Deep within the void of spacey a rocky desert. It appeared barren, lifeless—a deste wastnd. Though it had the basic necessities for life, such as oxygen, vegetation, and water, these were present in such meager quantities that supporting any significant poption was impossible. The endured extreme temperatures and grueling 22-hour-long days, a consequence of its orbit between two relentless suns. Yet, despite its inhospitable nature, a race had managed to thrive here: the Drevods.


    The Drevods were a hardy, ant-like humanoid race. Small in stature butrge in resilience, they lived deep beneath the’s surface. Their survival hinged on a sprawlingwork of tunnels that stretched hundreds of miles, connecting all members of their society into a unified nest. Underground, they created a fragile but reliable ecosystem, securing food, water, and other essentials. While their resources were far from abundantpared to the flourishing worlds of higher-tiereds, the Drevods considered themselves fortunate. After all, of the countless races scattered across the universe, fewer than 1% could im an entire as their own.


    Even their seemingly insignificant world was coveted by lesser races and organizations, leading to numerous invasions. However, the Drevods defended their home time and again. The reason for which was because they had an advantage their enemiescked, a god.


    Piloc, the God of ss.


    Once a Drevod like them, Piloc ascended to godhood, bing their eternal protector. He shielded the Drevods from the perils of the universe. To honor their god, the Drevods carved a colossal chamber within their tunnels and built a magnificent pce. Despite their limited resources, they spared no expense, importing rare, costly materials to make the pce a symbol of reverence and awe.


    At the heart of their tunnelwork stood this crystalline pce. Its deep blue walls, reminiscent of the ocean, embodied the Drevods’ vision of regality. Within the pce’s depths was the grand throne room, a chamber befitting a god, where Piloc spent his days pursuing enlightenment and mastering his divinew.


    But today, enlightenment had eluded him.


    Piloc sat lifeless on his throne, his ssy bug eyes staring nkly ahead. A stab wound marred his chest, ck veins radiating outward like a sinister web, a stark contrast to his once majestic form that the Drevods revered.


    At the foot of the throne sat his murderer.


    A goblin adorned with a red cape trimmed in ck and a crown perched atop his head lounged casually on the steps. His appearance mirrored that of a certain idol, but his expression was one of irritation. This was Ikonel, the God of Premeditated Murder.


    Ikonel cast a disdainful nce back at Piloc’s lifeless form, his lips curling into a sneer. "Traveled all this way hoping for something worthwhile, and this grotesque insect doesn’t even have a single divine artifact. Not even a pseudo divine one. What a waste of time."


    Stolen story; please report.


    He stood with a huff, his annoyance palpable. The journey to this had been long, spurred by rumors of its lone deity which he believed would be a promising, easy target. And while he was correct that it was easy, all his effort had yielded nothing of value.


    Before departing, Ikonel paused. A prayer reached him, a faint call for aid. Ordinarily, such pleas fell on deaf ears. His followers, predominantly goblins, offered decent faith but were too short lived for him to invest in. After all, goblins were a scattered, weak race, prone to perishing in droves against even minor adversity. Though some goblins were able to organize themselves and had even created empires they already had gods they worshiped so he was only stuck with the scattered tribes and loners.


    Ikonel was about to ignore the request like others before, but he realized this prayer was different from the rest.


    It came not from a random follower but from his Chosen, Gerbil. Selected after much effort finding candidates, Gerbil was the mortal Ikonel had deemed most attuned to hisw. Through their connection, Ikonel observed the situation and understood he truly was in dire straits.


    "Hm..." Ikonel muttered, his tone contemtive. "First time he’s asking for help. Would be a shame to let him die now… He’s been doing well gathering faith."


    Gerbil had been spreading Ikonel’s name across goblin tribes in his and even minor races like kobolds and lizardmen. That faith, however meager, bolstered Ikonel’s power.


    With a flick of his wrist, Ikonel bestowed a boon which consisted of less than 1% of hisw’s essence. "That should be enough to handle it." Ikonel mused.


    Confident in his Chosen’s survival, he didn’t stay to wait for the results. Ikonel turned and began his departure, nning to explore the a bit to make sure he didn’t identally miss anything good. Yet, as he neared the pce’s exit, a shocking realization stopped him cold.


    "He’s… dead?"


    Ikonel wouldn’t have believed it if not for the connection between himself and Gerbil had been severed. The god blinked in mild disbelief. Even with the boon he granted, his Chosen had perished. He frowned, though not from grief.


    "Unfortunate." he muttered, his voice devoid of emotion. "Guess I should’ve chosen better."


    Gerbil’s death was a setback, but Ikonel had already begun to move on. "The second best candidate will have to do. She should do well and the area she is at has few followers." he decided, recalling the previous candidates he found scattered throughout the universe.


    Before proceeding, however, he sought to reim the fragment of hisw he had bestowed. Through his will, he began drawing the power back. But as it nearedpletion, something resisted, a force pulling against his im.


    n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om


    Ikonel’s expression darkened. "Who dares?"


    He had never encountered a situation like this before where someone was attempting to steal his blessing. He obviously wouldn’t have any of that and enacted his will even harder, pulling the essence of thew closer to himself. But the force attempting to take it didn’t relent either. A fierce struggle ensued as neither side wanted to relent. Eventually the remaining fraction split in two. Though he seeded in retrieving most of his essence, a sliver, consisting of only 0.1%, broke away. He felt it slip from his grasp entirely, unable to even sense where it went.


    Rage boiled within him. With a feral roar, Ikonel drove his fist into a nearby wall, shattering the entire left side of the pce in an explosive disy of power.


    His voice dropped to a menacing growl as he red at the destruction. "A god thinks they can steal from me? If I ever find out who you are…"


    A deadly ck aura surrounded the god causing even the ground beneath him to decay rapidly. The death of his Chosen was eptable, a small loss at best. But to steal a part of hisw, no matter how miniscule it was, crossed the line.