But the momentary surge of power came with its price. Rudra’s body convulsed—first a twitch, then a violent tremor as he dropped to his knees, blood splattering the ash beneath him. His muscles bulged, veins glowing like red-hot wires under his skin, until the first blade pierced through his shoulder. Then another. And another.
Swords—thin, jagged, and impossibly sharp—erupted from within him, tearing through his flesh as if his own soul were trying to escape. They jutted from his back, ribs, arms—dozens of them, vibrating with an inner hum. The crimson-eyed boy let out a hoarse, animal scream that shook the frozen dunes, his body contorting under the agony. Steam rose from the open wounds; his breath came ragged and wet.
Agni watched, and for a fleeting instant, something in him broke—a faint sound, like glass fracturing somewhere deep in his chest. Pity, old and familiar, surged before he crushed it beneath the weight of hate. He exhaled sharply through his nose and stepped closer, his tone turning quiet, almost weary.
“You tried to use Construct, didn’t ya?” he said, crouching down so their faces were level. “You know you can’t hope to master that before accepting your connection with the Master. Tch tch tch. Always trying to leap over your own shadow.”
He flicked his fingers, and frost poured from his hand, spreading across the ground until it shaped itself into an ornate chair and a short table—perfectly smooth, crystalline, and absurdly elegant amid the carnage. He sat down with a sigh, resting an elbow on the table, chin in hand.
“Let’s take a break, shall we?” Agni said softly, as if they were two tired brothers catching their breath between rounds of a long-forgotten game.
Agni rested his chin on his knuckles, eyes half-lidded, voice softer now, almost nostalgic. “Yeah… Toriyama passed early last year. Brain aneurysm, they said. Peaceful, at least.” He paused, looking off toward the horizon as if the clouds themselves carried the weight of that news. “Toyotaro took over. There’s a new project—Dragon Ball Daima. Prequel stuff. Goku and the gang turned into kids again. You’d probably hate it.”
Rudra exhaled through his nose, head drooping slightly. “Yeah. Sounds like some GT déjà vu bullshit.”
Agni chuckled, the sound oddly genuine. “They did give Goku a new form though. Sparkling Zero.”
Rudra blinked, raising a brow. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not. Dude’s literally glowing like a damn diamond. Calm as Whis, strong as Beerus, that kinda thing.”
Rudra buried his face in his palms, half laughing, half sighing. “Man… I miss one era and the timeline just—falls apart.”
The ice between them hummed faintly. Agni leaned back, smiling faintly. “It’s weird, isn’t it? You blink, and pop culture moves on without you. Persona 3 got a remake, by the way.”
Rudra froze. “Wait, what—Reload?”
“Yeah,” Agni said. “Looks gorgeous. Reimagined from scratch. Modern systems, new voice cast. The fandom’s going feral again.”
Rudra’s eyes glimmered with a faint spark—an emotion that didn’t belong on a battlefield. “...Did they include FeMC?”
Agni gave him a sympathetic look. “Nope.”
"DAMN!!!!" He said as he looked back at Agni "What else has happened?"
ChatGPT said:
Agni chuckled, rubbing his temple as frost gathered along his fingers. “Oh boy, where do I even start? The world didn’t slow down just because you vanished, Red.”
Rudra leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking for the first time in hours like himself again. “Then don’t start slow. Hit me with it.”
“Alright,” Agni said, ticking things off on invisible fingers. “Chainsaw Man Part 2 went completely off the rails—Denji’s in high school now, raising a kid that might be a weapon, and the fandom’s split between ‘father of the year’ and ‘unhinged dog of war.’”
Rudra blinked. “...That actually sounds peak.”
“It is,” Agni said. “Meanwhile, Jujutsu Kaisen’s author decided pain is a genre—Gojo’s dead again, Sukuna’s body count doubled, and the fanbase is in denial. Oh, and Bleach: TYBW anime came back swinging. Animation so clean it could cut steel.”
Rudra whistled low. “Kubo really said, ‘I’m not dead yet,’ huh?”
Agni nodded. “Exactly. And Attack on Titan finally ended—again—but with an extra ending that made everyone even angrier. Some people call it closure, others call it Stockholm syndrome.”
Rudra groaned. “Good. Let ‘em suffer.”
Agni smirked. “Gaming’s been wild too. Elden Ring DLC dropped—harder than your trauma. Hades II went early access and everyone fell in love with another goddess. And GTA VI finally showed a trailer—real cities, dual protagonists, one dude, one woman.”
Rudra’s eyes widened. “...It’s real?”
Agni raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, man. People cried. Actual tears. Like they saw Jesus driving a convertible.”
That earned a small, breathless laugh from Rudra—the first genuine one since they’d met again. He shook his head. “Two years in a black box and I come back to witness gamer salvation. Great.”
“Movie scene’s not bad either,” Agni continued. “Across the Spider-Verse—masterpiece. Oppenheimer blew up the Oscars. Barbie outgrossed half the MCU.”
ChatGPT said:
Rudra blinked. “Barbie… as in those dolls?”
“Barbie,” Agni repeated solemnly. “Margot Robbie’s playing it.”
“Geez.” Rudra exhaled through his nose, a dry chuckle dying halfway in his throat.
Then Agni pointed at him. “Your wounds. Look.”
Rudra glanced down. The blades that had sprouted grotesquely from his flesh were retracting, one by one—slowly, deliberately, as though his body had grown tired of bleeding. Each withdrawal came with a low, wet sound, leaving only faint scars that pulsed with heat. He flexed his fingers, watching the last shard vanish beneath his skin before looking back up at Agni, suspicion threading through his tone.
“Why are you… back?” Rudra asked. “After all this time. You left. Master left. You both just—”
“I am pursuing godhood,” Agni interrupted, his voice cutting through the salt-heavy air. He raised one hand to his mouth, as if to taste the word before letting it go. “There is only so much flesh can do, even if you are born in it a thousand times.”
Rudra frowned. “W…what?” He tilted his head slightly, incredulous. “What the fuck are you babbling about? Have you gone retarded?”
Agni’s eyes didn’t flinch. “You are a dying little thing, Red,” he said quietly. “But to be frank, I am no different. We both are victims… of that vile—” His voice broke off, trembling with venom. “Disgusting… freak… subhuman.”
Rudra’s expression hardened. “…The Godhead?” he asked, his voice caught somewhere between disbelief and dread. “Jehovah… specifically?”
“Yes,” Agni replied, the word sliding out like a curse and a prayer in one. His tone dipped—half reverence, half venom. The waves outside seemed to quiet, as if the sea itself leaned in to listen. “But you…”
He took a step forward, and the frost beneath his feet cracked like brittle glass. His eyes glowed faintly, twin embers behind a wall of ice. “You are playing a part far bigger than me—or any other angel caught in His whims.”
Rudra’s throat tightened. “Wh…what the hell do you mean?”
Agni’s lips curved, neither smile nor snarl—something colder, older. “You can…” he said, pausing long enough for the world to feel the weight of what came next.
“…replace the Godhead.”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. The wind died. The waves froze mid-crash.
Rudra’s pupils dilated, a shiver crawling through his spine—then, silence.
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