I Became an Outer God (1)

After I was hit by a car and died, what greeted me when I opened my eyes was the Void.

The Void — and scattered across it, countless glimmering specks like powdered light.

When I looked closer at those specks, I came to understand something: every single grain I had taken for dust was, each and every one, an entire galaxy.

Which meant this place was... the universe.

I tried to move my body.

It wouldn't move.

I tried to scream.

No sound came out.

Eventually, I understood.

I had become part of this Void, trapped in its boundless expanse, unable to so much as twitch.

With all the memories and consciousness of my human life perfectly intact.

Year 1.

Unable to accept reality, I screamed myself hoarse and thrashed against it until sheer spite was all that held me together.

Nothing changed.

Year 10.

I decided I had fallen into hell, and I sank into lamenting and regretting the life I'd left behind.

The time I'd stormed out of the house in a rage ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠— unable even to thank the parents who raised me.

The time I'd chewed out a junior soldier in the army over absolutely nothing.

The times I'd sat around drinking, running my mouth with friends about women who couldn't have cared less whether we lived or died.

I regretted, repented, and begged the empty air for forgiveness, over and over.

Nothing changed.

Year 100.

I stopped thinking and let the Void hold me.

Year 200.

I stopped thinking and let the Void hold me.

Year 300.

I stopped thinking and let the Void ho…

Year 500.

It came to me, all at once.

The human part of me was fading away.

And for some reason, that began to terrify me more than anything.

Desperately gathering the memories of my old life as they scattered like wisps of smoke, I built a virtual space in a corner of my own mind — anything to hold on to my humanity, even there.

Year 700.

The virtual space had materialized far beyond anything I'd imagined.

And in it, I lived. I was a doctor, a homeless man, a soldier, an unemployed bum, and sometimes the Tower Master of a mage's tower or the greatest martial artist under heaven.

Whenever I opened my eyes and felt the Void pressing in, I'd turn away from the creeping dread and throw myself into research — how to build a more perfect virtual space, how to forge a more perfect human body, how to make a simulated world that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠breathed and lived.

Thinking, and thinking again, until thought dissolved into reverie.

Year 1000.

Ironically, the more perfect my virtual worlds became, the deeper my knowledge of the real Void around me seemed to grow.

And then I understood.

To make a simulated world more perfect, I had to grasp its underlying principles.

And to grasp the principles, I had to study the universe itself.

I had to study this Void I so desperately feared.

I opened my eyes and faced it.

Year 3000.

The more I came to know the Void, the more it felt as though I were becoming part of it.

Year 5000.

I grasped the principle at the heart of it all.

What if this space is me — and I am this space?

A single truth so simple it made the word "principle" feel absurd.

Yet the moment that simple truth dawned on me, I felt the faintest smile curl across lips that no longer had a body.

And then, I understood.

Why I'd been trapped in this Void. What the body I'd been reborn into actually was.

...I was a god.

A part of this universe — and at the same time, the universe itself.

What had I been so afraid of?

What had I been hiding from all this time?

The Void, the wellspring of all my dread and terror, no longer frightened me at all.

If anything, it began to feel like home.

I closed my eyes and smiled. Lying back upon the galaxies, I resolved to embrace the Void at last—

-Ding!

...Huh?

Some bizarre window had popped up right in front of me.

...Wait, did it say gallery?

.........

GALLERY!!!

'Goddamn dopamine!!! That's dopamine, that's PURE DOPAMINE!!!!'

Nobody can resist a gallery.

'The Constellation Gallery, huh...'

Constellations — beings who had ascended to transcendent heights and now looked down on humans like ants, sometimes lending them a hand, sometimes playing with them like toys.

Simply put: gods.

'Hmm...'

Well, what else would you expect from a gallery run by gods? The gallers, across the board, were arrogant and rude beyond all measure.

Demeaning humans with slurs like "shitty mortals" was just table stakes; they treated life itself like insects, and they took genuine pleasure in toppling entire civilizations for sport.

Frankly, it didn't make for the cheeriest reading. I mean, I had been human myself, once.

If there was one silver lining, it was that they seemed never to casually disrespect beings of their own rank — other gods earned at least a baseline of recognition.

Outright slander and indiscriminate hatred, overall, appeared rare.

Shitposts, on the other hand, were everywhere.

But somehow, that made me like the place even more.

Weren't shitposts exactly what gave a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gallery its charm?

The more I browsed, the more a desire bloomed in me to post my own shitpost to this gallery as soon as humanly — well, divinely — possible. Stirring up a little chaos wouldn't be bad either.

Doing my duty as a newbie, I started with a proper introduction thread.

The moment I posted my introduction, the gallers greeted me warmly.

Thankfully, this gallery showed no signs of anti-newbie gatekeeping.

They even offered to spoon-feed me anything I didn't understand!

Apparently, being cruel and arrogant was a policy reserved exclusively for humans — among fellow transcendent beings, the gallery's culture was endlessly generous and kind.

Divine rank?

'Hmmm...'

When I turned my gaze on the Void that had long since become familiar to me, I could see the Milky Way flowing by, soft as water.

Tiny points of light, embedded here and there across the pitch-black expanse, glimmering faintly. Every one of them a galaxy.

So what was I supposed to call myself? I wasn't seeing a galaxy, but galaxies — plural — so Galaxy God didn't seem to fit...

'?'

The moment I answered "God of the Universe," the gallers laughed at me with every fiber of their beings.

What was so funny?

'Galaxy Cluster God?'

Frankly, even that felt like the wrong answer.

After all, to my eyes, even whole gatherings of such galaxy clusters looked like clumps of dust.

...Then what the hell am I?

'Construct?'

'Wait, I can DO that?!!'

If my current self had been capable of moving a muscle, I would have danced the samba right then and there out of pure joy.

Honestly, I'd grown used to existing as a disembodied consciousness that couldn't so much as twitch. But no matter how used to it I got, I couldn't help missing being human.

I longed for the wind brushing against my skin.

I longed for that glorious rush when you stretch, and the blood sweeps through your whole body at once.

...And food!

Pizza! Fried chicken! Tonkatsu! Gukbap! Tteokbokki!

I wanted to EAT!

There wasn't a single reason to wait.

I wanted to plant both feet on solid ground this very instant.

...But how, exactly?

The problem started with simply trying to look at the surface of a planet to build my Construct on.

An entire galaxy looked like a single grain of dust — what exactly was I supposed to do here?

'Wait, they did say to ask if I didn't know something.'

Without a moment's hesitation, I posted a question to the gallery.

I laid out my honest predicament and begged for help — only for the gallers to react as if I'd asked them how to breathe, as if the very question were absurd beyond comprehension.

So I posted another comment, explained my situation again, and asked for help once more. And then...

An instant pivot, followed by an absolute avalanche of hate posts raining down on me!!!

YOU'RE THE ONES WHO TOLD ME TO ASK IF I DIDN'T KNOW SOMETHING!!!