I’m the God and This World Is Doomed

Serian stood amidst the chaos, his eyes scanning the battlefield, his mind calculating the flow of the fight. The students were managing, but there was still tension in the air. It seemed as though the infected were thinning out, retreating in small waves. For a moment, Serian thought it was over.

Then, without warning, a sharp pain seared through his body. His eyes widened as he felt something cold and metallic pierce deep into his stomach. He turned, instinctively reaching for the wound, but his fingers didn't meet the blade. Instead, he saw the glint of a sword, its hilt still firmly embedded in his flesh.

A grunt escaped him as the sword dug deeper, and his thoughts spun in confusion. His body didn't feel the way it should. This wasn't the same as the countless worlds he'd observed or the countless beings he'd watched suffer and die. The pain was... different. Alien. He knew of it, of course—he'd witnessed it in humans, watched it unfold countless times in the lives of those who lived and died—but he'd never felt it himself.

His hand lingered by the blade, and for a moment, he wondered why it was hurting so much. "Is this... human pain?" Serian muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with bewilderment. He had heard of pain, seen it in others, but it was nothing more than a concept to him, something that couldn't touch him.

But now it did.

Serian's mind flashed back to his previous thoughts. The creatures, the infected—they were different from the mindless animals and beasts that had roamed the world before. These were mutated humans, their twisted bodies driven by something far more dangerous than simple hunger or madness. They still had the remnants of their human intelligence, their instincts, their emotions.

And it was that very intelligence that was the reason the will of Ygdrassil, the force that governed life and death in the natural world, didn't work on them.

These mutants... were no longer fully under the influence of Ygdrassil. They had crossed a line that Serian hadn't anticipated. Ygdrassil's natural law could govern the beast, the plants, the monsters, but humans—corrupted humans—were a different kind of anomaly. They still held the human spark within them, even if that spark had become twisted, so the divine force didn't touch them in the way Serian had hoped. They were more than mere infected; they were a hybrid of life and corruption, a strange in-between that defied the very order of nature.

Serian's gaze fell to the creature who had stabbed him. It stood there, not quite human anymore, but not quite animal either. Its eyes were wide and wild with desperation, and it was breathing heavily, an animalistic snarl curling on its lips. There was a flicker of something in its gaze—something far too intelligent, too human.

For the first time, Serian felt the weight of what was truly at stake here. He had come to watch, to learn, to observe. But this wasn't just a battle between life and death—it was a clash between gods and mortals, between the natural order and the twisted creations of a broken world.

He slowly pulled the sword from his stomach, his expression unreadable as the blade slid free with a sickening sound. The pain was intense, but it didn't stop him. He could heal—he could regenerate. His body wasn't like theirs, but in that moment, he understood something he had never fully grasped before. He understood what it meant to be vulnerable. What it meant to feel pain.

He blinked, and for the briefest of moments, he saw the world through a new lens. The humans, these mutants, were different from the mindless creatures of the past. They were the result of choices made long ago, of science and arrogance—something that Serian had always tried to avoid understanding. But now, here it was, right in front of him.

"Is this... how you humans live?" Serian whispered to himself, the question lingering in his mind as he slowly stood tall, ignoring the remnants of pain. "This is what it means to live... and die?"

His eyes darkened, his thoughts turning inward. He had watched countless worlds and seen countless lives extinguished, but this... this was new.

And now, for the first time, Serian felt the weight of his existence, the burden of being more than human, more than divine. He wasn't just a god watching from afar anymore. He was here, feeling, experiencing, caught in the chaos that surrounded him.

And perhaps, for the first time, he understood the true cost of what it meant to live.

With a slow breath, Serian's vines once again surged to life, wrapping around the mutated human creatures as he pulled himself back into action. He had to protect them, to see this battle through. But a piece of him—something deep within his soul—felt something stir. Something that wasn't just divine or godly. Something more human.

And for once, it made him hesitate.

Serian's attention was focused on the mutant before him, its sharp claws tearing through the air with vicious precision. He was standing alone, the remnants of his makeshift pen now a jagged, crude weapon in his hand, his vines twisting and snapping around him like living whips. The sword that had once impaled him now lay discarded on the ground. His focus was sharp, but his mind was elsewhere.

He swayed, deflecting another clawed strike from the mutant with his book, the leather cover taking the blow. The creature hissed, its movements becoming more erratic as Serian used his vines to bind its limbs, pulling it toward him with a sudden tug. He could feel his abdomen healing, the blessing of Ygdrassil coursing through him like a gentle wave of warmth, closing the wound as if it had never been there. He had grown accustomed to this feeling over the centuries, but today... today was different.

The mutant lunged again, its claws like knives, but Serian dodged with an effortless fluidity. He slashed out with the pen, sending a sharp, vine-like extension that cut into the creature's side, causing it to stagger back. His focus never wavered—he had fought creatures like this before. But something gnawed at him, an unsettling feeling deep inside that he couldn't shake off.

Serian glanced down at his abdomen, now fully healed, only a faint scar remaining where the sword had once been. He had nearly won. The mutant was on its last legs, barely able to stand as its body jerked from the effects of his vines and the sharp strikes of his makeshift weapon.

Then, suddenly, he hesitated.

The creature before him was weak, its energy fading fast. It was only a matter of moments before he could finish it off, but something held him back. For the first time, Serian looked at the creature not as a threat, but as something that reminded him of something else—something he couldn't place, yet felt far too familiar.

And in that moment, the memory hit him. He saw a man, a father, his face gaunt and tired. His clothes were ragged, his eyes hollow with desperation. The man stood in a dimly lit room, nervously clutching a letter in his hand. The letter was from a government official, offering a way out, but the price was steep—too steep.

The father, trembling, looked at his daughter's hospital bed, where the child lay pale and weak, her small body hooked to machines, her breathing shallow and labored. The diagnosis was clear: blood cancer. Without the treatment, she would die. But the cost was more than the father could afford.

In a moment of pure desperation, he made a decision. He sold his body to the government, signing away his dignity, his health, his future—all for the sake of his daughter's survival. The money was enough to pay for her treatment, but the consequences were devastating.

The father's health deteriorated quickly, the Celecis infection taking root in his body, corrupting his mind, his body, his very essence. The pain, the sickness, the mental fog—it was all too much. He became nothing more than a husk of what he once was, his mind lost to the infection, his soul broken.

Serian couldn't tear his eyes away from the memory. The father's desperate choice, his sacrifice, was so human. So painfully human. It was not the mindless violence of the mutants he fought, but a quiet, agonizing decision born from love, from fear, from a desire to save someone else.

He couldn't understand it. How could humans do this to themselves? Sacrificing their dignity, their health, their very being for the sake of others. It was so complex, so intertwined with emotion and the frailty of their lives. The pain, the confusion, the love—it was all so... complicated.

Serian felt the vines in his hands twitch, hesitating as they hovered above the mutant's body. The sharp point of his makeshift weapon trembled slightly, as if he, too, was unsure of what to do. The creature in front of him had been corrupted, had lost its humanity. But had it ever truly been human to begin with? Was it right to kill it? Or was this just another tragedy, another victim of the twisted web humans had woven for themselves?

The vine pierced the mutant's chest, but not with the same force it had moments ago. Serian's hands shook as he watched the core of the mutant—the remnant of humanity—shatter under the pressure, its life extinguished in an instant. But even as it died, Serian couldn't shake the memory of the father, his sacrifice, and the burden of his choices.

He stood there, motionless for a moment, the quiet of the night settling around him. The battle was over. The mutant was dead. But Serian couldn't help but wonder if it had been right. If, perhaps, he had crossed a line.