Holyflame

An ancient god, Aeon, creator of countless worlds, begins to feel a void—an absence of understanding for the very beings he shaped. To reconnect with creation, he abandons his throne and descends into the infinite multiverse, taking a mortal form to walk among his creations. From the high-stakes battles of anime realms to the emotional arcs of movie heroes and the dark trials of video game protagonists, Aeon begins to learn what it truly means to feel.


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I don’t own any of the Characters of the Worlds he will Travel. The story’s will play out in the universes with a focus on the emotional growth of the Protagonist.

The Path of Emotions

They didn't sense the Apostle at first.

Not through sound or scent, nor the weight of its presence — but through silence. A stillness that rolled through the trees like frost, silencing birdsong and wind alike.

Aeon and Guts had only just passed the outskirts of the village when it began. The branded girl stopped walking. Her body stiffened. She pointed, trembling, toward the woods.

"He's here," she whispered. "The shining one."

The trees ahead parted with unnatural symmetry, branches curling outward as if bowing. From the heart of the grove stepped a figure draped in ivory and gold.

Pale, porcelain skin unblemished. Hair white and shimmering like light through snow. Eyes glowing with false mercy.

"Behold," the figure intoned, "the shadow who defiles the name of flame."

Guts stepped in front of the girl and drew his sword. "Another Apostle."

Aeon stood still. "No… something else."

"I am Lucereth, the Radiant Disciple. Chosen of the Falcon. I bring not wrath, but refinement."

His body shifted — fingers elongating into blade-like extensions, golden filigree cracking over his skin like veins of glass.

"You once judged the wicked," Lucereth said to Aeon, stepping forward, "but you abandoned your throne. Our Lord picked up what you cast away. He perfects what you could not."

"A purifier," Lucereth answered. "Sent to erase the impure version of you — so only the perfected light may remain."

Guts barely raised Dragonslayer in time to catch the strike — golden claws sparking against black iron. The force sent him skidding backward, boots digging furrows into the earth.

Lucereth didn't pursue. He pivoted toward Aeon, hands folding like a priest mid-prayer.

"You've become dull," he said, "dragged down by grief, chained by love. But I remember what you were. The god of fire. The bringer of ash."

Aeon met his gaze. "Then you remember wrongly."

This time, Lucereth met him in full.

The two clashed — brute steel against divine precision. Lucereth danced around Guts' heavier swings, countering with strikes that cracked bone and split air. But Guts adapted. He used feints, terrain, weight. A tree fell to one blow. Earth split beneath his boots.

"You fight for a relic," the Apostle mocked. "Why serve weakness?"

"Because he remembers," Guts spat, "and you forgot."

Lucereth spun, aiming to pierce Guts' exposed side.

But Aeon stepped between them — catching the blade with bare hands glowing white-hot.

"I don't need to burn to be strong."

Lucereth hissed. "Blasphemy."

He invited the strike — letting it sink into his chest.

Lucereth's eyes widened as his arm began to burn away where it touched Aeon's skin. Not from heat — from clarity. The false gold peeled, revealing raw, corrupted flesh beneath.

"You worship light," Aeon said, "but you've never seen it."

He placed his palm on Lucereth's head.

The light that burst forth was not fire.

Visions poured into the Apostle's mind — the grief, the loss, the moments Aeon had carried alone. The child's laughter. The silence of ash. The weight of every soul judged without knowing the full truth.

Lucereth screamed — not in pain, but in awakening.

Guts lowered his sword. "You didn't kill him."

Chapter Sixty Nine - The Apostle of Radiant Faith