The [Countdown] Begins

The Divine Pantheon existed beyond the reach of mortal understanding, suspended in a celestial realm where time itself was nothing more than an abstract concept. 

Here, in an ornate chamber woven from light and stardust, the gods convened.

Seated around an endless obsidian table, they watched humanity with expressions ranging from mild curiosity to outright boredom. 

Above them, a shifting tapestry of visions played across the ethereal walls — scenes of bustling cities, quiet villages, and the unknowing masses who went about their lives, oblivious to the divine judgment looming over them.

"I grow weary of this cycle," murmured Solm, the God of Dominion, his golden eyes dimming as he leaned back in his throne-like chair. "Humanity never changes. They squabble, they build, they fall, and they forget."

A chuckle came from the opposite end of the table.

"They entertain me well enough," said Oris, the Trickster Deity, lazily spinning a celestial orb in his palm. "But I must agree. It's been too long since we last reset the world."

Across from him, Lyara, the Goddess of Wisdom, narrowed her silver eyes. "You mean since you last toyed with them?" she asked dryly. "We should not forget our purpose. This is a test. We seek the strongest, the most capable."

"And we always find them," Solm sighed, rubbing his temple. "Yet they are never enough."

A deep silence settled over the gathering as they reflected on the long cycles of destruction and rebirth. 

For ages untold, they had orchestrated apocalypses to purge the weak, allowing only the most exceptional mortals to survive and ascend. 

Each time, the world was reshaped, and history rewritten.

But the last cycle had been particularly disappointing. 

No one had reached the threshold required. 

The mortals had fought, yes, but in the end, they were simply not strong enough. Not worthy.

Oris grinned, his fingers flickering over the swirling orb in his hand. "Shall we begin, then?"

The others turned to him.

"Why not?" he mused, his golden eyes glinting with mischief. "The sooner we start, the sooner we find out if this world holds someone worthy."

A murmur of agreement passed through the pantheon. 

Even Lyara, ever the voice of reason, said nothing. There was no changing the inevitable.

Oris flicked his wrist.

A ripple spread outward from his hand, distorting the very fabric of the celestial chamber before plunging downward, toward the mortal world. 

A screen of divine energy formed in the air before each god, displaying the same scene —

A quiet evening in a vast human city. People walked the streets, dined with their families, laughed in the warm glow of tavern lights.

And then, in an instant, it appeared. 

A translucent screen materialized before every single person.

[The Trial Begins]

[Time Until the Apocalypse: 06:00:00]

Panic spread through the human world like wildfire. 

Gasps turned to screams, people stumbled backward, their eyes locked onto the glowing red numbers that counted down mercilessly.

05:59:59

05:59:58

The gods watched as confusion gave way to terror. 

Some mortals frantically tapped at the screen, trying to dismiss it. 

Others ran aimlessly, shouting for answers. 

A select few, the wise and the experienced, understood immediately — this was no joke.

This was the end.

"Such fragile creatures," Solm muttered, watching with faint amusement. "They shatter so easily."

"But some will rise," Lyara countered, observing a handful of figures who did not panic. 

Soldiers, mercenaries, scholars — those who had seen enough of the world's darkness to know that something like this could happen. They were already preparing. 

"They always do."

"Yes," Oris agreed, his grin widening. "And they will entertain us."

[In the Mortal Realm…]

Pain. 

That was the first thing Leon felt as he gasped for breath, his body jolting awake in his dimly lit apartment. 

His lungs burned as if he had just surfaced from drowning. 

His heart pounded erratically in his chest.

He sucked in another breath — too sharp, too ragged. Something was wrong

.His mind reeled, fragmented memories flooding in like a broken dam.

He had died.

He remembered the feeling — his body torn apart, the blood pooling beneath him, the overwhelming realization that he had lost.

And yet, here he was.

Alive.

The room was familiar. 

His old, cramped apartment with its half-broken lamp and peeling wallpaper. 

The same place he had been six hours before the apocalypse had begun.

Leon's breath hitched. Six hours.

His gaze snapped to the floating message in front of him.

[The Trial Begins]

[Time Until the Apocalypse: 05:59:43]

This wasn't a dream. This wasn't an illusion.

He had somehow come back to the start of the Apocalypse.

Shock paralyzed him for only a second before raw determination overtook him. 

This was his second chance. A chance to survive. A chance to win. 

A chance to tear down the gods who played with their lives like puppets on strings.

He knew where the hidden caches were. He knew where the strongest weapons lay buried. 

He knew which factions would rise and which would fall.

He would not waste this opportunity.

His fingers clenched into fists as he exhaled, steadying himself.

 Six hours. 

That was all the time he had before the world as he knew it collapsed into chaos.

He wasn't going to let history repeat itself.

This time, he would be ready.