The Godless Apostle

The warm sunlight seeped through the crack in the wall, illuminating the Apostle's face as he slowly opened his eyes. He gazed at the cloudy sky above, but his eyes soon fell to the shattered concrete ground before him. He was still leaning against an unstable wall, which seemed ready to collapse at any moment.

Silence.

The sound of his own breathing was all he could hear as the weight of his experiences, his losses, pressed against his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, but the pain did not fade. It was always there, like an immortal shadow.

When he finally stood up, his body felt heavy. His muscles protested against the movement, but he did not stop. Questions hammered his mind relentlessly.

"Why? Why have I suffered so much in this world?" The pain of his existence, an endless echo of suffering, reverberated in his thoughts. He could not understand. "What did I do in my past life to deserve this?"

These questions repeated themselves, unanswered, over and over again. Each one more piercing than the last. He walked toward a more stable area of the factory, where part of the building had collapsed over time. This place, far from any city or civilization, offered him a view stretching for miles over a dense, impenetrable forest. Nothing but trees and undergrowth, with no visible life in sight.

It was an abandoned factory, seemingly forgotten by time and humanity. Perhaps it had been a small-scale factory, beyond the reach of the big cities, without enough profit to keep running, or maybe it had fallen into disuse due to its distance from urban centers. The Apostle didn't know, and it didn't matter.

He gazed at the vast landscape before him, his eyes lost and empty. What was he supposed to do now? The world seemed so vast, yet at the same time, so small. He felt like a speck of dust in an endless void, longing to understand the meaning of the pain that accompanied him, yet unable to find any answers.

Then, intense headaches struck, cutting through his thoughts like sharp knives. His body trembled slightly, and a sensation of pressure overwhelmed his mind.

It was as if information he had never had access to—as if everything he was—was trying to force its way into his consciousness. A connection to something far greater.

Suddenly, an image appeared in his mind: the name, the identity—"Apostle Without God." It was not just a title. At its core, it was his power, the essence of what he was.

He felt a wave of information about himself flood his mind, faster than time itself. He sensed the uncontrollable energy of his power, all his abilities, his capacity for destruction, his identity as the Apostle Without God. A being without origin, without purpose, an existence created to destroy, with no god to guide him.

The pain grew stronger, but this time, it was not just physical.

It was an abandoned factory, seemingly forgotten by time and humanity. Perhaps it had once been a small-scale facility, beyond the reach of large cities, unable to generate enough profit to stay in operation. Or maybe it had fallen into disuse simply because it was too far from urban centers. The Apostle did not know, and it did not matter.

He gazed at the vast landscape before him, his eyes lost and empty. What was he supposed to do now? The world seemed so vast, yet at the same time, so small. He felt like a speck of dust in an endless void, yearning to understand the meaning of the pain that followed him, yet unable to find any answers.

Then, a sudden surge of intense headaches struck, cutting through his thoughts like sharp knives. His body trembled slightly, and a crushing pressure overwhelmed his mind.

It was as if information he had never had access to—everything he was—was trying to force its way into his consciousness. A connection to something far greater.

Suddenly, an image appeared in his mind: the name, the identity—"Godless Apostle." It was not just a title. At its core, it was his power, the very essence of what he was.

He felt a flood of knowledge about himself infiltrate his mind, faster than time itself. He felt the uncontrollable energy of his power, all of his abilities, his capacity for destruction, his identity as the Godless Apostle. He was a being without origin, without purpose—an existence created to destroy, without a god to guide him.

The pain intensified, but this time, it was not just physical.

But when he tried to unleash the Status Amplification at full power, a sensation of restriction took over his body. He tried—he really did—but he felt his small body give in, the pressure increasing unbearably. It was as if the immense force of his power was trying to crush him, turning him into nothing. He couldn't. Not now. His childlike body wasn't made for this. The pressure of his abilities, if used incorrectly, would be fatal for him.

"Your useless body..." His teeth clenched as he muttered words that, despite his fragility, seemed to be distilled with deep, bitter hatred. How could he be so strong and yet so powerless? How could he have all this power and still be so weak? But he soon fell silent. Anger wouldn't improve his condition. He had what he needed—just not at the right moment. Not now.

So, he stopped trying. There was no point in frustrating himself over something he couldn't change instantly. He looked at what he had: Status Amplification, a skill that could make him stronger than anyone, and Golden Aura, an energy that seemed to fluctuate.

If he could master these abilities, he could become something beyond what his body was. The Golden Aura represented not only power but also a form of control, a dominion over his own being. It could be the key to doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

However, there were still limitations. He didn't know how to reach his true potential. He knew that his child's body wouldn't withstand much more than it already had. But he also knew that he didn't have to use everything at once. He could start slowly. He didn't want to rush the process and end up destroying himself. The last thing he wanted was to die before even having the chance to understand who he really was.

With a deep sigh, the Godless Apostle sat on the ground, the pain and frustration still etched on his face. The battle wasn't just about using power but also about controlling himself, not letting anger and despair take over. He had to be smart. Now was the time to learn.

The Godless Apostle focused his attention on the Golden Aura, his eyes fixed on the fragments of debris floating, surrounded by a vibrant golden glow. He had already felt its power at a destructive level, but now he needed to understand its refined control. The explosion of energy that had destroyed so much in his fury wasn't the only possible manifestation of this force.

He took a deep breath, concentrating on the gentle movement of the Golden Aura around the debris. His outstretched hand seemed to command the energy, and the pieces of concrete began to move, floating slightly before being suspended in the air. The sensation was different from what he had experienced when his energy had exploded uncontrollably. Here, there was a presence of calm—a delicate manipulation, though still raw.

The Godless Apostle was no longer acting impulsively, like when he had destroyed the factory. Now, he wanted to control, not ruin. He stretched his hand further, muscles tensed, and began testing the control range of the golden aura. The debris—first a single small piece of concrete—started levitating farther away. He adjusted the force, allowing the aura to expand more, and the piece of concrete floated several meters away.

"I need to know the limit," the Godless Apostle thought, closely observing the aura's reaction. He knew that the farther the object was, the harder it would be to maintain control without exposing his weakness—the fatigue of his childish body, still unable to sustain large concentrations of power.

He stretched his fingers, forcing his aura to reach a larger pile of debris, and watched the pieces move toward him, slowly rising. It wasn't as simple as the first, but the control was there, in his hands. Now, he was testing not only the weight but also the precision with which the golden aura responded to his commands. The heaviest piece—a large concrete block—levitated a foot off the ground before sinking back down as he reduced the force of his concentration.

"This is the limit, for now," he murmured to himself, feeling the immense effort start to take over his body as he tried to lift that concrete block. His mind was alert, but his body was still fragile. The Godless Apostle knew that the power of his golden aura was directly tied to his physical and mental ability to control it.

The idea of using the Golden Aura as a form of telekinesis began to take shape in his mind. The issue was not just about manipulating the objects around him but also understanding how much he could control simultaneously without falling into the temptation of using raw energy. It was a delicate process, and he knew that the more refined the ability became, the stronger he would be. It wasn't enough to be merely a destructive being—he wanted to be more than that.

With a few more tests, the Godless Apostle now had a rudimentary understanding of his capability. He knew he would need more time and patience to fully master the aura. However, the sensation of control was new and comforting, different from the urge for destruction he had carried until now.

He smiled, still wearing a serious expression, but now feeling something different, something that seemed to be awakening within him: self-control.

The Godless Apostle focused deeply, his eyes fixed on the various objects around him. Rubble, chunks of concrete, and fragments of metal were scattered throughout the collapsed factory. The idea of manipulating multiple objects of different sizes and weights was already a considerable challenge, but he was determined to push beyond his limits.

'Perhaps controlling multiple objects of different sizes and weights will enhance my control over telekinesis,' he thought, reflecting on what it would take to reach that level of skill. He could already feel the strain of the effort, as controlling objects of varying sizes and weights demanded even greater precision, as well as a mental coordination that could not be done instinctively like the first time.

With a careful movement, the Godless Apostle extended his hands once again. He summoned his Golden Aura, now more controlled, shaping it around each piece of debris. The first objects began to move, floating gently in the air, but he soon realized that his concentration was being challenged. He wasn't just moving one or two pieces of rubble, but multiple objects of varying shapes and weights.

The largest piece, a concrete block the size of an adult human, was the first to rise. The Godless Apostle kept it suspended, but the sensation of weight was different. The block, which had seemed light before, now felt incredibly heavy in his hands, despite not being physically held. He felt his mind forcing his body to adapt, but the effort was immense. No, the block wasn't heavier than what he had lifted before, but the sense of control was different. He could feel the tension in the air, as if the very environment around him was resisting his command.

'It's harder than I imagined,' he thought, as a drop of sweat rolled down his forehead. The weight of the concrete wasn't unbearable, but controlling multiple objects at the same time demanded more concentration than he had expected. His mind needed to stay sharp for every fragment he moved, ensuring that no object collided with another. A single mistake and chaos would ensue, making him lose control of everything.

"Focus," he murmured to himself, trying to block out any external thoughts. The golden aura enveloped the concrete block with precision, while other smaller, lighter pieces began to move simultaneously. He maintained the distance between the objects, forcing his aura to divide more delicately so that each could float without crashing into the others. The smaller, lighter metal fragments danced in the air, moving almost fluidly as he made a tremendous effort to balance their weights.

The lighter objects, weighing around 1 or 2 kilos, such as small metal shards and pieces of glass, moved easily, floating around him in rapid motions, almost as if they were being dragged by invisible currents. The larger and heavier objects, like the concrete block, required greater mental effort, almost as if he were struggling to keep them balanced. The Godless Apostle kept his breathing controlled—if he lost focus for even a second, everything could collapse.

The greatest challenge, however, was ensuring that none of the objects interfered with each other. He had to adjust the movement angles with extreme precision, pushing the concrete block slowly to one corner while other pieces of debris floated smoothly in opposite directions. He felt as if he were orchestrating a dance of floating objects, each with a purpose, each moving independently yet part of a whole.

But the pain in his head was beginning to intensify. The psychological burden of controlling so many objects at once, combined with the physical effort required to keep his golden aura active, was demanding more than he had anticipated. His vision started to blur, and his energy began to wane. He was no longer just controlling the objects; he was challenging the limits of his own body.

"I need... to hold on a little longer..." he whispered, as his hand trembled slightly. The concrete block was moving more and more slowly, yet it still floated with perfect balance. The other pieces of debris also maintained their course, but he could already feel the mental fatigue settling in.

Finally, the Godless Apostle made one last effort, and with an abrupt movement, the objects began to fall gently to the ground, one by one. He had done it. Barely, but he had done it.

He knelt down, breathing heavily. His body, still so young, was not ready for such pressure.

"Maybe a few more tests before thinking about flying." The Godless Apostle murmured to himself, already recovering from the momentary exhaustion. "Hmm... It seems like I don't get tired, but my body can't handle the pressure... How strange."

The awareness of his limitations still weighed on him, but there was something in his mind burning more intensely than any physical pain: the desire to test his new powers and see how far he could go.

The idea of flying had consumed him the moment he started experimenting with Telekinesis. The thought of being able to control objects in the air so fluidly had awakened a craving for more. He imagined the feeling of freedom that the ability to fly would bring, of being suspended in the air, controlling not just his own position but perhaps even the environment around him. He couldn't deny the fascination with this idea, but there was an important question: he didn't know what the limits of his power were.

The Godless Apostle didn't want to be reckless. Flying would be a new and dangerous experience, especially without a deep understanding of how his body would handle the pressure that such an ability would demand. He knew his mind was still adjusting to the control of the Golden Aura and telekinesis, and flight would depend heavily on how he used the energy around him. His thoughts quickly turned back to his previous experience.

The pressure of controlling multiple heavy objects had been intense, and he realized that he might not have the full control needed to sustain flight without his body collapsing.

'I don't know how long my body would last if I tried something more complex like flying,' he thought, glancing at the debris around him, now silent. 'But judging by the results just now, it probably wouldn't take long to learn how to use it properly.' His eyes gleamed with quiet confidence.

Even so, he didn't want to risk his energy without being fully prepared. He needed to test more, adjust his use of telekinesis, and familiarize himself with the limits of pressure before attempting something so ambitious. Controlling his own gravity would be a complicated and dangerous step, and he wasn't willing to pay the price of a reckless mistake. His thoughts anchored on the need for more practice. He needed to refine his understanding of how every small movement could affect his ability to maintain control over his body and powers.

"If I can understand weight and movement control with more precision, maybe I'll have a chance," he reflected while looking at the pieces of concrete still floating around him. The Godless Apostle extended his hand, slowly closing his fingers as if it were a metaphor for the control he sought to achieve.

The Golden Aura surrounded the objects again, this time more gently, without hurry. He wanted enhanced control sensations.

With more confidence now, he began to move objects with greater precision, testing small variations in pressure and direction. Some objects floated more steadily, while others, heavier ones, began to tremble slightly in the air but didn't fall. He was learning to adjust the applied pressure according to the weight and movement, something essential to avoid losing control and collapsing physically again.

The test was going well, but the Godless Apostle knew he couldn't rush forward. He was observing every movement, every energy adjustment. One misstep and he could be on the floor again, but he trusted his ability to overcome these limitations.

'With more practice, I can make this work.' The Godless Apostle thought, his eyes fixed on the objects floating around him.

...

After days of testing his limits, exploring every nuance of his Telekinesis, the Godless Apostle finally achieved what he had long desired: flight. The control that was once unstable and clumsy had now become something natural. He could float, accelerate, and maneuver with precision, mastering his Golden Aura to sustain himself in the air as if it were an extension of his own body.

With this new power, he decided to depart. Flying south, he crossed vast stretches of land, barren plains, and dark forests until he finally found a small town. The place was neither grand nor flashy, just a cluster of common buildings, with busy streets and people coming and going, occupied with their own lives.

Upon landing discreetly in an alley, he walked through the streets, blending in with the crowd. His condition was far from ideal: dirty and worn clothes, a body that still seemed like that of a child, and a gaze heavy with experiences that no one there could understand. However, to his surprise, no one seemed to pay attention to him. People simply ignored him, as if he were invisible.

On an impulse, he stared at an adult man passing by, expecting some kind of reaction. The man gave him a quick glance, showing no surprise or concern, before murmuring to himself:

"A hero will save you."

The Godless Apostle raised an eyebrow, surprised. A hero?

He chuckled inwardly, but not with joy. The man's comment seemed like a tasteless joke. Heroes? He knew where he was; this was the world of My Hero Academia, a place where the concept of heroism was idealized, but in reality, many of the so-called heroes were nothing more than public figures, seeking fame and recognition more than true justice.

If this was the kind of help he was supposed to expect, then he was better off alone.

Not wasting any more time with the crowd, he made his way to a small bookstore he had spotted along the way. The bell on the door jingled as he entered, but the owner only cast a quick, indifferent glance before returning to his reading as if the presence of the Godless Apostle meant nothing. He was used to being ignored by others, so he didn't mind.

Looking through the shelves, his eyes scanned the titles until one book, in particular, caught his attention. He pulled it out and opened it, observing the pages with curiosity.

It was a book about names around the world.

He flipped through a few pages, analyzing the meanings and origins of the names. Until that moment, he had not had a proper name, something he could call his own. However, the idea of having a name began to seem important to him. A name gives identity, it shapes who a person is.

If he were to build a new path for himself, a new name would be the first step.

His eyes quickly scanned through several names:

"Adam, Kevin, Yato..."

None of them felt right. He kept flipping through, going through page after page, until he finally stopped at a name that caught his attention.

"Thiel."

Or perhaps "Tiel."

The form of the writing didn't matter. The sound of the name was what resonated within him. Strong. Direct. With weight.

He mentally repeated it, experimenting with the sound.

Thiel.

This seemed right. This was him.

Suddenly, a hand landed on his shoulder, the unexpected touch interrupting his thoughts.

"Hey, young man, what are you doing?" Thiel frowned, feeling an immediate irritation. He turned his head slightly, just enough to see the owner of the voice.

It was a man dressed in a flashy yet crude outfit, something that looked like a cheap attempt at a hero's uniform. His rigid posture and stern gaze made it clear he considered himself an authority there.

"Give back what you stole."

For a moment, Thiel remained silent.

His mind processed those words in a cold, calculating way before a thought emerged clearly.

'What kind of idiot is this?'

The only reason for this accusation was his appearance. His clothes were worn and dirty, and his messy white hair didn't help make him seem more trustworthy. But still, he hadn't done anything wrong. That so-called hero hadn't even seen any theft happen. He simply assumed, based on pure and simple prejudice.

A hero should be a symbol of justice, someone who evaluates the facts before acting. But this guy? He was nothing more than a narrow-minded hypocrite.

Thiel internally sighed, holding back the growing contempt within him.

"Typical."

Without hesitation, he activated his Status Amplification, and with a quick motion, slapped the hero's hand away.

The impact was devastating. The hand that had previously rested on his shoulder was thrown back with impressive force, as if it had faced the recoil of a heavy-caliber weapon. The hero regained his balance, but his eyes widened for a moment, surprised by the unexpected strength of the boy.

"Don't touch me." Thiel's voice was cold and sharp, carrying an authority that didn't match his young appearance. He wouldn't repeat this warning.

Calmly, he closed the book and stored it away, not caring about the watchful gaze of the man in front of him. Then, without another word, he began to walk away.

But the hero didn't accept that easily.

"Hey! Wait, you little sh—" Before he could finish, Thiel was already far away, completely ignoring the angry voice behind him.

However... his fists involuntarily clenched.

That unfinished insult... Thiel knew what he was going to say.

Even without hearing the full word, he could already feel it hammering in his mind, echoing back to his childhood. A word that had haunted his existence since the moment he began to understand the world around him.

He hated that word.

He hated everything it represented.

If he had heard that word all the way through... maybe he wouldn't have been able to control himself.