Life of a Teenage God

It hasn't even been five days since he became a God, but it felt like forever. With nothing to do but watch these people, he felt somewhat like a creep, observing the lives of so many. For the first time, he had an idea—a way to be a God and also have fun doing it.

Why stay cooped up here when he could be down there among them? It would be fun to walk among civilization. But how? How could he help the Dawn Federation? He could use his godly powers to instantly learn the federation's history, but where was the fun in that?

Watching mortals through the shimmering map felt increasingly hollow—voyeuristic, even. Rook's death had carved an itch beneath his divine skin. "Why spectate when I could… participate?"

A grin split his face. Fun. That's what gods were missing. No wonder they went mad.

He paced before the celestial map, now glowing with the Dawn Federation's sigil—a sun cradling a sword. The tank-zombie's rampage continued at Stronghold Gamma-7, its fused metal-and-flesh body shrugging off plasma fire. Bell leaned closer, fingertips brushing the holographic battle. "But how?"

He couldn't just step onto the map, hoping to sink into the world. "Hmm, actually... I did drop those towers on the map," he mused, recalling how the towers grew taller.

His gaze snagged on Rook's corpse, half-buried under rubble. The boy's lifeless eyes still reflected terror. "A vessel," Bell murmured. "A puppet with strings even I can't see."

He focused, and the sanctum's air crackled. Golden light pooled around Rook's body in the projection.

[DIVINE PROTOCOL INITIATED]

[AVATAR SYNTHESIS AVAILABLE]

>> Option 1: Forge a mortal shell (Limitation: Susceptible to death).

>> Option 2: Possess a corpse (Limitation: Power dampened by 92%).

>> Option 3: Manifest as a "guide"

(Limitation: Voice-only, no physical form).

The drawback was steep, but Bell didn't hesitate. "Option 2," he decided. "Let's keep things interesting."

**********

Stronghold Gamma-7

Pain seared through Rook's reanimated nerves as Bell settled into the corpse. The vault door shuddered under the tank-zombie's assault, while the scaled horde roamed around, Rook's once-devoured body forgotten in the rubble.

"Alright, let's find a weapon that screams fun," Bell muttered through Rook's cracked lips. He spotted a fallen mercenary nearby, her charred fingers still clutching a flame-edged axe. Its blade glowed faintly, embers dancing along runes etched into the steel.

[ITEM IDENTIFIED: EMBER CLEAVER]

[ATTUNEMENT REQUIRED: 0%]

Bell-Rook grinned. "Fire. Always a crowd-pleaser."

He grabbed the axe—its weight nearly toppled him. "Whoa. This body is weak. No wonder they gave him a gun."

Three zombies turned, drawn by his fumbling. Bell-Rook swung the axe sideways like a baseball bat. The flames sputtered. The blade whiffed past the first zombie's head, embedding itself in a crate.

"Uh... flaming… decoration?"

The lead zombie lunged. Bell-Rook yanked the axe free and stumbled backward, tripping over debris. The creature's claws ripped through Rook's thigh.

[HOST BODY INTEGRITY: 100%]

[DIVINE INTERVENTION: 8% – "JUST WARMING UP"]

"Okay, lesson one: Axes aren't bats." He scrambled upright, grip adjusted. The next swing connected—a clumsy chop to the zombie's collarbone. Flames erupted, igniting its oily scales. It shrieked, flailing until its skull caved under a panicked stomp.

"Hah! Crispy critter!"

The remaining two zombies circled. Bell-Rook swung again, overcommitting. The axe lodged in a wall. A claw raked his ribs.

[HOST BODY INTEGRITY: 75%]

"Ugh, fine, cheat a little."

He focused, and divine energy surged into the axe. Flames roared to life, swirling up the haft. The next swing was pure instinct—a wild, spinning arc that bisected both zombies mid-leap. Their halves hit the ground, sizzling.

Bell-Rook looked around the courtyard, writhing with nearly a thousand scaled zombies, their ember eyes glowing like a sinister constellation. The tank-zombie loomed behind them, a siege engine of fused flesh and artillery.

"A thousand to one? Even gods hate bad odds," Bell muttered through Rook's gritted teeth. His grip tightened on the Ember Cleaver, its flames barely denting the horde's advance.

[HOST BODY INTEGRITY: 63%]

[DIVINE INTERVENTION: 6% – "SUGGEST RETREAT"]

"Nah. Let's math this out." Bell rifled through Rook's fading memories, fragments of a scrawny boy hunched over stolen textbooks. A flash:

Rook sneaking into a Federation mage's tent, glimpsing a chalkboard scrawled with a fractal formula…

"Arcane Holy Light... Nice."

Since Bell's arrival in this world, those who believed in him were able to use this type of arcane power.

He carved the formula into the ground with the Cleaver's flaming tip. The runes flickered crimson—Rook's mortal magic—before Bell's influence surged. The symbols blazed gold, searing the earth.

[DIVINE RECKONING]

Bell-Rook slammed the axe into the completed formula. Instead of a localized vacuum, a sun erupted.

Golden light tore through the stronghold, incinerating zombies in concentric waves. Scales vaporized. Ember eyes burst like supernovas. The surviving horde shrieked, recoiling as the light purged their corrupted cells.

[NEW SPELL RECORDED: "SOLAR ECLIPSE" (HOLY/COSMIC)]

When the light faded, only the tank-zombie remained, its metal plating scorched and Blight veins exposed.

"You managed to survive that? I don't think even I would survive that," Bell-Rook wheezed, Rook's body trembling from divine overload.

The tank-zombie's treads ground the rubble-strewn courtyard to dust as it charged, its rusted cannon-arm glowing with Blight energy. Bell-Rook hefted the Ember Cleaver, flames sputtering weakly.

"C'mon, scrapheap!" he taunted, divine adrenaline masking Rook's fraying muscles.

The tank's part of the zombies boby cannon fired—a glob of molten Blight. Bell-Rook dove, the sludge splattering where he'd stood, eating through steel plating. He retaliated with a wild swing, the axe's flames glancing harmlessly off the tank's armored carapace.

"Oh, you're armored armored."

The abomination's claw swiped. Bell-Rook parried, but the impact shattered Rook's collarbone.

[HOST BODY INTEGRITY: 31%]

[DIVINE INTERVENTION: 3% – "ADJUST STRATEGY"]

Bell-Rook stumbled backward, the Ember Cleaver slipping from Rook's sweat-slicked grip as a dozen scaled zombies closed in. His divine reflexes were dulled by the corpse's frailty, his swings clumsy and wild.

"Why's this body so… floppy?!" he growled, barely parrying a zombie's clawed swipe.

He lobbed a frost grenade, but it detonated too early, freezing only two zombies. The rest lunged, jaws snapping. Bell-Rook scrambled up a shattered watchtower, its metal groaning under his weight.