The world was slipping from Daniel's grasp. All his comrades, dead. His loved ones, dead. His wife and child, dead. Everyone was dead, across the continent of Enersia. The Demon King had razed it all in a matter of mere months.
Daniel lay slumped against a jagged boulder, blood seeping from nearly every inch of his body. His ears, eyes, nose, mouth, hands, legs, stomach; it was nothing short of a miracle he still clung to life. His consciousness teetered on the edge of oblivion, and as tears streamed down his face, he realized he had lost the very essence of his life, all in just a few months.
He was blond, with blue eyes that shimmered like pearls beneath the sun. It wasn't just any blue either, it was an exceptionally rare shade, reminiscent of living coral: bright, piercing, and hauntingly beautiful. His armor was no more than Common tier, a standard-issue suit, long unsuited to the battles he faced. Yet it told his story in silence: battered, cracked, and barely holding together. This set of armor had witnessed the final stand against the Demon King, humanity's last hope. It was shattered, yes, but what shocked the Demon King most was not the broken state of it, but the fact that someone clad in mere Common tier gear had survived so long.
The Demon King approached. Daniel stared first at the King's feet, then slowly forced his gaze upward. His body screamed in protest, but he defied it; all pain was meaningless now.
The Demon King stood at six feet tall, his physique carved in sharp relief: muscular to a terrifying degree. His features were symmetrical, unnervingly flawless. His skin was pale, almost radiant in its unnatural fairness. Black hair—thick, wild, and streaked with crimson—hung just above his shoulders. He wore no shirt or mantle, only tight, flexible black greaves that clung to his frame and extended down to his bare feet.
He wore his usual cocky smirk. His grin, however, bore both disappointment and fascination. A small cut marked the Demon King's cheek: a wound Daniel had managed to inflict. That cut was the only blemish the Demon King bore. Not even the Grand Mages or Master Swordsmen had come this close. The fact that a lone human, not even ranked among the elite, had parried one of his attacks—and left a mark—was... intriguing.
"You have a tremendous amount of potential," the Demon King said, his voice calm and disturbingly sincere. Then, with deliberate clarity, he made an offer even the Grand Mages would struggle to refuse: "But it's a shame that all of it will be wasted. Unless... you join me. Serve under me."
Daniel was silent. A full minute passed.
His brain was half-fried—literal damage from the Ether surge he had endured—but the intact hemisphere, along with his frontal lobe, still processed the words. His thoughts were fragmented, but his will remained intact.
Then he laughed—a broken, bitter sound—and said: "You think... I would associate myself, betray my humanity, for a creature like you? Don't kid yourself."
The Demon King laughed too: low, amused, and expectant. "Very well, then. I enjoyed our time together. It's a shame to part ways so soon. But you've made your choice, and I respect it."
He summoned his sword.
It materialized in a flash of twisted Ether—massive, grotesque, and alive with malice. The blade reached from the ground to the Demon King's torso, its form crude and chaotic. Its surface was a sickening blend of blood-black and rotted crimson, as if it had been forged from congealed suffering. The sword appeared warped, bent not in shape but in reality; its edges shimmered unpredictably, warping the air around it as if rejecting the laws of physics themselves.
This was no ordinary weapon.
The sword was known as Arnath, an Ether-tier relic—second only to the Eldritch-tier artifacts. Forged in the dying core of a corrupted star, it was said to be born from the will of a god that had long since gone mad. Its blade carried the grief of a million souls: the screams of the fallen, the last breaths of heroes, and the despair of kingdoms reduced to dust. Blood—millions of lives' worth—coated its edge. No cleansing magic, no divine ritual, could ever scrub it clean. Every soul slain by it was trapped within, their anguish feeding its power.
It was a weapon that no mere human could parry, but Daniel did, with only a Common-tier sword. He didn't know how to use mana or aura, so he relied solely on sword skills he learned on his own, by practicing daily. If he had been trained properly at a young age, he would have been able to parry the Demon King longer, giving the other nations on different continents time to summon reinforcements. But it was no use.
It's a shame that I'm so weak, Daniel thought, reminiscing about the time with his daughter and wife. I'm so sorry, Erina... He began crying as the Demon King struck Arnath into Daniel's chest, piercing his heart. I'm so sorry, Erina, I wasn't able to protect you. I'm so sorry for being so weak, to watch our daughter die. I... am... so... sorry.
The Demon King took out his sword, as Daniel's eyes closed and his world started to fade into oblivion. He remembered all the good times, and the bad times that turned good. Then he saw the fading faces of his wife and daughter, as everything went black.
He opened his eyes, bewildered by the sight in front of him. There was a strange liquid on the "floor": bright, golden in color. Daniel was lying on the floor, then slowly got up. He turned his head left to right, trying to see anything, but there was nothing except the strange golden liquid.
Then he looked at his chest—but there was nothing. It was as if the blade had never pierced him in the first place. He touched the liquid, and it had the same properties as water. Then he realized that the liquid might be Holy Water, but a very rare kind. Any Priest can make water holy, but this strange golden water was far more potent and powerful than any Holy Water Daniel had ever seen.
Then a strange window opened in front of his eyes. He was startled. He tried to touch it to make sure it was really a window, but his fingers passed through the screen, and he knew for sure that it was. Still, he was confused as to why the window had appeared.
The screen read:
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Do You Wish To Regress: Y/N
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What is this? Why can I see this window here? Then he realized a better question was: Why am I here? How am I here?
He didn't know what to do. These strange windows had been with humanity since the beginning of time. Humans were only able to survive because of these windows, as other dimensions connected throughout Earth, waiting to be shattered. These dimensions usually appeared in the form of dungeons.
Then he heard a whisper. Though he couldn't make out the words, he felt calmer than before, able to comprehend the situation much better. The voice seemed to come from a woman.
Then a figure materialized in front of him. It was a woman. She was golden in color, smiling at Daniel. She wore clothes like a typical angel would, but the presence she exerted was far more vigorous than a typical angel—or even a god.
She spoke, her voice calming him even more, resonating inside his mind like a megaphone to make him fully understand her words: "Would you like to regress to your younger, five-year-old self?"
Daniel just stared at her, as if he didn't understand what she said. Then he asked her, "Is that even possible?"
"Of course!"
He thought about it. Then he asked, "Would I retain my memories?"
"Yes!" she answered enthusiastically to all his questions.
Daniel looked at her as if she were somewhat of a savior. Then he asked, "Can I ask you two more questions?" She nodded. "Who are you? And why am I here?"
She smiled pleasingly, her bright, gorgeous smile glowing as she said: "I am the God of Light." Then she corrected herself: "Or I should say, a version that you can see and comprehend. Since mortals cannot truly grasp the actual voice and sight of a divine entity such as I."
Then she answered the two questions: "As the God of Light, I have been watching you since you were an infant. I watched you grow up, get bullied for not knowing how to use mana or aura, but I also saw how you overcame every limitation. How you were always able to work around anything that held you back. I was impressed and wanted to help you, but it was forbidden by the other Gods. Now, however, I am able to help you. I will send you back because you proved yourself worthy until the very end. That is why you are here. You have the choice to restart your life, to learn what you did not know before, improve where you were lacking, and ultimately defeat Lucifer when the time comes."
Daniel was silent. He could not believe that a real God was in his presence. His wife worshipped the God of Light daily, as did his daughter. He had never cared for divinity since nothing ever happened when he worshipped. He saw others receive blessings and fortunes by praying to Gods and Goddesses, but nothing was ever given to him.
But now, one of the three Grand Gods stood before him—the God of Light, who wanted to help him but had once been forbidden. He realized there was a God watching him all along, witnessing how he evolved into the man he had become.
Tears welled in his eyes as he smiled brightly at her. She was dumbfounded, unsure of what she had done.
"Did I say something wrong?" she asked nervously.
Daniel chuckled softly under his breath and said, "No... I'm just glad I finally have someone who believed in me."
The Goddess's face lit up with awe as she leaned forward and embraced him. He hugged her back. Her warmth spread through his cold, broken body, soothing him in a way he hadn't felt in years. Then the two pulled apart and faced each other, smiling—not as strangers, but as if they had known each other their entire lives, like siblings reunited after a long journey.
"Now, you must choose. What will it be?" she asked gently.
"I think you already know the answer to that," he replied.
She giggled. Then she said: "Well, time for us to part ways—for now."
He nodded. Then he closed his eyes as he felt at ease, knowing that he still had another chance at saving the people that truly meant something for him.