When Ren passed through the spatial tear, he sighed in relief, his breath escaping like the wind after a storm. "*Phew*, what the heck? Why did those bastards want me dead so badly? What did I ever do to them, anyway? It's not like I chose to be a misfit or whatever. Wait! What does it even mean to be a Misfit? Damn it!..." His voice trailed off, caught in the vortex of his own confusion.
After a few minutes of venting, Ren finally took in his surroundings, and his eyes widened in astonishment. He was in a vast, starry void—or, in simpler terms, outer space. Yet, inexplicably, he stood on some kind of invisible ground or platform, defying every law of nature he knew.
"Whoa, I'm in space? Holy shit! How am I even standing? What is all of this? And most importantly, who's the guy that saved me?" Ren muttered, throwing his questions into the emptiness around him, as if the stars might whisper back the answers.
Before he could even begin to piece together a logical explanation, several figures materialized out of thin air. Three individuals—a woman and two men—stood at the center of hundreds of beings who surrounded them, their eyes glittering with wary anticipation. The trio wore matching grins, as if they were amused by the nervous crowd of weapon-wielders watching them from all sides.
The people encircling them were dressed in white and were led by a dark-haired man clad in a creamy-gold robe, wielding two double-edged swords. He was strikingly handsome, appearing to be in his twenties, though his expression was cold as stone. His eyes bore into the three figures in front of him, scrutinizing their every move with hawk-like vigilance.
The trio that had appeared included a burly man, towering at nearly two meters, with blonde hair, a dark-toned complexion, and bright golden eyes that seemed to glow. His tight-fitting outfit did little to hide his muscular frame, and his grin was as wide as it was confident. The woman beside him had long, platinum-gold hair that cascaded like liquid light over her extremely fair skin. She wore a black dress, elegant and provocative, with a gracious smile tugging at her tempting lips. The third figure, a tall man standing at a formidable seven feet, had pitch-black hair streaked with hints of red. His dignified, youthful face was adorned with glasses and a faint smile. The only commonality among the three was that they all appeared to be in their twenties.
When Ren saw this, fear and confusion gripped his heart. *Who are these people? Where am I? Did I stumble into a battle between gods?*
The dark-haired man in the lead stepped forward, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Leviathan, Behemoth, and Ziz, you have overstepped your bounds and defied the will of the Lord. Though you are His most beloved creations and children, you must also follow His laws. Turn back now, and your transgressions will be forgiven. Otherwise, you will face the wrath of the Origin Pavilion."
As the man's words faded into the void, Behemoth, the burly man, erupted into booming laughter. "Hahaha, are you serious right now? They actually sent someone to stop us? Bring it on, we'll show you what happened to the other gods who tried to stand in our way!" His face lit up with a mixture of excitement and disdain.
The man with glasses, Leviathan, chuckled softly. "Now, now, little brother, show some courtesy. This man before us isn't just anybody. He is one of the 18 great monarchs of the Origin Pavilion, successor to the Destructive Sovereign. If they've sent him, they must finally be taking us seriously. They even sent an elite squad with the best of their gods. We ought to show them some respect, don't we, Ziz?" Leviathan adjusted his glasses with a knowing grin.
"While I agree with you, don't you think the best way to show them respect is by demonstrating our strength?" said the woman, Ziz, as millions of feathers, sharp as steel, materialized behind her. "Haha, Big Sis gets me!" Behemoth roared as he suddenly grew several hundred meters tall, twin titanic greatswords appearing in his colossal hands.
Leviathan sighed, "So impatient," as an ominous spear materialized in his grasp. Compared to the grand displays of the others, Leviathan's preparation seemed modest, yet the aura around him was far more deadly.
The dark-haired man's gaze hardened, his muscles tensing as he grew four additional arms, each one summoning a double-edged sword. "This is your last warning. Return from whence you came, or face the fate of all enemies of the Origin," he declared, as the warriors in white prepared for battle.
"Enough talk! Origin Guardians, bring it on, punks!" roared Behemoth, charging forward like a living avalanche. He reached the white-clad gods in an instant, his greatswords sweeping through them like a scythe through wheat. The sheer force of his attack sent gods flying, some managing to block the blow but trembling from the impact, others severely injured or dead on the spot.
The gods not caught in the initial onslaught stood in shock, their confidence shattered. In their daze, they failed to notice the enormous black, wingless, and limbless dragon soaring toward them.
"Watch out!" shouted the dark-haired man, but his warning came too late.
The creature obliterated everyone in its path, tearing them apart with its sheer energy. Dozens of gods perished in an instant, and when there were no more left to kill, the dragon exploded, annihilating everything around it before turning back into a streak of light that shot back into Leviathan's hand, resuming its form as a spear. With deadly intent, Leviathan pointed the spear at the remaining gods.
While the gods were still reeling from Leviathan's devastating attack, millions of steel-like platinum-gold feathers rained down upon them. Most of the gods scrambled to raise defenses, but many were not quick enough and were mercilessly cut down.
The Monarch's eyes burned with rage as he roared, "DAMNED PRIMORDIALS!" He rushed at Leviathan, fury fueling his every step.
"What did you expect, fighting beings strong enough to corner your creator? Get real, Blade Monarch," Leviathan sneered, meeting the charge with equal ferocity. As the other gods engaged Behemoth and Ziz, they found themselves hopelessly outmatched. Behemoth swung his greatswords like a madman, cutting down gods with every swipe, while Ziz's feathers moved with lethal precision, slicing through the gods like insects.
In the eye of the storm, Blade Monarch and Leviathan clashed. The Monarch brandished his six double-edged swords with maniacal precision, aiming for every one of Leviathan's weak spots. Yet, Leviathan parried each strike with his spear, the swords never coming within a meter of his body. With every opening, Leviathan countered with a stab, each one drawing blood from the Monarch.
The battle dragged on, and though Blade Monarch had the upper hand initially, it became clear that he was losing. His stamina drained rapidly, while Leviathan remained unfazed, as if the fight was nothing more than a stroll in the park.
Seeing his dire situation, Blade Monarch glanced around at his decimated forces—only a quarter of them remained. He shouted, "Retreat!" and attempted to put distance between himself and Leviathan. But...
"Na uh, they can go, not you," Leviathan taunted as his spear vanished, and his hand transformed into a claw that seized Blade Monarch by the throat.
By now, Ren was completely engrossed in the scene, though confusion gnawed at him. *Wait, I don't understand. Can't they see me? Or is this some kind of projection, like in all those novels I've read?* he wondered.
Back in the battle, Leviathan was about to crush Blade Monarch's throat when...
"Enough!" A voice echoed throughout the entire void, resonating with undeniable authority.
Leviathan's face split into a wide grin. "He's here. Finally!" he murmured as a massive fissure split the space above them in two. Five figures walked out of the rift, each wearing different colored clothing, all looking as though they were in their twenties.
"So, the cavalry has finally arrived, huh?" Leviathan said to the man leading the newcomers.
"Well, some matters call for personal attention, Levi," the man replied with a calm smile.
"Personal attention, huh? Funny choice of words. And he's still not here, Zen," Leviathan responded, irritation creeping into his voice.
When Ren heard the name of the man at the front, he did a double take. *That's the guy who saved me earlier! Only…he looks a bit older here. What the hell is going on? How can someone get younger?* Ren wondered, finally realizing he was witnessing a record of events long past.
...
Meanwhile, in a plain field with low grass, a young woman sat on a long bench. She had long silver hair, deep black eyes, and a perfectly sculpted face. Her figure was voluptuous, but not excessively so, and she wore a tight-fitting long gown that accentuated her beauty. A serene smile played on her lips as she watched an ethereal screen showing the confused Ren.
She sighed, her voice tinged with a mix of amusement and impatience. "Ah, when is Zen going to be back? The poor soul looks so confused."
A light giggle escaped her lips as she added, "Who am I kidding? He's probably making Old Faust's life a living hell, isn't he?" She glanced back at the dragon lying lazily on the grass behind her.
The dragon, hearing her question, nodded its massive head in silent agreement.
...
Back in the underworld, the scene was one of utter devastation. The once formidable stronghold lay in ruins, its equipment shattered beyond repair. Though every soul had survived, they were scattered across the wasteland, and some of the white-clad beings were desperately trying to regroup them.
Faust surveyed the destruction, his blood-red eyes narrowing as they landed on the man responsible. Despite his pitiful state—one hand lost, a leg twisted and broken, deep cuts marring his body, and a gaping hole in his stomach—he still stood defiantly. His once-glorious black armor was now a bloodstained ruin, barely recognizable.
Zen, the architect of this destruction, stood untouched. His white robes were immaculate, not a speck of dust or blood on them, and he was still smiling as if nothing had happened.
Faust snorted, his voice laced with bitterness. "Take the Misfit if you want, but don't come crying to me when everything goes south." With that, he disappeared.
"Thanks, old Faust," Zen said with a smirk, waving a hand to open a spatial tear, which he casually stepped through.