Humanity Undivided [DxD Great War OC-Insert / CYOA]

Interlude 1

God

For the first time in millennia, there is silence. Not the comforting quiet of contemplation, but an unnatural void, a stillness imposed by forces I had not fully foreseen. The seal is complete. I can feel its weight pressing against the edges of My essence, severing My connection to the creation I have shepherded since the dawn of its existence.

A mortal has done this. A human.

I am not angry. No, anger is a fleeting thing, unworthy of the gravity of this moment. What I feel is… surprise. I knew this was a possibility, one among countless threads in the vast tapestry of fate I observe. But possibilities are not certainties, and I had dismissed this path as unlikely, improbable—a distant branch on the tree of destiny that would never bear fruit.

I reflect on My miscalculation, on the arrogance of assuming that My plan was untouchable. My foresight, once an unerring guide, has grown blurry in recent months. It began before the disappearance of Alexandria, a singular event that sent ripples through creation.

Since then, the Revelation has walked a path obscured to Me, his actions shielded from My gaze. I knew he was an anomaly, but I failed to grasp the depth of his resolve, the ingenuity with which he would wield the chaotic energies of the Dimensional Gap.

The seal he has created is an impressive feat, I must admit. Its intricacy is beyond anything I expected from a mortal. It isolates Me, constrains My influence, and disrupts the balance I have preserved for eons. For now, My hands are tied.

It will take decades—perhaps longer—to fully unravel the seal. Until that time, the rest of creation will almost certainly descend into chaos. The Great War will continue unchecked, the delicate balance I had fought so hard to maintain now utterly shattered.

I shake My head, dismissing the thought. Dwelling on the ruin of My plan serves no purpose. What matters now is finding another way. I must ensure this universe survives the oncoming storm. The Beast remains dormant for the time being; as long as My final battle with the Four does not come to pass prematurely, it should not awaken for some time yet.

I cast My gaze downward, to where Lucifer kneels. His once-proud form is hunched, his eyes vacant, staring into the void. He is broken—not physically, but spiritually, his pride and arrogance replaced with a hollow silence. For a brief moment, I feel pity for him. He is My son, after all.

But such sentiment cannot sway Me. For the sake of this universe, for the survival of all creation, I would sacrifice anything. Even Myself.

I turn away from the barren field that was a battlefield moments ago. The scars of the conflict linger in the ruined landscape, the air heavy with the remnants of power. Yet there is no time to dwell on the past. I must act.

The seal is formidable, its intricacies woven with precision and purpose. Unraveling it will require allies—beings of strength and knowledge who might aid in this endeavor. The pagan gods, fractured and scattered though they may be, remain a necessary recourse. Their power, combined with My own, may yet break this confinement quicker. I must begin contacting them, forging alliances where once there was only distance.

The Revelation has forced My hand, and now I must adapt. I step forward, leaving the ruins of the battlefield behind. There is much to do, and little time to waste.

Lucifer

The battlefield is unrecognizable, a desolate expanse scorched by divine wrath and infernal fury. I kneel in the ashes of Lilith, my kingdom, my pride—reduced to nothing. The spires that once reached defiantly into the heavens now lie in shattered heaps around me. The streets, once bustling with life and power, are trenches carved by devastation.

The air reeks of sulfur and ozone, a bitter reminder of the power unleashed here. The echoes of the Humans' destruction still ring in my ears, faint but inescapable. Around me, the silence is oppressive, broken only by the distant collapse of stone and the faint crackle of lingering flames. Even the underworld itself feels muted, as if mourning what it has lost.

My armor—my once-glorious armor—is a pitiful sight. It is battered and cracked, its luster dulled and smeared with my own blood. Blood that should never have been spilled. My hands, trembling and weak, press against the cold, ash-laden ground. I can barely lift my head.

For the first time in my existence, I am alone. Truly alone.

They've all abandoned me. The Satans. My subordinates. Even the lesser devils who once groveled at my feet. Not a single soul remains to stand beside me. My authority—once absolute—is now a shattered illusion, lost in the fire and chaos of this day.

I kneel, not in reverence, but because I cannot stand. My body betrays me. The strength I once wielded with impunity is gone, sapped by wounds I never thought I could endure and by the weight of a failure I never thought I could face. My legs refuse to obey me, and every breath feels like a laborious insult, a reminder that I am still here to feel this shame.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

I was Lucifer. The Morning Star. The true heir of creation. I was the light that defied God. The architect of rebellion. And yet here I am, a broken figure, kneeling in the dirt like a beaten dog.

And then there's Him—God. The being I despise most, the one whose yoke I rejected. He saved me. Me. Saved by the very being I sought to destroy. My rebellion, the rebellion, was part of His plan all along.

The thought claws at me, gnaws at my soul. Was I ever truly free? Was this all a game, my actions scripted, my choices nothing more than threads in His grand tapestry?

I want to scream, but even that feels like too much effort. Instead, I let my head hang, my vision blurring as the ash and blood mix beneath me. The silence presses in, and for the first time in millennia, I feel the weight of my existence—pointless, empty, mocked by the very world I sought to rule.

What am I now? A king without a throne. A leader without followers. A son who has failed even in rebellion.

I let out a bitter chuckle, the thought bringing vile amusement. How poetic. How utterly absurd. The Morning Star, cradled in the hands of the one I hate most. The memory loops, endlessly, each replay a fresh stab in my pride.

His light descended as mine failed. His hand reached to Him—not for mercy, not for love. Necessity. Necessity!

I was choking. Broken. Dying. And He—He saved me. Why? Because I'm important. Important to His plan. The words are like bile in my throat. The irony—the sick, twisted irony—thicker than blood pooling in my mouth. The God I defied. The God I hated. He wouldn't even let me die.

My fingers claw at the ground, ash and rubble tearing at my skin. I want to feel something. Pain, anger—anything. But all I feel is that hollow, gnawing void. The void He left in me.

It wasn't mine. My rebellion. My pride. My purpose. Wasn't mine. Never mine. Was it? Was any of it? Was I just—just following a thread He wove for me? A thread He tied around my neck like a leash. His leash.

I see it again. That light. His voice. "He still has a role to play." The words echo. Over. And over. Louder. LOUDER. A role to play.

"No!" My voice cracks. I slam my fist into the ground, my bones screaming in protest. The pain. It's real. But is it mine? Is it—anything mine?

I laugh. It's raw. Broken. The sound bounces off the ruins like a demon's cackle. A role to play. A ROLE TO PLAY.

His mockery. His condescension. He saved me. Not out of love. Not mercy. He needed me. He used me. Always using me. Always. Always.

I grab at my chest, clawing at the air as if I can rip the memory out of my mind. But it won't leave. It won't leave. His light. His words. His hands. His PLAN.

The plan. The plan. The plan.

I'm nothing. A tool. A pawn. A joke. My rebellion wasn't rebellion. It was a step. Another step in His game. His twisted, endless game.

But no. No. No, no, no. NO. I won't. I won't. I can't—won't—let Him win.

I slam my head against the ground, the impact rattling my thoughts like a broken mirror. Shards of clarity. Fragments of rage. "This isn't real. I'm real. My hatred. My defiance. REAL."

But what if it isn't? What if—what if even this is His design?

My breath comes in ragged gasps, my vision blurring as I scream into the void around me. "Get out of my head!" But it's not His voice I hear. It's mine. Echoing. Twisting. Mocking me.

The ash swirls around me, the remnants of Lilith choking the air. My city. My throne. My people. Gone. All gone. Because of Him. Because of me.

My hands shake as I stare at the ground, my own blood mixing with the soot. I should feel despair. I should feel rage. But all I feel is empty. Hollow. Like a doll with its strings cut. A doll that never knew it had strings in the first place.

What's left? What's—what's even left of me?

I laugh again. Louder this time. The sound cracks like glass. Shattering. Falling. "Nothing. Nothing's left."

And yet—beneath it, there's something. A flicker. A spark. A hatred so deep it burns like acid.

"I'll kill Him," I mutter, my voice shaking. "I'll kill Him. I'll kill Him."

But the laughter doesn't stop. It spills out of me, wild and uncontrollable, even as my vision swims. I'll kill Him.

The words mean nothing. Or everything. I don't know anymore. I don't know—anything anymore.

Their faces—those wretched faces—flash before me. Eyes filled with expectation, voices laced with loyalty, hands raised in oath. Where are they now? Gone. All of them. Left me here. Alone. Betrayers. Cowards. Weaklings.

"I made you!" My voice cracks as I scream into the ashes. My fists slam the ground, the sting a cruel reminder of my humiliation. You were mine. My soldiers. My generals. My family Tools.

But they left. Left me. Like rats from a sinking ship. The rats didn't sink the ship. I did. No. No, that's wrong. It wasn't me. It was them. It was Him.

Their voices creep into my ears, soft at first, like the hiss of a snake. You failed us, Lucifer. I shake my head. No. I didn't. You promised us glory, but all we found was ruin.

"Shut up," I mutter, my nails digging into the flesh of my palms.

You led us to this. You and your pride.

"I SAID SHUT UP!" My scream echoes across the barren battlefield, but the whispers don't stop. They grow louder. Clearer. Familiar voices, names I once trusted, now spitting venom.

I can hear him too. That Anathema. That golden monstrosity. His laughter rings in my ears, mocking me. This is what you built, Morning Star? This ruin? This ash?

"Stop it. Stop it. STOP IT!" My hands clutch at my head, trying to drown out the sound. But it's everywhere. Inside. Outside. Burrowing into my skull like maggots.

And then, His voice. Calm. Detached. Like a father lecturing a wayward child. You still have a role to play, Lucifer.

"No!" I claw at the air, as if I can rip his voice from the ether. "You don't control me! Not anymore!"

But I do, don't I? I always have.

The whispers, the laughter, the patronizing tone—they merge into a cacophony. My own thoughts lost in the noise. I can't tell where they end and I begin.

You failed. You lost. You're nothing now. Nothing.

"I AM LUCIFER!" The roar tears from my throat, raw and broken, but it sounds empty. Hollow. Even to me.

The voices don't care. They keep pushing. Prodding. Blaming. Your pride killed us all. Your rebellion was meaningless. You're just another pawn in His game.

"No." My voice falters. "No, I'm not."

Then why did He save you?

I freeze. The question hangs in the air, twisting like a knife. Why did He save me? Not out of love. Not out of mercy. Out of need. Out of necessity. Because even my rebellion wasn't mine. Even my defiance was His.

The laughter returns, louder now. It's mine. It's theirs. It's His.

I collapse further, my head pressed against the scorched ground. The weight of their words—the weight of His plan—crushes me. My chest heaves with ragged breaths, my vision swimming as the battlefield seems to spin around me.

You were never free, Lucifer. Never.

Like a broken record, my mind goes back to the beginning.

I kneel.

The ground. Ashes. Rubble. My kingdom. Gone.

The air. Suffocating. Heavy. Tastes like sulfur and… failure.

Failure. Failure. Failure. Mine.

No. Not mine. Theirs. Theirs. They left me. They ran. Cowards.

But… I failed them first, didn't I? No. Yes. No. Yes.

His face. His laughter. That golden bastard. It echoes. Won't stop. Won't leave me alone.

And then His voice. Calm. So calm. Always calm. Hate it. Hate Him. Always hated Him. Why save me?

"Stop." My voice cracks. Not enough. Not loud enough. "Stop!"

They're still looking. His golden eyes. His serene face. Mocking. Always mocking. Always watching.

"Get out of my head!" I punch the ground. It cracks. Doesn't help. Still there.

"You planned this, didn't you?!" Words come out broken. Choked. "Your plan. Always your plan. My rebellion? My war? Nothing. A joke. A game to you!"

They're laughing. I can hear it. Hear them. Both of them. Golden and Light. Both of them!

My fists slam into the ground again. Harder. Harder. Until the bones in my hands ache. "SHUT UP!"

The whispers grow louder. My subordinates. My Satans. They speak in my mind. You failed us, Morning Star. Lucifer, the weak. Lucifer, the broken.

"No, no, no! You left me! You betrayed me!" My voice rises, desperate, cracked. "Not my fault! Not my fault!"

I imagine their faces. Smirking. Disdainful. My loyal generals. Gone. My armies. Dead. My people. Abandoned. All gone.

The Anathema's voice now. A man who kneels is a man who has lost.

"Stop it!" I slam my head against the ground. Pain blooms. Good. Better than the noise. Better than the whispers. But they don't stop.

His face. His eyes. His laugh. God's light behind him. Both of them staring.

"LOOK AWAY!" I scream, my throat raw. My power flares. Flames rise. They consume the ruins around me. The earth cracks. The sky bleeds.

Still doesn't matter. Doesn't change. Doesn't fix. Nothing is fixed.

"I'm Lucifer." A whisper. A reminder. To myself? To them? "Morning Star. Heir of the Throne. Son of Light."

But they don't listen. They never listen.

I roar again. The ground splits beneath me, fire and shadow spiraling outward. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Not anymore.

And still.

I kneel.

Odin

Through the eyes of Muninn, my raven, I witness the skies of the underworld. The oppressive darkness, tinged with shades of violet and sulfurous smoke, stretches endlessly. Yet amidst this bleak expanse, a golden rift tears through the fabric of reality, a radiant wound bleeding light into the shadows.

The light dances across Muninn's feathers, each glimmer refracted like sunlight on a blade. The connection between us pulses with energy; I feel its warmth even in Asgard's throne room. The rift is no ordinary magic—it is a declaration, a challenge to the natural order, and it unsettles even my ancient bones.

Muninn dives closer, weaving through the currents of shimmering power. Below, chaos unfolds—a battlefield of scorched earth and shattered spires, the remnants of Lilith. Armies of devils scramble like ants, their ranks in disarray as they try to confront something they cannot hope to understand.

And then I see him.

Clad in radiant golden armor, a figure strides through the chaos with purpose and precision. Anathema, they call him—as he has taken a mantle far greater than any mortal. His presence radiates a power that is... familiar yet foreign. It is not the divine light of the Aesir nor the corrupted might of the devils. No, this is something uniquely human, and it rivals even the gods.

He moves like a storm given form, his golden glaive a comet of destruction. Each swing of his weapon tears through devilish flesh, each step a statement that he does not belong here—he belongs above them. The Satans themselves descend, their infernal might shaping the battlefield, yet even their combined power falters against him.

Through Muninn's sight, I see it clearly: this is not merely a man wielding strength. This is a mortal defying the divine hierarchy itself. My unease grows.

"What are you, mortal?" I murmur under my breath, my voice echoing in the quiet of the throne room. "What madness drives you to this?"

Muninn circles higher, the golden light of the rift casting long shadows over the decimated landscape. Below, the Revelation stands alone against the Satans, their demonic energies clashing violently with the radiance of his armor. For the first time in centuries, I feel a flicker of uncertainty. This mortal is unlike any I have seen before—a force untamed, unyielding, and utterly fearless.

Through Muninn's eyes, I watch the mortal—this Revelation—charge through Leviathan's attack with unrelenting force. The colossal water serpent she summons shatters as his glowing glaive cuts through it, leaving her vulnerable. Before she can react, he is upon her, his golden armor blazing with power.

One brutal motion ends her. His foot crushes her head against the scorched ground, silencing her and the battlefield in an instant. Leviathan is dead—a Satan, a pillar of the underworld, gone at the hands of a mortal.

The ripples of her death reach me even here in Asgard. Yggdrasil groans as the balance of power shifts violently. The devils' forces falter, their confidence broken. Through Muninn, I feel the fear spreading among the remaining Satans. They are not used to losing, certainly not like this.

"What manner of mortal are you?" I murmur, gripping my throne tightly. The Revelation moves with calculated precision, his golden armor cutting through the darkness like a beacon. The Satans regroup, but I see it clearly—they are afraid.

Leviathan's death is not just a loss. It is a statement, a crack in the foundation of their supposed invincibility. As the mortal strides forward, undeterred, I feel the weight of his actions echo through the realms.

"What chaos will you bring next?" I whisper, unable to look away.

Muninn shifts its gaze, and through its eyes, I see the mortal's soldiers—the Sentinels. Clad in golden armor, they move with precision that rivals the Einherjar. Each step is deliberate, each strike purposeful. Strongholds crumble before them, legions of devils scattered like leaves in a storm. They do not fight for dominance or conquest; their goal is clear. The humans enslaved in this wretched underworld are their priority, and they leave no prisoner behind.

I watch as they breach another stronghold, rescuing the humans held within. The devils that stand in their way are reduced to ash, their fortifications obliterated. Their efficiency is unnerving. This is no mere army; this is a force with singular purpose, unwavering and unrelenting.

"This is no coincidence," I mutter, breaking my silence in the throne room. I wave my hand, summoning a scrying portal. Through it, I reach Hela, her form materializing in the depths of Helheim. Her expression is grim, but it shifts slightly when she sees me.

"Father," she greets, though her tone betrays her wariness. "What is it?"

"Listen well, Hela," I begin, my voice firmer than usual. "There are golden-clad soldiers sweeping through the underworld. They are not our enemies, but you must avoid them. Do not cross their path."

Her brow furrows in confusion. "And why should I, the ruler of Helheim, cower from mortals?"

"These are no ordinary mortals," I snap, my tone sharper than intended. "They are the men of the one that shattered Leviathan herself, power that shifts the very balance of Yggdrasil. Their purpose does not align with ours, but neither must it oppose it. Return to Asgard. Now."

Her eyes narrow, but she nods reluctantly. "As you command, All-Father. But this is unlike you."

I allow a brief pause, the weight of my words settling. "It is because I see what you do not. The threads of fate unravel around this mortal and his army. I will not risk our realm being entangled in their chaos."

The scrying portal fades as Hela begins her journey. My gaze returns to Muninn, the raven soaring above the Sentinels as they continue their march. The battlefield below is chaos, yet their focus is unshaken. Humans are teleported to safety, while the devils' structures crumble to dust.

"Not foes," I murmur to myself. "But their presence changes everything." I grip Gungnir tightly, my mind racing with the implications. Whatever plans I had before, this mortal's defiance forces me to reconsider them all.

Muninn's vision quivers as the golden-clad mortal charges toward Lucifer, his glaive poised for the killing blow. The light from the Revelation's weapon seems to eclipse even the fires of the underworld. The raven's sight captures the moment, each movement sharp and vivid, until a blinding radiance tears through the battlefield.

Divine energy cascades down, overwhelming the underworld with its sheer presence. Muninn falters, the connection strained as the raven reels from the brilliance. My grip on the armrest tightens, the glow of my single eye flaring as I push to maintain the link. The vision holds for but a fleeting instant longer, and then… nothing.

The connection snaps.

I am thrown back into the throne room, my mystical eye dimming as the sudden void of clarity takes hold. For a moment, I feel blind, not from the loss of sight but from the absence of understanding. The threads of fate that once wove so clearly are tangled, frayed by forces even I cannot fully grasp.

Hela steps closer, her earlier ire replaced with cautious concern. "Father," she presses, her voice steady but probing. "What has unsettled you so?"

I do not answer immediately, my thoughts racing as I piece together what little remains of the vision. Finally, I rise from my throne, my movements deliberate, heavy with the weight of realization.

"The game has changed," I say, my tone measured, cryptic. "The board no longer favors us, nor anyone."

Hela's brows knit together in confusion. "What does that mean? What did you see?"

I glance at her, the glow of my eye faint but steady as I speak with a gravity I have seldom used. "Something unprecedented unfolds, something that shifts the balance of all realms. Prepare, Hela. Asgard must ready itself for what comes next. The unknown has entered the game, and it spares no one."

Her confusion deepens, but she nods, her expression hardening with resolve. As she turns to leave, my gaze drifts to the empty space where Muninn's vision once lingered. The mortal, the Revelation, looms large in my mind, his defiance a ripple that may yet become a storm.

"Prepare for the unknown," I murmur again, the words more to myself than anyone else. For even I, Odin All-Father, cannot see where this path now leads.