My boots didn't make a sound as I stepped across what remained of reality. Beneath me, the fabric of the dimension was torn and frayed, like a paper map soaked in blood and regret. Every footfall sent ripples through the fragmented space, yet I moved with surprising ease.
My shoulders were relaxed, my posture unhurried, almost casual—like I was out on a morning stroll rather than facing down the source of every nightmare humanity had ever whispered about.
Cthulhu loomed ahead, impossibly vast. It was less a creature and more a concept, writhing and reshaping itself with every blink. Tentacles coiled through cracks in space, grazing at stars that screamed upon contact. Its thousand eyes pulsed like dying suns, each one looking straight at me—each one recognizing me. I could feel the weight of its awareness pressing against my skin, .
I didn't flinch.
There was no awe left in me. No fear. Just muscle memory and an eerie calmcarved by ten years of war.
This is it, my last dance.
The thought wasn't anxious. It wasn't even excited. It was factual. This was the last thing standing between me and home—if I even had one to go back to. It may have even been one of the many universes destroyed by Azatoth.
I inhaled slowly, letting the airless void fill my lungs anyway. Not for strength. Not for calm. Just because the ritual of breathing still anchored me to the idea of being human.
Cthulhu began to move.
And so did I.
It screamed—but not with sound. Not in any way a mortal language could describe. The air around it didn't vibrate; existence did. It was a scream that crawled under your skin and tried to convince your bones they didn't belong to you.
A psychic wail that dragged out old fears and cracked open every memory you'd buried under scar tissue and blood. If I were still that skinny, invisible boy from Kumasi—God, if I were even that version of me from five years ago—I might've curled into a ball and wept. Maybe even begged.
Instead, I tilted my head.
Just slightly.
Analyzing.
Cthulhu's patterns hadn't changed since the last engagement. Still led with a ripple-field distortion. Still relied on psychological pressure before manifesting a body solid enough to kill. It didn't adapt like the higher ones did. It didn't learn.
You're just another annoying bug to crush, I thought. Another puzzle already solved.
I stepped forward again, ignoring the warping space underfoot, and raised my weapon. It hummed in my hand, calibrated to my intent. Every atom in its edge screamed through collapsed matter, ready to sever concepts as easily as flesh.
Cthulhu surged toward me.
And I smiled.
It came at me in waves—first a tsunami of writhing limbs, then a kaleidoscope of shifting forms, then a single colossal claw made of shrieking mouths and hollow eyes. Each manifestation distorted the space around it, eroding law and reason, but I'd fought through worse.
I shifted my weight onto my back foot, then pushed off—silent, fast, a blur of intent. My body moved before thought could catch up. The weapon extended and curved mid-strike, syncing perfectly with the vectors of Cthulhu's approach.
My arms twisted, my spine rotated just enough to dodge a clawed appendage that screamed through sixteen languages at once. My breath was steady, each movement precise, my heartbeat unbothered by the horror unraveling around me.
Three steps, break the anchor-point. Five, sever its core. Seven… kill it completely.
I closed the distance.
The blade met flesh—if it could be called that. The moment it connected, the universe flinched. Time stuttered. The ground beneath me vanished, replaced by cascading geometries as Cthulhu's body tried to rewrite the rules. I didn't slow. I pivoted, slashing upward, unraveling its form layer by layer.
It shrieked—louder, deeper—shoving memories of grief and despair into my mind, trying to overwhelm me with phantom pain.
But I had buried gods that made this thing look like a bad fever dream. I had broken timelines with a whisper. This? This was just another day in the office .
My eyes narrowed as I rotated midair, using its own collapsing gravity to launch myself higher. The final strike came not with rage, but with clarity. I drove the weapon into the center of its mass, a place no human eye could perceive—but I could. I saw the truth of it, the lie beneath the form, and I stabbed through it.
Cthulhu convulsed.
Its form shattered outward like glass submerged in boiling light. No explosion, no grand theatrics—just a quiet, intimate collapse of something that had been ancient before time had names. And then it was gone.
Just like that.
I floated in silence, breath rising and falling.
No celebration. No cheers. Only the steady thrum of my heart and the weight of stillness pressing against my skin.
It's over.
That thought didn't bring peace. It didn't bring anything, really. Just a blankness.
I let my feet touch a piece of broken void, the last remnant of that battlefield, and stood still for a long moment. My hands didn't tremble. My chest didn't rise with triumph. This was just another end. Another finality.
And then the universe yanked me off my feet.
The void beneath my feet didn't crack or shimmer—it simply vanished. One blink and the battlefield was gone, replaced by a silence so complete it rang in my ears. No stars. No ground. Just… white. Infinite, oppressive white. Not light, not warmth. Just blankness.
Then came the click.
Like a pen. Like fingers snapping.
I landed without impact. No sense of movement. Just one moment I wasn't, and the next I was here. In the domain of the god. The reason I had to fight.
He stood—or at least, appeared to—an old man in a pressed three-piece suit that never wrinkled, never caught dust, and certainly never aged. His face was forgettable by design, tailored to disappear into a crowd you'd never survive long enough to describe. A swirling chalice of galaxies floated beside him, lazily orbiting a globe made of polished obsidian that pulsed in slow, deliberate heartbeats.
I said nothing. Just stood there, still as a gravestone.
The god looked at me, those ageless eyes bright with a kind of performative pride. Not warmth. Not affection. Just satisfaction—the way someone might look at a wrench that never broke.
"Well," he said, clapping once. The sound echoed through the fabric of every dimension I'd ever touched. "That's that, isn't it? Cthulhu's down. Multiverse intact. You did well."
That's it? I thought. After ten years, that's what I get? A goddamn golf clap?This bastard.
But I didn't say it. I didn't move. I just waited.
The god paced a bit, hands clasped behind his back, talking more to himself than to me. "You exceeded expectations. Really. That whole thing with the Chrono Parasite in Cycle-52? Genius. And the way you sealed the Hollow Constellations without unraveling time? I mean, chef's kiss, kid. Truly."
I blinked.
He stopped pacing. "Anyway," he said, brushing nonexistent dust from his jacket, "your contract's fulfilled. You're done. Retired."
Retired.
The word felt… alien.
"You'll return home now," the god continued, already losing interest. "No time has passed in your original universe. Everything is as you left it. You're fourteen again. And because I'm not completely heartless—" he gave a thin smile "—I've arranged for a small package of parting gifts."
A package. That's what I was now. A courier envelope of memories and trauma with a bow on top.
"Don't look so glum. My wife insisted I include a letter. Said it was the 'humane' thing to do." He rolled his eyes. "So there's that."
I still hadn't spoken. Not because I couldn't. But because I had nothing left to say.
The god waved a hand, as if flicking me away like lint.
"Now leave."
And then the light shattered.
When my eyes opened, the first thing I noticed was the smell.
Not ash. Not blood. Not the ozone-burn of collapsing space. No screaming stars or cracked sky. Or the black expanse of the void.
Just powdered detergent and sunlight on cotton.
I was lying in a bed. My bed.
Threadbare sheets, the familiar faded pillowcase I always meant to replace, but was too lazy to. The ceiling fan overhead spun lazily, blades slightly off balance—still making that soft, rhythmic click I used to count at night. The air was warm and stale, like alway.
I sat up slowly.
My body didn't ache.No armor. Just… skin. Pale brown. Too clean. Too young.
I lifted up my shirt, scanning every inch of my torso, no scars just flawless, uncut skin.
My hands trembled—not from fear, but from the absence of weight. No blade. No dimensional stress. Nothing. For a moment, I didn't recognize them.
My eyes scanned the room. Everything was exactly the same. The desk cluttered with half-used exercise books and a cracked Huawei tablet. Even the ugly green plastic chair in the corner that I never sat in—still there.
It's the same. All of it. No dust. No change. Like I never left.
A knot twisted low in my chest.
Ten years. A decade of blood, death, war, silence, and solitude. And I came back to a room frozen in time. Back to my skinny, pimple faced teen body.
I stood, feet brushing the frayed carpet. My knees felt too light, too smooth—stripped of the old tension and callouses I'd forgotten were unnatural.
And then—
Ding.
A soft, polite chime echoed in my head. Not invasive. Not loud. Just… there. A notification chime pulled straight from a video game menu.
[SYSTEM ONLINE]
Hello, [User]. Welcome back. Initializing post-retirement protocols…
I blinked.
A soft shimmer passed in front of my eyes as a translucent blue interface flickered into view. Clean design. Elegant font. Minimalist icons. Exactly the kind of system interface I had always expected from webnovels and anime.
[You have successfully completed your Champion Contract. Your mission is marked as complete. Congratulations.]
[You have 1 unread message..]
[Do you want to read it..Y/N]
I clicked no. I wanted to figure out what was going on first and why I have a screen floating infront of my face, before doing anything else.
[It has been detected the user has selected to ignore the message. Are you sure about your choice Y/N]
I clicked yes
[Request overridden, opening mail]
You've got to be kidding me.
The screen shimmered again, then folded into the shape of an old envelope—aged, yellowing, with a wax seal pressed into it bearing the god's twisted, too-perfect sigil.
The letter opened with a quiet rustle. I didn't touch it. It hovered midair, unrolling itself like a message from royalty.
⸻
"Dear Former Champion,"
(My wife insists I use a warmer salutation, but let's not pretend we were friends.)
Congratulations on a job well done. You have exceeded all metrics, survived impossible odds, and saved countless universes that will never know your name. I personally selected you because you were disposable—ordinary, forgettable, entirely average. I did not expect excellence. I got it anyway.
"This bastard. Could he not be nice to me for one fucking second"
As such, I am required (again, by my wife) to bestow a few gifts upon your return:
1. Ownership of a global conglomerate, generating steady high-tier income. You hold 100% of its shares.
2. A fully customizable system, built to your personal tastes. You always wanted one, didn't you?
3. Your skills and powers remain available. Use them or don't. I truly don't care.
P.S. I had nothing to do with the design of the system's UI. That was your subconscious wish. Tacky, if you ask me.
P.P.S. You can rest now. For real. Don't screw it up.
—The God You Didn't Ask For
⸻
The letter folded itself, disintegrating into light.
I stood there, staring at the spot it vanished, unsure whether to laugh, scream, or just lie back down and pretend I'd imagined it all.
Instead, I whispered, "I'm home."
And for the first time in ten years, the silence didn't fight back.