The Almighty War God's Karma System

In the Upper Realm, the sky did not bleed red; it bled gold. Kaelus stood atop the shattered remains of the Obsidian Spire, his foot crushing the throat of the last Demon General. Around him, an entire star system lay in ruins. He was the God of War, the Harbinger of Annihilation, and the blade of the High Council. But as he wiped the ichor from his brow, the heavens themselves began to groan. "Kaelus!" A voice boomed, strong enough to crack the fabric of space. And then twelve pillars of light descended, surrounding him. The High Council. The beings who had used Kaelus as their rabid dog for ages were now looking down at him with eyes full of fear. "You have overstepped by disobeying the order given to you, General Kaelus," the Arch-Justice declared. "You were sent to quell a rebellion, not to extinguish a galaxy. Your thirst for blood has become a rot upon the divine order." Kaelus tilted his head, his golden eyes burning with a terrifying indifference. "The insects were noisy. So I silenced them. Is that not why you forged me?" "You are no longer a tool," the Justice whispered. "But a monster who thirst for blood can't be controlled. So therefore you're been stripped of your divinity and also your name. You shall be cast into the dregs of the mortal plane, bound by the very things you despise: mercy and virtue…." Kaelus started laughing making him to stop. “You think this is a joke, huh”. General Kaelus. Kaelus smirked. "You think a cage of flesh can hold me?" "It is not just a cage, Kaelus. It is a lesson, a debt." Which you have to learn and repay back with kindness”. Before he could replied, The pillars of light converged. Making Kaelus felt like his skin was peeled away into starlight. His strength, capable of moving planets, where all sucked into a vacuum. He screamed—not in pain, but in fury—as he fell down into the dark, suffocating atmosphere of a blue planet. And the everything went dark. Splash. The transition was violent. One moment, Kaelus was a titan of energy; and the next, he was a sack of meat drowning in lukewarm, soapy water. He gasped, his lungs burning with a sensation he hadn't felt in ten thousand years: the need for oxygen. He flailed, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated, splashing water over the marble floor of a lavish, oversized bathroom. He gripped the edge of the porcelain tub, his knuckles turning white. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Pathetic. This body is pathetic. "Ugh..." A groan escaped his lips. It wasn't his voice. It was high-pitched, weak, and smelled of expensive whiskey and vomit. He dragged himself out of the tub, collapsing onto the cold tile. He looked into the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The reflection staring back was a nightmare. He was a man in his late twenties, handsome in a fragile, wasted sort of way. His skin was the color of curdled milk, with dark circles under his eyes that spoke of a thousand sleepless nights fueled by chemical escapism. His hair was a matted mess of blonde silk. "Julian Thorne," Kaelus whispered, as the name surfacing in his mind like a piece of debris. Memories that weren't his flooded his brain. Julian Thorne. The 'Trash CEO' of the Thorne Group. A man who inherited a multi-billion dollar empire and spent three years snorting it up his nose. A man whose own family wanted him dead, and whose wife looked at him as if he were a stain on her shoe. "So," Kaelus rasped, testing the vocal cords of his new prison. "I am a loser." Suddenly, a sharp ding echoed inside his skull. It was so loud he clutched his head, whistling through his teeth. [System Initialization... 100%] [Welcome, Host: Kaelus/Julian Thorne.] [Status: Divine Debtor.] [Karma Balance: -1,000,000 Points.] [Mission: Reach 0 Karma to regain Divinity. If Balance reaches -1,100,000, Soul Erasure will commence.] "A system?" Julian sneered at the empty air. "The Council thinks they can turn my life into a game?" huh. [Warning! Negative thoughts toward the Heavens: -5 Karma Points.] [Current Balance: -1,000,005.] "You've got to be kidding me," Julian growled. Before he could argue with the invisible voice, the heavy oak door of the bathroom creaked open. "Is he dead yet?" a voice whispered from the bedroom. Julian went still. His godhood was gone, but his instincts—the millions of years spent on battlefields—remained. He didn't move a muscle. He just listened. "The boss said the 'hot dose' of heroin would look like an accidental overdose," another voice replied. "Check the tub. If he's still breathing, hold his head under until the bubbles stop." Footsteps. Three men. Heavy, rhythmic—professionals. Julian looked around the bathroom. Thinking maybe In his old life, he would have summoned a spear of pure sunfire and incinerated them. But now, his "divine power" is gone. Then he looked around and saw the arsenal consisted of a half-used bottle of lavender body wash and a damp towel. He smirked. The expression on Julian’s weak face looked predatory, mismatched. "Insects," he breathed. As the first man stepped into the bathroom, with a silenced pistol in his hand. He looked toward the tub, seeing only the overflowing bubbles. "He's out of the—" The man didn't finish. When Julian exploded from the shadows behind the door. He didn't have strength, but he had geometry. He knew exactly where the human body was most fragile. He snapped the damp towel like a whip, the wet fabric catching the gunman’s wrist and jerking his aim wide. In the same motion, Julian slammed his palm into the man’s chin. Crack. The gunman’s head snapped back, his jaw dislocating. Julian didn't stop. He stepped into the man's space, grabbed the pistol, and used the man's own momentum to hurl him face-first into the marble counter. "Hey! What the—" The other two hitmen rushed in. These were the 'Black Vipers,' the most feared enforcers in the city's underworld. To them, Julian Thorne was a joke. A walking ATM. Julian didn't give them time to think. He grabbed a bar of luxury soap from the floor. As the second man lunged at him, Julian jammed the soap into the man’s mouth and kicked his knee with a sickening pop. As the man collapsed, gagging and clutching his shattered leg, Julian turned to the third. The third assassin was larger, a wall of muscle with a scarred face. He stopped, staring at the 'junkie' CEO who was currently standing naked, dripping water, and looking like a demon from the seventh circle of hell. "You're dead, Thorne!" the big man roared, swinging a heavy fist. Julian ducked. The air from the punch whistled over his head. He was moving on pure adrenaline now, his heart screaming at the strain. He reached out, grabbed the man’s ears, and slammed his forehead into the assassin’s nose. Crunch. Blood sprayed. As he screamed in pain, staggering back. Julian didn't show mercy. He grabbed the heavy, metal showerhead, ripped it from the wall with a desperate burst and swung it so hard that the man fell to the ground, gasping for air. Julian stood there breathless like a man who just finished fighting world war II, and then he was notified. [Ding!] [Act of Self-Preservation: +10 Karma Points.] [Warning: Excessive Violence: -15 Karma Points.] [Current Balance: -1,000,010.] "I'm losing points for winning?" Julian hissed, leaning against the sink, his chest heaving. "I'll kill whoever designed this." [-2 Karma Points.] "Fine! I'll be a saint! Just stop the noise!" He looked down at the three bodies. They were alive, barely. In his realm, he would have ended them. Here, he realized, they were more useful as a message. Suddenly, the main bedroom door was thrown open. "Julian! If you're not out of that tub in five seconds, I'm calling the funeral—" She stopped in shock. Wearing a sleek, emerald-green evening gown, looking every bit the cold. She is the untouchable CEO of Vance International and also Julian's wife. She had come here to demand a divorce. And to end the farce of their business-arranged marriage. But what she found was a blood-splattered bathroom, with three unconscious men who she didn't know, and her "cowardly" husband standing in the middle of it all naked, looking at her with eyes that felt like they were piercing her soul. "Julian?" she whispered, her voice failing her. Julian straightened his back. Despite his nakedness, and bruises forming on his ribs, he looked down at her with a terrifying, regal arrogance. "Woman," he said, his voice cold enough to frost the windows. "You are late. These gnats were becoming tedious." Elara looked at the man with the soap in his mouth, then back at Julian. This wasn't the man she had been married to for two years. Because the man she was looking at was a shadow that hid in corners. A completely different man... this man looked like he owned the world, and everyone in it was simply trespassing. "What... what did you do to them?" she asked, her hand trembling as she reached for her phone. "I taught them the first rule of war," Julian said, stepping over a body to reach for a silk robe. He tied it around his waist, his movement was graceful and deadly. "Never assume your prey is unarmed." He whispered. As he walked toward her, stopping only when he was inches away. Elara, who had intimidated the most powerful men in the city, felt her breath catch in her throat. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn't move. "You wanted to speak of a divorce, didn't you?" Julian asked, a cruel smile touching his lips. "I... yes," she stammered. Julian leaned in, his scent—now a mix of soap, blood, and something ancient—overwhelming her. "Forget it," he whispered. "The Thorne Group is no longer for sale. And neither am I." He brushed past her, heading into the bedroom. He had noticed a smartphone on the nightstand. It was buzzing. He picked it up. A single text message sat on the screen from an unknown number: “The True God has fallen. The hunt begins. See you at the office, 'Julian'.” Julian’s eyes turned a faint, glowing gold. The hunt? He wasn't the prey. He had never been the prey. "Pip," he muttered to the empty air. "Yeah, boss?" A tiny, squeaky voice replied from the shoulder of his robe. A golden ball of light appeared, sprouting tiny wings. "How many points for a sword?" "A sword? You're a million in the hole! You can barely afford a toothpick!" Julian gripped the phone so hard the screen cracked. "Then I'll use my bare hands," he said. "Elara! Prepare the car. We’re going to the Thorne Group. It’s time I met my 'family'."