I swear to God/s
Now, look—I’m not a religious man. Never have been. Never saw the point in faith or the Divine, and I’d have sworn up and down that I’d live and die by that belief.
Then again… I’m currently dead.
And let me tell you, the gods? Yeah, they’re nothing like what we thought. Back on Earth, people fought wars, burned cities, and butchered each other over who had the right god. Even the so-called "one true God" had crusades in his name. So, I was kinda looking forward to seeing who got it right. Some all-knowing bearded guy on a throne? A thousand-armed elephant? Hell, I’d have settled for a golden cow.
But no.
Turns out, Earth’s god is a lazy, good-for-nothing, hippie-looking son of a bitch—who, by the way, killed me.
Now, I’ll give him credit. He did reincarnate me into this new body, in this new world—Eidolon, was it?—but here’s the kicker. This world has its own god.
Her name? Ishtar.
And she’s not some all-powerful celestial being. Nope. She’s a corporate bureaucrat.
Yeah, you heard me right. The beings mortals pray to at night, the ones we beg for miracles when everything’s gone to hell? They don’t give a single damn about us. We’re just… paperwork to them.
So here I am, standing in front of Ishtar, and she’s holding out this big-ass book—the —offering it to me like it’s some sacred relic. The second my fingers brush the cover, the damn thing shudders, heat seeping into my skin. The air thickens, pressing down like an unseen hand on my chest. Then, out of nowhere, a deep, rasping whisper slithers through the room:
The book’s cover starts to smolder, glowing a deep, angry red, like it’s physically rejecting me.
Ishtar’s usual smug expression flickers, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Well… that’s new.”
Zen, who was mid-stretch with a lazy yawn, pauses and shifts his weight. “Yeah… that ain’t normal.”
Then, just when I think things can’t get weirder, the whisper slips my head.
I try to respond, but my mouth won’t move. It’s like something’s locking it shut.
Alright. Rude.
I can’t talk, but I can think, so I take my shot.
Silence.
Then—
A laugh.
Not just any laugh. A deep, velvety laugh that rolls through my mind, rich and amused, like someone savoring a fine wine.
Wait.
Ah. Well, that explains a lot.
She laughs again, but this time, there’s something else beneath it—something dangerous.
…Yeah. related to Ishtar.
.
Right.
She laughs again.
I think I’m starting to get the picture. These so-called gods? They don’t mingle with mortals often. Then again… name one working-class schmuck who’s ever met a corporate bigwig in person. I’ll wait.
Her voice starts to fade, pulling away like the receding tide.
And just like that, she’s gone.
The book jerks in my grip like it's alive. Its pages flip wildly, symbols shifting in real time, each movement sending out a pulse of energy—steady, rhythmic—like a heartbeat.
Ishtar takes a step back, golden eyes narrowing. "What is it doing?"
Zen exhales through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh… good question?"
Before anyone can react, the Codex stops on a blank page. Then, as if making up its mind, it flips upside down and slams against my palm. Hard.
And then comes the pain.
No—scratch that. Not pain. Not exactly.
It’s that awful pins-and-needles sensation, like when your foot falls asleep or you smack your funny bone on a counter. Except this? This is different. This is that feeling dialed up to eleven, spreading up my arm like a living current.
"Son of a—!"
Before I can finish cursing, the Codex levitates again. Something wet drips from its pages.
Blood.
My blood.
But it’s not just dripping—it’s moving.
The crimson liquid slithers over my fingers, twisting and pulsing like it has a purpose. Like it’s searching for something.
Then, without warning, it seeps into my skin.
I rip at my sleeve, fingers shaking as I undo the button. My breath catches.
"What in the actual hell…?"
Tattoos.
Crimson-red, bestial, tribal markings coil around my arm and shoulder, shifting and pulsing like they're alive.
A familiar blue prompt flickers to life in my vision:
[Notice: Reconnected to the System.]
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
[Would you like to Sync with the Codex of Gil’Jedalon?][Yes] / [No]
My pulse hammers.
I glance at Ishtar and Zen. They look just as confused as I feel.
Then, against my better judgment… I select [Yes]
"Wait!" Ishtar snaps, voice sharp. "Are you saying you’re reconnected with the System?"
"Uh… yeah?"
Zen, ever the laid-back asshole, still has that nonchalant look—but his eyes? Wide as hell.
"How?" Ishtar demands. "You lost your connection to Theia!"
I throw up my hands. "How the hell should I know?!"
Another prompt flashes:
[Notice: Please outstretch your left arm…]
I exhale, already regretting this, and obey.
The Codex drifts toward me, shifting—morphing.
One second, it’s a thick-ass ancient tome. The next? It’s a vambrace.
Silver and gold, sleek and elegant, with tiny runes etched along its surface. The intricate carvings form animal-like symbols—a bear, a dragon, a wolf, a tiger, and others I don’t immediately recognize.
"Holy shit," I breathe. "A freaking Transformer."
I barely get the words out before the temperature plummets.
The air ripples, like reality itself is bending. A dark, shifting spectral form emerges from the vambrace, towering over us—its body made of swirling ink and parchment.
And then, it speaks.
"Hello, daughter."
Ishtar freezes. Her ever-present smirk vanishes. "...Gaia?"
Zen, who had been casually leaning against a pillar, immediately starts sneaking away.
"Really, love?" Gaia’s voice is both amused and dangerous.
Zen chuckles, adjusting his tie like he’s trying to play it cool. "Hello, Mother."
The entity—Gaia—turns its glowing gaze toward me.
"And you… Beast Lord," she murmurs. "Would you claim what was lost?"
"Uh…" I hesitate. "I don’t exactly know what I lost." I glance between Ishtar and Zen. "Other than, y’know, my life."
Gaia chuckles—a sound both gentle and deeply unsettling.
"Ah… so you do not remember?"
"Remember what, exactly?"
Before she can answer, the visions hit me like a freight train.
A battlefield. Towering beasts. The dying screams of warriors. Twisted landscapes drenched in blood and fire.
Through the chaos, a voice—deep, resonant, ancient—echoes in my skull:
"Do you remember any of it?"
I stagger. My vision blurs. My lungs won’t expand.
Ishtar reacts instantly, her hands igniting with divine light. "Grant?!" She grips my shoulder. Her touch is warm, grounding me.
Zen, unfazed as ever, just sighs and adjusts his sleeves. "Mother… is this really necessary?"
Gaia’s form shifts, her presence pressing down on the room.
"Silence," she commands.
And just like that, the world goes dark.
Again.
When I come to, the celestial plain is gone. Just
like that—poof. No more glowing lights, no more echoing voices, no more
overwhelming sense of divine judgment.
Instead, I’m flat on my back, staring up at a sky
that looks… normal. Or at least, as normal as it can be for someone who just
died. Again.
For a split second, a dangerous thought crosses
my mind.
Except—it’s not.
The moment I push myself up, I realize
something’s off. The air is crisp, wild, untouched by civilization. The ground
beneath me isn’t cold stone but soft earth, scattered with fallen leaves and
patches of glowing moss. The trees? Yeah, they’re not the kind you find back
home. These bad boys are —their trunks so thick it’d take ten
people linking arms to get around one. Their branches stretch impossibly high,
leaves shifting in a slow, hypnotic gradient from deep emerald to shimmering
gold.
I turn my head in a slow circle, taking it all in. A
deep, ancient forest. Not like the woods back on Earth—no, this place
fantasy. I half expect elves meditating in the treetops or a hooded stranger
stepping out to offer me a cryptic quest. Hell, if a glowing blue exclamation
mark popped up over my head right now, I wouldn’t even blink.
It reminds me of something. Something oddly
familiar.
Then it clicks.
Holy shit. This looks like Elwynn Forest from
WoW.
But it’s not.
The second thing I notice—other than the dull
ache in my back—is the weight pressing down on my chest. Not heavy, but
definitely there.
A girl.
A very pink, pale-skinned young woman, her wavy
crimson hair spilling from beneath the hood of what looks like… a ?
Yeah. A black, hooded onesie, a little baggy, like it’s trying (and failing) to
hide something that bulges in a narrow line down her lower back. A tail? A
weapon? No clue. She also wears an oversized scarf, completely swallowing her
up. And despite the questionable fashion choices, she’s —the
kind of gorgeous that makes you do a double take, then pretend you weren’t
staring.
And for whatever reason, she’s sitting on me.
Legs crossed. Casual as could be.
I frown. Look around. Nope—no bags, no gear, no
indication of how or why she’s here. Just her. And me. And the weird fact that
she’s
I hesitate. “Um…” My voice comes out scratchy.
“Young miss?”
Nothing. Not even a twitch.
Okay. Weird.
I reach up and give her a light poke on the
shoulder. “Hey.”
Her eyes snap open.
For a second, she just stares. Big, wide,
unblinking, like she’s seeing something impossible.
Like me.
I mean, yeah, I keep in shape—forty-something,
run every morning like a responsible adult—but I’m not exactly Henry Cavill.
So why the hell is she looking at me like I just
stepped off a movie poster?
I flash her a smile. Not a hey, I’m a total
creep smile—more of a kind of smile.
Friendly. Casual.
I try to sit up.
Big mistake.
Her hand shoots out, grips my shoulder, and pins
me like I weigh nothing.
“Holy shit, you’re strong,” I blurt.
“Master!” she cries, eyes practically sparkling.
“Mas—wait, ?”
“You’re finally awake!”
“Hold up!” I shove her off and scramble upright,
putting some much-needed distance between us. “Excuse me, lil’ miss, but can I
help you?”
Her face falls. Tears well up
in those wide, pink-tinged eyes.
“Aww…” she sniffles. “You offer it so freely? To
me? Really? You are truly a Master.”
I freeze.
Offer freely? My soul? My dignity? My
nonexistent lunch money?
I stand up, eyes darting around for
witnesses—because if anyone watching, I need to be ready with an
excuse. Or a plea for help.
Hold up.
A few feet away, a tiny rabbit is staring at me.
And it looks just as confused as I feel.
More than that—it looks
“Hey!” I point at the rabbit. “It’s not what you
think!”
The rabbit tilts its head. Slowly.
Condescendingly. Then it lets out a tiny, unimpressed huff and hops away.
Wait.
Did that rabbit just me?
The pink-haired girl watches, clearly amused. Her
lips twitch at the corners, barely containing a smirk.
“It’s okay, Master,” she murmurs, far too pleased
with herself. “I am your loyal servant.”
“Nope!” I shoot back immediately, jabbing a
finger at her.
She gasps, clutching her scarf like I just
her.
Okay… that’s actually kind of cute.
No.
I shake my head and point at her again, forcing
myself to stay serious. “Don’t corrupt me, devil!”
She giggles, pressing a hand to her hood. Then,
with a playful flourish, she pulls it back—revealing a pair of curled horns
poking through her crimson hair.
“Silly Master,” she coos. “I’m far too young to
be a devil. I’m a A ”
I groan, rubbing my temples.
Deep breaths, Grant. Deep breaths.
I chuckle to myself, shaking my head. “Smooth.
smooth, Ish,” I mutter, throwing my fist up toward the sky in frustration.
Then I actually at the sky.
My jaw drops.
The sun is an eerie shade of orange, casting
long, strange shadows over the treetops. And in the distance, two moons loom
against a deep turquoise sky.
The girl tilts her head. “Ish?”
“The goddess. ” I mutter.
“Ohh…” She claps her hands together. “Why do you
yell at her like that, Master?”
I sigh. “Because she’s obviously screwing with
me.”
Her eyes “Oh! I love games! Can
I play too, Master?” She wiggles her fingers eagerly, like a kid waiting for
their turn with a controller.
“No,” I deadpan. “I do not feel like playing this
game.”
“Aww…” she pouts, swaying dramatically.
I sigh, rubbing the back of my head. “Look,
miss…?”
She blinks.
I wait.
She stares.
I stare back. Half-expecting kind of
response.
Silence. Nothing but the wind.
“…Right,” I mutter. “This is the part where you
introduce yourself.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh! Right, right!” She
straightens, dusting off her onesie and fixing her hair, suddenly trying to
look Then, lifting her chin, she speaks with newfound
formality.
“I am an emissary of Gaia,” she declares, “and I
have traversed many realms in search of you, my new Master.”
She finishes with a deep, sweeping bow.
I sigh. Already feeling another headache forming.
And then I notice movement.
Slowly, I turn my head.
The rabbit is back.
And this time, it’s brought
A whole of woodland creatures—foxes,
birds, squirrels—just at me.
Judging.