~PROLOGUE~

Maximus Void once ruled over everything.

From the First Realm of mortals to the Ninth Realm of gods, his name inspired awe and fear in equal measure. His journey to the pinnacle of power was one of relentless ambition. He conquered nations, tamed beasts, and shattered the limits of magic.

With every battle fought and every foe bested, he climbed higher. By the time he reached the summit of the Nine Realms, there was no question—he was the strongest being to ever exist.

Yet, as Maximus gazed across the infinite landscape of the Ninth Realm, with its skies of eternal twilight and seas of liquid stars, he found no joy in it.

There was nothing left to conquer.

The thrill that had driven him for centuries, the fire that had burned within his soul, had long since dimmed. Where once there was excitement in facing the unknown, only the dull certainty of victory now remained.

His powers were so absolute that even the gods of old, those once feared and revered, became mere shadows in his presence. He had solved the mysteries of the cosmos and transcended the limits of creation, and now all that stretched before him was a life without challenge.

Maximus leaned against the edge of a marble balcony that overlooked the Nine Realms, his sharp gaze distant and unfocused. Below him, entire worlds moved and shifted, each a vibrant, living mosaic of magic, life, and struggle. Yet none of it held any meaning to him now.

"I've become... a prisoner of my own strength," he muttered, his voice carrying a weariness that no god should ever feel. His hands clenched into fists, the power within him thrumming with an intensity that could obliterate galaxies, yet all he felt was emptiness.

It had been so long since he tasted failure. Since he had struggled for something truly beyond his grasp. His existence, once filled with ambition and purpose, had become little more than an endless string of hollow victories.

"This is no life," he murmured, his voice almost drowned out by the winds of the divine realm.

He longed for the uncertainty of his early days when every battle carried the weight of true risk. The days when his enemies were equals—powerful, dangerous, and capable of ending him. But here, at the peak of existence, there were no equals. No dangers. No purpose.

Maximus took a deep breath and closed his eyes, summoning the vast expanse of power he held within. It surged through him like a torrent, reminding him how far beyond mortal comprehension he had traveled. His divine energy filled the air, crackling and distorting reality around him.

And yet, this overwhelming power had become his greatest enemy—the very thing that had made life so painfully dull.

He knew what he had to do.

Maximus stepped away from the balcony and into the grand hall of his citadel, his footsteps echoing through the endless corridors. The palace, a marvel of divine architecture, was cold and still, a testament to his solitude.

Statues of his past victories lined the walls—each representing a foe once thought undefeatable. Titans, ancient beasts, celestial beings… all had fallen before him. Yet now they stood as nothing more than silent monuments to a journey that had long since ended.

Maximus extended his hand as he reached the heart of his citadel, and a glowing orb of pure energy appeared before him—a manifestation of his godly essence. It was all of his power, the force that had allowed him to transcend every limit, to bend the very fabric of reality to his will.

This was the source of his boredom.

His lips curled into a wistful smile. At that moment, he could feel the weight of eons, the pressure of endless victories, and the lack of worthy challenges. But it was time to let go.

With a flick of his wrist, the orb began to split. Gradually, cracks formed along its surface, then faster and faster as his godly essence fragmented into countless shards. Each shard contained a piece of his former strength, a piece of the power that had once made him invincible.

The fragments scattered, shooting out like comets across the Nine Realms. Some would embed themselves deep within forgotten places, and others would lie dormant in mortal lands. All of them would become hidden, awaiting the day Maximus—or perhaps someone else—would seek them out again.

And yet, he knew simply scattering his power would not be enough. Even if he descended into the First Realm as a mortal, his memories would still carry the weight of his divine past. He would remember every battle, every victory, every moment of invulnerability, and that knowledge would poison his quest.

He would never have been able to experience the journey from the bottom if he had remembered what it was like to stand at the top.

Maximus sighed deeply, knowing that the next step was even more drastic.

"I can't enjoy this journey... if I know too much," he whispered, his voice barely audible as he stared at the space where his godly essence had once been.

The solution was simple, though the consequences were severe. Maximus would erase his memories. Not all of them—he needed to leave behind a single spark, something to drive him forward.

He would remember his desire for adventure and a challenge but nothing else. His godhood, victories, powers, and title as the strongest being would all be sealed away within his mind, locked behind the scattered fragments of his power.

But as he contemplated the enormity of this act, a thought struck him. Without memories, how could he know where to begin? What would stop him from living a quiet, uneventful life in the First Realm, ignorant of the grand purpose that had driven him to this point?

He needed a guide—something to awaken his memories slowly, piece by piece, as he grew stronger. He would need to plant clues throughout the realms, breadcrumbs that would lead him back to his former self at the right moments.

Raising his hand, Maximus summoned forth the last of his remaining divine power. He wove it into intricate patterns, casting it across the Nine Realms, embedding clues into the very fabric of existence.

Some clues would be subtle—a symbol in an ancient temple, a song sung by an old seer—while others would be more direct, appearing to him in dreams or visions as he climbed the realms.

By the time he reached the higher realms again, his memories would slowly return, and so would his power. But it would be a gradual ascent, a journey where each step mattered.

Satisfied, Maximus would let the spell take hold. He stood in the heart of his citadel, facing two ancient scrolls resting side by side on a marble pedestal. 

Each scroll contained a spell of immense power, inscribed with symbols so ancient that even he, at the peak of his godhood, had to delve deep into forbidden knowledge to craft them.

The first scroll was to erase his memories—the countless battles he had fought, the victories he had won, the glory of godhood—all would blur into nothingness, leaving only the desire to journey once more. 

The second scroll, however, was equally crucial. It was designed to transport him to the First Realm, where he would begin his new life as a simple mortal. When his memories were erased, he no longer had the knowledge or power to activate the second spell.

Maximus placed his hand over the first scroll and hesitated, a faint smile touching his lips. He knew this was the only way to find excitement again, the only path to a life with real meaning. 

He activated the first scroll with a single whispered incantation, feeling the ancient magic surge around him. The scroll glowed, its inscriptions burning with a deep golden light, then crumbled to dust as its spell took hold.

Maximus could already feel his memories slipping away, fading like distant echoes. The faces of the powerful beings he had defeated, the ancient secrets he had uncovered, and the power that had once been his blurred into nothingness. 

The grand halls of his citadel faded from his mind, and even his name became a mere shadow. But one thought remained, clear and unshaken, burned into the core of his being.

"I want to enjoy the journey again."

It was the only thing that mattered.

Maximus's gaze shifted to the second scroll as the last fragment of his memories vanished. His eyes, now empty of recognition, blinked once before he collapsed to the floor. 

The second scroll's enchantment flared to life when his consciousness faded, sensing the completion of the first spell. The runes on its surface shimmered with a radiant silver light, releasing the ancient magic woven within.

Invisible tendrils of power wrapped around Maximus's unconscious form, lifting him gently off the marble floor. The air around him distorted, warping as if the very fabric of reality was being undone. 

At that moment, the citadel trembled, and the space around Maximus began to crack, revealing the star-strewn abyss between realms.

Slowly, the second scroll unfurled, its power growing until it was almost blinding. A rift opened beneath Maximus, a swirling vortex of light connecting the Ninth Realm to the First. 

The scroll's magic pulled him down through the realms, his body enveloped in the spell's warm, guiding light.

By the time the scroll had fully disintegrated, Maximus was gone—spirited away to the First Realm, where he would awaken as a mortal. The citadel in the Ninth Realm, now empty and devoid of its former master, stood silently. The scroll dust settled on the cold marble floor, the only evidence that a god had once walked there.

When Maximus Void awoke, he would remember nothing of his former life. He would be a simple man without knowledge of the grand battles he had won, the realms he had conquered, or the enemies he had vanquished. 

He would not remember the thrill of being a god nor the crushing weight of immortality's endless boredom.

But deep within his soul, a single spark remained—the desire to climb the realms, face challenges, and discover the purpose set for him.

And as the rift sealed behind him, a new journey began.

A journey filled with uncertainty. 

A journey where each step would matter.

A journey worth living.