Fine, I'll Become a God

It was as if viscous engine oil had soaked through every inch of his body, as if diffused incense drifted through every pore, as if sweet, greasy bacteria that dissolved leaves into juice crawled all over him, as if he had fallen into a sea of stars made of fragrant Dorayaki, as if searing inspiration and creativity had replaced every cell between his flesh and blood.

If he sensed more closely, the things soaking around Zhou Yun were emotions, faith, and echoes.

The joy born of inspiration, intense thirst for knowledge, the urge to innovate, flickering curiosity, malicious creation. These emotions wove themselves into bone.

Devout faith in Saint Doraemon, hymns echoing through thousands upon thousands of churches, the Adeptus Mechanicus's reverent binary prayers. This faith became flesh.

The crisp crack when the first ape-man struck flint, the boom when the first grain of gunpowder exploded in an alchemical furnace, the deafening roar of an atomic bomb's detonation. These echoes became blood.

At that moment, Zhou Yun felt himself being stretched very, very, very far—so far that he existed in every moment from the past to the present, at every instant inspiration erupted, at every moment a new invention was born.

He stood upon a wilderness, feeling grains of sand scrape across his ankles as he watched an ape-man crawl upon the ground and dig a piece of gravel from the earth with hairy fingers.

The ape-man turned the gravel in his fingers, examining its perfectly sharp edge. In the damp eyes deep within his sockets, the light of inspiration began to kindle bit by bit.

He slowly lifted another stone beside him, preparing to strike the piece of gravel.

But at that very moment, a gloomy, hoarse curse woven in a primitive language suddenly rang out—

A sharp war