2026-02-02 13:40:17The faint murmur of voices pierced through the darkness, dragging a man's consciousness back from the void. He lay motionless on a wooden plank—bare, splintered, without even a thread of bedding to cushion his battered body.
The space around him was suffocating. Narrow. Cramped. Like a coffin.
"I thought he was dead," a gruff voice muttered nearby. "Looks like a damn mummy."
"You idiot! Can't you see his chest moving? He's breathing, moron."
"Who are you calling a moron?! You're dumber than a donkey. Whatever—just go fetch water from that basin over there."
"Look who's talking! You look more like a donkey than I do. Stop ordering me around like we're not equals!"
Grumbling under his breath, one of the men stomped away toward a stone basin in the corner. When he returned, he lifted the container high—and without warning, dumped the entire contents over the prone figure's body.
SPLASH!
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
The shock of icy water jolted the man awake. His eyes snapped open, fury blazing in their depths. His body was drenched, cold water pooling beneath him.
"How dare you scream at me, you worthless dog!"
A burly guard with an iron rod stepped forward, face twisted in rage. He loomed over the soaked man, his presence radiating menace.
But the man on the bed didn't flinch. He sat up slowly, water dripping from his hair, his gaze calm—dangerously calm—as if the guard's fury meant nothing.
"Who are you?" The words came out low, measured. God Mervous stared at the guard with the cold authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
The guard's face flushed red. "Who am I?! Who the hell are YOU to ask me that?!"
God Mervous returned the glare with equal intensity. This peasant dared speak to him this way? Unthinkable.
"Get me a whip, Dior," the guard barked to his companion. "This lazy bastard needs breakfast—my kind of breakfast."
The second guard nodded eagerly and rushed off.
"What nonsense are you spouting?" God Mervous' voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "Do you have any idea who I am?"
The guard threw his head back and laughed. "You? Ha! I couldn't care less."
"I could destroy you where you stand!"
"Ooh, I'm terrified," the guard mocked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Still dreaming, are we? Let me remind you of reality, boy. You're not some mighty warrior. You're a slave. Lower than dirt. A piece of property. So stop your delusions and remember your place."
God Mervous' mind reeled. Slave? The word was incomprehensible. Impossible.
"An uppity slave like you deserves punishment," the guard continued, sneering. "You're lazy, insolent, and clearly in need of correction. Today, you won't eat. You'll work until I'm satisfied—if I ever am."
Before God Mervous could respond, the other guard returned, whip in hand.
"Here, Commander!"
CRACK!
The whip sliced through the air as a test. Then, without hesitation, the guard brought it down on God Mervous.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Pain exploded across his back, his arms, his legs. God Mervous gritted his teeth, rage building with every strike. But his body—this weak, mortal body—wouldn't respond the way it should.
"That's what you get. Now get ready for a wonderful day of work." The guards laughed as they walked away, leaving God Mervous trembling with pain and fury.
A moment later, footsteps approached. A thin man with kind eyes crept into the cramped space.
"You're always like this," the man said softly, shaking his head. "I told you—the guards here are brutal. We have to wake up before dawn and get straight to work, or they make us suffer for it."
God Mervous turned his gaze to the stranger. "Who are you?"
The man chuckled sadly. "I'm Edrick. I've told you this a dozen times already, Kayrus. You must've hit your head harder than I thought." He pulled out a handful of crushed leaves from his pocket. "Here. Press these against your wounds. They'll help with the pain."
As Edrick stood to leave, he paused. "We should get moving. There's work to do, Kayrus. Don't make them angrier."
Kayrus.
The name echoed in God Mervous' mind like a death knell.
That's when the truth hit him.
He wasn't in his own body anymore.
He was trapped in the flesh of this weak, broken young man—a slave named Kayrus.
"Hey! Don't just sit there daydreaming!" Edrick called from the doorway. "Get dressed and get out there before they come back."
Left alone, God Mervous stared down at his hands—thin, scarred, powerless. He pressed the leaves against his wounds, and to his surprise, the pain began to fade.
But the greater pain—the realization of what had happened to him—only deepened.
Before he could process it all, a booming voice echoed through the corridor.
"HEY! KAYRUS! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU LAZY SLAVE?!"
God Mervous grabbed the only dry tunic hanging on the wall and stumbled out of the room.
"There you are! Get over here!"
The same guard from earlier pointed toward a filthy latrine at the end of the hall. "Clean this toilet. Every speck of filth. Every. Single. One. Or you'll regret it."
At the far end of the corridor, Edrick stood watching. He gave a subtle nod—Do as they say. Don't resist.
Reluctantly, God Mervous picked up a brush and bucket. Around him, other slaves worked in silence, their eyes hollow, their movements mechanical. They were broken. Beaten into submission.
Some bore fresh bruises. Others had scars that told stories of years of torment.
"Who are these people?" God Mervous thought, his grip tightening on the brush. "Where am I? And why is this happening?"
He tried to clean, but his mind was elsewhere—racing through possibilities, seeking answers.
"What about the new guy?"
The guards had gathered nearby, watching him with cruel amusement.
"Not bad. We can have some fun with this one."
They laughed, and God Mervous felt his blood boil.
But he forced himself to stay calm. He needed information. He needed to understand this nightmare before he could escape it.
Until—
CRASH!
One of the guards kicked the bucket from his hands, spilling water everywhere.
"You useless piece of trash! Is this how you clean?! Looks like you need another lesson. Boys, teach him."
God Mervous was yanked to his feet. Fists rained down on him. Boots slammed into his ribs. The whip cracked against his back again and again.
Pain. Humiliation. Rage.
"ENOUGH!" God Mervous roared.
The entire corridor fell silent.
Every slave, every guard—everyone froze.
No one had ever heard a slave speak like that.
"How dare you!" one guard snarled. "You're just a slave! Know your place!"
But God Mervous didn't care. His eyes burned with defiance. "I said ENOUGH."
The other slaves stared in shock. This wasn't the Kayrus they knew. This was someone—something—else entirely.
"Still giving us that look?" The guard raised his whip again. "Feel this—"
"Stop," God Mervous said, voice deadly calm. "Or you will know consequences beyond your comprehension. You've crossed the line. I will never forgive this."
The guards hesitated, confused.
"I will destroy you all."
God Mervous raised his hand, fury coursing through him. He reached for his power—the devastating flames that had once reduced armies to ash.
But nothing happened.
No fire. No light. No power.
Only silence.
The guards burst into laughter.
"Lost in your fantasies, boy?!"
CRACK! THUD!
The whip came down harder than ever. Fists followed. Boots crushed him into the stone floor.
And God Mervous—once the most feared deity in existence—could do nothing but endure.
For the first time in his eternal life, he was truly powerless.
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Chapter 13
Libradon had never visited Teresa's room without a clear reason.Not because he lacked the right, this was his palace, every corner and every room belonged to him, including the room he had allowed Teresa to occupy since many years ago. But there was an unwritten boundary between them that had formed not from rules, but from a habit maintained so long it had come to feel like an agreement. Teresa did not enter his study without an invitation. He did not enter her room without a purpose that could be stated plainly.This morning, he broke that.He walked along the corridor of the east wing with steps he kept looking unhurried, not rushed, not like someone who had been thinking about this since before dawn and had only found sufficient reason somewhere between his first sips of wine. Two guards followed behind at a comfortable distance. As usual. As though this were a visit he had not planned at all.Libradon stopped before Teresa's door.Through the wood that had not been fully shut, h
Chapter 12
That morning, for the first time since he had woken in this room, God Mervous tried to sit up.Not because he felt sufficiently recovered. Far from it. This body still felt like ruins that had not yet finished collapsing, every small movement reminding him of wounds that had not closed, every deep breath feeling as though something was gripping from inside his ribs and refusing to let go. But lying still without doing anything was beginning to feel more torturous than the pain itself. He had spent too long on his back staring at the ceiling, letting his thoughts circle the same place without going anywhere.*Enough.* He pushed his body slowly upward, bracing on his right elbow. The muscles along his back protested immediately, a sharp pulse radiating from his left shoulder down beneath his shoulder blade, making him stop for several seconds, waiting for the sensation to ease slightly before continuing.Finally he managed to sit upright, his back resting against the cold wall behind th
Chapter 11
Something felt different to Libradon. Not because there was a war threatening at the border, not because there was a disappointing tax report from his ministers, and not because the wine in his cup tasted more bitter than usual. What was different was only one thing, Teresa had not appeared.Libradon had been seated on his throne since morning, working through a series of tedious audiences, noblemen with their grievances, merchants with their petitions, guards with their routine reports. All of them came and went like waves that never truly caught his attention.And throughout all of it, the chair to his right, the chair that Teresa usually occupied, was empty.Libradon did not acknowledge that he noticed this. He would never acknowledge it, not even to himself. But his eyes kept returning there, to that empty chair, in a way that irritated him further each time he caught himself doing it."Your Majesty."One of his ministers was speaking. Libradon redirected his gaze to the front wit
Chapter 10
Edrick could not sleep.For three nights in a row he had lain on the thin straw that served as his bed, staring at the same stone ceiling, listening to the snores of other slaves who had long since made their peace with exhaustion, and his eyes would not close.His thoughts always returned to the same place.Kayrus.Edrick turned onto his side, facing the wall. The wounds on his back still stung when the rough fabric shifted against his skin, but the pain no longer felt important. There was something heavier than a physical wound that he carried with him wherever he went.The guilt never left.It only grew larger with each passing day, spreading quietly like roots splitting through stone, finding every gap inside a chest that was already too tired.He was the one who had brought Kayrus to that cave. He was the one who had followed information that turned out to be wrong. He was the one who had been foolish enough to trust rumors he had picked up from a corner of the dining hall, from
Chapter 9
Not the warmth he usually knew, not the fire he had once controlled with a single movement of his hand, not the heat of battle that had always accompanied his steps like a loyal shadow. This was a different kind of warmth. Small. Simple. Like a thin blanket laid over a body that had been frozen far too long without realizing it.God Mervous opened his eyes slowly.The ceiling above him was not rough, damp stone. Not the ceiling of a prison cell with long cracks he had once memorized one by one because there was nothing else to look at. This was different. Higher. Cleaner. There were delicate carvings at its corners, motifs of winding plants rendered with precision, not excessive ornamentation, but enough to indicate that this room belonged to someone of importance. Candlelight flickered softly from the right, casting shadows that danced along the walls in a calm and steady rhythm.He did not recognize this place.God Mervous tried to move, and immediately regretted it.Pain surged fro
Chapter 8
That night, Teresa could not sleep.She had been lying down for almost an hour, staring at the ceiling of her lavish chamber — gold carvings along its edges, silk cloth hanging from the posts of her bed, all the luxury she usually paid no attention to. Tonight, everything felt heavy. Oppressive. Like stones being laid slowly on her chest without her realizing it.The candles in the corners of the room flickered in the silence. Her own shadow on the wall moved languidly, as if more restless than she was willing to admit.*"She looks so much like you. I even thought it was you."*Her servant's words kept spinning in her head, over and over, like a needle piercing the same spot without end.Teresa rolled over and stared at the window. The night sky stretched out full of stars, cold and distant, indifferent to everything churning beneath it. A thin breeze crept in through a gap in the window that hadn't been shut all the way, carrying the smell of wet earth and the late hour of the night.
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