The Immortal Who Killed a God
The bearded guy once said that God is dead.
And the immortal who killed that god has only one question left.
Then how the hell am I supposed to die?
That was the first thought that crossed my mind the day I opened my eyes inside the city of corridors—the Gallery City.
For the sake of finding something that could finally kill me, Lumen Lux’s endless fall and ruin had to continue.
I stared up at the cold stone ceiling of the coffin. The familiar chill seeped into my bones, the same dull ache that always greeted me after every death. My body felt heavy, like it had been reassembled from spare parts. Which, in a way, it had.
Another regression. Another goddamn loop.
I pushed the lid open with a groan. The stone scraped against stone, echoing through the empty tomb like a dying man’s last cough. Dust motes danced in the thin shafts of light that somehow found their way down here. I sat up, cracking my neck, and took stock of myself.
Same face. Same cynical eyes staring back at me from the polished obsidian wall. Same primordial energy—Honwon—simmering just beneath my skin like a reactor that refused to shut down. Corporations would kill for this soul of mine. Hell, some of them already had. Multiple times.
“Fuck me,” I muttered, voice raspy from disuse. “If I have to listen to one more suit wax poetic about ‘infinite energy potential’ while they drain me dry, I’m going to puke on their tie and then die just to reset the conversation.”
I swung my legs over the edge of the coffin and stood. My clothes were the same threadbare black coat and worn boots I always woke up in. At least the universe had the decency to keep my wardrobe consistent. Small mercies.
The tomb was quiet. Too quiet. That usually meant trouble was waiting just outside the door. Or maybe I was just being paranoid. Hard to tell the difference after a few hundred deaths.
I walked over to the far wall where the old mural still clung to the stone in faded pigments. A god with too many eyes, bleeding out across the sky. My handiwork, from a life I barely remembered anymore. The details got fuzzier with every loop.
“You look like shit,” I told the painted corpse. “But at least you got to stay dead. Lucky bastard.”
A faint chuckle escaped me. Self-deprecating humor was pretty much the only coping mechanism I had left. That and the occasional impulsive decision that usually ended with me bleeding out in an alley somewhere. Protective of the few people who showed me kindness? Sure. Philosophical about the absurdity of eternity? Absolutely. But mostly I was just a tired asshole who wanted off this cosmic hamster wheel.
I pressed my palm against the sealed exit. The stone recognized my Honwon and slid aside with a low rumble. Fresh air—well, as fresh as Gallery City air ever got—rushed in, carrying the metallic tang of rain on concrete and the distant roar of hover-traffic.
The city stretched out before me like a fever dream someone had tried to staple together from a dozen collapsed dimensions. Neon kanji flickered against brutalist megastructures. Flying vendors hawked synthetic street food from rusted drones. In the distance, the massive Gallery spires pierced the smog-choked sky, each one a vertical labyrinth of art, vice, and corporate warfare.
Somewhere out there was the next clue. The next person who might be strong enough, cruel enough, or desperate enough to end me for good.
I stepped out into the acid drizzle and pulled my hood up.
“Alright, world,” I said under my breath. “Let’s go find something that can actually kill an immortal. Again.”
Because if God was dead…
Then maybe it was time for the guy who killed Him to finally follow suit.