In the dark room, staring at him with cold, piercing eyes, was Deus. His eyes glowed faintly, almost white, like twin pale moons shining in the suffocating darkness.
A tiny, almost invisible ripple of his aura and killing intent leaked out — but all of it was directed at one person.
The man.
Lancelot felt his body betray him. His legs gave out as though they were no longer his, and he fell to his knees with a thud that echoed in his ears louder than any shout. His bladder threatened to give way. Tears welled up and streamed down his face uncontrollably. His entire being screamed that death was seconds away.
He shivered like a cornered beast, stammering with a voice so faint it barely escaped his throat. "I-I... I d-didn't m-mean t-. . ."
Though the intent spilling from Deus was just a droplet of the ocean he possessed, to a mortal like Lancelot, it was a mountain crashing down on his soul. It felt as though he stood on the edge of a blade, and a single breath — even a whisper — would send him plummeting into death.
He couldn't even breathe. His chest tightened as though invisible hands were squeezing the air out of him. The killing intent wasn't just an aura; it was a force that crushed him from the inside out. It wrapped around his lungs and heart, squeezing till they nearly burst.
Just when the world turned black around him, and he felt he would drop dead in the next heartbeat, that cold, chilling voice — the voice he had come to dread in just one night — echoed in the room.
"Next time don't dare try that again. Because I might not be as merciful as I am right now... got it?" Deus's calm yet cold voice sliced through the silence like a dagger.
"Y-Yes... I-i -wi...ll I-I-p-promise... W-won't do it again..." Lancelot choked out, his words broken and trembling, his heart pounding so loud he could barely hear his own voice.
The pressure of that killing intent made even speaking feel like lifting boulders with his tongue. His body felt like it was crumbling from the inside.
He felt like a prey animal caught in the jaws of a predator — helpless, weak, and moments away from being devoured. That thick killing intent wrapped around him like chains, squeezing every last drop of defiance out of his bones.
As soon as he managed to croak out his desperate vow, the killing intent withdrew. It vanished like a storm pulling away, leaving only the eerie silence behind.
Lancelot collapsed further, barely able to remain kneeling. Every muscle trembled, his body weak and drained like a man who had crawled back from the grave.
"What's your name?" Deus's calm voice once again echoed in the dimly lit room.
Lancelot blinked, his mind still reeling from the assault. That question felt out of place, almost surreal after the storm that had just passed.
"Don't make me wait."
The room darkened again as the killing intent surged back, a wave of invisible weight slamming into his chest once more.
"N-NO... I-I will talk... La...an. . ." Lancelot stuttered, fear gripping his throat tighter than any noose.
Deus, seeing that he finally got serious, slowly withdrew the killing intent again, like a beast retreating into the shadows.
"Lance-a-lot, sir. My name is Lancelot," he blurted out quickly, almost shouting in panic, desperate to make sure Deus heard him — terrified that another second of hesitation would bring that suffocating intent crashing down again.
"Lancelot... Lancelot. Nice name you have there. But you should mind how you act, especially around me. Because actions like this, acted around me... have severe consequences," Deus said, his voice stoic, cold as ice.
Lancelot nodded so hard and fast that his entire body trembled with the movement. "Yes, Sire!" he yelped, still shaking, his clothes clinging to his body, soaked with sweat from the ordeal. He looked like a man who had just survived an execution.
"As for who I am... you'll have to wait till morning. When your wife is awake. Then we'll have a serious discussion," Deus added, his face still blank and emotionless, though deep down, he was a little amused by Lancelot's pitiful state. But, of course, he didn't show it.
"So, if you want to shout out your anger and fury, do it outside. If I wasn't here, beasts would have already been attracted by the sound of that wall collapsing. Fortunately for you, my godly aura drives them away."
Lancelot gulped at the reminder. He knew exactly what that meant. In this apocalyptic world, it was common knowledge — a rule written in blood: noise invites death. The beasts that roamed the land had keen senses, and any human presence was like a dinner bell to them.
His earlier rage had made him forget. He had been so blinded by thoughts of revenge that he'd overlooked this fatal truth. And only by the grace of this God's presence was he still alive.
It hit him then — being near a God had its perks... but the disadvantages? He had tasted them first-hand. In just three hours of meeting Deus, he had danced on the edge of death more times than he could count.
He wanted to tell Deus that his anger had cooled and that he was ready to sleep now, but the memory of that crushing killing intent made him swallow his words. He turned and quietly walked out of the room, his steps shaky.
The place where he had stood was now a heap of broken stone and dust — the remains of the wall he had punched through in his rage. It was a display of the raw strength the humans of this generation could wield. He had done that effortlessly, without even using his full power.
The wall, once standing proud between the bedroom and the sitting area, was now rubble. It was clear that the original owner of this house had been wealthy enough to build with defenses strong enough to withstand the apocalypse... yet still chose a simple design.
Now, outside the ruined house, Lancelot lay down on the bare ground, staring up at the sky.
Above him, countless stars sparkled in the pitch-black heavens, a beautiful and serene scene. The moon hung at the center, glowing softly, bathing the world in silver light.
It looked surreal, ethereal... beautiful.
But Lancelot's heart did not match the beauty above.
"Why do the sky and stars look so ugly today!" he grumbled, turning his head away.
Frustrated, he pushed himself up and dusted the sand and dirt from his tattered clothes. He needed to move — to walk, to do something, anything, to distract himself from the storm of anger and betrayal churning inside him.
And so he walked. Step by step, with heavy thoughts weighing him down.
He walked far, deeper into the outskirts, and strangely, he noticed something. Not a single beast crossed his path. Nothing stirred in the dark.
'Where did all the beasts in this region go? Is it because of his godly aura, like that God said?' he thought, suspicion gnawing at him.
He kept walking. And walking. More than three hundred meters into what was known as the red zone — an area where no sane human would wander at night. Yet still, not a beast in sight.
'Is he really that powerful?' The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
But then, something caught his eye in the distance.
A faint glow.
He squinted, stepping closer.
'Smoke? Someone dared to set a fire in the middle of the night? Are they confident because of the sudden and unnatural absence of beasts?'
Lancelot narrowed his eyes. A chill crawled up his back.
'Whoever that is... I have a very bad feeling about this,' he muttered under his breath.
His instincts screamed at him to turn back. But curiosity, foolish as ever, dug its claws into him.
And despite the foreboding weight pressing on his chest... he walked forward.
Step by step.
Letting curiosity get the better of him.