Oliver asked, his voice barely a whisper in the void.
He opened his eyes but found nothing—just an impenetrable blackness. No light, no shape, no sound. The cold was unbearable, yet it wasn't the chill of the night or the sting of winter—it was the absence of warmth itself, an unsettling emptiness that surrounded him on all sides.
This was no longer his bedroom. There was no ceiling overhead, no sky visible through a window. No technology, no phones, no lights. It felt as though he had been thrust into a place where time and space didn't exist.
Suddenly, a voice pierced the silence, echoing inside his mind.
"Welcome to the Mythic Era!"
The voice was clear, metallic, yet strangely omnipotent.
"This is the dawn of the universe, the singularity where all things are born, the beginning of the Mythos. The Creator God Aether has not yet begun to shape the world. The skies, the oceans, the lands—none have yet to emerge. Life, as you understand it, does not exist here… yet."
"The war between the Titans and the dragons—beasts forged from Aether's blood—has not yet begun. The twelve divine thrones have not been claimed, and the banished deity Eve has not yet crafted humankind."
"The Twilight of the Gods is still far off, the War of the Apocalypse has not yet arrived."
"The great golden empire, Rome, has yet to rise."
A flood of knowledge poured into Oliver's consciousness, overwhelming him.
He blinked, his mind reeling from the enormity of it all. Had he somehow traveled back to a time before the birth of the universe itself?
And then it struck him—he wasn't human anymore.
"I am a god, born before the universe even existed?"
Oliver turned inward, searching his being. His body was… vast. He was no longer confined to the form of a human. Before him stretched a serpent-like shape, its scales glimmering in dark gold, its length unfathomable—thirty thousand miles, perhaps more. He was a creature of immense size, a behemoth that would dwarf anything on Earth.
Yet here, in the boundless void, he was nothing. A speck. A drop in the ocean. A grain of dust.
The memories of his previous life came rushing back—he had been an ordinary man, living in a small town in America. He had come across a peculiar ancient book in a secondhand market, and when his fingers brushed its cover, the world had spun, and everything had gone dark.
The last thing he remembered was his friends running toward him, their faces a mixture of confusion and concern.
Now, he was here, in this chaotic, primal void.
"Wait…" His thoughts scattered like smoke. "The information, the knowledge—it came from that book…"
Oliver's mind reached out again, grasping at the ethereal pages of the book within him. It glowed faintly, the same ancient book he had found at the market. Its pages were filled with cryptic symbols, words he couldn't decipher. But the knowledge—oh, the knowledge it carried—was vast.
The truth was undeniable. It was because of this book that he had come to this strange world.
As the realization settled in, Oliver felt no longing for his previous life. His human existence, so fragile and insignificant, seemed like a distant memory. It no longer mattered. What mattered now was the information swirling in his mind, the mystery of what lay ahead.
God-Creation.
The battle between the Titans and the dragons. The Twilight of the Gods.
Wasn't that… myth? Something people had passed down through stories?
But then, Rome. The Roman Empire. That was history, wasn't it?
Oliver frowned. This Roman Empire—it didn't seem to fit the version he knew. This world was something more. Something mythic.
And then, the phrase that lingered in his thoughts—The Twilight of the Gods. It sounded like a cataclysm, a disaster for the gods themselves.
A catastrophe, in which 99% of the gods would perish. The world would be reset. And only then would the age of humanity begin.
The golden empire of Rome would rise.
A glorious new era.
But Oliver's stomach sank as he considered his position. He was a god—a serpent born of chaos. If things followed the path set by the myths, he would be among the 99% of gods who would be obliterated in the coming cataclysm.
Not only that. When the Creator Aether had begun shaping the world, countless weak creatures like himself had perished in the process. The war between the Titans and the dragons, the battle for the Twelve Thrones of the Gods—it all seemed so dangerous, so lethal.
"Damn it!" Oliver seethed inwardly. "How long until Aether finishes creating? I can't die here... not like this."
He had just died, only to be reborn into this world, with no hope of survival?
No. He couldn't accept this. He had to survive. He had to grow stronger.
This primordial chaos was more brutal than any jungle on Earth. Countless ancient creatures, just like him, had perished over the ages.
Here, only power mattered. The only truth was strength.
I need to grow stronger, he thought. I must become unstoppable.
But how?
Just as that question echoed in his mind, another stream of information flickered to life, revealing a strange new message:
Oliver StarkRace: Deity
Deity Rating: 1
Attributes:
Defense: 1
Strength: 1
Chaos Power: 1
Soul Power: 1
Possession: Book of the Chaos Era
Defense and Strength—both 1?
How could this be? He was a god, wasn't he?
At first, Oliver was confused. But then he understood. This panel was a measure of his basic attributes, his starting point. He was at the very beginning, a blank slate. Strength, defense, all set to 1.
Then another message appeared, flashing in his mind:
The Book of the Chaos Era has unlocked a new ability: Devouring Chaos Power.
A new ability?
Oliver's curiosity flared. He focused, trying to summon this newfound power. His massive mouth opened wide, and with a powerful pull, he began to devour the chaotic energy around him.
Boom!
A vortex erupted, a swirling tempest of chaos that stretched out for millions of kilometers, drawing the energy into him. Inside his being, a similar vortex formed, pulling in chaotic power from all directions.
This energy—it was beyond anything Oliver had ever known. It was far more potent than elemental magic or the energies he had encountered before. If a mortal magician were to absorb even a fraction of this, they would be transformed beyond imagination.
For a god like Oliver, though, this was child's play. The energy flowed into him with ease.
As the chaos energy poured in, his body began to grow—rapidly. Thirty thousand kilometers. Sixty thousand. A hundred thousand.
His form expanded, an impossibly vast serpent, wrapping around the earth itself—if it still existed here, in this chaotic realm.
But this was only the beginning. His body, his very essence, was just the first step. His soul too was expanding, evolving.
"I'll keep growing," he whispered to himself. "I'll keep devouring..."
As his form continued to grow, Oliver lost track of time, consumed by the endless hunger for power.
This was just the beginning.