On a mountain piled high with corpses, a god sat with his chin resting on his hand. The nauseating stench of the wretched bodies beneath his feet, the blood splattered across the ground, the swords stuck in the earth, the broken blades, and the weapons shattered beyond recognition all bore witness to the fate of those who had challenged this place. The god was yawning lazily atop them. As if it were only natural. The people he stepped on. The people he slaughtered. The blood soaking the ground. It felt as though everything would last forever. And the god acted far too carelessly. The god viewed the swordsmanship a challenger had polished for ten years as nothing more than a child's parlor trick. With a smirk, he pointed his blade at the challenger without a second thought. His six wings glowed with a blood-red hue, catching the light of the setting sun. His smiling eyes shone orange, as if he already knew the outcome.

And in that moment, as his heart was pierced, the god realized. For the first time, the sensation of pain. For the first time, the emotion of fear. For the first time, the feeling of awe. Poison spread through his veins to every part of his body, killing his nerves one by one. Ah, did those pierced by my own blade feel this way too? Ah, it was only yesterday that I looked down on them, thinking the way they coughed up blood was hideous. Now, I am the one looking hideous. His six wings lay torn to shreds on the ground. From his back, his heart, his throat, his mouth, and his nose. Blood flowed without stopping. Was it to end so vainly? By the hand of a mere insect whose name I cannot even remember?

The last thing the god saw was the challenger, the mere insect, the toy whose name he couldn't remember, pointing a sword at his throat. No, he was no longer a challenger, an insect, or a toy. The god closed his eyes for the last time, looking into those eyes that stared down at him—eyes that held no emotion, no anger, no hatred, not even disgust, but were simply empty.