My System Is a Fallen God: I Level Up Endlessly

Thousands of miles away from the blood-stained sands of the Lawless Zone, the air tasted like sterile ivory and burned incense.

The Grand Cathedral of the Holy Capital pierced the sky like a spear of solid gold. Inside the Sanctum of Light, the world was blindingly white. There were no shadows allowed in this room. The pristine marble floors were polished so thoroughly they reflected the painted ceilings like a mirror.

Vast stained-glass windows depicted the Immortal Saints casting down a shadowy,

multi-armed demon. It was a beautiful, carefully constructed lie.

At the far end of the hall sat the golden throne.

High Pope Naissac lounged against the velvet cushions. He did not look like an ancient, thousand-year-old saint. He looked like a man in his prime, with flawless golden hair and eyes that burned like captured sunlight.

He stared down at a small silver platter resting on the glass table before him.

Two glowing blue soul-crystals sat on the tray. They were shattered into useless, jagged dust.

"Two Diamond-Tier Paladins," Naissac murmured. His voice was smooth, cultured,

and soft as silk.

Six Cardinals knelt on the marble floor at the base of the throne. They wore heavy red robes lined with gold thread. None of them dared to look up.

"I sent them to retrieve my wayward Warlord," Naissac continued, tracing the rim

of his golden chalice with a pale finger. "I sent them to bring Neleak back into the fold. Instead, their life-signatures vanished. Nullified."

The Grand Inquisitor, a severely scarred man boasting an S-Rank talent, swallowed hard. The dry sound echoed loudly in the quiet cathedral.

"Holy Father," the Inquisitor rasped, keeping his forehead pressed to the cold floor. "The Heretic presence in the desert... it must be a coordinated army. The Remnants have gathered."

Naissac smiled. It was a beautiful, entirely hollow expression.

"You think starving rats killed my finest knights?" the Pope asked gently.

The Inquisitor trembled. A single bead of cold sweat tracked down his scarred cheek, dripping onto the pristine marble.

"The Warlord’s army was decimated, Your Holiness," the Inquisitor pleaded. "Our scrying magic shows a river of blood in the canyons. Only a vast military force could accomplish such a slaughter."

Naissac raised a single finger.

The Inquisitor choked. He clawed violently at his own throat, dropping his golden staff.

Invisible, crushing light wrapped tightly around the man’s neck. He was lifted directly off the marble floor, his boots kicking empty air. His face turned a deep, bruised purple.

Naissac’s golden eyes did not blink. He was a False god. A Level 99 anomaly who had stolen his divinity a millennium ago.

"It was not an army," Naissac said. His voice dropped into a cold, hateful whisper. "It was him."

For a thousand years, Naissac had ruled this world. He had orchestrated the grand betrayal, plunging his golden dagger directly into the back of his best friend. He had sealed Naicul Elav in the void and claimed the throne for himself.

He did it because Naicul was an unfair glitch in the world’s design. The Endless Devourer was a threat to the established order.

And now, the glitch had returned.

The Catastrophe-Class Heretic. The boy from the fishing village who had miraculously survived the Awakening Ceremony. The boy who was walking the earth with Naicul’s ancient soul sitting in his chest.

Naissac flicked his wrist.

The invisible light snapped the Inquisitor’s neck with a sharp, echoing crack. The man dropped to the floor, dead before he hit the marble.

The other five Cardinals squeezed their eyes shut. They prayed silently, ignoring the corpse bleeding onto the floor right beside them.

Naissac stood up. His golden robes dragged softly behind him.

He walked past the dead man without a second glance. The holy magic radiating from his skin felt warm and comforting, but it required dark fuel to burn so brightly. Deep beneath the cathedral floor, thousands of captured Heretics were strapped to cruel torture engines. Their life force was actively drained, filtered, and converted into the pure white light that kept the Pope looking so divine.

Naissac took a deep breath, savoring the stolen energy.

"The Demon God is adapting," Naissac declared, pacing the length of the hall. "He is no longer running. He is hunting."

The Pope stopped in front of a towering, ten-foot-tall crystal mirror set into the wall.

"He butchered my Paladins," Naissac mused, staring at his own flawless reflection. "Which means he devoured their holy cores. He is feeding on the very strength we send to kill him. If we send an armada to the desert, he will simply eat it."

A cold, calculating light sparked in the Pope’s eyes.

He could not send standard troops. He could not fight an anomaly with raw numbers. The EX-Rank talent thrived on slaughter. Sending an army to the desert was like throwing dry wood into a raging forest fire.

He needed specialized killers. He needed prodigies with unique, universe-bending

talents.

"Bring me the broadcasting sphere," Naissac ordered.

A trembling servant rushed forward from the shadows, carrying a glowing blue orb on a silk pillow. He offered it to the Pope and immediately dropped back to his knees.

Naissac placed his bare hand over the orb.

Across the entire Central Continent, millions of crystal screens flared to life.

In crowded city squares, wealthy noble estates, and quiet farming villages, the daily broadcasts were interrupted. The faces of merchants and news-criers vanished, replaced by the blinding, comforting image of High Pope Naissac.

He looked sorrowful. He looked exactly like a loving father carrying a heavy, tragic burden.

"My children," Naissac spoke.

His voice carried through the magical network, broadcasting to millions. It dripped with manufactured warmth and deep concern.

"A great darkness has returned to our world. The Catastrophe-Class Heretic, the wretched boy harboring the soul of the Demon God, has struck a cowardly blow against our peaceful borders."

In the streets of Valerius, citizens gasped. Mothers pulled their children closer. Guild Hunters stopped sharpening their blades, staring up at the crystal projections in awe.

"He seeks to destroy the Light," Naissac continued, his tone rising with passionate defiance. "He seeks to plunge our beautiful world back into the dark ages of blood and ruin."

The Pope leaned closer to the crystal orb.

"But we will not cower. We will not wait for the shadows to reach our homes."

Naissac raised his hands, projecting an aura of absolute salvation through the screens.

"By my holy decree, the Holy Vanguard Academy will open its gates three months

early."

The five kneeling Cardinals in the throne room snapped their heads up in shock. The Vanguard Academy was the most elite, highly restricted institution in the world. It was a fortress of S-Rank nobles, political elites, and Saints-in-training. It was never opened ahead of schedule.

"We are issuing a global mandate," the Pope announced to the world. "Every prodigy. Every gifted Awakener. The Church calls upon the youth of this world. We are opening our armories. We will train a new generation."

Naissac’s golden eyes narrowed slightly.

"We will forge an elite unit of God Slayers. And we will hunt the Demon God to the ends of the earth."

The broadcast ended. The blue orb faded to a dull grey.

Naissac turned away from the servant. His sorrowful, loving expression vanished, replaced instantly by a cruel, arrogant sneer.

He walked back to his golden throne and sat down. He steepled his fingers, staring out across the empty expanse of the cathedral.

"Let the boy come," Naissac whispered into the quiet air.

He knew Naicul’s mind better than anyone alive. The Fallen God was arrogant. He was vindictive. He would not hide in the dirt of the Lawless Zone forever. Naicul would want his revenge. He would want to reclaim his stolen physical body.

And the largest Divine Fragment of them all was buried securely in the hidden vault directly beneath the Holy Vanguard Academy.

"You will try to infiltrate my city," Naissac smiled. "You will not be able to resist the bait. And when you arrive, I will trap you in a cage of prodigies."

The Pope looked down at his own hands. Level 99 was a cage. He had been stuck at

the absolute ceiling of the mortal world for centuries. He needed the EX-Rank system to break the barrier. He needed to devour the Endless Devourer.

"I will rip my old friend out of your chest," Naissac promised the empty room. "And I will ascend to True Godhood."

The trap was set. The board was arranged.

The game for the survival of the world had officially begun.

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