He didn't even notice that he had been staring at the naked, silver-haired newborn boy for quite some time now.
His mind was blank. He was simply dumbfounded. This kind of thing… was unheard of. Yet, he continued to stare, his eyes blinking rapidly with great expectation, as if they were trying to make sense of the impossible sight before him.
"You know that I could kill you for that... right?"
The child's voice echoed out, cold and clear, shocking him even further — as though reality itself had just shattered before his eyes.
'What the fuck! Is my entire life a dream? Have I been dreaming since the day I was born?! Is my whole life an illusion?! Whatever this is, I need to wake up before I lose my mind!'
His hand moved on its own as he pinched himself, hard. The injuries already littering his body ached sharply, pain blooming fresh — but even then, his mind refused to accept it. He still doubted, still questioned if the pain was real.
But when he pinched himself again and felt the raw sting, something inside him snapped — unwillingly, he was forced to consider that everything he was seeing was real. That this was reality. His son… his son was really flying. His son was really speaking. His son was a powerful somebody… but how?!
Meanwhile, seeing the man frozen and unresponsive, Deus sighed.
Though he had expected this kind of reaction from a mere mortal, he would be lying if he said the man's continued, dumb gaze wasn't irritating him.
Honestly, he was already resisting the urge to slice that man in half — if not for the fact that he was precious and needed alive, he would have done it. He had already heard the man's muddled thoughts even before he entered this corpse and made it his own vessel.
"Get her out of here." The boy's voice came again, this time cold as ice, slicing through the man's foggy mind like a blade.
"Y-Yes!" The man stuttered, scrambling to his wife's side. She had fainted the moment she gave birth, and now he lifted her up in his shaking arms, staggering as he began to move away.
When he was about fifteen meters away from Deus, the boy's voice echoed directly inside his head.
'I will catch up with you later. Don't worry about monsters. None of them will be able to see or notice you.'
The man's body shivered. His steps faltered.
Even though his son had told him that they would be safe, his heart still pounded violently in his chest. He wasn't stupid — he wasn't about to go and test that theory by deliberately bumping into a beast just to see if he'd be spotted. He wasn't that crazy.
So, he simply kept moving, slow but steady, staggering with every step, but still grateful — grateful that he and his wife had survived the beast attack.
'If he had been a second late… if he hadn't stopped them with that telekinetic power… we would've been dead meat. I owe him one. No— I owe him everything.'
His gaze turned hard. 'With this, I have a chance… I can avenge my dethronement. I accept this fate.'
Far behind him, Deus watched. The man was out of normal human viewing distance, but to him — a god-level being — he could still see him as clearly as if he were standing a meter away.
After watching for a moment longer, Deus sighed and turned his gaze back to the real business at hand.
'Obliterate.'
And in the next breath, every single beast in the vicinity exploded like balloons popped by invisible hands. Blood, bones, and twisted organs sprayed into the air, bursting out like grotesque fireworks.
But before even a drop could touch the ground, before even the pieces could fall — they simply vanished. Gone without a trace, as though they had never existed.
If someone passed by here later, they would never know that a massacre had just taken place in this exact spot.
'If I had been a second late… I would've lost my chance to reincarnate. I would've been forced to wander the universe bodiless… my chance at revenge against Zeus and his allies slipping away. Even a god-like being like me… powerless against fate. But that won't last for long. No. I'll kill them all. I'll take their strength, their power, their divinity. Their lives will be in my hands!'
His small, baby fist clenched tightly as he tried to suppress the boiling anger within him.
Then, without another word, he warped space around him — teleporting away in a blink.
Meanwhile, the man was still making his slow, painful way toward the nearby town. He hadn't even reached the Orange Zone yet when his son appeared behind him like a ghost, startling him so badly he almost dropped his wife.
"We rest there."
The boy's voice was cold, commanding, as he pointed toward an old house with its roof still intact. He was flying, following close behind the man like a silent shadow.
The man's heart trembled.
The house stood there like a relic from the past. Judging by the way it had withstood the beat waves, the owner must have been one of those apocalypse enthusiasts — the type who built their homes like fortresses.
But Deus could tell at a glance: the owner was long gone. Either fled or killed by beasts on the way to the nearest dome.
It had been eighty-three years since Deus saved this world from destruction. And yet… this house still stood. Almost intact. Weathered, but strong.
He could tell it must've served as shelter for many survivors over the decades. As for why it hadn't been torn down by stronger beasts — likely because those beasts, sensing no life inside, hadn't bothered.
After all, they weren't mindless monsters. They acted with instinct and thought. They only rampaged like wild animals when driven by extreme hunger.
The man sighed deeply when he heard his son's words. He knew he had no choice — not now.
But even so, he couldn't deny that the boy's decision was right. His own body was at its limit; if he didn't rest soon, he might collapse entirely.
Without arguing, he shuffled toward the house.
There was no door — it looked like it had been torn off long ago — so he entered without hesitation, stepping into the dim interior.
The place was a mess. Dust coated everything like a heavy blanket. The air smelled old and dry, like it hadn't been breathed by living lungs in years.
He made his way to the bedroom and looked at the bed. It was in pitiful shape. The mattress sagged, the covers torn and stained, thick with dust. The frame creaked like it might collapse if he so much as touched it.
The tiles on the walls and floor had lost all their color, faded into a dull gray. Cracks and chips marred every surface. It looked like the whole house could fall apart at any moment.
But the man didn't care.
Compared to sleeping outside where death lurked around every corner, this place — broken and tattered as it was — still offered shelter. At least here, they'd be safe from the wind and the rain. Even though cold air still slipped in through the gaping doorway, and the roof had a hole or two, leaking faint beams of weak light.
But then, just as he was about to lay his wife on the filthy bed, he froze.
The dust… it was gone.
The entire room, though still old and cracked, had been cleared — every speck of dirt and grime vanished as if erased by an invisible hand.
The room was clean.
But even so… the years of wear and decay still clung to it, like scars that couldn't be washed away.