God Of Lust and War system

Chapter 3: The Goddess’s Whisper

The green light pulsed in the center of his consciousness, calming his tattered soul and crushed body. However, the echoing mechanical voice brought a chill more piercing than the cosmic void. *Activating Old Memory Lock Protocol.*

“Protocol… what?” Artur whispered, but his voice was lost to the silence.

The world around him—the ruined battlefield, the remnants of demon crystals, and the nebula-filled sky—began to fade. The colors blurred to gray, then to a blinding pure white. The sensation of his body disappeared. The bone-deep exhaustion, the pain of his torn soul, all evaporated. He was no longer kneeling in the void; he was floating in nothingness.

“You almost forgot, darling.”

The voice came from all directions at once, soft as silk, yet sharp as an ice dagger. It was Alice.

“Alice? Where is this?” Artur asked, his consciousness spinning. “Where are the goddesses? Are they okay?”

“They are safe. Resting in the recovery chamber. You are too, technically,” the voice replied, sounding closer now.

A figure began to form out of the white nothingness before him. Light wove itself into the shape of a woman of impossible beauty. Her long silver hair flowed like a river of starlight, and her emerald-green eyes sparkled with ancient intelligence and a hint of madness. Her long, pointed ears marked her as an Elf, but her aura was not of a mortal being. She was a goddess in every sense of the word. Alice, in her true form.

She wore a simple white gown that seemed woven from moonlight, but her gaze was anything but simple. She looked at Artur—or rather, Artur’s floating soul—with an expression mixing amusement and slight disappointment.

“Rest? I don't need rest,” Artur hissed, the remnants of his anger returning. “I need answers. Why did you only show up at the last minute? You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You deliberately watched us all almost get annihilated!”

Alice smiled, a smile that could bring galaxies to their knees. “Of course I did it on purpose. A test means nothing if the proctor gives you the answers from the start, does it? You had to feel yourself on the brink of destruction to transcend it. See? It worked, didn't it? Congratulations on transcending the Immortal Limits.”

“Worked?” Artur laughed bitterly, his soul's voice echoing in the void. “Almost all of Candra’s disciples died. The goddesses collapsed after giving everything they had. I… I was reduced to dust. You call that ‘success’?”

“My parameters for success are simple, Artur,” Alice said, walking closer, each step creating a ripple in the white void. “You lived, the enemy lost. All other casualties are merely statistics. Numbers. You must get used to thinking that way if you want to sit on the Cosmic Throne.”

“I am not your statistical puppet, Alice,” Artur growled. “And neither are they! They believe in me!”

“Oh, I know,” Alice replied softly. She now stood directly in front of Artur’s essence, extending her slender finger to touch Artur's formless being. A strange electric jolt ran through Artur. “That’s why you are special. You made them believe. But… something is wrong with you lately.”

“Wrong? I just defeated a Demon Commander you couldn't touch without directly intervening,” Artur sneered.

“Not that,” Alice cut in, her eyes narrowing. “Not your power. But *you*. You’re starting to believe the mask you wear. The cold, cruel, emotionless War Emperor. Do you think that’s who you really are?”

Artur fell silent. The question pierced straight into the core of his doubts. For the past three years, he had been a war machine. Every decision was made based on logic and brutal efficiency. Emotions were considered weaknesses.

“It’s what it takes to win,” Artur answered softly.

“Wrong,” Alice stated firmly. “It’s just a defense mechanism. Did you know that every time your power increases drastically, the System automatically deletes, or rather, dulls your most painful emotional memories? Especially those from your embarrassing past.”

Artur’s heart, if he still had one, would have stopped. “What do you mean?”

“This System is designed to protect its successor’s ego,” Alice explained, her tone now like a professor explaining a complex concept to a foolish student. “Shame, humiliation, despair… those emotions can be a poison that hinders power growth. So, the System ‘helps you’ by burying them deep. You can focus on being a great War Emperor without being bothered by the shadow of the weak student who used to cry in the corner of an alley.”

Artur felt a wave of spiritual nausea. So… all of this? His cold demeanor? His ability to sacrifice troops without blinking? Was it not character evolution, but the result of manipulated memories?

“So… what am I?” Artur whispered. “Am I really the War Emperor? Or just a puppet driven by a perverted fantasy that you turned into a war tactic?”

Alice smiled again, this time with a hint of sympathy. “You are both, darling. And that is the problem. You cannot become the Absolute God if you only accept one side of yourself. You must become whole.”

She snapped her fingers.

The white void around them changed. A massive screen, larger than any planet, appeared out of nothingness. Its inky black surface reflected Artur’s trembling soul.

“The Old Memory Lock Protocol is not meant to delete your memories,” Alice continued, her voice now serious. “It’s quite the opposite. This Protocol activates when you are strong enough to face the truth about yourself without breaking. It’s time to unseal your ‘Zero Point.’”

“I don’t want to,” Artur refused flatly. “That past… it’s useless now.”

“Oh, it is useful,” Alice whispered in his ear. “That past is your fuel. The source of your fire. You forgot what it felt like to be weak, so you started taking your power for granted. You forgot what it felt like to be humiliated, so you began losing sight of why you fight. You almost forgot, Artur. Let’s fix your ‘Zero Point.’”

The giant screen hissed, then lit up. Not with scenes of cosmic war or magnificent cultivation worlds.

What appeared was a photograph. A low-quality digital photo, as if taken from a cheap mobile phone camera.

In the photo, a skinny young man sat slumped on a dirty pavement. His shirt was torn, his face bruised and swollen on one side. His eyes were red and swollen, tears still streaming down his grimy cheeks, mixing with a little blood from his busted lip. He hugged his knees, shaking violently under the cruel Jakarta sun. His eyes reflected total devastation—the destruction of pride, hope, and humanity.

It was him. Three years ago.

Artur felt his soul shrink in horror. He wanted to turn away, to smash the screen, to run from that deeply humiliating sight. But he was transfixed.

Below the photo, System text appeared in cold, emotionless blue letters.

[INITIAL TARGET: JAKARTA, INDONESIA]

[YEAR: 2025]

[SUBJECT: ARTUR PRAMUDYA]

[STATUS: TOTAL FAILURE]