Chapter 2: Meeting With God

Raiden Kuroshi's first thought upon regaining consciousness was that death felt oddly … soft. Not the cold, painful void he expected. More like a plush mattress he didn't remember lying on.

His second thought was, 'I really hope I'm not in some second-rate hospital with a blade still sticking out of me.'

Cracking one eye open, Raiden immediately noticed something was off. The "room" he was in—if it could even be called that—was completely white. Not white walls, a white ceiling, and a white floor, but a seamless, endless expanse of white, as though he were floating in a giant snow globe. There were no doors, no windows, no shadows—just infinite whiteness.

"Okay, so not a hospital," Raiden muttered, sitting up and dusting off his black martial arts pants. To his surprise, his bloodstained shirt and the gaping wound in his abdomen were gone. Not a scratch or scar remained.

"Great," he said, brushing his hair back and surveying the nothingness around him. "I'm dead. That's fine. Expected that. So where's the choir of angels? The flaming pits of hell? Something?"

"Patience, my boy. You're not exactly in a rush anymore."

The voice came from behind him, smooth, deep, and with a hint of warmth. Raiden turned and raised an eyebrow at the figure now standing there.

The man was tall, dressed in a crisp white suit that practically sparkled against the endless void. He had neatly combed black hair and a calm, knowing smile that radiated wisdom and authority. But it was the voice—a rich, soothing timbre reminiscent of late-night jazz radio—that sealed the deal for Raiden.

"Hold up," Raiden said, blinking. "You're Morgan Freeman."

The man chuckled, folding his hands behind his back. "I get that a lot. But no, I'm not Morgan Freeman. Just someone who likes to take this particular form. It tends to put people at ease."

Raiden crossed his arms and smirked. "Ah, so you're God, huh? Should've guessed. You've got the voice for it."

The not-Morgan-Freeman smiled. "You could say that. Though I go by many names. Creator, Architect, The Big Guy Upstairs—take your pick."

Raiden tilted his head. "Well, if I'm here, that means I'm dead, right? Guess Boro finally got the last laugh. Figures he'd cheat."

"Technically," the man replied, "you're not fully dead yet. More like … in limbo. A little pit stop before we decide what to do with you."

Raiden frowned. "We? Who's 'we'? You've got interns or something?"

The man chuckled again, clearly amused. "Let's just say the decision-making process is a collaborative effort. But for now, it's just you and me."

Raiden shrugged and leaned back against the nothingness, hands behind his head. "Fair enough. So, what's the verdict? Am I getting wings and a harp, or am I headed downstairs for some well-done barbecue?"

"Neither," the man said with a faint smile. "At least, not yet. Your case is … unique."

"Unique?" Raiden repeated, raising an eyebrow. "What, did I break some cosmic rule by dying too cool?"

The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied Raiden, his expression one of curiosity mixed with amusement. "You're awfully calm for someone standing in front of a divine being," he remarked. "Most people are either groveling or begging for mercy by now."

Raiden grinned. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you're impressive and all. The suit, the voice, the whole omnipotent vibe—it's a solid look. But scared? Nah. I've had too many knives, bats, and fists aimed at my face to let something like this faze me."

The man raised an eyebrow. "So you're not afraid of me?"

"Didn't say that," Raiden replied, his grin turning into a smirk. "I'm not stupid, either. You're clearly the guy who could make my next life a living hell—literally. I'm arrogant, yeah, but I know when to pump the brakes. No point pissing off someone who can rewrite my existence with a snap of their fingers."

'Though, I should have thought about it before I mocked Boro.' Raiden thought

For a moment, there was silence. Then the man threw his head back and laughed—a deep, hearty laugh that echoed across the endless white expanse. It was the kind of laugh that seemed to shake the very fabric of reality, and yet it was filled with genuine amusement.

"I like you," the man said, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "No one's made me laugh like that in a long time. Most souls are too busy crying or apologizing for their sins. But you? You've got nerve."

Raiden shrugged, clearly pleased with himself. "Hey, if you've got it, flaunt it."

The man chuckled again and gestured for Raiden to sit on a conjured white bench that appeared out of nowhere. Raiden plopped down, crossing one leg over the other.

"So, what's the plan, Big Guy? You gonna give me a second chance, or is this just an awkward cosmic exit interview?"

"Patience," the man said, taking a seat beside him. "Let's talk about your death first. Quite the dramatic exit, don't you think?"

Raiden snorted. "Yeah, Boro and his gang pulling the knives was a nice touch. Honestly, though, the fight was nothing special. I've had tougher sparring sessions with my shadow. The blade was a cheap shot."

"Yet even as you bled out, you couldn't resist cracking a joke," the man said, smiling. "'Never liked swords and blades. They suck.' That's what you said, wasn't it?"

Raiden grinned. "Yup. Not my best work, but considering the circumstances, I'd say it was pretty solid."

The man nodded thoughtfully. "You've lived an interesting life, Raiden. Skilled, talented, confident—perhaps too confident. Your arrogance is both your strength and your downfall. It's what pushed you to be the best, but it's also what led to your demise."

"Yeah, well, nobody's perfect," Raiden said with a shrug.

"True," the man replied. "But the question is: what should be done with someone like you?"

Raiden leaned back, resting his arms on the bench. "What are my options?"

The man steepled his fingers, his gaze piercing but not unkind. "Option one: you move on to the afterlife—whatever form that takes for you. Peace, serenity, the end of struggle."

Raiden wrinkled his nose. "Sounds boring."

The man chuckled. "Option two: you're reincarnated, with no memory of your previous life. A clean slate, a fresh start."

Raiden shrugged. "Meh. I worked hard to be this awesome. Starting over from scratch sounds like a waste."

The man smiled, clearly anticipating his response. "Option three: I send you back—but not as you were. A new world, a new body, and a new set of challenges. Think of it as … a chance to prove yourself on a grander stage."

Raiden's eyes lit up. "Now that sounds interesting. What's the catch?"

The man's smile widened. "Oh, there's always a catch. But let's just say … it'll be up to you to figure out what kind of person you truly are. Strength alone won't be enough this time."

Raiden nodded slowly, his smirk returning. "I like the sound of that. So, where am I going? Some kind of gladiator planet? A ninja village? Space pirate adventure?"

The man chuckled, standing up and smoothing his suit. "You'll find out soon enough. But I'll give you a piece of advice, Raiden: arrogance is only admirable when backed by wisdom. Learn when to fight, when to yield, and when to grow. Otherwise, you'll find yourself right back here sooner than you'd like."

Raiden stood, hands in his pockets, his grin unfazed. "Got it. Don't screw up."

The GOD smiled "Now Let's Begin..Shall we?"