Blasfemy of the Gods

The beast lunged again.

Tanaka barely had time to react before its clawed arms tore through the space where he had stood just a heartbeat ago. The air itself burned in its wake, carrying the scent of scorched parchment and something older—something almost… divine.

He moved on instinct. His body twisted, dodging faster than he ever had before. His heart pounded, but it was not fear that filled him. It was something else. Something unfamiliar but intoxicating.

The symbols on his skin flared to life, glowing with the energy of names he had never spoken.

Obatala. Anansi. Tlāloc. Nüwa. Baal. Sedna. Xolotl.

Each name surged through his mind, a whisper of power left behind by gods long forgotten.

The beast was an abomination of memories—a construct of discarded deities, held together by the will of those who refused to fade. Its form flickered, shifting between shapes. One moment, it had the serpentine body of Aido-Hwedo, the next, the fanged maw of Tezcatlipoca.

Tanaka’s pulse quickened. The realization hit him like a wave:

It was not just a monster. It was the embodiment of those abandoned by time.

And it was testing him.

The Threshold trembled beneath them. Ruins of ancient temples, statues of nameless gods, and forgotten altars cracked and crumbled under the force of their battle.

Tanaka gritted his teeth.

If he hesitated, he was dead.

The beast roared—a sound that was not one voice but many, a cacophony of gods screaming for remembrance. It struck again, swinging an enormous golden scepter—the remains of a weapon once wielded by an emperor-god whose name had been erased from history.

Tanaka had no weapon.

But he had knowledge.

He ducked beneath the strike, his mind racing. If this creature was made of gods, then perhaps…

Perhaps it still followed the rules of the divine.

His feet dug into the ground, muscles tensing. The symbols on his arms shifted, glowing brighter, rearranging themselves into something new. Something powerful.

The beast came at him again, and this time, Tanaka moved toward it.

His palm struck its chest.

The moment they touched, a pulse of raw knowledge flooded him.

Rituals. Forgotten prayers. Lost offerings. The true names of those who once held dominion over the world.

He saw them—gods begging for devotion, others raging at their own insignificance. Some had once commanded armies, demanded blood, shaped empires.

Now, they were trapped in this thing.

“You don’t belong here,” Tanaka murmured. His voice was steady. Powerful.

The beast froze.

Its form flickered—uncertain.

Tanaka clenched his fist.

Power surged through him. Not from a single god. Not from any pantheon. But from the gaps between them. From what they had left behind.

The beast let out a terrible, distorted sound. It wasn’t pain. It was recognition.

And then—

It shattered.

Not into dust. Not into blood. But into words, symbols, forgotten prayers.

The fragments of divine memory scattered into the air, fading like whispers in the wind.

Silence fell over the Threshold.

Tanaka stood there, chest heaving, his hands trembling. Something in him had changed.

The shadowed man watched, his ember-like eyes gleaming with amusement. “Ah… you are beginning to understand.”

Tanaka turned, his gaze sharp. “Then tell me—what am I becoming?”

The man chuckled, stepping closer. “That depends, M’fana. Do you want to be a god… or something greater?”

The Aftermath

The Threshold was quiet now. The ruins stretched into the distance, bathed in the crimson glow of the sky without a sun.

Tanaka flexed his fingers. The symbols on his arms had stopped shifting, but they still pulsed with life. He felt… aware. As though something in his very essence had cracked open, revealing a depth he had never known.

He turned to the shadowed man. “Who are you?”

The man smiled. “Many have called me many things.”

Tanaka narrowed his eyes. “A name.”

The man tilted his head. “I have had many, but the one that lingers…” His grin widened. “Izanagi.”

Tanaka froze. Izanagi. The Japanese creator god. The one who had shaped the first deities, who had walked through Yomi, who had lost Izanami.

But Izanagi was not forgotten.

“Why are you here?” Tanaka demanded.

The god’s eyes flickered. “Because even gods can become irrelevant.”

Tanaka exhaled slowly. A god of creation… cast out? That was a terrifying thought.

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

Izanagi’s smile was slow. “I want to see if you will survive what comes next.”

The Mark of the Nameless

Something stirred in the distance.

Tanaka tensed. The battle was over, but the air still crackled with something heavy.

And then, the ground beneath him shifted.

A symbol burned into the stone—one he did not recognize. It pulsed with an ancient energy, different from the gods he had encountered so far.

Izanagi’s smile faded. His eyes darkened.

“You’ve been noticed.”

The air grew thick with power. The ruins around them trembled. Something was coming.

“Who?” Tanaka asked, his voice firm.

Izanagi’s gaze remained on the burning symbol. “One who should not exist.”

A chill ran down Tanaka’s spine.

For the first time, Izanagi looked uncertain.

And that was terrifying.

The gods were watching. But something else was too.

Tanaka clenched his fists. He wasn’t done yet.

Not even close.

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Author’s Note

Thank you for reading Blasphemy of the Gods! This chapter marks a turning point—Tanaka’s first true victory, but also the moment he becomes something the gods can no longer ignore. Who else is watching? What does Izanagi truly want? The war of the forgotten has only just begun.

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