The purple fire from the Dark Ritual didn’t just disappear; Ren’s new soul swallowed it whole.
He opened his eyes.
Gone was the endless twilight of the Netherworld—instead, he found himself flat on his back, right in the middle of a wrecked plaza somewhere in Italy.
The asphalt beneath him sizzled with heat.
Strangely, to his new skin, it just felt pleasantly warm, like a sauna.
The constant lower back pain?
Gone.
That annoying touch of astigmatism he’d lived with since high school?
Fixed.
Every breath felt turbocharged, like power was just flowing in and out of him.
Honestly, he didn’t just feel healthy.
He felt like a nuclear reactor barely stuffed into a human body.
Then a cold, mechanical voice rang in his mind, so clean and different from the raw power of the gods.
[ BOOT SEQUENCE COMPLETE.
] [ Host Biological Status: Reconstructed (Eighth Campione).
] [ Binding System: The Strongest God Slayer System.
] [ Primary Directive: Elevate Host to the absolute apex of existence across the Multiverse.
] Ren stared at the floating text in his vision.
The Multiverse?
So, he wasn’t just stuck in Campione anymore.
There was a much bigger game going on.
Main Quest Completed: Slay the Heretic God.
Calculating Rewards…
Reward 1 (World Integration): Authority Acquired: Gate of Babylon Reward 2 (System Exclusive): Passive Skill Acquired—Administrator’s Eye: Allows the Host to perceive the true names, active Authorities, stats, and conceptual weaknesses of any target in their line of sight.
[ Notice: Multiversal Travel Module is currently LOCKED.
Host must harvest more Divine Cores (Slay Heretic Gods) to accumulate sufficient dimensional energy for traversing realities.
] A laugh rumbled out of Ren, low and rough around the edges—almost inhuman.
Last life, he kept his head down.
Played the corporate drone because that’s what you did to survive.
Swallowed his ambitions day after day just to keep from getting crushed.
He hated every second.
Now, staring at that blue text dissolving into the sunlight, with magic burning in his chest, it finally hit him: he didn’t have to play dumb anymore.
No more hiding, no more pretending to be weak just to outsmart the arrogant.
No reason to keep his strength secret.
He was the Eighth Godslayer.
He’d devoured the King of Heroes.
He was going to the top—no one above him.
Then the wind swept through the crater, snapping him back to the present—and to a blunt, embarrassing truth: the Dark Ritual had vaporized his suit.
He was completely naked.
“Let’s see what I own,” he muttered.
He got to his feet, shut his eyes, and focused on the new Authority coiled in his soul.
No fancy incantations.
He just honed in on the absolute right of ownership.
Open.
Space next to him rippled—a violent, golden shimmer, like a sunlit lake fanned out into the ruins.
It was a gateway straight into Gilgamesh’s vault.
Ren reached into the light.
He didn’t even pick a style; he simply willed for something a King would wear.
The Authority took care of the rest.
He pulled out a bundle of jet-black fabric, silk woven from legendary beasts—a conceptual original of all luxury tailoring.
It slid on and instantly adjusted to his form: a crisp dress shirt, flawless slacks, a sweeping black overcoat.
Light to the touch, but his instincts screamed it was tougher than Kevlar, and magic barely scratched the surface.
He’d just turned his collar down when an alarm went off in his senses.
Magic signatures—lots of them—were rushing closer.
To a Campione, mages felt like flickering candles next to a bonfire.
The local Italian associations, coming to check on the god that just fell.
Three black helicopters thundered overhead, cutting through dust with their floodlights, landing squarely on him in the crater.
Dozens of figures rappelled down, landing light as feathers on the crater’s rim.
Uniforms tailored to kill, silver swords, and rifles humming with enchantments.
They’d prepared to fight a dying Heretic God.
Instead, they saw one man—dark-haired, calm, dressed head-to-toe in black standing right where the destruction started.
The leader was an older guy with a battered jaw, scars running through his stubble.
He stepped forward, sword in hand, eyes wary.
Ren didn’t even blink.
He switched on his System reward.
Administrator’s Eye.
At once, blue data flickered above the commander’s head: [ Name: Paolo Blandelli ] [ Affiliation: Copper Black Cross (Commander) ] [ Threat Level: Trivial ] [ Weakness: Over-reliance on localized magical barriers; extreme psychological vulnerability to superior magical auras.
] Ren let a slow, wicked smile curl his lips.
He didn’t wait for the man to speak.
He let his demonic magic burst free, filling the air.
Gravity doubled, pinning everyone down.
The air grew so thick it was hard to move.
The weaker knights crumpled, rifles clattering as they dropped under his power.
Paolo staggered, eyes wide as terror ripped through him.
He looked at Ren, and knew—this was a predator, nothing less than a Devil King.
Ren raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.
Behind him, the air exploded into golden portals—ten of them—each hilt of a legendary sword sliding halfway out, aimed straight at the knights.
“Paolo Blandelli of the Copper Black Cross,” Ren called, his voice quiet but ringing with unbreakable authority.
Paolo froze.
He went bone-pale.
How did this newly forged monster already know his name?
“You’re standing before the Eighth King,” Ren said, crimson eyes locking onto him.
“I don’t repeat myself.
You’ve got three seconds: drop your weapons and kneel, or I’ll add your ashes to my vault.” He meant it.
No threats, no warnings, just fact.
Paolo stared at the golden portals as the truth hit him like a punch to the gut.
Italy’s era of peace had just ended.
His sword dropped to the pavement.
No hesitation—Paolo dropped to his knees, head pressed to the dirt in total surrender.
The rest followed their commander, kneeling so fast it looked like a wave crashing.
“F-Forgive our insolence, Your Majesty!” Paolo gasped, voice shaking, more awestruck than afraid.
“We swear absolute fealty to the new King!” Ren gazed over his new, kneeling army, golden light still humming softly at his back.
The old corporate drone was gone for good.
He’d conquer this universe first—and then the rest.