Harry Potter: BE a GOD

Cú Chulainn was surrounded by three archangels. Their bodies radiated intense heat, each attack bringing with it searing waves of warmth, reminiscent of facing his father, the god of light and sun, Lugh.

When he threw his spear with all his might, it only caused a trickle of golden blood from his opponent, failing to inflict significant damage.

His body was already battered and broken. Though the pain fueled his rage, his indomitable fighting spirit could not change the fact that he was nearly exhausted.

A sense of despair welled up within him.

At that moment, the last two surviving godchildren were struck down by another archangel, who swiftly joined the assault on him.

The three archangels spread their wings, sealing off Cú Chulainn's escape routes. He saw the final archangel draw a massive bow made of flame and light.

A channel of magic locked onto him, aiming directly at his head, and he had no way to avoid it.

"Ah!!" He roared in fury, his body swelling in a final desperate struggle.

"Bang!" The arrow was released, but the death Cú Chulainn anticipated did not come. Instead, the archangel in front of him suddenly had its head blown apart, molten golden blood splashing onto Cú Chulainn, burning large patches of his skin.

The pain was nothing compared to the shock of the sudden turn of events. He stared in disbelief at the headless archangel, which lost its glow instantly, revealing a headless humanoid form.

The body was like a melted wax figure, devoid of texture and detail, merely humanoid in shape.

Before he could understand what he was seeing, the body ignited again, seemingly attempting to revive.

At that moment, a figure appeared beside the headless archangel. The figure extended a hand wrapped in flames, pressing down. Flames erupted from his palm, engulfing the archangel, and then abruptly withdrew, causing the archangel to vanish.

Cú Chulainn stared in astonishment at the black-robed youth standing before him. The youth held a writhing mass of metal in his hand, which gradually calmed and solidified into a smooth sphere as he tightened his grip.

Murphy had quickly understood the nature of these archangels.

They were not independent beings but rather constructs or puppets made with magic.

Against such opponents, mind magic was almost useless. Their bodies seemed to be composed of a liquid magical metal, rendering them immune to most physical attacks.

However, these constructs, driven purely by divine power, were no match for Murphy's Ragnarok fire, which he had retained from the Twilight of the Gods. With a simple wrap of fire, the divine power was consumed and stored in the Rhinegold through the Nibelung ring.

Ignoring the stunned Cú Chulainn, Murphy proceeded to turn the remaining three archangels into iron balls. Then he looked at the vast angel army in the sky, transforming into his demonic form, and raised a hand to summon storms and lightning.

In a few minutes, with his magic draining rapidly, Murphy's lightning decimated the angel army. Over half were killed, and the rest fled in panic, clearing the sky.

The remaining godchildren, seeing this, stopped feigning death and climbed out of Ríg's cauldron. They helped the camp's soldiers and wizards finish off the crusader knights, averting a major disaster.

Murphy descended from the sky, overlooking the camp.

"Satan!" someone shouted from the crowd.

As enemies of the Christian God, they were somewhat familiar with the demon imagery propagated by Christians. Murphy's transformed appearance closely resembled the widespread depiction of the demon king.

But another name was also called out, "Merlin!"

Merlin, son of a British deity and a nightmare, sometimes appeared demon-like in Christian lore, often depicted as a half-demon, or even the devil's child.

Murphy reverted to his original appearance, but seeing the crowd, some kneeling in gratitude for his help and others out of reverence for his demonic visage, he remained silent.

He had intervened against the angel army to establish contact with the British deities. Whether as Satan, the enemy of Christ, or Merlin, belonging to the indigenous deities, these identities would facilitate his cooperation with them.

After absorbing Merlin's memories, Murphy had already devised a plan. Britain had become a battleground for warring gods, and he needed to align with one faction to rise.

He chose the indigenous deities. They had irreplaceable local advantages and were the weakest faction, making them easier for Murphy to control.

The battle had left most godchildren dead or injured. Only five were still standing, looking at Murphy with complex expressions.

"Thank you! Wizard!" Giant Ríg, without the complexities of his companions, considered Murphy an ally for saving his dear friend Cú Chulainn.

Hearing Ríg, Cú Chulainn, though somewhat embarrassed, couldn't deny that Murphy had saved him and the entire camp. Despite his pride, he accepted the fact and approached Murphy with support. "We were too reckless before. Thank you for your help. We owe you a great debt. If there's anything you need, just ask."

He didn't believe Murphy acted out of pure goodwill but hoped his demands wouldn't be excessive.

Murphy smiled, recognizing that Cú Chulainn was not just a mindless warrior. He pondered for a moment and then asked, "I noticed many wizards gathered in the camp. What are they here for?"

The godchildren exchanged glances. An eagle-headed godchild spoke up, "Christianity sees wizards as a threat and hunts them down. We gather them to protect them."

In reality, nearly all divine factions viewed wizards as a latent threat.

Wizards could "create gods." The earliest deities were born from wizards' imaginations.

Over the years, deities had learned more about themselves and the wizards, gradually uncovering this hidden connection.

To the deities, wizards, though still weak, posed an unstable factor compared to magicless Muggles.

"Oh?" Murphy glanced at the ragged, weary wizards in the camp. "So, you're entirely doing this out of goodwill?"

Cú Chulainn hesitated, knowing Murphy wasn't easily fooled, and decided to be honest. "Not entirely. Wizards' magic, though weak, can be useful in war. We teach them fairy alchemy to forge weapons for our army."

This explained why even a Muggle officer could wield magically crafted weapons.

Murphy sneered, "What a waste of talent. You have so many powerful warriors, yet you make them blacksmiths. No wonder you can't even defeat a bunch of angels."

"You think these wizards are powerful warriors?" Cú Chulainn was stunned.

The godchildren were incredulous. Murphy's voice was loud enough for many wizards in the camp to hear. Though grateful for Murphy's defense, they too thought he was exaggerating.

They knew their limitations. Casting a spell was difficult, and its power was not much greater than soldiers' weapons. Saying wizards were powerful warriors capable of fighting angels seemed absurd.

Ríg laughed heartily, "You're mistaken. These wizards can't even beat ordinary soldiers. They're too weak for battle!"

Murphy remained unfazed, looking at everyone as if they were fools.

Ríg, seeing Murphy's expression, finally stopped laughing, "Did I say something wrong?"

Murphy snorted, and a flame shot up from in front of him, rising into the sky and transforming into a thousand burning swords. The sword tips pointed downward, enveloping the entire camp in their deadly embrace.

The chilling pressure seized everyone's nerves. Facing the flames that could easily kill both godchildren and archangels, no one doubted they would be incinerated if those swords descended.

"You've all seen my power."

"I am neither a godchild nor a deity. I am just a wizard."

"I was no different from these wizards at first."

"Every wizard is a powerful warrior; this is not an exaggeration."

"Their current weakness is due to their ignorance of how to use their magic. They lack one crucial thing."

"That thing is called the Weave."

"And I will help you create it."

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