Chapter 30: The First Apostle
Oliver's voice cut through the tense silence, his words ringing out with newfound resolve. With each syllable, he shed the last vestiges of doubt and hesitation, embracing his role as an apostle of darkness with unwavering determination.
As his fingers closed around the handle of the divine weapon, a surge of power coursed through his veins, suffusing him with otherworldly strength. In that moment, he transcended the confines of mortal limitations, his very essence transformed by the dark energies that now pulsed within him.
Gazing into the abyss of uncertainty that lay before him, Oliver grappled with the weight of his newfound destiny. If the Lord of Storms had decreed a path for him, then what name should he give to the chaos and destruction wrought by the evil god? Was this, too, a part of the grand tapestry of fate, woven by unseen hands?
But as the whispers of doubt threatened to cloud his mind, Oliver silenced them with a single command. With steely resolve, he declared that this was no longer a question of destiny or predestination. This was his era, his time to carve out a legacy that would echo through the annals of history.
"Shut up," he spat, his voice dripping with contempt for the forces that sought to bind him. "It's Apostle Oliver's era now."
Oliver stood at the precipice of destiny, his form bathed in the eerie glow of the two opposing energies that crackled around him like lightning dancing upon the horizon. In one hand, he clenched the black gauntlet, a relic of untold power that pulsed with malevolent intent. From its depths, sinister energy poured forth, casting shadows across his features and staining the air with an aura of darkness.
Yet in stark contrast, his other hand was adorned with a pristine white robe, a symbol of his allegiance to The Church of the Lord of Storms. From the fabric emanated a radiant energy, pure and unblemished, like sunlight piercing through the clouds after a storm. It bathed him in its divine light, casting a halo around his figure and imbuing him with an air of righteous purpose.
The juxtaposition of these two opposing forces created a striking tableau, a visual representation of the inner turmoil that raged within Oliver's soul. Caught between the darkness of the gauntlet and the purity of the robe, he stood as a living embodiment of contradiction, torn between the paths of light and shadow that stretched out before him.
But as he aimed the gauntlet at John Kottman, his resolve remained unshakeable. With determination burning in his eyes, he prepared to unleash the full might of his newfound power, ready to confront his adversary and forge his own destiny amidst the chaos and uncertainty that surrounded him.
"The evil god's…" Oliver's voice trailed off, his words heavy with the weight of bitter irony as he lifted his gauntlet toward John Kottman. At that moment, a torrent of memories flooded his mind, each one a testament to the winding path that had led him to this fateful confrontation. He remembered the countless hours spent battling the forces of darkness, his power cutting through the ranks of evil beings with unwavering determination. Each victory had come at a cost, each battle leaving its mark upon his soul. Yet despite the toll it had taken, he had never wavered in his commitment to his cause.
And now, in the final throes of his journey, he had become the apostle of the evil god. Oliver twisted his lips into a forced smile, his expression contorted into a vile sneer as he shouted into the tumultuous air.
"The evil god's… The evil god's apostle is here! The evil god's apostle who will bring the world to ruin is here!" His voice echoed with a chilling intensity, each word dripping with venom and defiance. As he held the gauntlet aloft, Oliver's eyes blazed with fervent determination, their once gentle hue now tinged with fiery red. It was as if the very flames of hell danced within their depths, casting an ominous glow upon his features.
At that moment, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was his destiny. From the very beginning, he had been denied the chance to lead a normal life, his path irrevocably twisted by forces beyond his control. It was a fate he had tried to escape, a sin for which he was now being punished. But as he stood on the precipice of oblivion, he refused to bow to the whims of fate. This wicked path, this deviation from the human way—it was his burden to bear, his cross to carry until the bitter end.
"My name is Oliver Queen! The first apostle, Oliver Queen!" His voice rang out with fierce determination, each syllable laden with the weight of his newfound identity. With those words, Oliver embraced the last name bestowed upon him by the evil god, marking his descent into darkness and declaring war on John Kottman and all who stood in his way.
From that moment onward, he was Oliver Queen—the evil god's apostle, the harbinger of chaos who had descended upon the earth to wreak havoc and sow discord. He was the agent of evil, a force to be reckoned with in a world teetering on the brink of destruction. And above all else, he was John Kottman's enemy—a thorn in the side of the Church of the Lord of Storms, poised to challenge their authority and defy their divine mandate.
John Kottman's eyes blazed with an intensity that matched the fervor of his prayers to the Lord of Storms. With each invocation, he sought divine guidance, a beacon of hope in a world fraught with uncertainty. "My Lord, guide me to the right path," John Kottman intoned, his voice resonating with solemnity and conviction.
Oliver, undeterred by the sanctity of the moment, smiled through his tears and echoed John Kottman's prayer in his own way. His voice, though tinged with sadness, carried a hint of defiance as he called upon the evil god for guidance. "O evil god, please guide me too," Oliver added, his words ringing out amidst the solemnity of the prayer.
John Kottman turned to Oliver, his expression a mix of disbelief and disdain. "How dare you utter such blasphemy in the presence of the Lord's divine grace!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with indignation.
Oliver met John Kottman's gaze without flinching, his resolve unshaken. "What choice do I have?" he retorted, his voice tinged with bitterness. "I am an apostle of evil, condemned to walk a path fraught with darkness. If the gods have forsaken me, then I will forge my own destiny." Some might view his actions as blasphemous, a betrayal of everything he once held sacred. But to Oliver, it was a necessary step—a rejection of the life of a simple farmer, a refusal to be shackled by the chains of fate.
As an apostle of evil, he had embraced his destiny, casting aside the constraints of morality in favor of a path fraught with peril and uncertainty. And in that moment, as he stood on the precipice of darkness, he knew that there was no turning back.
"Apostle of the evil god," John Kottman proclaimed, his voice dripping with righteous indignation. "From this moment on, the seven churches will not tolerate you."
"So be it," Oliver replied, his tone calm and resolute. Clad in the holy robes of the Church of the Lord of Storms, Oliver Queen stood defiantly, the demonic gauntlet adorning his hand serving as a stark reminder of his newfound allegiance.
As he gazed upon his adversary, John Kottman, Oliver felt a surge of confidence swell within him. Gone was the fear that had once gripped his heart, replaced instead by a steely resolve to confront whatever challenges lay ahead. No longer did he cower in the shadow of the winged creature that resided within the church, nor did he quake in fear at the prospect of facing the might of the seven churches. For he was no longer merely Oliver, the humble farmer from a secluded village. He was Oliver Queen, the apostle of the evil god, and he would not be swayed from his path by the threats of his enemies.
Oliver's eyes gleamed with a fervent light as he spoke the name of the divine weapon, "Ichimonji." In that moment, he felt the weight of his newfound power coursing through his veins—a potent blend of the blessings bestowed upon him by the evil god. He was no longer bound by the constraints of mortal fear, for he had transcended the limitations of mere humanity to become something greater, something more. With the divine weapon in his grasp, he felt invincible, unstoppable.
Yet, even as he reveled in his newfound strength, a lingering sense of unease gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. For high above, watching from the heavens loomed the presence of a great being—an entity whose gaze pierced through the veil of reality to observe the unfolding drama below. Despite his bravado, Oliver could not shake the feeling of being scrutinized and judged by powers far beyond his comprehension. And though he may have cast aside the shackles of mortal fear, he knew that there were forces in the universe that even he, as a mere apostle of the evil god, could not hope to defy.
He was not afraid of anything now. Except for the great being who was looking down on him from the high sky.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone