Chapter 3

Far away, in the infinite expanse of the cosmos, a realm known as Terraeon beckoned, shrouded in an aura of mystique and wonder. This world stood at the precipice of a cosmic game, an event of such magnitude that it had captured the attention of countless ethereal beings across the universe. They observed with an insatiable hunger for the untold power that awaited them.

In the celestial theater, the gathering of gods, both grand and lesser, was a spectacle unto itself. Their presence alone radiated a charisma that dazzled the senses, and their power was awe-inspiring.

Yet, even in this divine congregation, their splendor paled before the twelve enigmatic beings who occupied majestic thrones, arranged in a circle of cosmic authority.

These twelve beings were the very embodiment of strength and majesty. Their presence was a force that transcended mortal comprehension, and their eyes, which held the secrets of the universe, gleamed with an otherworldly light. As they gazed upon Terraeon, their intent was clear: this world would be the crucible in which they forged their supremacy.

The ethereal eyes of the observing gods were drawn inexorably to the twelve thrones, unable to look away from the titans of existence.

Each of these beings possessed dominion over cosmic forces that defied logic, and their collective might resonated through the cosmos like a celestial symphony.

As the cosmic drama unfolded, the very fabric of reality seemed to tremble in reverence to their presence. The gods, once considered the pinnacle of power, now found themselves mere spectators in the face of such overwhelming grandeur. The stage was set, the game had begun, and the destiny of Terraeon hung in the balance as these twelve beings prepared to stake their claim to unrivaled supremacy.

Amid the gleaming halls of the hospital, a somber atmosphere enveloped the luxurious suite where the God of Wealth lay on his opulent bed. Surrounding him were a team of renowned doctors, their brows furrowed with a sense of powerlessness that had rarely, if ever, touched their esteemed careers.

One of the doctors, a figure known throughout the world for his medical prowess, approached the elderly man with a heavy heart. "Sir," he began, his voice laced with regret, "we have tried everything within our means. Countless elixirs, state-of-the-art treatments, and even organ transplants—all in vain. Your body, while untouched by the ravages of time, has reached its limit."

Another doctor, equally renowned, chimed in, "We deeply regret that our knowledge and resources have fallen short in extending your life beyond the age of 786. We apologize for our incompetence."

The God of Wealth, though frail and fading, bore their words with grace. His eyes, still filled with the wisdom of millennia, met theirs as he spoke, his voice a faint whisper of authority. "Leave me," he ordered, the finality in his tone leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, the doctors obeyed, exiting the room, their heads hung low with a profound sense of failure. Left alone in the dimly lit chamber, the aging tycoon closed his eyes, his once-vibrant spirit accepting the inevitability of his journey's end.

As the world outside carried on, indifferent to his fate, the obsidian orb that had observed this poignant scene from the shadows made its move. In a matter of moments, it slipped into the God of Wealth's body, an enigmatic force poised to enact a destiny unforeseen by all, even the celestial beings who watched from afar.

As minutes passed, the eyes of the prone body fluttered, and its eye color deepened into an inky void, imperceptible to mortal observers. The man lay there, his appearance subtly altered, though not overtly so.

[Human, I hope you appreciate this new vessel.]

"Why is it so challenging to move this body?" The man's voice resonated through the calm, peaceful room as he struggled to shift within the unfamiliar form.

[The bone age of this body is 786 years. Its previous owner had artificially extended his mortal existence through extravagant means.]

"Heal me, reverse my age," the man demanded.

[Aren't you becoming rather bothersome, Human?]

The black light emitted by the orb enveloped the middle-aged man's body, which had undergone countless procedures to maintain a youthful appearance despite its true age of 786 years. As the light dissipated, the man's face remained unchanged but radiated newfound vitality, as if he had been rejuvenated.

"Excellent, I can move freely now. Transmit all of this person's memories to me, and also, enlighten me about the current state of affairs within the game."

The man peered into the mirror and saw a handsome figure staring back at him. He possessed the physique of an accomplished athlete, with broad shoulders and a toned torso that exuded strength and vitality. His skin was flawless, with a healthy tan that spoke of a life filled with outdoor activities.

His chiseled jawline and sharp cheekbones framed a face that appeared eternally youthful, untouched by the passage of time. His deep-set, piercing eyes held an air of confidence and intelligence, their color an intriguing mix of slate gray and stormy blue. A wavy mane of jet-black hair cascaded down to his shoulders, adding to his magnetic charm.

With a lean yet muscular build, the man embodied a perfect balance between ruggedness and refinement. He could easily pass as a model or a movie star, but there was an air of authority about him that hinted at his tycoon status. His aura commanded attention, a testament to his newfound vitality and strength.

[Memory has been transferred, Human, and about the game, The son of Heaven at age of 10 will lose her mother to a disease in a week.]

The man clenched his fists, a surge of anger coursing through him as he realized that those beings were treating human life as mere entertainment.

".... and what are the odds of the bet?"

[Human, the bet is about her death, one half said she will die in a week and the other said she can't hold that long, minimum 3 days.]

"Those bastards."

The man gritted his teeth in anger, repulsed by the callousness of these beings who saw human lives as pawns for their amusement.

"How is it decided if the bet will be fair?"

[Human, the entire bet is overseen by the 'Bet Grid.' It's a system created by all the gods together to ensure fairness.]

"Does that mean if they want to know the reason why they lost, they can get information from the Grid?"

[When every god acknowledges and asks, it is possible.]

"Then, what even matters? They will know if I intervened."

[Human, I said until not all of them who created the 'Bet Grid' accept. Master is one of them and holds a significant share in it.]

The man fell silent, a sense of foreboding settling in. He couldn't help but wonder if the very being who had aided him in seeking revenge would now be a part of this sinister game.

"Don't tell me he will bet on me."

[Human, the Bet Grid was created millennia ago. Master has lost interest; neither do the gods communicate with him nor does he with them.]

The man mulled over this information, the weight of his decision

to seek revenge becoming increasingly apparent.

"Anastasia!"

The man's voice rang out as he stood near the window, gazing outside.

"Y-yes, sir?"

Anastasia, his personal secretary, rushed into the room. She was a woman of slender yet glamorous figure, dressed in a short office skirt and a white shirt that revealed a slight hint of cleavage. Her beauty was accentuated by light makeup, making her radiate the charm of the world's most beautiful women.

"Sir, a-are you alright? Should I call the doctors?" she asked, concern etched on her face as she noticed her boss's imposing posture.

"Anastasia, arrange a group of the best plastic surgeons on the continent. Get a picture of a woman named Lisia from the southwest Slum Valley in section 12, District of Country E, without her knowledge. Then prepare an identical replica of her on a deceased body," he ordered without hesitation, his demeanor unwavering.

Anastasia was taken aback by the request, her eyes widening in surprise.

"What are you looking at? Go do it now, or do you want to resign?" he pressed, his tone firm and unwavering.

"I-I will arrange it as soon as possible," Anastasia stammered, her voice quivering as she quickly turned to leave, eager to carry out her boss's unusual command.