As a god far from his homeland, life was terribly boring.
Other than listening to his believers' prayers and answering a few requests, there was actually nothing else to do.
The Exile Plane was called "exile" precisely because it combined the qualities of torment and punishment.
Endless emptiness was the punishment for defeated evil gods.
The God of Pain had long since accepted this reality.
Perhaps they had been left here, their believers not completely purged, simply because they were waiting for something else. With nearly infinite time to think, the God of Pain reflected on the divine war of the past.
After endless deductions and speculation, he realized that there had never been any chance of victory. No matter what, those evil gods could not win. The number of believers they could attract had decided it from the start.
Those bizarre faiths would always remain the pursuit of a small minority.
But one question had never been clear to the God of Pain: why had he been able to come here?
Those so-called Orthodox Gods should have possessed a way to end him back then.
After thinking it over and over, the only explanation he could come up with was that his survival had also been arranged.
That feeling of being manipulated and designed was awful.
Yet there was nothing he could do.
From a certain angle, that too counted as immense pain.
And he felt no pleasure in that pain. As the God of Pain, he was not entirely qualified either.
At first, he had still been furious and unwilling to accept it, thinking that one day, he would have his revenge.
But after even longer years had passed, he realized that none of it seemed to mean anything.
Those chief gods would eventually perish, annihilated and erased