01: Prologue 
There is a saying that "You reap what you sow."
He had never believed in such bullshit, after all, if you reap what you sow, then would he not have kicked the bucket long, long ago?
Why? Because, at the age of thirty-five, he had done every crime a man could think of. He had killed, raped, blackmailed, kidnapped, and had done a lot of shit to stand where he stood.
He had built an empire.
He'd picked up beggars, fed them, trained them, made them loyal, and had made them into fine "Warriors Of The Night" as he liked to call them.
He had adopted kids, ranging from infants to eight years old, and made them into puppets—Assassins who would kill anyone on his orders.
He'd raided the prostitution centers, rescued, or kidnapped prostitutes, and made them into fine women who could pleasure someone to death (literally). They would provide pleasure, alright, but they would leave something behind that you'd never be able to forget.
That's mostly what he'd done in the dark.
In the light, however, there was no man benevolent than him. No man was considered better than him. He was a billionaire, a philanthropist, and a businessman.
He owned most of the modern mega-corporations or had at least controlling shares in them. He could singlehandedly cause a rise or fall in any field. He didn't only have influence in one measly country, no, He had influence over many countries.
And the reason behind his rise was that he was cautious, and he planned. he planned whatever he was about to do. he was a manipulator. he manipulated everyone without exception for his own benefit; that's how he managed to gain so much wealth and women.
Said women, had even got him signatures and shares—some had their own, while some manipulated their husbands into giving him the shares. He liked women, a lot, and because of this, he'd made many enemies.
There was one, just in front of him.
"It's funny isn't it, father?" the boy was young, Nova knew him, of course; how could he not?
"You killed my mother and spared me; that's what led to your downfall. If you'd just killed me, this wouldn't have happened, no?" The boy chuckled, a crazy glint in his eyes as he tilted his head innocently.
Nova would admit the boy had a point. The boy's father, once Nova's 'friend' and business partner, was killed by a Warriors Of The Night. Because, if that man died, it was all Nova who would benefit.
But his wife. That woman. She thought she could handle her dead husband's business. She tried replacing her husband for a few weeks, causing much loss to one of his companies. He wanted to kill her, she was a thorn, but Nova couldn't just kill her—or hire someone to do so (or just send one of his "Warriors Of The Night")—but that'd make him the prime suspect right away.
There was nothing he could do.
So, he broke her.
He broke her mind, made her obsessed with him, and later on made her transfer all of her shares to him. After that, he kept her around for three months, before he disposed of her.
However, that day 9 years ago, he made the mistake of letting her 10-year-old son live.
As it turned out, he still wasn't a monster. Something that brought his downfall. But he couldn't kill that child who he had a not-so-bad relationship with. He rather put him in an orphanage and kept eyes on him to make sure he never learns of his parents' fate.
Unfortunately, the boy did.
And today, he was here for revenge.
A foolish mistake on Nova's part, like those classic third-rate villains.
"You didn't stop at just killing my dad, but you just had to fuck my mom too, didn't you? Did you know how obsessed she was with you?" The boy asked while sharpening a razor. He wasn't wrong, she was obsessed with him, more than anyone. "Funny isn't it."
It wasn't funny. Strictly speaking, it was just business as usual. She wasn't the first to whom he did something like that, nor was she the last. He liked women a lot, true, but this in particular was because of business.
Nova chuckled. "Kid, what makes you think I did something of that sort? Why would I ever take care of you, give money for your studies, and even help you get into a top college?"
"I don't know, guilt?" The boy shrugged.
This son of a bitch.
"Anyway father," The boy smiled, turning to him and raising the razor. "Let's get started, shall we?"
Then he carved his pinkie toe off with the razor
Nova let out a hiss.
After a while of torture, the sirens of the police were getting near. the motherfuckers were late as usual.
"Ah, it seems time is short." The boy, his 'bastard son' as he liked to call him so lovingly, said with a sigh, gripping an ax tightly.
"Son," Nova called out, discerning that the time for his death was near.
"Yes, father?" The boy tilted his head innocently, before lowering his posture so that his ear was near Nova's mouth.
Nova Frost sneered.
"You wanna know something funny?" He coughed but held his sneer. "After I fucked her silly, and got bored of her, I let her rot in one of my prostitution centers until her cunt bled before I disposed of her." That was a lie—he hadn't gotten bored, he'd started getting too attached to her (She was one hell of a woman, alright) and had to dispose of her since he couldn't afford any weaknesses by his side.
Down came the impending ax, diving deep down his head with a sickening crunch of his skull.
"DIE! DIE! DIE!" the boy, however, kept battering his face even when it caved in. Blood splattered, and he struck. Brain matter oozed; he stuck. his face broke with a sickening crack; he struck. A dangling eyeball rolled out like an egg; he struck.
He only stopped when the police officers, who had just arrived, dragged him away.
There was an ambulance, and Nova was transported to a hospital.
But . . .
Nova Frost had breathed his last long ago.
The dark clouds smothered what would have been a bright blue sky full of sunlight and small birds. The pitter-pattering splashes of the rain were as soft as the mood of the numerous people congregated around a certain high-end graveyard.
"We are gathered here today in the loving memory of Nova Frost, a beloved man, and a philanthropist whose existence has engraved a profound memory in the world, which would last till the time immemorial." An aged pastor began, his voice laced with grief.
"Even when he has departed from this world, his bequest will remain along with his contributions to the common men. Which I, as one of these common men, shall forever cherish in my heart."
The pastor continued on with his lauding of the merits of the recently departed man, his voice bubbling with emotions. Emotions that reverberated with the listeners' hearts.
There were many men and women in black funeral attires, all looking as if they'd lost something of great value.
Especially some of the women, a distinct few, who wept for real other than for keeping a front of 'grief'. There were some who wept silently, some who did it openly, and some had this listless expression on their faces. They looked as if they'd lost their significant other.
. . . Which wasn't that far from the truth.
Then there were some really 'obsessed' ones alright. They were his really close women—of course, he'd never really loved them in reality. Nova's warriors of the night had force-fed them sleeping pills and had even tied them so that they wouldn't commit suicide.
Why would they commit suicide? Simple, those women were the closest to him, and what did that entail? They were the most obsessed and couldn't really live without him. They craved his touch. His presence. His body. His dick. In short, they were his bitches and sluts.
He'd spent quite some time to 'collect' these loyal women. He'd done some real hard planning. He had to show how much he 'loved' them, after all. To prove how much 'love' he had for them.
And Nova was a lucky bastard that these women fell in love with him, and were even ready to commit suicide now that he was gone.
He, of course, could have cared less about these women—they were nothing but tools for him to use to his desire before disposing of them, after all. Though that didn't matter anymore as he was dead.
Anyway, the men, too, stood with a grief-stricken expression. As if they'd lost their brother.
They were his business partners, and his death had really made them lose a big time. Not that he would've cared.
Some of them, however, were just keeping a façade of grief and sadness. Why? Simple, Nova had made 'love' with their wives, and the women had gotten so obsessed that they'd divorced them. Or left them.
Then, there were men who he had a not-so-bad relationship with. They were sad. Somewhat.
While the common men amongst them were overflowing with sorrow and grief
Their grief, however, was understandable. Why? Because they were mourning Nova Frost; the world's richest and most influential man.
After some more religious blabbering, the casket was finally lowered into the grave. The people scattered after a while, leaving behind only some women. The ones who had that listless look.
They stood there for hours and were finally 'escorted' by the disguised warriors of the night.
The moment everyone left, the dark clouds hovering above lightened and the rain came to an end.
The entity, which had stood there the entire time, moved towards the grave. It was bewildering how no one had noticed the entity, a woman to be more precise. And not just any woman, she could be called the epitome of beauty.
The woman squatted down and plunged her hand inside the grave. Instead of making contact with the grave, however, the hand turned translucent and vanished inside. After a while, she pulled her hand. A small little whisp, colored a reflectionless black flickered atop her palm.
And vanished on the spot.
All he could see was darkness.
However, the darkness didn't last long for Nova.
He wasn't sure if he just died a second ago, or if had it happened centuries ago, but at this moment Nova was underwater, on his knees as he was facing a woman on a watery throne with a violin on the side.
"Mortal," the woman said, looking down at him for a while before she reached out a hand. "I am the Goddess of Storms, Lady of Love and the High Seas, Anari, and I offer you my hand to become my Avatar."
Ah . . .
A real Goddess . . .
He couldn't help but chuckle dryly. So, this . . . Dark and creepy yet beautiful underwater scene above with wrecked ships and a hot milf sitting on a throne made of water was the infamous afterlife? What about the white fluffy clouds and hoors? Angels?
Though the question was . . . He never prayed to any God.
He'd just hoped he wouldn't have to spend his entire 'afterlife' in hell, chilling with Satan.
This didn't look like hell though . . .
So, where the fuck was he?
Caelestian Goddess of Storms, Lady of Love and the High Seas, Anari.
That's who she was.
When her pantheon got destroyed, she managed to survive. She even managed to steal the mists of her other eleven brethren.
But that was another matter, and trivial since they'd died long ago. Leaving her alone (not that she cared) on a mission to restore her pantheon.
She wasn't interested, of course, why would she be interested in doing such a tiresome job of gathering believers? No thank you.
Instead of completing her brethren's last wish, she did many things.
And among them, some are listed below . . .
She'd liked to observe the mortal world from her watery throne. Other than sitting there brooding over her destroyed pantheon, she enjoyed her dabbling in worldly affairs and expressing her bubbling feelings and her limitless powers of love to incite drama between mortals.
Between sailors, there were plenty of rumors resounding around 'Sirens'. There were claims of many Siren sightings and many seamen would have claimed of hearing her haunting grief-filled songs, brought to them by the water at dusk.
Anari was not satisfied though—not anymore. And her boredom and depression only increased over the last few centuries.
Sure, she'd taken short breaks in her playing a matchmaker and had occasionally taken a mortal form to satisfy her own desires. She'd toyed with the heartstrings of any unsuspecting male who she might've deemed of interest.
But even that had gotten quite boring since those mortal men couldn't handle her and did nothing but increase her frustration.
She was not happy anymore; she could not distract herself anymore.
So? She sighed. It was time for her to build back her pantheon.
She descended down to one of the many mortal worlds and took an invisible form.
She traveled in looks for a suitable 'candidate'. A candidate who could be worthy enough to be her "Avatar".
That's when she found him.
Nova Frost. A thirty-five years old man. He held everything to be worthy of being her Avatar. She knew at a glance. Love, and Storms. He held that, alright. He had many women who loved him, and he 'loved' them back. Though there was a huge difference between his women's love and his 'love'.
The definition of his 'love' was the same as what she considered 'love' herself.
And his life was filled with so many storms; she hadn't seen said storms, but she could just tell from a glance.
He was perfect.
She smiled as she pulled out his soul, it was pitch-black—she frowned, why was so much void energy on him?—before she teleported atop her watery throne. Constructing his body was easy enough. And as she liked sculpting and art in general (among many other things) she sculpted the body with love and care.
After making the body, she puffed his soul inside.
Anari observed the young man, who was blinking rapidly. He'd just woke up. She tried reading his mind, only to frown. His soul seemed to be clad in a veil of darkness, blocking her from reading his mind.
Ah. The void? But why? Was there a reason?
No time to find out.
"Mortal," Anari said after a while, looking down at the naked kneeling mortal as she reached out a hand.
"I am the Goddess of Storms, Lady of Love and the High Seas, Anari, and I offer you my hand to become my Avatar."
Yes, for the first time in eternity, she will choose an Avatar.
A/N: Caelestis is a pantheon I've brought from somewhere. If you know, you know. I won't name where I've brought it from. But I just wanted to, so piss off. Anyway, I've been thinking of writing a Marvel fic for a long time now, so here it is. Consider it a test, actually, if it works well and becomes popular, fine. otherwise, I'm dropping this.
Other than that, I want to say this upfront so there won't be anyone shit-talking later. Read carefully. The first 2 chapters, are quite similar to [Marvel: False God] by "Master4thwall". I know. You don't have to point your fingers at me. I have his permission, okay? And this is a fic, nothing is supposed to be original as, well, it's a fucking fanfiction.
Other than the first two chapters, this fic will be different.
(I'm new to writing fanfiction, that's why I needed a "Guide". consider these first two or three chapters that guide since I mostly copied them from "Master4thWall")
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