The Mortal Who Defied Fate

The night sky loomed vast and endless, filled with countless stars. They hung above the city like silent watchers—unblinking, eternal, as if bearing witness to the one who ruled below.

Tonight, the moon bled red, casting its eerie glow upon the towering structures of a city where only one will reigned supreme.

At the summit of the highest skyscraper, a figure sat upon a throne of obsidian and gold, elevated above all. His presence was absolute, an existence that eclipsed the very concept of kingship.

He was clad in a white robe, pristine and untainted by the world, yet his face was obscured by a black mask adorned with an unknowable design—a pattern that seemed to shift when one tried to comprehend it.

He did not merely sit.

He ruled.

This city did not belong to a nation, nor did it kneel to an empire. It was a domain shaped by a single will—his.

And that will was law.

Not a law crafted by human hands, nor one dictated by morality. It was a truth beyond justification—one that all who walked these streets had accepted, either by submission or by vanishing into nothingness.

Here, fate had no meaning.

Here, he alone dictated reality.

The air was heavy, charged with an unspoken reverence, when a lone subordinate ascended the skyscraper, stepping onto the grand platform where his ruler resided.

Unlike the fearful, the broken, the desperate—this man did not tremble.

His steps were firm, unwavering, his eyes reflecting nothing but devotion.

He knelt before the throne, lowering his head slightly—not out of fear, but out of respect.

"My lord."

The wind howled around them, yet the figure on the throne remained unmoving, like an entity above all earthly concerns.

"Three thousand have been selected," the subordinate continued, his tone clear, devoid of hesitation. "We await your command."

For a long moment, silence reigned.

Then, the figure on the throne finally stirred.

His head tilted ever so slightly, as if disinterested.

And then—

"Why?"

His voice was cold, detached, a low murmur that carried across the vast heights of the city. It was neither loud nor aggressive, yet it crushed all expectation, all need for explanation.

The subordinate remained unfazed, yet the weight of that single word settled in his chest like a stone.

The figure's gaze fell upon him.

Even behind the black mask, its presence was suffocating.

"Why do you feel the need to tell me something so insignificant?"

The words were not spoken with anger, nor disdain.

They were merely truth.

"You have a role," the figure continued, his voice still absent of emotion. "Perform it."

It was not a reprimand.

It was an expectation.

A single statement, yet it carried the weight of undeniable reality.

The subordinate did not hesitate.

He bowed once more, his movements fluid, as if guided by something greater than instinct.

"Yes, my lord."

Without another word, he turned and left, vanishing into the night like a shadow returning to its master's domain.

The figure on the throne did not watch him go.

His gaze had already returned to the heavens.

The stars above flickered—thousands, no, millions of them. They burned across the blackened sky, stretching beyond the horizon.

Yet, beneath their gaze, he remained unshaken.

To the world, they were celestial gods, distant and untouchable.

But to him, they were nothing more than distant lights.

A kingdom of dust, watching from the void.

They held no power over him.

For in this city—

He was fate.

The Cosmic Heaven stretched infinitely, a realm without beginning or end. Here, existence was not guided by will, but by law—an absolute order woven into the very fabric of reality.

At the heart of this celestial domain stood the Loom of Fate, a construct so vast that even gods could not perceive its entirety. It was a structure beyond mortal comprehension, its golden mechanisms ceaselessly turning, spinning the countless threads that dictated the destinies of all who lived, all who had ever lived, and all who ever would.

Some threads were vibrant, burning with boundless potential. Others were brittle, their colors faded—paths that had reached their inevitable end. There were threads bound together, interwoven by love, hatred, war, and ambition. And then there were the red threads, tangled, severed, and stained with the weight of slaughter.

All of them flowed freely.

All except one.

Seated upon her radiant throne, woven from the very essence of eternity, was the Goddess of Fate. She had existed before time itself, a being who did not see the future—she was the future. Every possibility, every outcome, every moment in history was contained within her endless gaze.

And yet now, for the first time in eternity, her hands trembled.

A single silver thread lay before her.

And it was wrong.

Its surface shimmered with an unnatural luster, standing out even among the infinite weave of fate. But what made it terrifying was not its color, nor its presence—but its connections.

One hundred million threads—severed.

Eighty million red threads—directly stained by his existence.

But it was not just that.

The other threads were free, swaying in the loom's grand design, bound only by the laws of fate. No chain controlled them. No force dictated their path.

Yet this one silver thread…

This single, untainted strand…

Was the cause of boundless souls' fate.

It was impossible.A mortal was bound only to themselves. Even the greatest emperors, the most powerful gods, left only ripples in the great sea of destiny. Their actions influenced the world, but they did not become its axis.

But this thread…

This mortal…

Fate's divine form flickered, unable to comprehend the impossibility before her.

Her voice, usually steady as the stars themselves, wavered.

"How can this be?"

The Goddess of Reincarnation stood at a distance, draped in robes that shimmered with the echoes of all souls who had passed through her domain. Where Fate was the weaver, Reincarnation was the gatekeeper, the one who ensured the eternal cycle remained unbroken.

And yet, she too was silent.

When she finally spoke, her voice was unreadable.

"You see it too, don't you?"

Fate did not answer.

Reincarnation took a step forward, her gaze locked onto the silver thread. Unlike Fate, she did not see the paths of destiny—she saw the weight of existence itself.

"This should not be possible," she whispered. "A mortal's thread should be insignificant. Even those who leave great legacies… their fates do not bind the lives of others so completely."

Her fingers traced the air, following the silver thread's unnatural bindings.

"This is no mere man," Reincarnation continued. "He has not just killed—he has erased. Souls that should have been reborn… vanished. Lost."

A quiet, terrible silence filled the heavens.

Fate's hands curled into fists. She had watched kings rise and fall, witnessed gods ascend and perish, seen civilizations crumble into dust. Yet never—never—had she encountered something like this.

Even the greatest of monsters, the vilest of beings, left marks upon their own existence. They accumulated sin, karma, retribution. They were punished by the very weight of their own deeds.

But this mortal—

His hands were bathed in unimaginable blood.

His presence had rewritten the fate of millions.

And yet—his thread was pure.

No sin. No burden. No divine punishment.

Reincarnation exhaled. "I have felt his presence before."

Fate's gaze snapped toward her. "What do you mean?"

A pause. Then, softly—

"There have been souls… anomalies… that never returned to the cycle. I did not understand it at first. But now, I see. Their threads were not cut. They were unmade."

Fate's form flickered with raw divine authority. She wanted to reject it. Deny it. Condemn it as an impossibility.

And yet—the proof lay before her. The silver thread pulsed, undisturbed, untouched by law, an anomaly even among the gods.

A mortal who should not exist.

A force that should not be possible.

A being beyond fate's control.Fate clenched her teeth.

And for the first time since the dawn of creation—she felt something that she had believed impossible.

Doubt.

Then Fate said again,"We must erase this entity."

Reincarnation sighed. "You know we cannot interfere with the mortal world. It is Heaven's Law."

Fate's expression darkened. "Laws are meant to be broken."

Reincarnation narrowed her eyes. "And the consequences? Have you already forgotten what happens when we defy the will of Heaven?"

A bitter silence filled the celestial realm.

Fate clenched her jaw. She knew. She knew all too well. To interfere with the mortal world was to defy the Supreme Order—the very foundation upon which divinity stood.

The punishment for such defiance was severe.

Even for gods.

Reincarnation spoke again, her voice quieter. "We do not even understand him, sister. He is a mortal—yet his existence unravels fate itself. Have you considered that there may be a reason for this?"

Fate's gaze remained cold. "Reasons do not matter. What matters is control."

She lifted her hand, and the celestial threads around them trembled.

"This world exists because we guide it. Because we ensure that fate flows as it should. And yet, this… thing exists beyond our grasp."

She turned, her silver burning.

"I will not allow it."

Reincarnation studied her sister. "And if we fail?"

Fate's expression remained unreadable. "Then we will suffer the consequences together."

A long silence passed between them. The weight of their choice pressed against them like the infinite void itself.

Then, finally, Reincarnation spoke.

"…As you say."

The heavens trembled.

A decision had been made.

One that could never be undone.

A heavy silence loomed over the world.

It was a silence that did not belong to men, nor beasts, nor the turning of time itself. It was the silence of divinity.

Two figures stood before him, their presence alone warping the very fabric of existence. The air thickened, crushed beneath the weight of their power, yet he remained untouched—seated upon a ruined throne of his own making, bathed in the crimson light of a world that had already fallen to his will.

One woman had silver hair that shimmered like woven moonlight, her silver eyes carrying the cold indifference of one who had seen eternity itself. She was Fate.

The other bore golden hair, flowing like molten sunlight, her golden eyes filled with sorrow, yet tempered by duty. She was Reincarnation.

They had come not as arbiters. Not as judges.

They had come as executioners.

Reincarnation took a step forward, her divine radiance illuminating the carnage around them—the remnants of a civilization that no longer existed. A world where every thread of fate had already been severed.

Yet he—the man who sat before them—remained.

Her voice was filled with something almost human. Pity.

"Why?" she asked. "Why did you slaughter them? The countless innocent souls who perished at your hands—did they not deserve to live?"

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then, suddenly—

Laughter.

A slow, low chuckle that rippled through the heavens, building into a sound so deep, so filled with something twisted, that even the divine felt it claw against their being.

Then, with a voice that carried no remorse, no hesitation, and no mercy, he spoke.

"Innocent?"

The word dripped from his lips like poison, amusement flickering in his dark, fathomless gaze.

"Innocent? Ha… ha ha ha…"

His laughter grew louder, harsher—until it became a razor-edged mockery of the heavens themselves.

"Don't make me laugh."

His eyes lifted to meet hers, and for the first time, Reincarnation flinched.

"I merely erased some ugly beings from this world."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he gazed at them like one might gaze at insignificant insects.

"They were so wretched, so repulsive, that even the earth itself rejected them… And you call them innocent?"

A smirk curled upon his lips, cruel and cold.

"You divine beings sit in your heavenly thrones, gazing down upon the world without ever touching its filth. You see their lives, but not their sins. You see their deaths, but not what led them there."

His voice lowered, turning sharp as a blade.

"But I walked among them."

His gaze burned, as if seeing something far beyond the present.

"I saw their wretchedness, their greed, their cowardice. Their ugliness."

His hand lifted, fingers curling as if grasping something unseen.

"So I removed them."

A cold wind swept through the ruined throne room, yet the goddesses stood motionless, unreadable.

Then, after a long pause, he tilted his head slightly.

"But now, this..."

His expression shifted, his lips curling into something that was neither anger nor amusement.

"I never once believed that divinity was real."

He let his gaze drift to the celestial forms before him, their radiance illuminating a world already drowned in blood.

"But if gods do exist… then tell me."

His smirk faded.

"…Why is this world so ugly?"

A crack split through the divine air around them.

For the first time, Fate's expression wavered.

Reincarnation closed her eyes. "There is no need for more words."

Her voice no longer held pity.

Only resolve.

"We have come here for one reason alone."

Her golden eyes opened, shining with finality.

"To erase you."

A smirk played at the corner of his lips.

"Erase me?"

A dry chuckle escaped him.

"I don't know if I have succeeded in this life."

He looked at his own hands, flexing his fingers.

"But when two divine beings must break Heaven's law to remove me… I suppose that means I was successful."

He exhaled sharply, a laugh with no warmth.

"Pfft… hah. It's almost dreamlike."

Fate lifted her hand, and the very fabric of existence trembled.

A domain unfolded.

The Domain of Fate.

Within it, everything was dictated by her will. Every movement, every action—every breath.

Here, she was absolute.

Thousands upon thousands of golden threads erupted from the void, surging toward him, seeking to erase his very existence.

Yet—

He did not yield.

A force stirred within him. Something neither divine nor magical.

A will that refused to be bound.

The golden threads of fate quivered—then, one by one, they began to unravel.

A light surged from within him—not of godhood, not of magic… but something far greater.

Pure, relentless will.

The very laws of fate began to break.

Fate's eyes widened.

"No… this is impossible—"

Then, the golden threads shattered.

The heavens trembled.

Reincarnation stepped forward.

"Sister," she said, her voice steady.

Fate turned to her, their divine energy flickering—weakened.

"We do not have enough power," Reincarnation murmured. "We have already broken Heaven's Law. If we continue, we will cease to exist."

Fate clenched her teeth, but she knew.

They had gone too far.

Yet… they had no choice.

Reincarnation raised her hands, a golden radiance swirling from her fingertips.

"Then let us finish this."

Fate exhaled sharply, her silver gaze hardening.

A final silver thread emerged.

One last divine decree.

Together, they bound him.

For a moment—just a fleeting instant—his defiance burned through the heavens.

Then, the world collapsed.

The void consumed him.

His existence was erased.

A silence heavier than eternity itself settled over the shattered throne.

The goddesses staggered.

Their divine forms flickered, weakened beyond recognition.

They could no longer remain.

Fate's silver eyes gazed into the endless abyss where he once stood.

Fate exhaled, her body trembling.

"Sister…" she murmured.

"Do you think he is truly gone?"

Her voice was quiet.

"I think not."

Reincarnation swallowed. "…Then where?"

Reincarnation turned away.

"To a world where we could interfere."

Her golden eyes darkened.

"A world of magic, monsters, demons, and divinity."

She clenched her fists.

"This time, we will erase him."

---