Chap 1 :Rebirth of the Forgotten God

Prologue: Ashes of Judgment

The heavens trembled, roiling with storm and fire.

Celestial light split the sky like divine lightning, tearing through the void. Amid its glow, a battlefield unfolded—a clash of titans where gods battled not for glory, but for survival. Their roars shook the fabric of reality itself, each blow tearing at the seams of existence.

And at the heart of this storm stood Lian Ren—the once-feared God of Judgment.

His robes, black as midnight and threaded with radiant glyphs, fluttered in the fury of divine winds. His eyes, no longer golden but a cold silver-blue, burned with a fury that could cleave mountains in two.

Opposite him, the God of War, Xian Yu, emerged from the divine smoke.

"You were never meant to wield such power," Xian Yu spat, voice like thunder crashing through silence.

His silver blade gleamed beneath the darkened sky, humming with killing intent. There was no hesitation in his stance—only a sharp malice and the bitter resolve of betrayal. "You upset the balance."

Lian Ren chuckled, but the sound was devoid of humor.

"Balance? Don't preach of balance when your hands drip with the blood of your brothers." He took a step forward. "You fear the scale because you no longer weigh justly. You fear judgment… because you would not survive it."

The gods who once stood loyal around them—celestial commanders, minor divinities, old comrades—shifted uneasily. Their eyes flickered with guilt, shame, and uncertainty.

The once-mighty Pantheon had splintered.

Brother turned on brother. Sister cursed sister.

Their bonds shattered like fragile porcelain, and in its place—war.

And now, at this moment, it was no longer about power. It was about survival. A battle not for dominion, but for the soul of creation itself.

With a sudden cry, Xian Yu lunged.

His blade tore through the air like a comet, trailing flames and divine runes. Lian Ren raised his own weapon—The Gavel of Dawn, forged in the ancient wells beneath the Realm of Truth.

Steel met judgment.

The impact rang through the firmament, unleashing shockwaves so intense that distant stars flickered—some even cracking, dimming like dying embers.

Above them, the sky itself bled light. Clouds split in two. Divine rain fell—tears of the cosmos.

"Lian Ren!" a voice cried from the edge of the battlefield.

The Goddess of Wisdom, robed in starlight, her expression stricken. "This must end! You'll tear everything apart!"

But her pleas were lost, drowned in the cacophony of gods who no longer listened to reason.

The battle escalated.

Fists of pure energy clashed against blades of primordial flame. Pillars of divinity rose like mountains, only to crumble in the next breath. Spectral phoenixes soared and were consumed by celestial dragons. It was a dance of annihilation.

And then Lian Ren drew upon the forbidden.

"Judgment's Wrath."

He raised his palm, and between his fingers swirled a sphere of compressed celestial energy—so dense it distorted space around it. Its light pulsed with the memories of ten thousand trials, its power the weight of sins unpunished.

He hurled it.

The world shook.

Xian Yu screamed as the sphere struck him, hurling his godly form across the fractured sky. But even that was not enough. The gods regrouped, forming a ring of power around Lian Ren, their voices chanting in ancient tongue.

The Binding of Stars.

An incantation whispered in the first age of gods—meant to seal even the primordial forces that birthed them.

Chains of divine light slithered from the heavens, wrapping around Lian Ren's limbs, chest, soul.

"No!" he roared, his eyes blazing. "I gave justice to the realms! You betray yourselves!"

But it was too late.

The chains tightened, burning him from within. His soul screamed, the fire of betrayal licking at every fiber of his being. His divinity cracked.

Then came the light.

An explosion so blinding it consumed the battlefield, leaving behind silence.

Darkness followed.

A void, infinite and cold, swallowed him whole. His thoughts scattered. His identity blurred.

And in that endless black, a voice echoed:

"To reclaim your throne, you must rise without cruelty."

A curse?

A judgment of his own?

He could not tell. Only that the words cut deeper than any blade. They shackled something inside him.

Then—falling.

He hurtled through the realms, past dimensions and worlds unknown. His divine essence, shattered, scattered like shards of starlight.

Each fragment—each karma shard—held a part of him: power, memory, virtue, sin.

They fell into the mortal realm like falling stars, unseen by those too blind to notice.

And then—

Pain.

{The Mortal Shell}

A dull ache pulsed through his skull.

Lian Ren opened his eyes—or tried to. Light filtered through slits in the wooden shutters above him, hazy and gray. The air smelled of damp earth, smoke, and something else—mortality.

He coughed.

Pain racked his lungs. His muscles ached. His hands—so small, so fragile—trembled at the slightest motion.

He blinked and took in his surroundings.

A thatched roof overhead. Worn wooden beams. A rough straw mat beneath him. A bowl of cold porridge on the floor nearby, half-eaten. Smoke curled from a small hearth in the corner, and the room was still except for the gentle creak of wind-blown walls.

This… was no divine temple.

This was a mortal hut.

He had fallen.

Lian Ren tried to rise, but his arms buckled.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright. The movement brought a wave of nausea, but he endured it. He had endured worse.

Much worse.

He touched his chest—no longer the immortal armor of Judgment. Just cloth. Faded, worn. His body was that of a teenager—barely fifteen by mortal reckoning.

Weak.

Defenseless.

A gust of wind pushed the shutters open wider, and the sky outside greeted him—not golden or stormlit, but dull and gray. Clouds drifted lazily, heavy with rain, the kind that never quite falls but never quite fades.

No divine light.

No celestial energy.

Only the whisper of mortality.

"To reclaim your throne, you must rise without cruelty."

The voice again. Clearer this time. It echoed from somewhere within—a curse wrapped around his soul like cold iron.

He tried to summon power—divine Qi, celestial flames, anything.

Nothing.

It was gone.

He clenched his fists. His heart raced.

His Judgment Flame—snuffed out. His godhood—sealed. His mind burned with questions. Where were the other fragments? How could he recover them? Could he ascend again?

And then he felt it.

A pulse.

Faint. Subtle. A resonance deep within.

Something still lingered—karma.

His power had not vanished completely. It had fractured, yes—but left behind a thread. A connection. A System, perhaps. A path to reclamation.

But the cost… would be immense.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Lian Ren?" a soft voice called. "Are you awake?"

He turned his head.

A young woman stood in the doorway.

She was not divine. Her aura held no power. But her eyes—bright and kind—widened with concern.

"Your fever's gone… thank the heavens," she said softly. "You had us worried."

Lian Ren stared at her, unsure of what to say.

His throat was dry.

Who was she? Who had taken him in? Did she know who—or what—he truly was?

But in her eyes, he saw no fear.

Only warmth.

A strange feeling welled up inside him. Foreign. Warm. Not the fire of wrath or glory—but something… gentler.

Perhaps, before judgment could rise again, he needed to learn the value of mercy.

This was not his throne.

Not yet.

But it was the beginning.