Chapter 2: Weak.
In a dark void of nothingness, where souls floated in the gloomy expanse of the hollow atmosphere, an eerie dark orb of energy hovered, blazing with corrosive powers that felt suffocating to comprehend.
Amidst the black aura that shrouded it, a soul existed.
"How long has it been?" the voice said.
"I thought I should have been reincarnated by now. My patience is wearing thin."
"Could the supreme gods have a hand in this?"
Frustration clouded Azrael's mind as he pondered what the supreme gods had in store for him as punishment for his actions.
At that moment, a white hole appeared, producing a whirlpool that slowly pulled Azrael's soul toward it like a magnet.
His soul's resistance was futile; the gravitational pull was unmatched.
He eventually surrendered to the force, and his soul passed through it, obscured by a bright light.
The only thing he could see was a complete blur, the fuzzy shapes of objects indicating he was no longer in the soul space but instead somewhere foreign.
After a while, the environment cleared, and he could finally observe his surroundings, which left him puzzled.
'Where the heavens ass am I?' Azrael pondered internally.
What came into view was a dense forest, with tall trees stretching to the canopy and the persistent croaking of frogs.
'The gods have given me "The Supreme Gods' punishment," haven't they? Bastards!' Azrael thought as he stared at his hands.
When a god is killed, they undergo the reincarnation cycle and are reborn into a new body, immediately growing to power.
However, Azrael's problem was not reincarnation but rather being transferred into another body—a human one at that.
'You bastards, this is not fair! How can a god like me, a being mighty and great, be reincarnated into a feeble human body?!'
The surprising thing was that the body he inhabited seemed to be dead. Why?
Because the tip of a large axe was sticking out from his chest, an another mighty axe had embedded itself through his body.
Azrael was unfazed by this and simply stood up, cursing the gods for his misfortune.
'For sure, the supreme gods had a hand in this!'
"Hey you! Aren't you supposed to be dead?!" a voice shouted from behind. "What the hell! I killed you, man!"
Azrael blinked in frustration as he slowly turned toward the speaker.
"Another human!" Azrael gritted his teeth.
Before him were five individuals with petrified faces.
How could someone still be alive after such fatalities?
A man with a scar, resting against a tree, stared at Azrael and then at the cigarette he was smoking.
"What the hell is in this weed, man?!"
They were a group of scavengers on a hunt, and the body Azrael now possessed had been used as bait to lure beasts.
The man had been hacked from behind and left as bait; he was a nobody and useless to the team.
"Nah, bro, I didn't sign up for this," said someone with a bandana, fear evident in his voice.
Azrael stared at them with a fearful expression before asking, "What century is this?"
The one with the bandana, named Mick, unsheathed a dagger and slowly moved forward.
"What do you mean?" Mick asked, though he didn't understand what was going on.
But a small cut to the throat could end it all right?.
Azrael's keen eyes assessed the situation, and he couldn't help but burst into laughter.
"Heheheh... You pests think you can kill me? Pathetic! I'll show you the punishment that defiling a god brings!" Azrael declared, pointing a finger at Mick, who froze, thinking danger had befallen him.
However, nothing happened. Azrael remained awkwardly posed, a moment of shame washing over him.
"Are you messing with us, you motherfucker?!" Mick shouted, charging at Azrael to finish him off.
He had almost wet himself moments ago, thinking he had stepped on a dragon's tail.
Instead, it turned out to be some probably dead guy acting tough.
'What's happening? My powers—they're not working! I can't feel them! What's going on?!' Azrael screamed internally.
Ever since he was cast out of his father's kingdom for being weak, considered a stain on his father's name—a mighty god with a child as useless as a human—Azrael had struggled alone for years to gain strength.
He clung to the promise of becoming powerful and exacting revenge for his humiliation across the lands.
When he reached his peak, Azrael killed his father in a ceremonial duel for kingship and ascended the throne.
With an iron fist, he ruled.
He killed anyone who belittled him, even gods like himself, earning the title of Godslayer—the first god to become one.
Not even the Lightbringer, Lucifer, the son of Hell, stood a chance against him.
But now, after thousands of years spent honing his powers, they had vanished like air.
Even worse, he was now trapped in a human body, weaker than he had ever been.
'The supreme gods have punished me greatly... ahhhhh!'
At that moment, Mick reached Azrael and slashed with the dagger in an angular arc.
But he encountered no resistance as Azrael simply took a step back, easily avoiding the strike.
"I might not have my powers, but a being of your standard can never be on my level," Azrael said, angered by the gods and the situation they had put him in.
Without a hint of hesitation, Azrael yanked the axe out of his back and mercilessly hacked Mick in the neck.
Blood spewed out like a ruptured pipe, the axe severing the carotid artery—a vessel crucial for supplying blood to the brain—in the most horrific way possible.
"What the..."
The others were stunned at the sight, their faces pale with terror.
The solemn, blood-stained expression Azrael wore only made the scene more horrifying.
"Ha... nah, bruh, I ain't staying here for this shit," one of them muttered, deciding to flee the area.
But as soon as he turned, an axe had already embedded itself in his head.
"Hahaha!!!" The remaining scavengers screamed in horror, paralyzed by the brutality unfolding before them.
***
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Theundyingsaint
Theundyingsaint Every writers needs a motivation, and adding to your collection is my motivation.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone