31 Prologue

Somewhere in a little college town on the border of Gesmaura and Eskana, a shut-in curled up under the covers, the light of his Message Crystal illuminating his face. It was a sullen and tired face, with deep, dark circles under beady eyes making him look a bit like a raccoon dog, and a too-large nose overshadowing a thin mouth perpetually fixed into a frown.

He was an absolute monster of a man, tall and muscular, but at the same time, he blended into the room, commanding no attention and not asking for any, either. He had long, white hair that he hadn't combed in months, and wore a pair of velvet pajamas he didn't even have the energy to button up, although he had no reason to be tired.

Ah, but no matter how much he slept, he would never not be tired.

For thirty thousand years he had slept, and he was still exhausted. He didn't see how eight hours would even make a dent in the jaded haze hanging over him like a stormcloud.

He got no pleasure from anything, but made no effort to gain anything, either. Everything was all the same to him—eating, drinking, and getting a girlfriend, even. These things made him tired.

So. Horribly. Tired.

The shut-in didn't understand how most people managed to live the entirety of their lifespans without throwing the towel in early, but maybe for mortals, it was easy. But for a God like him, he couldn't die. His consciousness would persist and persist against his will, unable to fulfill his dearest wish.

His wish was to die.

He always had a nagging thought at the back of his mind that he chose to become a God for a reason, despite it being so antithetical to his happiness.

But of course he couldn't attain happiness, because he was unhappiness itself. He was the essence of everything sad and depressing given form, so maybe this was what he deserved. "Nobody in life got what they wanted," was one of his mottos, "but they always got what they deserved." And he was no exception to this rule. If he could make an argument, he was the poster child for it, even.

So he didn't deserve anything that benefited him in some way.

But even he was prone to flights of fancy, and now he felt a feeling he never had before—it must be what was called "hope." He didn't hope for his own personal happiness. He gave up on that a long time ago. He hoped for his salvation, ever since his Angel came to him bearing news that would make any other person tremble in terror.

And his salvation came in the form of the False One.

It's not like he hated the world or anything. He was completely ambivalent toward it. But there was no good reason for it to exist, and in his opinion, everyone would be better off if they weren't born in the first place.

The world was unnecessary. He was unnecessary. Everyone was unnecessary.

He didn't care about unnecessary things.

He clasped his hands together in earnest prayer. The shut-in held the False One very close to his heart, for they were the only one who could end him. And the more they used their power, the stronger they became, so it was certain they could make his wish come true.

Turning off the Message Crystal, he closed his eyes and smiled, drifting off into oblivion. A beautiful dream, he thought as he fell asleep.

Grant me my beautiful peace.