999,999+ Max Stat: Even the Gods Can't Stop Me

Chapter 20: Chapter 20: Beyound.

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What is divinity?

It is not mana, the raw power that hunters, witches, and beasts rely on. It is not the life essence that flows through every living thing. The heavens always claimed divinity belonged only to the Creator, reserved for the Silver City high above everything else.

But after the Creator disappeared, everything changed. Divinity flooded the universe without warning. A whole new era began. New gods rose up. Legends formed overnight. Wars broke out between humans fighting for scraps of that power.

No one in heaven or hell could explain how it happened. They searched for answers everywhere. In the end, they all pointed to one man: the golden immortal who turned down a throne. Amon.

In heaven, alarms blared across the Silver City. Sirens echoed through crystal halls and golden towers. Michael sat in his office, wings folded tight against his back, staring at the wall of screens. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

"Amon..." he grunted, leaning back in his seat.

The readings were insane. The amount of divinity released in that ritual could power the entire Silver City for another thousand years. No one had seen anything like it.

[You know, I can’t send him back up. He’s stuck here now, for eternity.] — Morning Star.

Michael’s fingers dug into the armrest of his chair until it cracked.

Michael closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He didn’t want to believe it, but Lucifer was right. No angel corrupted by hell had ever returned. Not once.

The rules were absolute. Yet Amon had done it anyway. Finally, Michael knew he had made a mistake. He still pictured Amon as the newborn from the Creator’s breath. A child who could be guided. Controlled.

But Amon was no child anymore.

"After I removed your attachments, you were supposed to come back to me," Michael whispered, tapping his fingers on the table. "Back to my city."

The tapping grew faster. Harder.

Tap. Tap.

"Amon, this is your declaration then..."

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"If you want to face all of my forces, all of heaven, then so be it!" Michael roared.

The tapping turned into a frenzy. His fist slammed down repeatedly, cracking the table again and again.

"I will damn you! For all of eternity! AMON!"

Michael grabbed the entire table and hurled it across the room with such force that it disintegrated mid-air into golden dust.

"Just you wait..."

What the world lost, hell gained.

The Curse Ember at the heart of the pit surged with new power as the realm between earth and the abyss grew thinner. Contact between the two sides increased rapidly.

Haaauuuuuu!!!

Demons howled in celebration while the nobility of hell grinned from their thrones of bone and obsidian.

Above them all, above all of hell, Lucifer smiled the widest, his eyes on the prize before him.

"So how is it, brother? You feel like home yet?"

Raphael hung from heavy chains, skin rotting, hair falling out in patches. He breathed hard, eyes filled with rage and pain. "You... fou—"

"Silence!" Lucifer yanked the chains, and Raphael’s body jerked forward. "You will learn eventually. You will suffer exactly what I suffered. In time, you will understand..."

Lucifer stepped closer. His hand gripped Raphael’s chin, forcing him to look up.

"You will understand why Amon was the single biggest mistake the Creator ever made..."

With those words, he shoved Raphael back. The angel crashed against the stone wall, groaning in burning pain.

"Until then, brother, you won’t be needing these."

Slice!

"Aaaaa!!"

One casual swing of Lucifer’s hand tore off Raphael’s six rotting wings. Golden blood oozed everywhere. The drops hit demons below, frying them instantly where they stood.

Screams filled the chamber for a couple of seconds.

Lucifer bathed in the gold, sticking his tongue out, licking it slowly. "Ummmm... Oh, how I missed this taste..."

On Earth, the realm in between.

Amon gripped the steering wheel of the old truck with one hand. The engine rumbled steadily down a cracked mountain road. In his other hand, he held two keys, one silver, one black, both humming with faint power.

Claude sat in the passenger seat, shotgun across his lap, watching the trees blur past.

"We got the two keys, now we need the third..." Amon said, voice flat.

"That gets us direct access to the pit. From there, we draw out the target without collapsing the whole area. Simple in and out. No heroics."

Claude nodded. "And if things go sideways?"

"That’s why I need all of you..."

Claude shifted in his seat. "Master, I’ve gotten stronger. I could—"

"No." Amon cut him off. "You’re useful because you’re alive. Don’t make me repeat myself. We need your brother and sisters."

Silence fell for a moment. The road wound higher into the hills, snow patches still clinging to the sides even in summer.

Claude suddenly chuckled. "Remember how I became your disciple?"

Amon’s mouth twitched, the closest he came to a smile these days. "Hard to forget."

"I was just a dumb hunter back then," Claude said. "Part of a raid team chasing a corrupted beast in the northern ridges. We cornered it, but the thing exploded. Blood and... other stuff everywhere.

I was thirsty, exhausted. Saw a clear stream, drank from it without thinking. Turned out it wasn’t a stream. It was your damn sweat. You’d killed the beast minutes earlier and moved on."

Amon kept his eyes on the road. "Most people would have died from the overload of divine essence. You survived."

"Yeah. Woke up three days later with stats I couldn’t even read properly. System messages calling me ’bound disciple.’ I tried to track you down for weeks, maybe months.

When I finally found you drunk in the Amazon village, I begged you to teach me. You simply told me to fuck off. I stayed anyway. Sat outside your door for a month."

"You were persistent," Amon admitted. "Annoying, but persistent. Most disciples die young, unable to handle the longevity. You lasted longer than expected."

Claude grinned. "All because I drank your dirty sweat. Best mistake of my life."

Amon glanced sideways. "Don’t romanticize it. The System bound you to me. That means when I go down, you feel it too. Don’t forget that."

"I know," Claude said quietly. "That’s why I’m here. Nyima would kill me if I let you go alone."

Mention of Nyima made Amon’s grip tighten on the wheel. The truck rumbled over a pothole. "She’s in a better place, much better than here."

They drove in silence for another stretch. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the road. Amon’s golden hair caught the light, making him look almost unreal behind the dirty windshield.

"Master, I don’t know if you feel like talking about it, but about the ritual earlier," Claude started. "The one you performed back in New York. I’m pretty sure most of the disciples felt it. My power dipped hard. What exactly did you—"

Amon raised a hand. "Later. Focus on the road, numbstick."

Something felt off as the air grew heavier. Amon looked around as he slowed the truck without warning.

"Numbstick..."

"Yeah?"

"...Get ready," he said.

Claude grabbed the shotgun tighter. "What is it?"

"Ha... They found us first."

The truck crested a small rise. Ahead, the road was blocked. Not just by rocks or a fallen tree. By figures. Dozens of them. Angels in battered white armor mixed with demons sporting fresh brands.

Followers of Raphael.

In the center stood a tall figure with four morphing wings, two white, two black, holding a spear that crackled with mixed energy.

The hybrid angel-demon raised its hand, and the truck’s engine died instantly without warning. Then it was just silence.

Amon exhaled through his nose. "Stay in the truck unless I say otherwise. You are still recovering..."

He kicked the door open and stepped out. The two keys vanished into his coat pocket. His boots crunched on gravel as he walked forward, golden eyes glowing faintly.

The lead figure spoke, voice layered, one tone angelic and clear, the other demonic and guttural. "Amon. The immortal... because of you... release our master from your witchery, and we will let you go peacefully."

Amon stopped ten meters away. "Peacefully? That’s new. Usually you lot just attack."

The hybrid smiled, showing fangs and perfect teeth at the same time. "We learned from Uriel’s mistake. This time we brought numbers. And bindings made from your own blood, collected over the years."

Behind the hybrid, chains of glowing red-and-gold material rose from the ground like snakes. Dozens of them. They writhed toward Amon.

Claude watched from the truck, heart pounding. He wanted to jump out, but Amon’s order held him back, his hands right on the shotgun. Ready.

Amon didn’t move. One of the chains lashed forward and wrapped around his left arm. It burned as smoke rose from his sleeve, then another chain caught his right leg.

The hybrid laughed. "See? Even you can be held."

Amon looked down at the chains. Then back up.

"These... are weak."