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3rd POV
In a room bathed in stark white, an elderly man lay on his deathbed. The passage of time had etched its story onto his wrinkled face, a testament to a life fully lived.
He turned his weary eyes toward the room's occupants—a man, a woman, and two children standing at his bedside. A warm smile broke across his face as he greeted the man. "John, it's nice to see you again, my boy." His voice carried a hint of joy, his words fragile but sincere.
The man returned the smile, stepping closer to the bed. "It's good to see you too, Dad. How are you feeling?" he asked gently.
"Well, here I am," the old man replied, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. "Dying. HAHAHA!" His laughter filled the room, defying the somberness that clung to the air.
"DAD! Stop saying things like that!" the woman beside John scolded, her voice a mix of frustration and pain.
The old man turned to her. She was a striking woman, likely in her thirties, with a face softened by emotion. He smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Caroline," he said tenderly, "I think the doctor has already told you... My time is near. He said I only have a few hours left. Most of my organs are shutting down."
Caroline's composure shattered. Tears streamed down her face as she choked on her words. "D-Dad... T-there has to be another way! I heard about a man who tried this experimental treatment—" Her voice cracked, the desperation palpable.
Before she could finish, the old man clasped her trembling hand in his own. "Hush, child," he said softly, his voice steady yet kind. "My time has come. It would cost an astronomical amount to even try that treatment. Better to save that money for my grandkids."
"Dad! Money is not an issue!" Caroline shot back, her tone laced with sadness and frustration.
He sighed, his gaze unwavering as he looked into her eyes. "I'm not talking about money, Caroline. Listen to me. I've lived a full life. I had a good job, married a wonderful woman, and was blessed to have you. I've watched you grow into this amazing, beautiful woman. And now, I've been given the joy of seeing my grandchildren. Your mother has already gone on ahead of me... Now it's simply my turn."
Caroline's tears flowed freely, her silent sobs echoing her heartache.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and red, the family left the hospital in silence, their grief too heavy for words.
The old man lay alone, gazing out of the window. A faint smile tugged at his lips, his expression one of quiet contentment. His journey was ending, but he found peace in the love he had given and received.
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1st POV
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As I gaze at the setting sun, a quiet peace settles over me. Watching my daughter, Caroline, surrounded by her family fills me with a joy I've only felt twice before—once, when I met my wife, and again when Caroline was born.
A faint smile plays on my lips as memories of the past flood my mind. The laughter of my three closest friends, brothers in all but blood, echoes in my heart. They're all gone now. My wife, the love of my life, who I thought would always be by my side, is gone too. For ten years, I've come to terms with the loneliness that follows. After my last friend passed away from cancer, I felt like I was merely existing—finding purpose only in giving as much love and joy as I could to my grandchildren.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sharp alarms of the heart monitor pull me back to the present. My body grows weaker with every passing second. The nurses and doctors rush around me, their movements frantic, trying to fight against the inevitable.
But I have no will to fight. No conviction to stay. As death's embrace wraps around me, I accept it. My eyelids grow heavy, and I let them close.
Then, something unimaginable happens.
I open my eyes.
Instead of sterile hospital walls, I see a vast grassy field stretching endlessly before me. Towering mountains rise on the horizon, their peaks bathed in soft light. A single hill stands nearby, crowned with a solitary tree swaying gently in the breeze.
I find myself standing, strength returning to my limbs. Taking a deep breath, I begin walking toward the tree. With each step, the surreal beauty of this place fills me with awe. The air is calm, almost otherworldly, and carries a strange serenity that feels... eternal.
As I near the tree, I see an elderly man sitting beneath its shade. His long white hair flows past his shoulders, and a beard, as majestic as a storybook wizard's, rests on his chest. His gaze is fixed on the horizon, lost in thought.
Curiosity compels me forward. I sit down beside him and, after a moment of silence, break the stillness.
"Beautiful view you've got here. It's... tranquil." My voice feels small against the vastness of the scene.
The old man smiles, his response swift yet calm. "Indeed. No matter how long I gaze at it, it never grows old. Huhuhuhu." His voice carries the depth of ages, like something out of a fantasy tale.
I study him for a moment before speaking again. "So... are you God? Is this where I get judged?" I glance back at the mesmerizing landscape. "To be honest, this is not what I expected. I've never been religious—quite the opposite, actually. I was an atheist. But now... well, it seems I've been proven wrong."
The old man's smile deepens. "You may call me God, yes. But no, you're not here to be judged. Consider yourself fortunate. You've been chosen by me, randomly. Had I not picked you, you would've gone to the cycle of reincarnation."
His words baffle me. "Chosen? What do you mean, chosen? Why me?"
The old man's piercing eyes finally turn to meet mine. "Tell me," he asks, his voice steady and enigmatic, "what do you think is the greatest enemy of any immortal being?"
I looked at him, my confusion deepening. "Uh... I don't know. True death?" I said hesitantly, my uncertainty bleeding into my voice.
The godly elder chuckled, his laughter echoing like rolling thunder. "No, child. Boredom. Boredom is the greatest enemy of an immortal being."
Boredom. The word hung in the air, resonating with a weight I hadn't expected. As I thought about it, it started to make sense. An eternity spent experiencing everything the universe has to offer would dull even the most extraordinary wonders. I could see what he meant.
Wait... did he just call me a child? Well, I suppose from his perspective, I am one.
"So, uh... what do I do now, God... sir?" I asked awkwardly, suddenly realizing I'd been speaking to a god with the casualness of an old drinking buddy.
"Hu hu hu, no need for formalities," he said with a knowing grin. "I've already told you my greatest enemy, haven't I? I chose you on a whim, child, to end my boredom. Like an author spinning a tale, I want to watch a story unfold—a story where you live the life you've always dreamed of. You've read about it, haven't you? Isekai, transmigration, reincarnation, and so on."
His words clicked in my mind. "So, you're saying... I get to live in another world? Like one of those stories?"
"Precisely," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting further. "I'll grant you a second life, one full of tragedy, happiness, hope, and despair—a life rich with experiences. To make it interesting, I'll allow you three wishes. Choose wisely."
Without missing a beat, I blurted out, "Reincarnate me as Saitama in
One Punch Man!"
The elder's smile didn't falter, but his tone turned flat. "No."
"..."
I stared at him with a deadpan expression, but before I could voice my irritation, he preemptively explained, "Do you truly wish to play a game for the first time with a beyond max-level character? It would be boring—for both of us. Choose something more... manageable."
As he spoke, he waved his hand, conjuring a small wooden table and a steaming cup of green tea, Japanese-style.
Grumbling, I muttered, "Fine... can I at least have a moment to think?"
"Take all the time you need," he replied, sipping his tea peacefully.
I sat there pondering for what felt like an hour. Finally, I lifted my head, my decision made. "Alright. For my first wish, I'd like the physiology and soul of the Primarch Sanguinius. For my second, I want the powers and technological knowledge of Malcador the Sigillite."
The god paused mid-sip, placing his cup down. "Interesting choices. The world I'm sending you to has a history quite similar to the *Warhammer 40k* universe, so your wishes align nicely. However, I'll make some adjustments. Your growth as a Primarch will mirror that of a normal human, and I'll grant you an additional pair of wings—six in total, like a true seraphic angel."
I nodded, satisfied.
"For your second wish," he continued, "I'll deliver the knowledge of the STC one piece at a time, monthly. As for Malcador's psychic powers, they will merge with your innate abilities, growing alongside your own potential. Oh, and you'll also gain the title of a Perpetual immediately."
I nodded again, excitement building.
"And your third wish?" he asked, his eyes studying me carefully.
I hesitated, almost unsure if I should ask. Then, gathering my courage, I said, "For my third wish... can I have the souls of my two best friends and my wife?"
The god's smile softened. "You may."
Hearing his confirmation, my heart swelled with joy. I fell to my knees, bowing deeply. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" Tears streamed down my face as I banged my head on the ground in gratitude.
The elder god chuckled lightly, setting down his tea. "If you had asked to reincarnate with them directly, I wouldn't have agreed. But merely asking for their souls... that, I can grant. Now, I think it's time for you to go."
He stood, extending his hand. Three glowing golden orbs materialized, floating above his palm. "Here are the three souls you wished for. As a small bonus, I've restored their memories."
I reached out, awe-struck, but before I could thank him again, he waved his hand dismissively.
"Alright, off you go!" he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
Before I could respond, a swirling cosmic portal appeared behind me. I felt myself being pulled into it, my body flung through the void.
"THANK YOU, OLD MANNNN—"
My voice echoed as I hurtled through the portal. The last thing I saw was the god's amused expression, his laughter fading into the cosmic expanse.
Gratefulness filled my heart. If life had taught me one thing, it was this: expressing gratitude for what you've been given could take you further than you'd ever expect.
---
3rd POV
In an inhospitable world shrouded by a perpetually gray sky, its air thick with dust and pollution, life persisted in defiance of nature. Among the desolate expanse of wasteland, a small oasis thrived—a settlement of around 300 souls, nestled within one of the rare patches of flora and fauna this dying planet could still produce. Wooden walls stood as their only defense, rising like sentinels against the harshness beyond.
The settlement bustled with the rhythm of daily life until a scream pierced through the still air.
"AGHHHH!"
A woman's cry of agony echoed, silencing the villagers as they turned toward a small tent near the settlement's center. Inside, a young child no older than five clung to her mother, tears threatening to spill. The woman writhed on the ground, clutching her head as if trying to ward off some unseen force.
"Mama, are you okay?" the little girl pleaded, her voice quivering with fear.
Her question was met only by guttural cries of pain.
Outside, the tent flap flew open, and a man stormed in, his face lined with worry.
"Serenya, go find Aunt Tara! Quickly!" he urged, his tone steady despite his panic.
The child, Serenya, nodded, her small feet carrying her out of the tent as fast as they could.
The man dropped to his knees beside the woman, gripping her trembling shoulders. "Valaith, it's me—Thalrik! Can you hear me? What's wrong?" His voice was desperate as he called out to his wife.
Moments later, another figure entered the tent. Tara, the tribe's healer and seer, hurried to the woman's side. "Thalrik, what's going on? Serenya was in tears—" Her words stopped short as her gaze fell on Valaith. Shock painted her features. "What in the gods' name is happening to her?"
"Tara, do something! Please!"
Tara knelt beside Valaith, her hands moving deftly as she tried to assess the woman's condition. But before she could offer an explanation, Valaith suddenly stilled. Her voice, weak but urgent, cut through the tension.
"He is coming!"
Tara froze, her hands still on Valaith. "Who is coming, Valaith?"
"The Angel," Valaith whispered, her pain seeming to ebb as her voice steadied. "He is coming to this land. He will purge the abominable machines. He will unite the world under a single banner. The Divinitarch... has answered our prayers. Salvation... has arrived."
With those words, her strength gave out, and she fell unconscious.
"Valaith! Valaith!" Thalrik cried, shaking her gently.
"She's just fainted," Tara reassured him, though her own voice carried an edge of unease. "This was no ordinary collapse. As the priestess of the tribe, her visions are gifts from the gods. This could mean—"
"The Angel," Thalrik interrupted, his voice trembling. "Do you think the gods have answered our pleas, Tara?"
"Perhaps," she replied softly. "We'll know more when Valaith wakes. For now, you should rest. You've only just returned from the hunt."
Thalrik sighed, torn between exhaustion and his duty. "I'll stay with her a little longer. Bring Serenya back on your way out."
Tara nodded, respecting the chief's wishes. Though they were friends, the weight of his position demanded deference. She left the tent quietly, her mind buzzing with questions.
Hours later, as dusk fell, the entire settlement shook with a deafening roar.
*BOOM!*
The sound came from the edge of the forest—a place the tribe rarely ventured. The warriors gathered quickly, and Thalrik led a group of ten to investigate.
"Chief, over here!" one of the men shouted, his voice filled with awe.
They approached the source of the disturbance and found a massive crater, its edges glowing faintly with residual heat. At the center lay something—or someone.
"By the gods..." one of the men whispered.
"It's a child," another said, his voice barely audible.
"No," a third corrected, his tone reverent. "That's not just a child. Look at him!"
The murmurs of the men turned into gasps and prayers. Some dropped to their knees, overwhelmed by the sight before them.
There, in the center of the crater, curled in a fetal position, was a boy. His small frame seemed to radiate an ethereal golden light, illuminating the darkened landscape around him. Six small, feathered wings adorned his back, each one shimmering faintly as if touched by the divine.
Thalrik stepped closer, his breath catching in his throat. The words his wife had spoken earlier replayed in his mind:
"The Angel has come... He has arrived."
With a mix of awe and trepidation, Thalrik whispered, "The gods have sent him to us. Our salvation is here."