THE LAST GOD SYSTEM

CHAPTER 3: THE MORNING AFTER

Ronan made it through the night. The blood drying on his hands proved it. At least, it would have if it had been his.

He stared at his palms, the dull morning light gray and unforgiving. Cuts from the fight gone. Three hours ago, his skin had been splitting, pain sharp and raw, muscle throbbing with every pulse. Now there was nothing. No wounds. Not even a bruise.

Not on his arm either.

He flexed his fingers. Rolled his shoulder. No leftover pain.

[WAR ENERGY: 1]

He blinked, trying to make sense of it. Last night, he finished the fight with two units.

[WAR ENERGY: 1 — 1 CONSUMED FOR REGENERATION.]

Regeneration. So that’s what War Energy did for him: it put him back together, saved his life. But it didn’t feel merciful. It felt like a price paid.

Only one unit left now, and he already knew there was no easy way to get more. No farming, no trickery. War Energy came from real, desperate fights that scraped him raw inside and out.

Every bit of it cost him.

He pushed himself up, legs aching. His tunic barely held together, ripped wide across the belly where that shadowy thing had almost gutted him. Even with his body healed, the ragged cloth was a reminder: last night was real.

Other kids shuffled awake, groaning, stretching, griping about the cold. Ronan moved quietly past them, hands jammed in his pockets, eyes on the stairs. Nobody looked his way. Nobody saw him.

In the hallway, he made straight for the washroom. He needed a mirror. Needed to see if he even recognized himself.

The washroom was a box with just a cracked mirror, a chipped basin full of freezing water.

He met his own gaze. Same beat-down shell: wild hair, exhausted eyes, cheeks caved in from years of orphanage meals that never lasted. He looked the same. But something deep behind his eyes had shifted. Like a door in his head had been cracked open, and now a cold wind whistled through a place he’d never noticed before.

He scrubbed his hands and face, blood spinning down the drain.

The System blinked on the edge of his sight.

[DAILY QUEST AVAILABLE.]

He exhaled, heavy. "Already?"

[ATTEND YOUR FIRST CLASS.]  

[REWARD: 1 WAR ENERGY.]  

[FAILURE: NONE.

Failure: none. That was new. Last night's mission had come with "termination" stamped all over it. Now, nothing. Maybe the System felt generous. Or maybe class just didn't matter.

He dried his face. "Fine." Off to class.

The F-rank classroom was tucked away in the basement two floors down, stone walls, no windows, no heat. Splinters in the benches. A chalkboard so battered, you could barely see the current lesson over the ghosts of old ones.

Forty tired kids, heads down, nobody meeting his eyes. Ronan took a seat in the back, quietly.

The instructor drifted in thin, with a pale face and hair faded to almost nothing. He didn’t bother with hellos. Just grabbed a stub of chalk and scrawled on the board:

DIVINE AFFINITY: THEORY AND LIMITATIONS.

“Affinity,” he droned, like he’d said this a thousand times too many, “measures how much divine energy you can handle. Born with it, stuck with it. It never changes.”

He looked out at the class.

“Most of you have low affinity. Most of you will always be F-rank. Some might leave early. A handful might get jobs in logistics, repairs, whatever. Don’t take it personally. It’s arithmetic, nothing more.”

Still silence. No one cared. Everyone had heard it all before.

Ronan half-listened. His mind kept wandering back to the shadow in the dark, to the words it used for him. Shell wearing a dead god’s skin.

[ANOMALY DETECTED.]

The System’s words cut right through his thoughts.

[HOST'S DIVINE AFFINITY: 0%.]  

[HOST'S DIVINE AFFINITY SHOULD BE: 100%.]

The words stopped him cold. What?

[FURTHER INFORMATION LOCKED.]  

[REQUIREMENT: DEATH LEDGER PROGRESS 1/6.]

The screen dimmed out. He just stared, hands shaking a little.

Should be one hundred percent.

He was never empty. He was sealed. Somebody or something shut him off from what he was supposed to be.

The teacher kept talking. “If you want to apply for the Forbidden Division, do it before month's end. Don’t bother. T only seven slots and this year, they’re all filled. Don’t waste your time.”

That woke him. The Forbidden Division. Seven students. Ronan’s mind shot back to last night’s status screen.

The number seven. The seventh student waiting for him.

But that was later, maybe never. For now, he was just another nobody, lost in the crowd. Still, part of him—the part behind his eyes knew the Forbidden Division was calling his name.

The bell rang.

As Ronan stood, a boy in the front row twisted around and stared. Big, broad-shouldered, in a Combat Division uniform with a bold red hawk crest. Crewcut. Jaw locked in a familiar sneer.

He looked at Ronan like he was something stuck to his shoe.

“You’re the zero,” he said.

The whole room froze.

Ronan kept quiet.

“I heard about you. The orphan who broke the crystal.” The boy grinned, all sharp teeth and no humor. “They say the examiner had to hit it twice, just to get a spark.”

A couple of laughs, cold and small.

Ronan just met the boy’s stare. No anger, no fear. Just tired to the bone.

“I didn’t break it,” he said, voice flat.

An eyebrow shot up. “What?”

“The crystal,” Ronan repeated. He slung his bag over one shoulder. “It cracked on its own.” He stepped past him and out the door.

Laughter died. Silence settled.

The boy’s name was Darian Voss.

He wouldn’t forget Ronan Ash.

And the others wouldn’t either.