered to God.

It was an olive branch around the sword, striking a formidable challenge to his heavenly heart in terms of sheer beauty.

Then it spoke—with a voice that transcended any mortal's, only to him. Only to his quivering ears.

"I am impressed. Thou art the sole true believer in this world full of fallacies and fabulations. Thou ought to be honored in some way, in some method…"

The Almighty pondered instantaneously as they shaped into the form of an orb, becoming a light source almost representing the sun itself. 

Before Robbyn could utter a single word, God announced something that'd bring out an unseen aspect that dwelled deep within Robbyn's heart.

"Oh, why don't thy become me? Thou can take over my position, thou can become the Almighty.

"Thou shalt become the next God.

"Then thou could save everyone, just like thou prayed on every occasion. Thou could save thy family, thy friends, and thy village."

Those words came as a loud thunderclap that reverberated through every single tissue in Robbyn's body, shaking him to his foundations.

It didn't pain him that his hands had been in the same posture for more than a day, nor did the fact that he hadn't absorbed a single proper bite of nutrition for a week.

It was those holy words that instilled a shade of pain that only he could see. A picture that only he could paint.

A quick moment it would've been for everyone in the room, but for Robbyn, it felt like an eternal thought process. He delved into numerous simulations, meticulously exploring the myriad of possibilities that unfolded before him. Yet, no matter how intricately he dissected each scenario, his ultimate verdict remained unwavering.

He then responded to the Almighty, without any words. 

Only a teacup of tears escaped his eyes, expressing the greatest form of rejection humanity had ever offered to God.

He had declined.

His boat was going to ride a terrifying wave, unseen to mankind. All his sailor senses screamed that a storm of divine rage would flip the boat carrying his tiny village.

But the twopence worth didn't waver from anger or disrespect. It maintained the divinity and politeness it once knocked on the door with, and proposed once more.

"Thou shalt become God, shan't you?" It was a blunt proposition with an erratic tone, leaving no space to breathe for Robbyn. 

The voice cornered him into accepting the offer, even though the light hadn't pressed him hard enough. Even though there were no signs of repercussions if the offer were to be rejected once again.

The weight of the voice simply overpowered Robbyn, pitting his humanity against his devotion. A part of him had already accepted surrendering his humanity to save his people.

Perhaps, it was his humanity, his nature that could make him feel like that.

It was coded into him to love and save people.

He didn't want to lose his humanity, the most precious gift he'd sewn into himself for two decades. Losing it would equal to death of his identity.

He would become a faceless soul.

But he decided that it was for the best to let himself die for the greater good.

For everyone whom he held dear.

And for everyone he didn't.

Robbyn stood tall, more than ever before, and looked back at his people who often took refuge behind his towering back and pushed it forward whenever the time came. Their calm smiles targeted at him validated his heart and the Brobdingnagian decision it took to become a God. 

He turned forward with his rosy eyes hiding behind the curtains, darkening the view only to find a torch relinquishing his thirst for some warmth. 

However, the warmth ferociously started dissolving him. His steel-like actuality melting drop by drop—liquifying and turning him into the vastness of the Danube River. 

He somehow maintained his consciousness, protecting it from dissipating into the river—retaining a part of his humanity. 

 It dangled thin in the rarefied breeze that was eroding his core without any care. It was hell.

A curse in disguise. 

A punishment for rejecting God once. 

Nevertheless, he saw an end to the painful experience. Robbyn walked to it, holding everything he held dear, clutching them so they wouldn't corrode by the acidic gust.

He ran, ran, and ran. Without seeing the goal, without seeing the exit, he jumped—taking off high.

In the end, after all, he saw the truth.

The Almighty stood there, taking a human form with an expression as sick as a parrot.

It wasn't a man or a woman, but rather a faint silhouette with a countenance that gleamed like the solitary moon casting its glow within a dimly lit room.

"I am very disappointed by thou. Thy constancy was unneeded, I did not ask thou to maintain thy quintessence. Ask thyself, why shalt I ask thou to become a God with even a jot of humaneness? Thou failed to become a God, tsk. Now I ought to go looking for another undoubting believer…" 

Midway through the monologue, the Almighty seemed to lose track of Robbyn, who stood with his head hung low, utterly disillusioned by the peculiar behavior of the one he believed would guide him to the truth.

"What about my village? Who will save them?" Even in the worst-case scenario, Robbyn's initial concern was for his people rather than himself, striving to ensure their well-being regardless of what might befall him.

"Oh, thou was still here. About thy throp, huh? I've to deliver thou bad news. Thou have to go through eternal damnation or whatever thy people believed. Thy people's fate is not on thy hands anymore. Let those pitiful creatures die."

Those words sounded to him nothing like what he once believed in. It was much more apathetic and drowned in its own thoughts.

 "You aren't the one who I believed, are you?" Robbyn asked God, retreating carefully towards a new exit where he could see his village people waiting for him.

 He had failed to become a God but he wasn't a human either. Not only could he sense the godliness in his veins but also the unsurmountable levels of love for his people integrated into his blood.

 He employed his divine powers to open a gate leading to his village while God was engrossed in a myriad of contemplations.

 "Thou shalt know better. Verily, I am not thy creature of fairy tales... naught of such ilk exists. God is a manmade creation, his existence is merely a rumor. 

 "I am what thou wouldst call The Original of all rumors. Verily, I am the truth and not a mere gossip. Though diverse minds may conceive me differently, I remain singular, unbound by the tapestry of human cultures.

 "I forged the universe, destined to reign until the end of time—or so I believed. Alas, it proved insufferably dull. Thus, I initiated hunts, seeking worthy specimens to transform into a God. Regrettably, none prevailed in the trials, and you, in all honesty, came closest. I must acknowledge that.

 "But failure is still failure. Thou art destined to rot in hell after being stripped of your new hybrid powers, as do the others who have faltered."

 Robbyn had heard enough. Despite the anger nearly surging from his fingertips, he preserved his composure and delivered a short message before swiftly leaping out of the dystopic chamber.

 "I cannot fathom that the Almighty would ever be one of the challenges I'd've had to face to save humans. But it's okay, I'll endure it, remaining half-god, half-human, striving to rescue my kind and guide them out of the dense fog of fallacies that you did not care to clear."

 He jumped backward, directing his fate to an uncharted road whilst escaping from the possible shackles that God could've imposed on him.

As he entered the village, his initial manifestation of divine prowess unfolded—a formidable barrier materialized, staunchly fending off the impending onslaught of enemies and thwarting any malevolent attempt by The Original God to seek revenge just for the sake of it.

 His overwhelming humanity pulled himself together to perform empyrean acts that weren't very Godlike but sowed the seeds of understanding and compromise.

Robbyn rescued his foes from the volcanic hatred spewing forth from bigoted leaders who skillfully manipulated the herd, akin to masterful shepherds guiding their flock.

Using his new powers, he put those lost sheeps in the villagers' shoes who had suffered an irreplaceable amount of loss and pain of losing their fathers, mothers, wives, sisters, brothers, and friends.

The pain had been served to them on a bronze plate, its contents filled with the memories of tears, sweat, and blood.

 The shivering taste of savagery produced by themselves filled their mouths, 

stinging their tastebuds. 

The scent of agony made breathing insufferable.

The ringing of children weeping deafened the army which felt they were fighting for the just.

Transformation occurs for understanding. 

Understanding changes everything.

Without a moment's hesitation, they abandoned their weapons at the boundaries of the scarred village and sought redemption by apologizing to the living in a manner no warrior had ever done before in the history of the land.

They helped rebuild the same village they'd once accused of being the Robber of the Golden River. Brick by brick, road by road, the warriors tried repaying for all the bloodshed even if they felt it didn't amount to anything.

For the first time in history, there came a period when warriors labored willingly not out of fear, duty, or the pursuit of wealth, but driven by a unifying emotion—love and a profound obligation to their fellow humans. 

Their actions were marked by selflessness, devoid of any expectation for compensation.

Robbyn found it to be an ideal tableau when a person sacrificed everything to help one of their kind, even without a personal acquaintance.

A dream that'd come true but not yet complete. 

Satisfied by the brotherhood displayed by their former enemies and their commitment to uphold it, he departed the village.

It was not over yet, he had to save more villages and more lives who faced grave danger in the same manner he once did.

 So, he set out.

To a journey that envisioned the end of all flames in Europe that melted humans from the fierce wrath instigated by their leaders.

He traversed countless villages, both grand and humble, feverishly sharing his beliefs like a devoted saint. The indifference of some listeners unswayed by the winds of change throughout their lives did not deter him. Nor did the occasional barrage of stones thrown by people, for he remained steadfast in his mission.

He never stopped talking.

However, countless sadists resided everywhere whose rock-hard hearts were impossible to melt. They found pleasure in others' agony and tortured them as their birthright.

Even his formidable powers occasionally bowed, fatigued from contending with such callous individuals.

His lungs tightened whenever all paths seemed to disappear, isolating him on an island where all he could think about was how to extinguish the flame that poisoned humans.

The smoke that boiled brains emitted from the top. It was the emperor infamous for setting his own capital ablaze—an absolute tyrant who toyed with his subjects like a ragdoll.

Robbyn, in a clandestine maneuver, infiltrated his chamber in a desperate attempt to halt the tyranny that threatened to forever disfigure the face of humanity—but it was too late.

The emperor had taken his own life and the center of power had already been split into four. 

Now, Robbyn faced a much larger challenge. It was already difficult to change the mind of one tyrant, but now that the egg had been broken, everything flowed out of his grasp.

Yet, with his powers, a distant dream like that didn't seem beyond his grasp. However, his mental stability had paid a steep toll, prompting him to decide to return to the humble village that had nurtured him so dearly.

He sought one final moment of tranquility, one last refuge, before embarking on a new set of responsibilities.

So, he brushed himself and ascended to the sapphire skies of Europe, unfurling the hidden wings that God had unwillingly bestowed upon him just before Robbyn made his escape.

But when he reached his goal, the village where his heart was embedded tightly was nowhere to be found.

"Ah, my barrier has disappeared." That was the only solace he could offer to prevent himself from crashing down.

He then overheard an aged couple strolling by the newly formed river that had replaced his village.

"Verily, they ought not to have forsaken the Almighty and turned to the veneration of a lowly warrior who could not even wield weapons. Now, behold, God has inundated their village, displaying His divine power. Oh, how misguided they were."

It was perhaps his immortality that would keep Robbyn's flesh alive till the end of time, but at that spot, Robbyn had his existence killed with the rest of his villagers.

Robbyn could no longer take it anymore.

His heart could no longer contain any love.

Perhaps, because he was part-human, he could harness his Godly powers for good use, yet he could not mete out punishment like a God. Neither could he withstand divine retribution.

Or, more precisely, the amalgamation of every injury inflicted upon him throughout his journey, and even prior, caused his legs to collapse, each ache a vivid sensation etched into his very being.

The sunflower that once always faced the sun had withered.

He wanted to give up everything and antagonize the very existence he loved unconditionally before.

In the end, God's greatest failure stood, unmistakably more human than anyone. But within, his soul had plunged into an abyss of bottomless despair.