Ultimate Gacha System: Reborn As A Mob in My Favorite Game

Chapter 129: Killing A God

Valeria threw her arm out like she was throwing out the trash.

WHOOSH!

It wasn’t a grand magical gesture nor was there was no glowing spell circle or dramatic incantation.

The spirit just grabbed the invading god’s consciousness, tightened her grip, and yanked.

Ryoki didn’t even have time to scream.

One second he was the arrogant lord of the inner domain, and the next, he was violently, forcefully ejected from Klaus’s mind like a rejected parasite.

Back in the physical world, barely three seconds had passed.

Klaus was still standing completely still on the black obsidian glass.

His eyes were half-closed with his breathing shallow. Ryoki’s silver-gauntleted hand was still buried deep inside the center of his chest.

Suddenly, Ryoki’s body violently seized up.

It looked exactly like the guy had just grabbed a live power line.

Ten thousand volts of invisible electricity seemed to rip straight through his nervous system.

"Augh!" Ryoki’s elegant flawless posture snapped backward rigidly. His head whipped back so hard his neck cracked with his chin pointing straight up toward the artificial sky.

His luminescent white eyes rolled completely into the back of his head. There were no pupils left, just a horrifying blank white space.

Then came the blood...

Thick, heavy streams of glowing silver blood suddenly erupted from Ryoki’s nostrils.

It poured out like a ruptured pipe.

The silver fluid leaked heavily from the corners of his blank eyes and spilled steadily out of his ears, pooling around his jawline and dripping down to permanently stain the pristine high collar of his silver armor.

His consciousness had just been mauled by a horde of pissed-off ghosts and then forcefully evicted by a sniper.

The psychic backlash on his physical brain was catastrophic... especially in his weakened state, that was a direct soul attack!

Ryoki let out a strangled wet gargle.

It was the sound a drowning man makes right before he goes under for the last time.

His muscles spasmed as he violently ripped his hand out of Klaus’s chest, taking a frantic staggering step backward.

He looked like a drunk getting thrown out of a bar as his knees instantly gave out.

The great Second King collapsed heavily onto the black obsidian glass. He barely caught himself on his hands and knees.

His silver armor scraped against the floor.

He coughed violently, his whole body shaking as he hacked up thick metallic globs of silver blood directly onto his own reflection in the glass.

Klaus let out a long slow breath.

He felt the icy grip completely vanish from his core. The suffocating pressure inside his chest disappeared.

Valeria had done her job.

"You did a good job, Val..." Klaus said as he opened his eyes.

The dark voids stared down at the god currently kneeling and choking in front of him.

Klaus turned his head slightly and spat a mouthful of dark red blood onto the black glass, right next to Ryoki’s trembling hand.

"My turn," Klaus rasped.

His left arm was completely dead. It hung uselessly at his side, paralyzed from where Ryoki had stabbed him through the shoulder earlier.

The nerves were shot so he couldn’t even twitch his fingers.

Klaus didn’t care.

He didn’t need two hands to take out the trash.

Klaus reached down with his right hand. His fingers wrapped around the thick, unadorned hilt of his massive Soul Broadsword lying on the glass.

He hauled the impossibly heavy weapon up.

The muscles in his right arm strained, the veins bulging against his skin as he hoisted it, resting the flat of the heavy blade against his right shoulder.

He didn’t channel his own anger this time... He didn’t need to ashe had plenty of anger to spare.

He reached inward. He connected directly with the chaotic, overwhelming, collective fury of the internal army that was still completely riled up inside his chest.

Over a hundred dead souls who had just been poked with a stick by an arrogant god...

He took all of their feral hatred.

He took the agonizing pain of the starving bandits, the blind rage of the winter monsters, and the bitter resentment of the slaughtered guards and Varhem as well as the anger of the other monsters.

He gathered it all up into one massive ugly knot in his chest, and he pumped it directly down his right arm and into the sword.

The massive broadsword didn’t stay pure white.

The color violently shifted.

The blinding, pristine white light was instantly corrupted. It turned into a terrifying, deep blood-soaked crimson.

It looked like rusted iron and dried blood given physical form.

The blade literally hummed in his grip, vibrating with the overlapping screaming voices of a hundred dead souls wanting payback.

Klaus didn’t swing at the god.

Ryoki wasn’t the immediate problem right now... The guy was busy bleeding from his eyeballs.

The real problem was the domain.

As long as they were standing on this black glass, Klaus couldn’t heal, and Ryoki had a chance to tap into that infinite battery and regenerate.

Klaus had to break the board.

He reversed his grip on the heavy hilt and then he pointed the brutal wedge of the tip directly down at the flawless black obsidian glass right between his own combat boots.

He raised the crimson sword high.

Klaus pumped the collective weight of over a hundred distinct souls entirely into the singular point of the blade.

It was a massive chaotic paradox of energy.

You couldn’t cram that many conflicting existences into a single physical point without breaking something.

He drove the crimson broadsword directly down into the floor.

CRACK!

The impact broke the glass and it also broke the rules of the Domain.

The domain of Stagnant Eternity was designed to enforce stillness.

It simply could not process, contain, or govern the conflicting output of that many violent souls detonating in one single place.

It was like trying to force a raging river through a garden hose... Perhaps if it had been on a higher level then things would have been different however the fundamental architecture of the pocket dimension failed.

The black obsidian mirror violently spider-webbed. Massive, deep cracks raced outward from the exact tip of Klaus’s sword.

The fractures traveled across the entire fifty-yard radius of the arena in a fraction of a second, accompanied by a sound like tearing metal.

Then, the domain completely shattered.

SHATTERRRRR!

It sounded like a massive glass cathedral collapsing inward on itself.

The suffocating stagnant air pressure that had been crushing Klaus’s lungs instantly vanished.

The black glass completely disintegrated, turning to dust and violently reverting back into the coarse, shifting yellow sand of the original arena.

The sudden violent collapse of a domain didn’t just change the scenery as it also created a massive backlash of raw spatial energy.

The resulting shockwave hit Ryoki point-blank.

The god was already crippled, kneeling on the ground and dealing with catastrophic brain damage.

He couldn’t cast a shield so the backlash hit him like a runaway train. It dropped Ryoki completely flat on his stomach in the dirt.

His perfect centuries-old silver armor finally gave way.

The metal cracked loudly straight down the center of the breastplate, exposing the lining underneath.

Ryoki gasped desperately for air, rolling over heavily onto his side.

"AHHHHHHHH!!!!"

He clutched his chest with both hands, his gauntleted fingers digging frantically into his own ruined armor.

He coughed again, hacking up even more glowing silver blood onto the yellow sand.

Ryoki was totally broken.

The god forced his eyes open, blinking rapidly to clear the thick silver blood blurring his vision.

His ears were ringing and his head felt like it was split open.

He slowly tilted his head up from the dirt and Ryoki was forced to look up in horror.

Klaus stood over him.

The mortal looked like hell.

His dark combat shirt was torn to shreds, hanging off his torso in bloody ribbons.

He was actively bleeding from a dozen different wounds across his ribs, his legs, and his shoulder.

His left arm hung completely uselessly, paralyzed and dripping blood onto his boots.

Blood dripped steadily from his broken, crooked nose, running down his chin and dropping into the sand but Klaus didn’t look weak.

He didn’t look like a fragile mortal who had just barely survived by the skin of his teeth.

Klaus rested the massive glowing crimson broadsword casually on his right shoulder.

The heavy blade cast a dark, violent red glow across his scarred face as his eyes were entirely black voids.

There was no white left in them... Just an endless bottomless pit of darkness...

Ryoki looked up at him, and his ancient mind finally shattered under the weight of sheer terror.

He realized he wasn’t looking at some statistical anomaly... He wasn’t looking at a weak-minded, displaced child who cried over mundane accidents and leaky fuel lines...

He was looking at a genuine monster. A guy who had literally weaponized his own trauma and turned his soul into a meat-grinder.

Ryoki stared at the humming crimson blade.

The ingrained fear he had been running from for centuries completely overtook him.

The fear of death.

The fear of becoming nothing...

The god scrambled backward in the dirt like a terrified crab.

He kicked his pristine silver boots frantically against the sand, trying to put distance between himself and the looming shadow holding the sword.

"Wait..." Ryoki wheezed.

His voice was cracking. He sounded like a regular guy bleeding out in an alley.

"Wait! Stop!" Ryoki begged, holding his bloody silver hand out defensively in front of his face.

Klaus didn’t move.

He just stood there, resting the sword on his shoulder, and watched the god crawl backward in the dirt.

"I can give you power!" Ryoki pleaded, his voice pitching higher with pure desperation.

He sounded exactly like a pathetic, cornered bandit in the winter woods trying to bargain for his miserable life. "I ruled the Endless Tower for centuries, Klaus! I know the actual secrets of the world! I know where the legendary artifacts are hidden on this continent! I can make you a true god in this world! Just let me live! I can serve you! I can be your guide!"

The great untouchable Second King was literally weeping.

Silver tears mixed with the blood on his face as he begged a mortal for his life in the dirt.

Klaus just listened to the pleas as he looked down at the god’s cracked armor.

He actually thought about it for a second.

Power... Secrets... Artifacts... That was the kind of stuff a standard protagonist would jump at.

It was the kind of deal that set you up for an easy life in a fantasy world but Klaus didn’t give a shit about power. Why would he want the secrets of a rigged game?

He didn’t think about becoming a god.

He thought about Ilyana...

He thought about the massive, rusted iron chains bolted to the floor on the ground level of the tower.

He thought about a woman who had her wings ripped off and spikes driven through her wrists locked in the dark for centuries just so this pathetic coward could avoid his expiration date.

He thought about a little girl with purple magic.

He thought about Anya desperately trying to fix his broken ribs with her tiny hands, crying because she had absolutely no one else left in the world... and he thought about Mirela too...

Klaus just smiled.

It wasn’t a heroic smile. It wasn’t the confident grin of a good guy who just saved the day and it wasn’t a villainous scheming smirk either.

It was a tired dead expression that didn’t even come close to reaching his black eyes.

It was the smile of a guy who was just clocking out after a really long... really shitty shift at work.

He didn’t offer a dramatic final quote. He didn’t tell Ryoki to go to hell or say something cool for an invisible audience.

Klaus didn’t say a single word.

Words were a waste of breath on trash.

Klaus simply tightened his right hand’s grip on the thick hilt of the crimson broadsword.

He stepped forward, planting his boot in the sand. He swung the heavy blade in a perfectly flat, completely brutal horizontal arc.

He cleanly sliced Ryoki’s head entirely off his shoulders.

There was no resistance.

The divine flesh and bone parted like wet paper against the concentrated weight of a hundred souls.

The decapitated body of the Second King slumped sideways. It hit the dirt with a heavy thud with blood pooling out into the yellow sand.

The severed head flew through the air.

It hit the ground a few feet away, bouncing and rolling twice before finally coming to a stop face-up.

For a terrifying, physically impossible second, the mouth on the severed head opened wide.

It let out a silent agonizing scream of pure terror as its eyes went wide, realizing it was actually over.

The severed head, and the decapitated body lying in the dirt, instantly burst into brilliant blinding white flames.

Within two seconds, the entirety of the Second Soul King was incinerated. The armor, the flesh, the silver blood... it all burned completely away.

It left absolutely nothing behind but a small pile of fine, gray ash blowing gently in the hot wind of the arena.

’He’s dead...’

Klaus stood alone in the center of the colosseum.

He slowly lowered the heavy crimson sword, letting the massive tip rest heavily in the sand.

The red glow began to fade from the blade as the souls retreated back into his inner domain, their anger finally satisfied.

Klaus looked down at the small pile of ash for a long time then, he closed his eyes. He let out a long, ragged, incredibly exhausted breath.

His knees finally buckled, and he allowed himself to fall forward, crashing face-first into the dirt.

The exact second Ryoki’s soul was fully extinguished, the massive ruined gladiatorial arena froze perfectly in place.

The hot, dry wind instantly stopped blowing. The grains of yellow dust hung suspended in the air, completely motionless.

Then, the sky cracked.

It sounded like a massive sheet of ice fracturing under pressure.

The entire arena shattered like a fragile pane of glass. The bleachers, the obsidian pillars, the sand... it all exploded into billions of tiny, floating fragments of pure digital light.

The ground gave way completely beneath Klaus’s unconscious body.

He was suddenly falling backward weightless, dropping back into the familiar endless white void of his own mind.

As he drifted through the blinding whiteness, feeling the pain in his body start to numb, a brief fading vision materialized directly in front of him.

It was Regret Klaus.

The seventeen-year-old boy wasn’t sitting on the floor anymore.

He wasn’t crying, and he wasn’t shivering as he looked down at Prime Klaus floating in the void.

The teenager offered a soft and incredibly peaceful smile. The heavy, rotting bags under his eyes were gone.

He looked like he had finally laid the massive suffocating burden of his trauma to rest.

He looked at Klaus, and he mouthed two silent words...

"Thank you."