“Keriu.”

When the god of ferocity heard that name, he almost thought the illusion hadn’t ended yet.

But they were back on the ship now—white walls, sterile lights. The three who had vanished had reappeared, and only ten seconds had passed according to the clock on the wall. Yet for Keriu, that short moment had spanned a stretch of ancient memory. That first meeting, the guidance that followed… he had never truly forgotten.

“…You still remember that name,” the god of ferocity murmured.

Hexin nodded calmly. “Of course. I gave it to you, didn’t I?”

Keriu let out a short laugh. That’s right. A god’s name was sacred—tied to their soul, given at birth. But that person had casually renamed him, like it was nothing. Then again, he’d already touched the core of his soul—what was a name, compared to that?

“Your name was too long,” Hexin added lightly. “So I just trimmed it down to two syllables.”

Eios, who had been delighted by their return, froze mid-smile and internally cursed: Brother, if you’re so set on fighting the beauty god’s twin, at least change your name back first. I should’ve known.

Not that he could complain. It was a miracle he’d gone into the whole mess half-hearted and come out untouched. If things had escalated to the beauty god demanding retribution for his twin—would his brother have helped him?

Eios glanced over and saw the look in his brother’s eyes. …No. Definitely not. Blood might be thick, but brothers were also the first to throw you in a pit.

Hexin raised an eyebrow. “Calmed down yet?”

Keriu: “What?”

“If you really hated me,” Hexin said plainly, “you wouldn’t have chosen to come toward me again in that illusion. Even if it wasn’t real, you made the same decision you made back then. Understand now?”

Keriu clenched and unclenched his fists. He forced himself to meet Hexin’s gaze—but no one could withstand the god of beauty’s eyes for long. He could feel his stance collapsing, inch by inch, beneath the weight of it.

Before he completely unraveled, he blurted out: “And you? If you could do it all over again, would you still make the same choice?”

The most beautiful god gave him a look that was neither sharp nor soft.

“I’ve never once regretted anything I’ve done.”

And just like that, Hexin turned away, no longer looking at Keriu, his attention fixed instead on the black gate in the sky.

By now, the monsters behind the gate had changed. The ones that had seemed formidable earlier had all retreated, trembling under the oppressive aura of the new arrivals. These weren’t just abyssal elites—they were the true apex predators. And even they hadn’t dared touch the lesser monsters. Not because they weren’t hungry, but because they refused to sully the presence of a god.

All it took was a low vibration in their throats, and the creatures capable of swallowing planets whimpered and vanished into the dark.

From the twitch of spider legs, the glimpse of butler coats, Hexin recognized familiar figures. Old comrades. The ones the three brothers had once left behind.

According to the lore, the abyssal brothers had joined the divine realm to help maintain balance—linking two opposing powers through shared presence. Their only selfishness was leaving together after naming successors. They had no desire to be separated.

Now, Hexin wasn’t sure what these former subordinates thought. If they were planning something like Keriu had—

But before he could finish the thought, the creatures behind the gate began to move.

“Rise.”

A deep voice sounded. Like a signal.

“Prepare to receive.”

“—Our god.”

The stronger an abyssal was, the more beautiful it became. Even the spider-woman from earlier had her own allure. Abyssals were like oil paintings layered in shadows. Their silhouettes emerged from the dark, but their whole forms could never be grasped. They were mysterious, and the glimpse they offered was the kind of forbidden beauty no one could turn away from—until they were already lost.

—Just like now.

The people scattered across the land stared as one, frozen, watching as non-human figures stepped through the black gate.

From the moment the first one arrived, a strange silence spilled into the world. Despite the distant light of dawn, it felt like night had returned.

Dozens, hundreds, of stunning creatures walked out, each clothed in elegant forms—like nobles arriving from a masked ball. But every human instinct screamed danger.

The Red Wing soldiers, hidden among the crowd, felt it more keenly than anyone. Their senses flared in panic. Without hesitation, they bolted for the ship.

“Captain…”

“I know. Those aren’t the kind of things we’re trained to fight… those are real monsters.”

Their spiritual probes vanished into nothing. No feedback, no resistance. They couldn’t even perceive what these things really were.

“…We might actually get wiped out this time.”

“Could you shut up with the doomsday talk? My legs are already shaking, and now you’re making it worse!”

But running was pointless. All they could do now was hope their death wouldn’t be in vain—and that someone, somewhere, would respond to their emergency signal.

Around them, the rest of the crowd stood frozen. It was hard to tell if it was fear or the charm of the abyss that held them still.

And then the scene changed.

The feared monsters didn’t attack.

Instead… they knocked on the ship’s door.

Knock, knock, knock—

Three slow taps. The abyssal in a butler’s uniform stood with one hand behind his back, the other tapping gently, posture impeccable.

Then, the hatch opened.

From the outside, no one could see inside the ship—but they could see the abyssals’ faces. The moment the door opened, their bodies jolted in unison. Muscles tensed, lips trembled, and prideful expressions fractured into awe.

The person who had opened the door gave them a glance. Just one indifferent glance.

And that alone made them tremble.

“You’ve finally returned,” the butler whispered. One hand to his chest, he dropped to one knee in a fluid bow.

The others followed instantly. A wave of bodies fell in formation, kneeling on both sides of the hatch. Their expressions were wild with reverence—like men who had seen rain after centuries of drought, like wanderers discovering an oasis.

Hexin was a little surprised.

But he didn’t show it.

“You are no longer under my command,” he said softly. “There’s no need for this.”

“You are our eternal god. Please do not deny that,” the spider-woman said, her red gown now torn at the hem by her eight legs. This—this was her most beautiful form. She wanted him to see it.

“She speaks for all of us,” the butler said. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for the abyss. The garden outside your palace never withered—not once. The two you left behind have tended it faithfully. Whether you pass by, or rest within… you will always be welcome.”

“We feel the same!” the abyssals behind him chorused.

Keriu wasn’t surprised to see them bowing. In fact, he looked like he expected it. But when the butler mentioned the garden, he snapped: “You talk too much.”

Eios muttered mentally, That’s not even that much talking… He and Keriu had been gardening for years. As abyssal gods, that garden had nearly died more times than he could count.

Keriu must’ve heard the thought. He shot a glare at Eios—only to be caught instead by the subtle curl of Hexin’s lips.

His gaze shifted automatically.

Hexin nodded once. “I understand.”

Just then, the hallway door slid open with a soft beep—and the Red Wing soldiers burst in.

For a moment, everyone turned toward them.

And the Red Wing team froze.

“…What the hell—” someone muttered, voicing what all of them were thinking. Their wide eyes said it all.

They had come in expecting a fight. But now… they saw beings whose presence alone made their blood run cold.

And all of them were kneeling… to the figure who had just turned around.

If someone like him could command them—

Then who, exactly, was he?

==

Here is your translated excerpt, written in immersive, narrative prose and with all references to god/gods in lowercase:

As Hexin’s face was revealed to the crowd, silence fell over the room.

“…”

Wearing the skin of the god of beauty, Hexin did what came naturally—face reveal. His professional-level showmanship made him unconsciously find the perfect angle to glance back. The effect was devastating.

Keriu let out a cold laugh and immediately raised his hand toward the stunned humans. Darkness gathered in his palm.

The Red Wing squad hadn’t yet come to their senses. They were drowning in that intoxicating beauty, committing the gravest error a soldier could make—being bewitched on the battlefield. But if anyone else had witnessed the source of that beauty, they would’ve forgiven them in an instant, perhaps even joined them without question.

Were they still breathing? Or had they already suffocated in this radiance, leaving behind only husks with their souls drawn away?

It had nothing to do with lust or desire. It was simply the primal instinct of life chasing beauty—like sunflowers turning toward the sun, fish swimming upstream for oxygen. To lose that light was death.

—Until Hexin snapped his fingers.

The world turned black for one second. Their senses vanished. And in that fleeting moment, they were pulled out of their trance.

At the same time, Hexin waved away Keriu’s attack—a violent surge of power swatted aside like smoke, as if it had never existed.

Eios blinked, startled. “You’re as strong as ever,” he murmured in awe. He knew how terrifying his brother was. Which made it even more absurd how easily Hexin had erased that strike.

Keriu said nothing, but narrowed his eyes, watching Hexin’s hand. Still pristine. No damage. He turned his head with a sharp exhale through his nose, but let the fury simmer down.

Then Hexin’s voice rang through the ship, calm and ethereal. It felt like he was speaking to the Red Wings—or perhaps, to everyone present.

“You aided my brother. As thanks, I’ll grant you one wish.”

“You may speak it now.”

The surrounding abyssals collectively widened their eyes. None would admit the surge of jealous madness overtaking them. To receive a promise like this—personally—from this divine being? It was an unimaginable honour.

Still, given how much the twins valued each other, it wasn’t exactly a surprise.

“Bow your heads,” the butler barked, stern and uncompromising. “Who gave you permission to look upon his true face? Kneel!”

Thankfully, the Red Wings weren’t completely brainless. After Hexin’s snap, they had already lowered their gazes instinctively. Even so, the memory of that beauty lingered like a fever in their minds. He was still there, within reach—no, don’t think about it. Stop thinking!

Hexin didn’t seem to mind their slip-up. Or perhaps he was used to it. He said mildly, “Of course, if you’re not ready now, you may save your wish for later. I give you leave to call upon the name of the god of beauty then.”

It was a clear acknowledgment of identity. No one dared impersonate a supreme god. The last temple that tried was long gone.

The Red Wing squad had never felt smarter in their entire lives. A few keywords clicked together, and they suddenly understood most of what had happened. Especially the captain who’d helped rescue the dream god—his expression now looked like he was still dreaming.

“This…” The captain licked his dry lips. In most situations, a man would be tempted. But right now, he wasn’t. The sheer gravity of Hexin’s presence left no room for greed. For once, his mind felt absolutely clear.

He didn’t dare look up. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the floor, roughly estimating where Hexin stood, and took a deep breath.

“May I ask your followers to cease their assault on this planet… and close the black gates outside?”

This god didn’t seem to enjoy groveling or flattery. The captain kept his tone steady—respectful, but not obsequious.

“Oh? That’s all?” the god of beauty asked, tilting his head slightly, lowering his voice.

“Don’t you want more? This is your one chance. You could wish the entire abyss and all its creatures gone. You could wish for everlasting peace. Or even for your fallen comrades to return from the dead. Name it, and I’ll grant it—for you.”

“…”

It was a staggering offer—one no human should be able to refuse.

But Hexin said it so easily, like it was nothing. And maybe, to a god, it was. That ease was what made it terrifying.

The captain hesitated for just a moment. Then shook his head.

“No, thank you.”

After a few seconds, he added, hurriedly, “It’s not that I doubt your power, my lord. I know you’d never go back on your word. But something of that scale… the price would be more than we could bear. Even if you paid it at first, the cost would come for us eventually. I have no right to decide that—for the dead, or for the world.”

Hexin wanted to say, it’s not that complicated. In truth, many things were within the scope of a god’s power. Resurrecting the dead only needed a memo to the underworld. Sure, in myth, heroes went through entire odysseys to bring back one person—but that was them. Not him.

But then again, if someone threw away a lottery ticket, it was one thing. If you told them it had won five million… that was just cruel.

So Hexin stayed silent for a moment, then replied solemnly, “I understand. As you wish.”

At his words, the surrounding abyssals immediately sheathed their power. What had been sharp-edged hostility became a deep, abiding quiet. They formed a silent perimeter around Hexin like loyal knights before a king.

The Red Wings breathed out as one, relief visible in every line of their bodies. Their captain bowed deeper. “Praise be to the god.”

Hexin raised both hands. Slowly, the shimmering outline of the dream god appeared in his arms, solidifying from nothing.

The most beautiful god glanced at his twin, smiling faintly, and turned to the others.

“Let’s return to the abyss.”

The divine realm was still being rebuilt. There was no need for the dream twins there just yet. But the abyss… the black gates opening this often meant the corruption was overflowing. He could go back. Purify it.

“…You’re returning?!” gasped the abyssals. Their faces lit up with stunned delight, but it seemed they were more afraid of hearing a rejection, so they didn’t wait for confirmation—they opened a portal instantly.

And so, the people waiting below the hovering ship saw something miraculous:

All the black gates in the sky merged into one.

Voices buzzed in confusion.

Then—the elite abyssals who had gone inside reemerged. They lined up on both sides of the portal, forming a grand corridor, like a living royal procession.

No one could deny it—in all their lives, they’d never seen such magnificence. Even the most exalted mortals couldn’t compare to a single one of these beings. And the one they were kneeling for… just who must he be?

—Hexin left in silence.

The world held its breath. Even the wind could be heard.

Dawn had fully broken. The sun rose at his back. He walked through golden light toward the vast, starless gate. Like a perfect angel stepping into hellfire—not in ruin or despair, but in silent rebirth and glory.

The angel would rise again in the abyss.

And from there, he would ascend his throne.

His people knelt before him, offering their reverence in full.

When Hexin reached the gate, Keriu remained kneeling at the threshold. He looked up slightly.

“Have I become what you once hoped I would?”

Hexin turned, lips curved faintly. “What I hoped for… was you.”

It wasn’t that the god had imagined some perfect version, and Keriu happened to match it.

It was that Keriu existed—and that gave the god something to hope for.

Across from them, Eios watched and instantly knew: Brother lost. Again. Completely.

The abyss’s current twin titans—god of calamity and god of ferocity—stood up and followed Hexin through the gate.

Behind them, the abyssals rose and followed.

One by one, they vanished into the gate.

Until the last one disappeared.

And the great gate closed.

Never to open again.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, in the now chaotic spaceport, the Red Wings stood frozen. One of them suddenly slapped his forehead and shouted, “Captain, I think we just met a god!!”

The captain: “…Took you long enough. What, did your brain take the scenic route through the galaxy?”

“…such a merciful god,” he muttered, glancing up at the sky where there was nothing left—yet in his heart, he still saw that shining figure.

His soldiers looked at him in confusion.

The captain shook his head in disbelief. “He chose to leave so publicly. Now the entire universe knows the Red Wings once welcomed a god aboard our ship…”

Actually, he thought, probably more than one. The dream twins aside, those two silent men flanking Hexin… were almost definitely gods too.

“Oh! That means Red Wing’s reputation is about to change completely!”

“We won’t get fired! I’ll still be fighting on the frontlines in a hundred years!”

Everyone cried out in one voice:

“Such a merciful god!”