"Humph, whatever," the soul scoffed, his voice empty of hope.
"What happens now? Will you erase my soul? Or are you going to send me to the deepest depths of hell to suffer even more?"
The soul's tone was filled with resignation, as if it expected nothing but more torment.
As if, even in death, peace was an impossibility.
Hearing his words, the gods and goddesses exchanged glances, as if silently asking one another whether it was the right time to reveal the truth to this tormented soul.
The goddess Hathor sighed softly before stepping forward. "No, you are not going to be erased, nor sent to hell."
"Then why the hell am I still here? Are you planning to send me back to that miserable place?" the soul sneered, indifferent to the fact that it was speaking to the literal gods of the universe.
The gods could only sigh at the soul's harsh words.
If any other mortal had dared to curse at them like this, they would have cast that soul into the deepest pits of hell to suffer for eternity.
But this soul was different.
It was important to them—vital, even, to the future.
More importantly, this soul had already endured unimaginable suffering.
Letting it vent its rage was the least they could allow.
Hathor sighed once more.
She did not feel offended; instead, she felt pity for the soul before her.
"Before we explain why you're here, you need to understand why you've always felt so different," Hathor said gently, pausing as if waiting for the soul to respond.
But the soul remained silent, as though it saw no reason to listen.
It was remarkable, really.
Who were these beings? Gods—ancient, eternal, the most prideful entities in the universe.
And yet they were patient with this soul.
It was a curious sight, though sadly, the soul had no functioning eyes to witness it.
When the silence continued, Hathor resumed. "The reason for everything—the life you lived, the struggles you faced, and why we've brought you here—lies in the uniqueness of your soul."
"Your soul may not appear different from that of other mortals, but it's vast. Far too vast for even us gods to perceive its true depth," said Hades, his dark black eyes glowing crimson as though he were peering into the very essence of the soul before him.
"If my soul is so 'big,' then why was I born so weak and fragile?" the soul asked bitterly.
"Soul and body are two separate things," the goddess Hela explained.
"Just because one is exceptional, doesn't mean the other will be. Your soul isn't strong, nor does it possess any soul power. It's simply... too massive."
"It might be that your physical body couldn't contain or handle the enormity of your soul," Hela continued.
"This imbalance caused your body to deteriorate, making you weak and fragile."
"Since the day you were born, your soul has been pushing your physical form to evolve, trying to find balance between the flesh and soul. But you're a mortal—you lack the evolutionary traits of a martial artist, a mage, or any supernatural being. You were never able to evolve."
Hela's voice softened as she finished. "So instead of aiding your growth, your soul poisoned your body, causing it to break down. That's why, as you grew older, your body became weaker and weaker."
"We don't fully understand why or how your soul came to be the way it is, but we do know that you are the only mortal with such a soul," Hades began.
"Typically, when a being dies, their soul—whether large or small, strong or weak—enters the cycle of reincarnation."
"There, it is cleansed and fragmented into millions of pieces before being used to create a new, normal-sized soul, ready for reincarnation into an entirely new being."
"Usually," Hela continued, "when a being dies, their soul is sent to one of the Nine Heavens or Nine Hells, where its record is kept before entering the reincarnation cycle. But there's something different about your soul—we found no record of you in any of the Nine Hells or Nine Heavens."
"Enough!" the soul interrupted, frustration thick in its voice.
"Just get to the point. What do you want from a blind fucking bastard like me?"
The goddesses exchanged glances before Aphrodite, the beautiful goddess of love, spoke up.
"We want to give you a second chance at life."
Silence hung in the air for a few moments.
The soul was too disillusioned by its past life to care about whatever these gods were discussing.
In truth, it barely believed this conversation with the gods was real, assuming it was some delusion born of frustration and anger.
"Are you messing with me?" the soul asked, disbelief edging its tone.
It felt like a sick joke, one it wasn't willing to entertain.
"No," Morpheus, the god of dreams, replied, his voice calm.
"It's real. We want to offer you a second life. But in return, we ask something of you."
The soul remained silent, waiting.
"There is a threat looming on the horizon of our universe," Morpheus continued, gesturing with his fingers.
"A threat we, the gods, cannot intervene against—but mortals can. However, we don't believe any ordinary mortal will be able to face this danger alone."
"We need a warrior, someone who can rise above every challenge, grow stronger on his own, and possess extraordinary talent and will. We want you to become that someone."
"Sorry to disappoint, but you've got the wrong guy. I'm none of those things. I'm not special... I'm just nothing," the soul snorted bitterly.
"It's because you're special that we're asking you," Hathor said softly.
"You can do it. We can help you, but you have to accept it."
"Think about it—you could have the life you've always wanted. You could have a family to love and be loved by. You could feel the true warmth of life this time... The choice is right in front of you. You just need to make it." The Goddess Aphrodite said.
The soul went silent for a few moments, reflecting.
Truthfully, it didn't want to experience life again.
The thought of going through the torment that life could bring felt unbearable.
But there was a small part of it that yearned for the possibility of something different—a chance to truly understand what it meant to be alive.
If there was even the faintest possibility to see the world with his own eyes, to know what colors look like, to experience himself in a way he had never before...
He still had a fragile thread of hope left, though he wasn't sure if it was wise to trust it.
"I'll do it..." came a small, trembling voice from the formless mass of energy that was the soul.
"Good. That's a wonderful decision," Hathor said, her smile radiant. Aphrodite stood beside her, smiling sweetly as well.
Both goddesses were relieved—almost agitated at the thought that the soul might refuse the chance for a second life.
The other gods and goddesses sighed in relief upon hearing the mortal soul's response.
They had been planning for this day for years, from the moment they began observing the mortal, right from his birth until the day he met a miserable end in a garbage dump.
By the way, It had been more than ten days since the mortal's death, yet his lifeless body still lay among the refuse, neglected and forgotten.
No one had come to claim him or even search for him.
His death made little difference; nobody mourned him, for it takes someone to remember a person for their absence to be felt.
His corpse, alone in the garbage, had begun to decompose, emanating a foul odor that attracted all manner of worms.
He had not received a proper burial; instead, his body remained nothing more than refuse until the very end of his life.
The goddesses felt a deep sorrow for the unfortunate soul, acutely aware of the indignities his corpse suffered in the mortal realm.
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{Author's Note: If you enjoyed this chapter, don't forget to vote with some POWER STONES. It would also really help me if you could rate this book. Thank you for reading!}